TravelStream™ news feed for member lacasarodante on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/lacasarodante en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 28 Nov 2009 10:04:22 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1252607178/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1252607178/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1252607178/tpod.html Sat, 28 Nov 2009 10:04:22 -0500 Lacasarodante on the Golden Road to the Wild West

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New York City, New York, United States

This trip began before 7 a.m. when Joe left at the crack of dawn to go get the camper from it's home at a paving contractor's lot in Bayshore, Long Island. Two subways, two trains, and a taxi ride reunited him with the little "casarodante." Being an r.v. owner in New York City is no easy task and in all our travels we have actually never met another New Yorker on the road! Hey guys, time to get out of that sophisticated New York bubble and find out what the rest of America thinks!

Anyway, it did not take us long to leave the east coast liberals behind (and start keeping mum about our left wing opinions!) By mid-afternoon, in rural Pennsylvania, we were firmly in red state territory, our first stop being Cabela's, a sporting good store that caters to hunters, fishermen, and campers. Cabela's is what L.L. Bean must have been before they lost their soul. Cabela's imposing building sits on the crest of a hill, just off I-78, east of Harrisburg, a huge palace of a lodge-like emporium flanked by acres of parking. We had no trouble finding a spot on a Thursday afternoon. Threading our way through parked cars to reach the entrance, we passed no Priuses with Obama stickers. We did pass a pickup, though, with a bumper sticker that read "I'll keep my freedom, my guns, and my money! You keep 'The change' "

Just inside the front entrance, a bank of glass doors that opened onto a large vestibule area, we were greeted by a "welcomer" who asked if we needed help. Learning that we had never before been there, he gave us a quick run down on the layout of the store and set us loose. With the twang of country music ( "Cowboy Town") playing over the store's sound system we went off to the right, threading our way through some racks of clothing to reach an aquarium he had suggested we see. It was beyond huge and unlike those at museums that we have visited that always feature colorful tropical fish, it contained only local fish. Admittedly, they were mostly drab brown, but we were amazed at the variety of shapes and sizes as we threaded our way through a darkened passage with floor to ceiling tanks on both sides. Pike, muskelunge, sunnies, blue gills, trout, and bass floated and flipped along beside us. We came out in the fishing section with walls of rods, reels, flys and all manner of fishing gear - none of particular interest to us New Yorkers.

Leaving the fishing section, we stumbled onto a fenced-in re-creation of the African plain that put the Museum of Natural History's wildlife dioramas to shame. It was an extensive scene with elephants, antelope, tigers, and leopards that contained about as many animals as does the Museum's exhibits except that they were in one large open display rather than separate cases. There was one small difference, however. Unlike the contemplative nature of the animals at the museum who seem to stare off into the middle distance, this was REAL jungle life. Several crocodiles were ripping apart a gazelle. A leopard had treed a deer whose lifeless body lay slung over a branch. Hmmmm..... Was there a message here!?!

Now we entered the footwear section. Boots of every type, hiking shoes, waders. There was a rack of foot warmers as well. We had been looking for hand warmers for some time and asked a clerk if there were any hand warmers. For those he sent us up to a second floor balcony to the camping section which spread out before us in various directions. From the displays, we could surmise that the campers Cabela's catered to were real campers, not those we meet in campgrounds who who prepare meals on corian counters of their r.v.'s while watching big screen t.v.'s, but people who fry their trout in cast iron skillets over a wood fire after showering from black plastic containers hung from tree branches filled with water warmed by the sun.

From the camping section we had a view of another diorama, this one of the northeast woods - deer, moose, bears, etc. The black bears were chewing on a moose carcass with hungry crows looking down from the tree above waiting for their turn at the carcass. A polar bear loomed above on a snowy slope. Again, the taxidermy was amazing.

Moving on, however, we found ourselves in the "home furniishings" section. Lots of rustic looking tables, lamps, etc. The usual for furnishing a cabin in the Adirondacks or Catskills. But even this had a bit of a Red State edge and featured lots of stuff with eagles, hunting dogs, water fowl, etc. And much camouflage! My favorite was a Barka Lounger upholstered in camouflage!

The piece de resistance for a hunter lay ahead: a diorama of deer in a large museum like room off by itself. Each one was a masterpiece of taxidermy and standing in a forest-like setting. An informational panel explained how deer had once numbered in the millions, had gradually been exterminated, but again were numerous. And then we passed into the guns and hunting equipment section. A hunters dream of a display it was and even with my prejudices against guns I went "wow!"

As we headed back to the entrance, we passed a rack of magazines. I would have loved to get my hands of an issue of "Gun Dog." It was a special one on waterfowl. I'm a birder after all. Right up my alley, right? But the checkout line was too long and we needed to get going. So it was off to Carlisle where we were camping for the night - but, let me tell you, not cooking on a wood fire!

Instead, we opted for a Flying-J Plaza eatery and good "home cooking." For those of you who aren't familiar with Flying-J, it is a chain of truck stops that are generally located at interstate highway exits. They cater to truckers and in addition to diesel and a food option, they provide showers, game rooms, and a general store with an extensive selection of auto parts, sundries, snacks, and small gifts for women and children back home. And lots of t-shirts of course with American Eagles or slogans like "Will Hunt For Food." One trucker, browsing around was wearing a shirt with a black lab dolled up with a confederate-style bandana on his head, a field of ducks being flushed out in the background. They also sell "artwork" - simulated 3-D representations of Cougars, Lions, or Eagles and plaques with slogans like "Driving Trucks and Shooting Bucks." Perusing the merchandise tells one a lot about life on the road for truckers.




]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253486136/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253486136/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253486136/tpod.html Sun, 22 Nov 2009 10:30:17 -0500 Lacasarodante on the Golden Road to the Wild West

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Hutchinson, Kansas, United States



It took us several hours to reach the Kansas state line from Columbia, MO. At that point we began our "scenic tour of Kansas." The route began in Olathe, KS at the Mahaffie Farmstead. Our tour was going to follow the route of the old Santa Fe Trail and the Mahaffie Farmstead was one of the first stops for travelers going west. It was a farm and an old stone house whose basement had been turned into a dining room by the Mahaffie's where those making their way west in wagons or on foot could get a good meal before really hitting the remote prairie.To our disappointment it was just like the museums in New York, closed on Mondays. Why were we so surprised at this? We were welcome to stroll the grounds, however, and were able to get the flavor of the place from that.

From there, the road drove across the Kansas Flint Hills which like so much of our previous drive through western Pennsylvania and Ohio was lovely rolling hills. The corn fields continued but now, in keeping with the golden wildflowers, there were more and more golden fields of ripened soy beans. And the farms became more spread out with fewer towns and farm houses. The roads were first class, however, despite the sparse traffic. Moreover, stretches of new highway were being put in (which, by the way, caused no delays as the new ones were being laid down next to the old which were still perfectly adequate. At one intersection, which was at that time a four way stop, a plethora of road equipment was in the process of mounding dirt, grading and the like for the construction of a major 4 leaf clover interchange the size of which one would expect to see in L.A. From a four way stop to a clover leaf??? Has the Kansas DOT heard of traffic lights? Some of these projects along the way were posted as being funded by "The American Recovery and Reinvestment Act".

Our first glimpse of the actual tracks of the old Santa Fe Trail was at the Ivan Boyd Prairie Preserve. As one of our guidebooks cautioned, it takes a lot of imagination to see the old trail. We parked the car near a highway marker and followed a narrow footpath out onto a piece of preserved prairie. The flowers and grasses were between waist and shoulder high and swayed in a light breeze. We climbed a small rise to a sign that located the old route, now merely a swale of subsided ground that crossed from east to west in front of us.

All across the country we had hoped, since it was harvest season, to pass some farm stands along the way and stock up on fresh produce. But it was not until Kansas that we finally passed one! Just after our prairie stop we saw a sign for farm fresh produce. Eureka! It was about a half mile off the road but we turned off and bounced along a dirt road to get there. Well worth the trip as we got some wonderful tomatoes, cucumbers, and summer squash.

I find it very disappointing that so few people are gardening these days. It used to be that many if not most houses in small American towns had gardens, at least for themselves, if not for sale at farm stands. No more. This was the only farm stand we passed in over 3000 miles and very few yards had vegetable gardens.

As we drove along, corn and soy beans continued to dominate the landscape. And that was it. The landscape was telling the tale of how factory farms dominate our American agriculture. And while we are at it, let us mention how Walmart dominates commerce. We passed so many dead and dying small towns. All the downtown shops boarded up and empty. No more variety store. No more drug store. No more grocery, or beauty shop, or bank, or florist, or......... Walmart does it all now. I make no judgement here. People love Walmart. Americans have their comfortable standard of living thanks to Walmart. We met one person who had retired with his wife to Wyoming, but they left. Too isolated. How was that? The nearest Walmart was 79 miles away! One night, one of the perks of the campground where we stayed, as listed in the guide, was that it was adjacent to a Walmart!

But back to the prairie. Our next stop was the Great Prairie National Monument. This was a large swath of prairie that had been acquired by the Nature Conservancy and turned over to the Federal government to administer. The Ivan Boyd Prairie Preserve had been a small tract adjacent to a newly built McMansion with a cluster of farm buildings across the road. It hadn't had sweeping vistas and while you got a sense of the wagons rumbling through prairie grass, it was at the Great Praire National Monument that we could see hill after hill disappearing in the distance across the then almost endless grasslands.

What I was wild about though with respect to the prairie was the endless variety of wildflowers. Since it was now well into September, many were past their prime, but the quantity and variety were still in evidence. If I had my checkbook and the Nature Conservancy's address, I would have sent off a check on the spot in gratitude for saving this beauty. Those early travelers on the Santa Fe Trail must have been blown away by the endless profusion of blooms (when they were not stuck in the mud or choking on the dust stirred up by the wagons.)

We reached Mc Pherson, KS that night. There were no campgrounds in the area that we knew about so we had pushed to get to an Interstate exchange where we would find a motel. At the interchange, as expected, there were several budget motels. In rural areas there are no Marriotts or Hiltons! We chose a Holiday Inn Express as being the best of the lot. When Joe came out from registering, however, he had raised eyebrows and a scowl on his face.

"Well, you better enjoy it!" he said as he got into the car to drive to where we were to park. "$150 a night!"

"What!?" This was an outrageous price for a midwestern motel room in "the middle of nowhere."

"It was the last room, a "suite". I had no choice, " he lamented.

As it turned out, the t.v. picture was barely viewable, the drapes did not close completely, the shower did not drain, the clock radio was missing, etc. We made a list (7 problems) that Joe gave to the clerk when he checked us out in the morning to save the next traveller from these problems. Far from receiving an apology or thanks from the clerk, he was told that the manager was not in and if Joe wanted to "stick around to gripe" he could talk to him when he came in later!

The good news, though, was that the reason for all of this was that the Kansas State Fair was in full swing in Hutchinson, a town about 20 miles away. The state of Kansas is about 500 miles from east to west so the folks who had come from far and wide for the fair had taken all the nearby motel rooms. Although we had not intended to drop south into Hutchinson, the chance to visit the fair motivated us to incorporate it into a revised route and off we went. State fairs are fun and with Kansas being so agricultural we knew they would have a good one.

As we might have expected, the fair grounds were enormous with many entrances and it took us a lot of circling and backtracking in Hutchinson to find the visitors entrance and parking. They had the usual midway set up with rides and an arena where there were shows scheduled. At 9 a.m., though, not much was going on in either of these places, but we wanted to see all the 4-H and Future Farmers of America, etc. exhibits anyway. We immediately sought out the blue ribbon tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, eggplant. We saw the life size butter sculpture in its Houdini-like glass refrigerator case. We saw the 450 pound winning pumpkin. We saw shelves and shelves of jams and jellies, pickles and beans, neatly lined up in their canning jars.

This being Kansas, there were special exhibits of corn, giant sunflowers, soy beans, hay, - and wheat! We had wondered where the wheat was as we drove along. Well, we found out at a special exhibit sponsored by the Kansas Wheat Commission. It was all harvested and in the giant silos we had been passing! Their exhibit was manned by the friendliest crew who as patiently explained about wheat to us city slickers as they did to the schools kids coming around. Wheat, my friends, is planted in the fall. That very day, as we were admiring the display, the Kansas farmers were preparing for planting. The wheat then germinates, grows a few inches - and then winter hits! It sits patiently, sometimes under snow until spring comes when it again takes off to reach maturity mid-summer. Who would have thunk it?

One of the fellows manning the exhibit was a wheat farmer from the nearby town of Stafford. We were hearing straight from the horses mouth (so to speak) how wheat grows. His farm was 3000 acres! The average farm was about 1000 acres, but that average was brought down by hobby farmers who did not farm for a living. We were impressed and saw that running such a farm takes a lot more than a strong back. It takes business acumen, management skills. And a taste for risk! Prices this year had plummeted with a good crop.

On our way out, we caught a snatch of the pig races! Pig races! Who could resist that? So cute they were. They were piglets, really. At a signal they came out of pen, tore around a circular track and back to the finish where a tasty snack was waiting. Snort, snort. Alas, that was the only animal competition we caught. We'll be back!

We continued our scenic Kansas route stopping at the Quivira Wildlife Preserve. We have no luck at these preserves it seems. Although the preserve was a lake surrounded by marshes, there was hardly a breath of life. We saw one baby garter snake, one deer, and three pelicans! We have concluded that birds must like people. Go to a National Park (teeming with people) and there are birds everywhere. Go to a Wildlife Refuge and you often see only an occasional bird way off in the distance.

By late afternoon we crossed into eastern Colorado. By then we were squarely into "the West" with its parched landscape and sparse habitation. We had to "put the pedal to the metal" to cover the distance necessary to reach a campground in La Junta which was not at all a problem on this straight, flat, road with no traffic. We spent the night at the La Junta KOA Campground (conveniently next to a Walmart!) and across the road from a railroad junction. La Junta is on the mainline between Chicago and Los Angeles and uses the same Raton Pass that was used by the wagons on the Santa Fe Trail to reach Santa Fe.


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253498130/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253498130/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253498130/tpod.html Sat, 17 Oct 2009 16:55:29 -0400 Lacasarodante on the Golden Road to the Wild West

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Encinitas, California, United States


We spent the night at a campground in Flagstaff. We woke up feeling like we're on the home stretch. We would be able to get to the west coast today if we wanted to! It would be a long day but doable drive. But we are not going to put ourselves out. So, midmorning Joe pulls off the road, gets on the cell phone and in a few minutes of giving his name, Marriott rewards number, credit card number, mother's maiden name, zip code, etc. he has a reservation for us to spend the night at our timeshare in Palm Desert. The marvels of technology!

Our night in Flagstaff has been cool and we had snapped on the heater when we woke up in order to warm things up inside the van before getting out of the sleeping bags. We have been totally lucky with the weather. Sunny days and cool nights all the way across the country. No heat waves, no cold snaps and we have only gone through rainstorms twice. September has been good weather just about everywhere. This is about to change.......

The road from Flagstaff to Phoenix is about 150 miles of downhill! Flagstaff's elevation is 7,000 feet. Phoenix is just above sea level. So after a 3 hour climate-controlled drive between the two, we are met by a shocking blast of hot air when we get out of the van for lunch in Phoenix. What is the temperature here????? The i-phone reports that is 103 degrees!!! We disappear very quickly into an air-conditioned restaurant where we are meeting our friend Patrick for lunch. That's how you survive here. Park your airconditioned vehicle as close as possible to the entrance of your destination and then make a mad dash to get inside!

After lunch, it is back into the van, now a toasty 119 degrees according to the van's thermometer. We pump up the a. c., wave goodbye to Patrick, and drive onto the westbound ramp of I-10 (or in west coast parlance, "the 10") heading towards the Mojave desert. Every time we visit Phoenix it has sprawled further out onto the desert, and it is 50 miles before we have left the Phoenix complex behind to enter the vast expanse of sand and desert shrubs flanked by tan mountains that separates Phoenix from California's coastal mountains. We rarely listen to books on tapes on a trip like this as there is always so much to see, but now we snap a c.d. into the player.

After several hours of driving, we begin to approach the Colorado River and the Arizona-California border. A few highway exits pop up. They lead to who knows where - a cluster of houses, a ranch? These folks really don't want to be found. Didn't Timothy McVeigh spend time in these parts once? We reach the town of Quartzite. Named after a rock, it is aptly named, built on a rock-strewn sandy plain. It is a unique settlement. Formerly, a small way-station on the road between Phoenix and Los Angeles, where one could stop for gas and a snack, it has in the past decade morphed into a famous winter haven for r.v.'ers. There are acres of concrete r.v. "parks" with electric and water hookups and thousands of folks come for cheap living during the winter months.

In September though, with the daily temperature well into the 100's, it is by and large a ghost town. The r.v. "parks" are now endless slabs of deserted concrete. We drive the length of the town on their spiffy new dual lane road, past closed shops and restaurants. At the far end of the town we pull into an Exxon station, still doing a lively trade despite the heat and lack of residents, true to its way-station roots. I unfold myself from behind the wheel and out into a wall of heat. Immediately I feel exhausted. I thread my way across the parking bay and into the mart to use the restroom and buy some water while Joe fills the tank with gas. Two guys are sitting at a picnic table under a small tree next to the building. They are drinking sodas (or "pop" as they say in the West).

"Hey, where are you two off to?" they call out to two girls who are exiting the mart as I approach the entrance. The girls laugh but don't answer as they get into a Chevy truck and pull away.

My sandals clop along the steaming asphalt and I try to stretch the kinks out breathing in the hot air. A man wearing a blue uniform work shirt and pushing a rolling trash barrel holds the door for me and I am welcomed by some cool air. The heat has left me feeling rather unfriendly and I keep my eyes averted when I pass the checkout counter on my way to the restroom. I am not up to any conversation. But, at the last minute I look up. The young guy behind the counter is smiling at me. "Hi!' I say in acknowledgement, but not too enthusiastically.

"How're you doin'?" he comes back at me. I guess I don't look too enthused about life. He holds up a hand and says encouragingly. "How's about a high five?" At that I get a bit of energy back and high five him as I pass the counter, handing off a smile.

From the ladies room, I move off to the refrigerated cases for a bottle of water, then back to the counter to pay. He rings me up

"How're you doing?" I ask, my friendlier self returning.

"Just fine."

"You must like this heat?" I venture.

"Heat? What heat?" We both laugh. While he rings up the water and makes change, he turns back to his conversation with the other clerk who is at that moment paging through a well-worn magazine/catalog.

"They shouldn't even be selling those things!" he remarks over his shoulder to the other clerk. Sell what I wonder? "Fully automatics should not even be allowed to be sold....." There appears to be no disagreement on this from his friend who I can see now is immersed in a gun and ammo magazine. "You hit a deer with one of those and it'll be blown up!!" he adds slightly outraged at the thought.

"Deer meat hamburger meat." I add to the conversation, taking my change and leaving.

After several days in Palm Desert where temperatures peak at 115 degrees every afternoon while we hunker down in the air conditioning, we drive up over the coastal range and down to the Pacific Ocean. It is a thrill to crest the last hill and see the ocean, still several miles away, a flat steel gray expanse shining almost glaringly in contrast to the terrestrial landscape in front of us. There, at last, is the mighty Pacific and the journey's end.



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]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253498076/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253498076/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253498076/tpod.html Sat, 17 Oct 2009 15:49:45 -0400 Lacasarodante on the Golden Road to the Wild West

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Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, United States

We were now about to plunge into a landscape so different as to give one the feel of being on a different planet. Leaving a green Mesa Verde, we headed into the dry deserts of southwestern Utah to begin the third of our Scenic Drives, the Monument Valley Meander.

Today would be spent almost entirely on Indian land, the arid lands into which the Indians were pushed by the whites over a century ago. First the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation, then the Navajo Indian Reservation, and then we would skirt the Hopi Indian Reservation. Within an hour of leaving Mesa Verde, we had left Colorado's green mountains behind and were plunging into a barren treeless landscape that pulls together the four corners of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah. Our route crossed from the southwest corner of Colorado into the southeast corner of Utah, and eventually the northeast corner of Arizona. Utah here is not Mormon country with its well-kept farms and tidy towns. While the Mormans passed through this area many years ago, they continued on to the more fertile valleys to the north. The Native Americans have remained. And the landscape itself is timeless.

As we moved west we entered redrock country with its spectacular vistas of endless barren plains and desolate and barren rock mountains eye-punching red against an equally brilliant blue sky. Since the itinerary for "the meander" included a number of side trips, most on dirt roads, we streamlined it a bit and reduced the side trips to two.

The first side road was an unpaved 17 mile loop drive through the "Valley of the Gods". This land is neither a national park nor a national monument and only a small sign signaled the turnoff from the highway. But as we started down the dirt road we found that it was relatively well-graded and the terrain was flat so we did not anticipate any problems despite it being "off the grid". Although the road narrowed down to one lane in places, the desert terrain was open and only in rare spots did rock formations and a sharp turn keep one from easily seeing oncoming traffic. Not that there was any! We seemed to be totally alone out here, but we did not dwell on the isolation so much as the surreal scenery. Our progress was slow mainly due to multiple photo stops. With each turn or cresting of a rise, a new panorama would open up that called to be photographed.

When driving we were averaging about 10-12 miles an hour. Not bad on an unpaved road. We would be able to complete the drive in a couple of hours. And after passing a couple of cars, we didn't feel so much like we had been cast alone onto another planet. At one point the road descended into a wide dry wash. As we drove through it we noticed a large yellow front end loader and a grader a short way off the road seemingly abandoned, a lonely reminder of civilization past. Strange. How did this stuff get out here? Oh well. Keep going. And suddenly a series of rat-a-tating thunks shook us to our bones. Joe quickly hit the brakes to stop the shaking. Without warning the road had turned to a washboard! So, this was how far the grader had gotten out here. An ongoing project.

Slowly we started up again, Joe trying to pick out a reasonable track among the ruts. Unfortunately there really wasn't any "reasonable track" We were now bumping along at 2-3 miles hour! A little math suggested that a 17 mile drive at 2 miles an hour was an all day trip. The question became how far along that 17 miles were we. How many miles to go? We estimated that we were about half way. This was going to be a long day!

And in addition to the very slow going and the constant banging and jarring on the poor van due to the washboard ruts, the route, which which was actually a long loop, curled around 90 degrees and we began crossing arroyos, which we had formerly been paralleling. We now were dipping down into the old stream beds and then pulling out of them onto small hills. The road, unlike modern roads that take into account topography, went straight up and over anything in its path, no switchbacks helping to reduce the slope of the road as it crested each rise. Now our concern was that the van would get hung up at a sharp crest.

And so we made our slow progress across the land, photographing the imposing rock formations, and hoping for the best. Several times we heard the scrapping of the van bottom, but mercifully it never ground to a halt. And eventually we looped another 90 degrees onto a flat plain of evenly spaced shrubs green against the red sands. The road improved slightly and before we knew it, we were back on the highway again.

Now, back on pavement, we made tracks to reach the Navajo National Monument. This park, which preserves three cliff dwellings of the Ancestral Puebloan is on Indian Land and most of the personnel were native Americans. The 9-mile drive in from the main road (paved this time) was a steady upgrade as the location of the park is atop a large mesa. From the visitor's center several trails lead to overlooks where cliff dwellings are visible across a wide canyon. We walked two of the trails, the first led to a good view of the dwellings. The second dropped rapidly into the canyon and into more lush landscaping than on the mesa top. It was not until we reached the terminus of the trail and a lovely view of an aspen forest in the valley/canyon below that it dawned on us how far we had dropped along this trail of steps. We basically turned around and climbed up 30 stories! What price a good view!

The day ended with a long rather dull drive south to Flagstaff, Arizona through desert landscapes that did not compare to the Valley of the Gods. We had been spoiled.



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La Junta, Colorado, United States

Although we had been slowly gaining altitude after leaving Kansas, it had been a slow flat climb across a slightly tipped table of dry plains. We had another 75 miles of this slow climb after leaving La Junta and then we reached the Rockies. Now we were twisting up mountain passes and the twinkling yellow aspens replaced the golden soy bean fields and the acres of waving sunflowers on our Golden Road. And as we got deeper into the mountains and reached the high desert valleys, wild desert sunflowers and yellow rabbit brush covered the open land. September is the golden month indeed!

Our route through the mountains took us past the turnoff to the Great Sand Dunes National Monument. We decided to drive up the 15 mile side road to see them. But, shortly after turning, we were stopped by a flagman dressed in a yellow rain slicker and hard hat. He had on several layers under the raingear and a hood under his hardhat. Weather here was no longer summer. It looked as if the road had been reduced to a single lane and we were being held for oncoming traffic to pass. At first the flagman was all business but after we'd been stopped next to him for a few minutes, he warmed to Joe's friendly overtures. Yes, it had rained that morning. Couldn't really tell for the afternoon. Pause. The three of us randomly scanned the sky for clues.

"That cloud there lives on that mountain," he added as clarification, motioning towards the cloud-shrouded peak nearest us. "Can't tell anything from that." I had already picked up what I thought was a native American lilt to his speech.

Joe was not a radio interviewer for 10 years for nothing and soon our companion was leaning on his red STOP sign and sharing his life with us. This was actually a retirement job that he did from time to time. The road construction ahead was being completed that day and he would be out of a job. But, he was optimistic about being sent to another location that was opening up the following week, but being retired, he wasn't really dependent on it. He had 4 grown children.

"Did they live in the area?" One did. He ticked them off. The three others had gotten good jobs elsewhere - computers, accounting, etc.- and moved. Always that mix of pride with regret that the family scattered.

Eventually, the oncoming cars (all two of them) reached us and we continued on up the newly paved road to see what the Dunes looked like. They turned out to be a spectacular phenomenon of sand dunes in an otherwise normal mountain valley, caused by the perfect balance of sand washed down from the mountains with sand blown up from the valley. We were able to scramble across a few of the dunes before the rain came pouring down and we ran back to the van.

The rest of the day we climbed and twisted through mountain passes until we ended up at about 8500 feet on the western edge of Colorado. We stopped for the night at Mesa Verde National Park. As we drove into the campground we were greeted by grazing deer. Eponymously blue bluejays flew across the open sky. When the sun extinguished itself behind the mountain, the black sky shown with the milky way and a thousand million stars. And there was no cellphone service!

By now we were getting tired of driving so the following morning we decided to extend our stay in the park in order to have a day off from the road and to visit the cliff dwelling for which Mesa Verde is famous. There were lots of foreign tourists both camping in rented r.v.'s and arriving in tour busses to explore the ruins. The world may be mad at our policies but our lovely national parks remain a draw!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1252693687/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1252693687/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1252693687/tpod.html Mon, 12 Oct 2009 16:25:07 -0400 Lacasarodante on the Golden Road to the Wild West

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Carlisle, Pennsylvania, United States

One thing for sure, you will never find out what is going on in America driving the interstates. They are a wonderful way to get from here to there but, except for regional differences in the vegetation along the way, they are completely sterile and without in any way reflecting the land they are passing through. Travelling these strips of landscaped concrete that connect nodules of chain motels and restaurants, you see nothing of America and its wonderful diversity. Therefore, whenever possible, we take off on the blue highways. On this trip, after getting ourselves firmly in southwestern Pennsylvania, we took off on the back roads.

Driving an undulating ribbon of country road that crested small rolling hills and then descended into hollows often bisected by small streams, we were taken by the bucolic nature of this part of the country with its woods, fields, and pastures, many still green from a wetter than usual summer. This season's corn had not yet been harvested and the never-ending blanket of cornfields that covers the eastern half of our country was in its glory. The ubiquitous corn cover had actually begun in New Jersey, less than 25 miles from New York City and would continue until the land was too parched to support this crop (along about the Kansas-Colorado border). We had discovered its eastern boundary when we departed Interstate 287 to have a quick lunch of peanut butter sandwiches in the parking lot of a suburban business park flanked by cornfields! The Mayans (?) may have been the "the people of the corn" but driving across America suggests that Americans have now taken that title.

And much to our surprise and delight as we drove along there were wildflowers everywhere. Because it was late in the season I did not expect this, but in among the corn fields were hillsides of goldenrod and along the road itself were waving clumps of black-eyed susans, chicory, and Queen Anne's lace. And, as we drove further into the heartland, yellow sunflowers were everywhere.

While we do not plan our trips in detail, this one was to include three "scenic driving trips" from a Reader's Digest travel guide. The first one was called "Scenic Southeastern Ohio." We were intrigued by this title as Ohio is generally viewed as rather flat agricultural land and devoid of interesting topography (as it actually is in the northern part of the state.) But the guide suggested that the southeastern part of the state was different and so that was where we decided to explore. Our route would take us south of Pittsburgh and then across the northern West Virginia panhandle before crossing the Ohio River into Ohio.

As the day wore on and we crossed into West Virginia, the hills gradually became steeper and more wooded, the hollows narrower and darker, the countryside less prosperous, and the driving much more slow going. The road alternately snaked up and down steep slopes or twisted along a stream in a narrow hollow. While there was no sign of abject poverty (at least on what might be considered a main road in these parts), the homes were modest to say the least. And many of the homes, we noticed, sported a five-pointed star affixed to the siding on the front of the house. These stars were ubiquitous and to us a mystery. Was it a confederate symbol? Was someone in the household perhaps a veteran? Why these stars?

And along the way we could see that the pickup ruled the road and graced most driveways. Red was the color of choice, too. Having left New York where vehicles come in tans and silver with a few black models, the bright reds really caught our eye.

Along with the increasingly torturous driving that came with West Virginia, we found that the signage deteriorated. Although, we were averaging no more than 25-30 miles an hour, it became difficult to follow the proposed map route and eventually we realized that we had missed an important turnoff completely. Moreover, It was clear from the position of the sun in the sky that we were no longer on our southwest course but rather heading east and into the heart of West Virginia. We also noted that the sun had begun lowering in the sky. And from the map we saw no prospect of a western directed road coming up. We were simply making very slow progress in the completely wrong direction. Although we were flexible and could either camp or motel it, we were far from any interstate with its motels, nor were any campgrounds listed for the area. We would need to get to some more travelled road to get to a stopping point.

We finally hit an intersection and discovered that we could go west again. I found the route number on the map and although it appeared to be an even more minor road than the one we had been on, much to our surprise the road was a actually a significant improvement over the twisty one we had just left. The paving was good and it had shoulders (always a plus!) We were able to pick up the pace and by dinnertime we were crossing the Ohio River into a flatter landscape and a more prosperous state where the road again improved becoming a dual lane highway. We realized that we now had a shot at reaching a campground in Marietta, Ohio before dark if we did not stop for dinner. This would position us to start our "scenic drive" first thing in the morning.

The road to Marietta followed the Ohio River and passed through the Wayne National Forest. It made for a lovely drive as the last rays of sun illuminated the West Virginia landscape across the river. (Very bucolic until we rounded a bend and came across a huge nuclear power plant.)

Arriving in Marietta we attempted to find the campground listed in our guide. The directions to reach it started from an Interstate exit, an interstate that we were not on, which made it difficult to orient ourselves, but eventually we found the place which was on the local fairgrounds on the outskirts of town. Driving through the downtown area to reach it, we had found traffic snarled and the main street completely blocked off. Pedestrians everywhere! Friday night must be big in Marietta!

The campground was nearly full. We felt lucky to just end up with a patch of grass to park on. It turned out that Marietta was celebrating its annual river festival with music, river cruises, fireworks, and the like. Folks had come in from all over for the occasion. Ordinarily we would have jumped at the chance to participate in a local celebration, but that day we were too exhausted to get ourselves back downtown. Pity!

The following morning, though, we were up for it and drove into town for breakfast at a historic cafe/bakery and a small walk along the river. It was a charming town and probably worth another visit but we were anxious to start our first scenic drive, so after our short stroll we drove north out of town along the Muskingum River. Yes, we drove north! These blue highway trips are anything but direct!

In the mid-nineteenth century when river traffic was the main means of moving goods, a series of locks had been built on the Muskingum to smooth out rapids and make it navigable. After following the river for about 40 miles, we reached the town of McConnelsville and stopped to inspect one of these locks and dams. There was a small car park and a grassy area adjacent to the dam for strolling and enjoying the river as well as admiring the locks.

It turned out that the locks were not just a matter of historical interest, but the lock mechanism was still very much operational. A single attendant was able to open and close the locks by means of an ingeniously-designed hand crank. As we walked along the outside wall of the locks (and I tried to get some photos of red pickups), a young couple on a waverunner came cruising down the river. They slowed as they reached the lock area then inched into the lock. After they were inside the lock, the attendant cranked the gate closed behind them and the water level began to drop. They bobbed around slowly, receding below us until the water level was that of the lower stretch of the river at the foot of the dam. Then the attendant cranked open the lower gate by walking in a circle pushing a bar in front of him. Soon they were speeding their way down the river again. I am not sure that the original designers ever envisioned waverunners in their locks!

While the lock was being opened a group of bikers pulled into the car park and lined their motorcycles up along one end. They dismounted and came over to where we were watching the locks being opened. We have met groups of bikers on previous trips and no longer hold our former prejudices which I guess were based on t.v. stereotypes and all that black leather they wear. In reality, in our experience, bikers are in fact a fun-loving bunch and always friendly. There were about a dozen of them in the group, mostly in their 50's, rather conservatively dressed for bikers. This group was from a music camp in Ohio where they were combining a week of music with some road trips. They were enjoying the same scenery we were - in between days of jamming with a former member of the Jefferson Airplane.

The penchant for red trucks that we had noticed in West Virginia continued in southern Ohio (as did the stars on the houses). But, Ohioans did not seem to be wedded to pickups quite to the same extent as the West Virginians so we now were passing red sedans and suv's as well as red pickups. We even a passed a red U.S. mail delivery truck making its way along one of the back roads! Is this a political statement? Are the liberals on the coasts keeping up? Driving blue vehicles? I must remember to check when we get home!

We stopped for lunch at a state park. The park was rather neglected with few people around, but as we were eating our sandwiches beside the camper two guys on mountain bikes came riding along the road. We waved and they waved and then they slowed up stopping on the road in front of us.

"Excuse us," one of them began, "But do you know which continent is the largest?"

"We're having a bit of a disagreement here," added the other.

Joe and I hesitated. "Hmmm. Asia?" "Yeah, it's Asia," we concluded. The two exchanged looks.

"Not Europe?" the younger one asked.

"No, pretty sure it's Asia....." The other smiled a bit.

"But Europe is big. And doesn't it include parts of the Middle East?" he continued.

"Good point. But Siberia is big and that is part of Asia."

"Yeah, but it's part of Russia and just where does Russia start being Asia?"

"The Ural mountains?"

We branched out. "How many continents are there?"

"Well, there's......" And so the conversation went.

The two of them were on a biking weekend and camping in the park's campground. They told us the area had some great biking trails. We described our own trip a bit. Joe asked how the economy was doing in Ohio. One of them had just been laid off but neither one seemed distressed about the future. They were both quite optimistic and did not express much concern about the economy. Turning to more mundane matters we asked them about the significance of the stars on the facades of so many of the homes. (Ask a local!) They had no idea. Just decoration they concluded.

We ended that day at a motel in suburban Cincinnati. Since we were hardly able to cook dinner in the van parked in a motel lot, we decided to eat at a restaurant described in the AAA travel guide. From the address listed in the guide it sounded as if it were very close by. We asked the young woman at the front desk if she could give us directions. She did not know of the place but happily entered the address in Mapquest. ( "Mapquest is my best friend," she commented.) Instantly we had a printout of directions to reach it and we set out into what turned out to be an American nightmare.

The address turned out to be somewhere in a mall parking lot but as we followed the road through the mall it only led to yet a different mall, with no sign of the restaurant. Then after a traffic choked intersection it entered a third mall before dead ending at a highway. We retraced our steps lost in the maze of malls and their curving pavements. Back and forth we went feeling like we were on another planet - one with no compass directions, only a formless miasma of curving pavement full of cars turning here, turning there in a landscape of commerce. We twisted and turned losing all sense of where we were.

Eventually we gave up and settled on dinner at The Fuji Steak House, a knockoff of the Benihana, which was a stand-alone building on the periphery of one of the malls' many parking lots. The hostess seated us, along with 6 other diners at one of the u-shaped stations with a chef in the middle. There was a family of four and a couple in their late 30's. The chef was chosen in part for his Asian looks. He went through the motions of entertaining us but it was clear that for him the thrill was long gone. And we all went through the motions, at least, of appreciating his antics with juggling knives and throwing oil on a stack of onion slices to create a flaming volcano.

When the couple we were seated next to had arrived, we greeted them but spent the meal in our own conversation. But, as in the case of airline travel when as the plane is about to land one will chat with one's neighbor, upon the arrival of the checks we started talking to them. We had assumed that they were childless as they were alone at an age when those with children would have them along at this type of dinner. We were rather surprised to learn then that their daughter was a freshman in college and living on her own. They were empty-nesters and looking forward to a quieter life, a new beginning. She was 36 and he was 40! They were literally a generation ahead of our own similarly aged children. And like the bikers at the park, they were very sanguine about their future. She was a hospice nurse at a V.A. hospital, studying for her R.N. He was in the process of buying an 8-unit apartment building to get started in a building management career. We talked a lot about our travels. She had once crossed the country. Drove from Nevada to Ohio in 36 hours! Three moms and three toddlers! He'd missed that trip! But, he loved hunting, bungee jumping, and maybe sometime he would try skydiving. She was getting ready to get certified for scuba diving. They were getting around.
















]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253486075/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253486075/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/4/1253486075/tpod.html Thu, 24 Sep 2009 16:34:10 -0400 Lacasarodante on the Golden Road to the Wild West

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Cincinnati, Ohio, United States

After our wanderings through the back country of Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Ohio, we realized that on day 4 of a 10 day trip to California, we better say goodbye to Ohio and pick up the pace if we were going to get there. So, it was inevitably back to the interstates. After our "free breakfast" at the motel with the inevitable Fox news playing in the breakfast room, we got on I-74 going west. The morning passed with the help of satellite radio and soon we began to think of lunch.

Of all the food choices available on interstates, far and away our first choice is Cracker Barrel. ("Good ol' Cracker Barrel") They have a winning if perhaps a bit hokey formula with their brown western style one story buildings with a wide front porch lined with rocking chairs, an imposing raised hearth stone fireplace dominating one end of the uniformly huge dining area, and those walls festooned with "memorabilia" - old framed family portraits in fading guilt frames, ancient tin advertising signs and canisters, deer heads, wooden snow shoes with leather straps, rusting tools - all redolent of a long gone past except of course for the very current American flags. Who gets to roam the country buying up all that stuff? And is there a warehouse of it somewhere? ("Could you guys send over an old caste iron skillet and a warped mirror with fading gold paint?")

And, decor aside, the food is good. To us, they are as close as a chain will ever come to "home cooking." They have great chicken and dumplings, fried catfish, collards, sweet potatoes, okra, stewed apples - all the stuff grandmas of 100 years ago used to make. And it's not bad!

All that nostalgia is combined with modern management, however, and the service is super efficient. We were seated near the huge stone fireplace which was unused on this summer day. A folded up wheelchair was stowed on the hearth. Our pony-tailed server, Sabra, was there the moment we were seated to take our drink order. She was dressed in her uniform of a blue oxford shirt and brown apron (pockets in front for straws and the like.) I ordered ice tea ("Sweetened or unsweetened?" - This chain hails from the South.) When she returned, we noticed two gold stars embroidered on her apron. (We were noticing stars it appears on this trip.) Other servers had other numbers of stars on their aprons. "What do the stars mean?" I asked, gesturing towards her apron.

"Oh, that is what level we are." And then looking down at the two stars, "Oh, this must be an old apron. I'm a level three server now." The last sentence said with a touch of pride. We then moved to ordering. I was torn between a breakfast special that included sausage and the catfish lunch.

"What do you recommend?" I asked Sabra.

"The sausage is great!" she replied quickly. "Why when I was pregnant I ate it all the time. And then after I had the baby I still loved it. Not like a lot of other things I craved that I couldn't stand afterward."

"Sounds like a good recommendation to me." She then went off to the kitchen to place our order. Before long, though, she was back to check on us and, after we said we were fine, she pulled a photo of a little boy and an older woman out of her apron pocket. "This is my boy. His name is Dayton."

"Like the town in Ohio?"

"No, it's spelled D-A-T-O-N."

"Is that your mother with him?" I ask pointing to the woman in the photo.

"No, it's his daddy's great aunt. She takes care of him sometimes. She's got a little nursery school. He's such a special baby. Not sure I would even want to have another one. He is so wonderful."

"Well, with his great aunt, you have 4 generations in your family now." (Thinking of the great-great aunt of little Dayton who is still running a nursery.)

"Actually, for awhile we had 5. His great-great-grandmother was still alive when he was born. We got a picture of all of us. But she died a couple of months later. She was 107!"

"Have you worked here for awhile?" we continued. She was seeming to want to continue the conversation.

"Oh, about a two years. Before that I was in St. Louis to study interior design. Went for one semester. Then I ran out of money, though, and came home." She shrugged a bit. "And then I had the baby....... Now I am studying massage therapy. I only work part-time. They are good about scheduling people here. All in all, life is going good."

After lunch, it was back in the van. We continued to move right along and by mid-afternoon we were approaching the bridge over the Mississippi River that would get us into Missouri. Speeding along at 65 or 70 mph it is hard to read signs and as we sped past an electronic sign board the words "1 hour delay" caught my eye but not the details of where this might be. Our road was quite clear so I figured this must refer to one of the other roads that were coming up and was a warning not to take them. We had hit a massive traffic delay in Brooklyn when we left home but since then we had not slowed down once. Well, there was not much we could do about a delay anyway. If we followed the advice to "Seek Alternate Route" we would spend a lot of time "seeking" I imagined.

Well, as luck would have it, when we got closer to the St. Louis area, traffic began to pile up, then quickly came to a near halt. We were crawling along at 2-3 miles an hour. We had no idea what was up. It was Sunday afternoon. To try to solve the mystery, we turned on our c.b. radio which we still had from the trip to Central America when we had had it installed as a necessary means of communication. Truckers still use c.b.'s even in this cell phone age and in such situations chat back and forth with any news of what is happening.

Turning on the radio, there was a burst of static and then a voice came on. "What the fuck is goin' on?" Our question precisely.

"Another day in paradise, driver," came the answer.

"Didn't you see the sign?" from another voice.

"No, what sign you talkin' about?"

"The bridge is one lane up ahead. Construction. You didn't see the sign?"

"No."

"Well driver, you ain't no professional driver then."

Once the reason for the delay was established, they moved on to other topics.

"Check out that chick on that big ol' Harley!" We looked around. No Harley's in view. A minute or two later, though, a black behemoth of a motorcycle came into view going the other way. Indeed, there was a curvaceous blonde, hair streaming down her back maneuvering it through the traffic.

"Hey driver! Am I coming through?" from another voice.

"Loud and proud!" from a female voice which set off a few interested comments which was followed by a warning to a specific trucker about a "4 wheeler" coming up on his tail. Always good entertainment for surviving a traffic delay! We soon passed the delay and were rolling across Missouri. We reached our campground in Columbia well before dinner.

The campground was adjacent to the fairgrounds. No fair going on but there was a steady stream of cars leaving the grounds as it had been the starting point for a bicycle ride to benefit MS that day. Also, there was a college intra-mural baseball game that evening in a rather nice baseball park. Strolling around the campground we got into friendly conversation with a couple who were going east. They gave us good advice about "the trail ahead" as they had taken the same back roads across Kansas that we planned to travel the next day. They were small towners from Illinois just across the Mississippi from Missouri. They were interested and somewhat shocked by our stories of life in New York. How could we possibly live without a car? How do we get groceries home? New Yorkers can be strange creatures to the rest of the Country!





]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1221159120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1221159120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1221159120/tpod.html Mon, 29 Dec 2008 13:12:12 -0500 Across the North Atlantic to see Greenland before it melts.....

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St. Anthony's, Newfoundland, Canada

That night we left behind Qaquartog to cross the Sea of Labrador. We skirted the rough seas of Cape Farewell but were far enough east to miss the worst of it. When we woke the following morning we were chugging along at 16-18 knots, fairly flying after the days of marking time to miss the storm. In the cafeteria at lunch we chanced to share a table with a Danish Ice Boat captain who had boarded the ship in Iceland. It had been given out to the passengers that he was there to give us a lecture on Greenland which he had done prior to our visit there, but we suspected that he was also on board to backup our rather young captain should things get rough in the waters around Greenland.
The captain had spent 25 years on a commercial boat which brought supplies to Greenland from Denmark during those months of the year when Greenland was not completely iced in. He was used to dodging icebergs, navigating through ice floes, and handling all manner of stormy seas. Soft-spoken and grey-haired, he instilled in us a confidence that he had seen and been through everything. We were pleased to have him along on the cruise and glad for a chance to visit with him over lunch - especially when during the conversation he commented that on a trip to Greenland you were on your own. What did he mean by that?

What it meant was that the world is criss-crossed with shipping lanes and (we had noticed) most of the time when looking towards the horizon we could see a boat somewhere or other off in the distance approaching us or receding towards the horizon. At night it was comforting to see clusters of a ship's lights gliding past us in the dark. What we had failed to notice, however, was that since we'd left Iceland, there were no longer boats to be seen. And, it was not just that they were a bit over the horizon, up here, he was saying, there simply were no other boats! The standard shipping lanes were hundreds of miles to our south. If, a boat got into trouble where we were, there would be no other vessels to come to the rescue. We were on our own!


The rest of that day "at sea", we enjoyed various cruising activities, our little ship of cruisers dancing and eating our way across the cold North Atlantic towards the American continent. Seas were calm, although under a low cloud cover. Definitely pleasant cruising. The occasional iceberg or dolphins the only excitement. Towards the late afternoon, however, the wind started to pick up, kicking up the seas with it, but being veterans of the trip around Cape Farewell, we were unperturbed.

Unhappily, however, by the time dinner was over, the ship was being knocked by large waves crashing over the bow. I decided to forgo the evening entertainment since the theatre was in the bow and I knew that the thumping of the waves would make me too nervous to enjoy the show. Better to stay in our midship cabin and read. Joe, Marilyn, and Bill went to the first show which, although introduced with the caveat that the dancers might not be able to do everything in the original choreography was going to go on as scheduled. And indeed,with the floor pitching under their feet, the dancers did have to watch carefully to avoid falling. Mysteriously, too, the lead singer disappeared from the stage after the second song, never to return. But the show was lively and enjoyable despite the modifications

By the time Joe returned to the cabin, the storm was going from bad to worse, the rains having started and I was in a state of panic. Unlike the trip around the Cape, where one could follow the progress of the waves, the sea was now pitch black, only sheets of white foam sluicing past the sides of the boat visible in the boat's
lights. Looking out to the ocean was pure blackness - a blackness that was causing one to feel that the ship was heaving and shuddering far worse than when we had passed Cape Farewell where we could watch the waves. Now, the intensity of the storm could only bejudged by the sounds it created and the thrashing of the boat, both of which got more and more frightening as the night progressed. Everyone's experience of the storm, as told the next day, revolved around some sound or another.

As a background to everything was the intensifying hissing of the waves rushing past and against the sides of the boat. It reached almost a roar at its height that could only be dulled by going into the bathroom and shutting the door. At one point I fantasized about getting away from it by curling up in the shower to sleep. (No bathtub to sleep in.) Then there was the creaking and groaning of the ship that sometimes sounded as if the ship was about to snap apart. (I had to keep reassuring myself that as an engineer I knew that these noises are GOOD. They are the sounds of the component parts of the ship adjusting to the stresses on the structure and they WILL KEEP THE SHIP FROM BREAKING APART! )

Then there was an intermittent shudder that would go through the entire frame of the boat, its origin a mystery. This and an impact vibration as if the ship had suddenly crashed into a large object occurred only rarely but were attention getting when they happened.

And there was the sound of the sea itself, those invisible walls of water collapsing everywhere in a homogenous roar that was a counterpoint background noise to the walls of water breaking up against the sides of the boat that were creating the fluctuating roar like breakers crashing on rocks.
Then there were the smaller ghost-like sounds emanating from within the ship itself of who knows what scraping and rubbing somewhere. And of course the occasional sharp thump of falling objects. Chairs
falling over? Tables slamming against a wall? Who knew? It was the middle of the night. Everyone was sleeping.

And there was the wind whistling around the window frames and the gurgling of rivulets of water running across the balcony floor - and in some cabins running into the cabin itself.

All these sounds were background to the feel of the boat, increasingly tossed higher and farther. Beds
made their way across the cabins. Some felt that with the next giant wave, they would go flying out the
balcony door and into the ocean. For me it was like being on a rollercoaster ride that you could not get off
of. As the boat rode up over a wave, there would be the sensation of one's weight being hauled up a steep
incline followed by a fraction of second of equilibrium, before a weightless, stomach-churning descent crashed the boat into a roll that thrust one sideways. And on this ride with no exit, it would all begin again.

In our cabin the only mental distraction from our total helplessness was a banging that began around midnight. What turned out to be a loose closet door began to fly open periodically and then slam shut. This local noise actually gave us something to do. First figure out just what was slamming and then after we located the door whose magnetic lock was weak, attempt to secure it. Nothing we rigged up worked as the cabin was being slammed around so violently and we eventually realized that we would just have to live with it.

The noise became my barometer for the progression of the storm. Since it only flew open and slammed
shut on the very worst of the waves, I began timing the number of the slams in a half hour interval, praying that with each interval the count would go down or at least not increase. For awhile it held somewhat steady at about a dozen bad waves per half hour. Finally at 2:30 a.m., the half hour count went down to seven, and then to three, - and then I slipped into a terror-tinged unconsciousness.


Three hours later, we woke up. The sky was beginning to lighten, the mountains of the Newfoundland coast glowed in the dawn light just a few miles away, and the sea, SHOCKINGLY, stretched out placidly before us. Could we be on the same planet that we were on just a few hours before? Shell-shocked we dressed and went to breakfast.
Everyone had a story. People ejected from their beds, bottles flying off counters, t. v.'s crashing to the floor, flooded carpets, beds on the other side of the room from where they started. As far as Princess Cruises was concerned, however, it never happened. No warning. No explanation. And with our news blackout in full swing, it was only later that we learned that we had slammed into Hurricane Hannah who when WE last had known her was off the shore of North Carolina. (In defense of the captain, there was no way we could have avoided Hannah. She was jammed against the coast so we could not go around her. As we approached, she moved out towards the ocean into our path while simultaneously picking up intensity. Perhaps
September is just not the best time to be crossing the North Atlantic.)

Our day in St. Anthony was delightful. Gorgeous weather. We went on a photography tour, our first stop being a fishing village. There, our guide informed us how lucky we were in that all the boats which were generally out fishing had been called back into the harbor to ride out the hurricane. We would have lots to photograph. Great.
Thank you Hannah!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1221764460/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1221764460/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1221764460/tpod.html Mon, 29 Dec 2008 13:10:36 -0500 Across the North Atlantic to see Greenland before it melts.....

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Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada

St. Anthony was followed by Corner Brook, Newfoundland. As in Scrabster, Scotland and Greenland, the welcome in both towns was very warm. Perched up on the top of the world with long dark winters and scant populations, the people welcome cruise ships and are delighted to share their scenery and heritage. Corner Brook's cruise ship count was down by 6 over the previous summer and this was clearly a cause for concern. As in Scrabster, a band sent us on our way at the end of the day and everywhere the people went out of their way to be helpful and friendly.

Having read "Shipping News", with its bleak portrayal of desolation, we were pleasantly surprised by Newfoundland. Recent years have brought a certain measure of prosperity. Homes were attractive and well-kept. Many were new. Both St. Anthony and Corner Brook had well equipped health facilities. Although the fishing industry has more or less collapsed, the Canadian government is keeping poverty in check. A paper mill provides an industrial base for Corner Brook. Some residents who have lost their livelihood with the decline in fishing, now commute to the Alberta oil fields for work. Others (reluctantly) have moved out there. House prices were not cheap as is often the case in a decaying or contracting community. People are paying good money to live in Newfoundland. And one could see why. We spent the day in Corner Brook hiking a lovely trail that followed a sparkling trout and salmon river with cascades, gorges, and waterfalls much of it passing through a pristine forest. It was a setting that for most people in the world would involve many hours or days of travel to reach, but that for the folks in Corner Brook it was accessible by foot from downtown. And in the winter, there were snowshoes, skis, and snowmobiles to enjoy it.



The cruise ended with a pleasant ride across the Gulf of St. Lawrence and then down the St. Lawrence River to Montreal with a stop in Quebec City. It was nice to be back on the North American continent. Canada felt like home. We are very much more similar than different. In Montreal we rented a car and drove back to New York. The border crossing was quick and friendly. We only had to give up two oranges and an apple and we were sent on our way. And thus our trip-of-a-lifetime came to a close.










]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1219083600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1219083600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/lacasarodante/3/1219083600/tpod.html Mon, 29 Dec 2008 12:52:56 -0500 Across the North Atlantic to see Greenland before it melts.....

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New York City, New York, United States



LONDON

We took the day flight to London arriving around 9 p.m. at Heathrow which was near dead at that hour, so we were through customs in no time and on the underground heading for the City within an hour.
What can I say? London is great. We were so happy to be back and regretted that the visit was so short. With only one day there we did not get to do much. We arrived with no particular plans, but on the underground on the way to the hotel we noticed lots of posters advertising visits to Buckingham Palace.
I think we must never have been in London before in July and August because we did not know that in the summer when the Queen is not in residence that visitors can actually go through the State rooms during that time. So the morning after we arrived we walked over to the Palace from our hotel on Grosvenor Square arriving in time to get a ticket for the 3:45 p.m. spot! (Visits are popular and sold out quickly.) Waiting for our turn meant killing several hours in St. James Park before we joined hundreds of other curious commoners, snaking along through 19 rooms of the palace, audio guides on our ears.

The visit was both very touristy and very interesting. From the outside, Buckingham Palace
appears to be BIG above all, but I had never considered it particularly
beautiful. Inside, however, it is spectacular. The rooms were exquisite (they made the period rooms at the Met Museum look positively shabby by comparison). The art collection was to die for (and probably a lot of people did over the centuries.)

For the benefit of us tourists they had set the table in the
state dining room as it would be for a state dinner with knife edge lines of polished crystal, china, and silver set against a red plush backdrop of a room. In conjunction with this display, in an adjacent gallery, the curators had hung life size photos of the Queen with various heads of state that had been taken at state dinners she had hosted. Of course there was one of the Queen with President Bush. Unlike the other photos in the exhibit, where both the Queen and the Guest of Honor were smiling broadly, on this one two unhappier people you could not have imagined, each looking petulantly in a different direction. Were they really that uncomfortable with each other? Or had the curator of the exhibit indulged in a little political editorializing?

Americans in London were conspicuous in their absence. The weak dollar appears to be taking a
toll. We did not encounter any Americans at our hotel (a Marriott) nor were there any waiting in the ticket line at the Palace or enjoying the day in Regents Park. Our fellow tourists seemed to be Brits, other Europeans, or Middle Easterners. The only Americans we met were a couple that shared a van ride to the airport with us the day we left for Stockholm.

On the other hand, we did not encounter any negativity towards us as Americans either. The attitude seemed to be one of sympathy that we still had to endure another 6 months of Bush. I guess, too, that American tourists in such small doses are easier to take.

The Brits are really into global warming and carbon footprints. There were smart cars everywhere and for those who prefer more comfort, Prius's. We were encouraged to reuse our towels at our hotel to save water. There were serious discussions about the efficacy of water heater tanks vs. new systems that heat water on demand. Our limo driver on the way to the airport held forth for quite some time on the topic concluding that the latest government opinion was swinging back to tanks being the better of the two
alternatives. London's congestion pricing was also viewed as helpful environmentally. The city of London had brand new articulated busses on the main streets to accommodate the increased demand for public transportation that came with congestion pricing. (The old double deckers, alas, were not being
replaced as the steep stairs to the upper level were viewed in this safety conscious world we live in as not safe.) Since we are believers in globalwarming we were pleased to be in a country that is taking it seriously!
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