~ wander.essence ~

natural bridges, continued

wanderessence1025 January 17, 2019

Three natural bridges, sculpted by water from stone, were discovered by prospector Cass Hite in 1883 when he wandered up White Canyon in search of gold. In 1908, four years after National Geographic Magazine publicized the bridges, President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed Natural Bridges National Monument, creating Utah’s first National Park System area.

I wrote one post about the hike we took to Owachomo Bridge: the owachomo bridge trail at natural bridges national monument. This post features the other two natural bridges: Sipapu and Kachina.

The rock here is sandstone first formed by windblown sand. The deep and curvaceous White and Armstrong Canyons and their three bridges were formed by water’s relentless action against the sandstone. Sipapu and Kachina straddle streams with long, winding curves. Owachomo, straddling no stream now, apparently was cut by two streams.

When a stream forms a looping meander and almost circles back on itself, it can carve the thin rock wall in which a natural bridge forms. Flood waters erode both sides of the thin wall, and even at low water levels, percolation weakens the wall.

Over time, the river breaks through and takes the shorter course under the new bridge, abandoning the old meander. The river continues to wear down the rock, enlarging the hole by cutting itself deeper. A natural bridge is temporary as blocks fall from its underside, and its surfaces weather, wear and weaken.

Sipapu means “place of emergence,” the entryway by which the Hopi believe their ancestors came into the world. Sipapu is 220 feet high, 31 feet wide, and has a span of 268 feet. It is 53 feet thick. Mature, highest and greatest in span, it endures very little stream erosion because its abutments stand far from the stream.

Siipapu Bridge

White Canyon

Ancestors of modern Puebloan people moved onto the mesa tops to dry farm in 700 CE and later left as the natural environment changed. Farmers returned about 300 years later, building homes both on the mesa tops and in alcoves in the cliffs. South facing caves provided passive solar heating and cooling. The farmers often chose sites near seep springs where water could be found. From an overlook into White Canyon, we saw the Horse Collar Ruin built in one such alcove.

Horse Collar Ruin Overlook

We couldn’t get a great view of Kachina Bridge without hiking down to it. As we didn’t have time to do two hikes, we only were able to admire it from above. Kachina is named for rock art symbols that resemble symbols commonly used on kachina dolls.

Kachina Bridge, the youngest bridge, is big and bulky. White Canyon floodwaters still work on enlarging its span. Kachina is 210 feet high, 44 feet wide, and has a 204 foot span. It is the thickest bridge at 93 feet.

Kachina Bridge

Owachchomo, the oldest bridge, is no longer eroded by streams, but frost action and seeping moisture continue to continue to erode it. The bridge may now have a fatal crack, or it may stand for centuries. Owachomo is 106 feet high, 27 feet wide, and has a span of 180 feet. It is only 9 feet thick, much thinner than the other two.

Owachomo Bridge

Information above came from various brochures created by the National Park Service.

Here is a companion piece to this post that discusses the difference between arches and bridges: arches in the four corners.

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“PHOTOGRAPHY” INVITATION: I invite you to create a photography intention and then create a blog post for a place you have visited. Alternately, you can post a thematic post about a place, photos of whatever you discovered that set your heart afire. You can also do a thematic post of something you have found throughout all your travels: churches, doors, people reading, people hiking, mountains, patterns, all black & white, whatever!

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20 photos and to write less than 500-800 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, January 30 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, January 31, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Lynn, of bluebrightly, posted a beautiful array of landscapes, close-ups, and middle distances from the Pacific Northwest.
- The Long and Short of It

Thanks to all of you who shared posts on the “photography” invitation. 🙂

on journey: santiago to muxía

wanderessence1025 January 16, 2019

As soon as my Camino ended in Santiago de Compostela on October 20, my body collapsed; a cold came on with a vengeance — an irritating tickle in my throat, a dry and unproductive cough, a general exhaustion. My voice was raspy and disappearing fast. My health worsened over the two days in Santiago, so when I headed to Muxía by bus on Monday the 22nd, I was feeling quite miserable.

At the bus station at 8:00 a.m., I ran into Sheryl, John and Sharon, a threesome I’d encountered many times along the Camino. Theirs was a odd situation. Sharon and John were married, and Sheryl had come along with them, although she didn’t know Sharon very well. Sharon had done the Camino 4-5 times before, and had arranged Sheryl’s trip for her, booking rooms in hotels that the three of them shared; they often transported their bags ahead. Sheryl knew Sharon’s husband John when they both worked on ski patrol in the mountains of Washington State. I talked often to Sheryl, but the two of us never connected enough to share contact information.

On the bus, Sheryl and I talked to Brian, a slender handsome man with a bandana on his head, and Tyler, a young bald man wearing opaque sunglasses (at first I thought he might be blind!). Co-workers at a start-up tech company in Orlando, Florida, they had just completed one week on the Camino Portuguese. Brian was quite the talker. From Detroit originally, he had no love of Florida, and we commiserated about our mutual dislike of it. As we talked, Brian, who looked very young, revealed that he was 48, married, and had two sons, 23 and 21. His coworker Tyler, who had worked with him for two years, was shocked to discover all of this information. Tyler, a mere 27, was under the impression Brian was in his 30s; he had no idea Brian had grown children, nor that he was married! Brian said he hated his job and would love nothing better to run a café along the Camino. We talked for a long time about his belief in natural remedies to health problems, and our mutual distaste for our current government.

The bus ride was a couple of hours through gently rolling hills and small whitewashed villages, but we were mostly too busy talking to notice. We spilled out of the bus at the “Don Quijote” bus stop in Muxía, which was just a sidewalk in front of the “Don Quijote” café. A frigid blustery wind was blowing from the harbor into town, and I was anxious to get to my hotel, Habitat Cm Muxía. I had been having cramps on the bus, and that manifested itself in diarrhea as soon as I checked into my hotel. I was lucky I had made it without incident on the bus ride!

After a bit of a rest, I went to A Marina, which seemed to be the only bustling restaurant in a town that was quite deserted. There, joining Brian and Tyler, I had a lunch of croquettes with limon cerveza. As we commiserated about our adult children, Brian said his wife was not very maternal; she had put up a big calendar in their house marking off the days when each her sons had to be out of the house. Brian said they didn’t give their kids any options. They told them they had to be out of the house at 18 and go to college. Listening to him, I felt admiration for his absent wife, who had opted to go on a holiday with a girlfriend rather than do the Camino; I have never been very maternal and have been judged harshly for it over the years. What I loved was how he spoke of such fondness for her, with no judgment about this aspect of her. I have often wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have had children, although of course I love them dearly and now couldn’t do without them. I am simply not made for motherhood, but I hoped I could be. I raised my children the best I could, but I never had much of a role model in my own mother, and I can’t say I was much of a success at it. I am who I am, and I really appreciated Brian for supporting his wife being just the way she was.

Muxía is part of the Costa da Morte, the Coast of Death, named for the many shipwrecks along its rocky shore. On the way from the town to the sea, about a one mile walk, I passed the Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María and its charming cemetery. I could see windmills on a ridge across the bay, and on the point, the larger and more famous church of Santuario da Virxe da Barca, or The Virgin of the Boat, which stands on a rocky ridge above the surf. Legend has it Muxía was the landing place of the stone boat that carried the Virgin Mary when she arrived in Galicia to help Saint James convert the locals. Sadly the church was closed, but I was able to see inside through the barred door.

On the shore next to the church is the sculpture A Ferida, or The Wound, by Alberto Bañuelos. It symbolizes the damage done to the sea by the spilling of 66,000 tons of oil when the Prestige tanker broke apart off the coast on November 13, 2002. The sculpture is 11 meters high and weighs over 400 tons.

I walked up to Monte Corpiño, where I could see down to the church and the sculpture at the western point of the land, some ruins to the south, the playful sea, and the town and harbor of Muxía to the east. The cold blustery weather didn’t do much to help my cough and cold, but the scenery was good for my spirit.

In the movie The Way, the main character Tom, played by Martin Sheen, and his cobbled-together group of pilgrims walk three days to “Finisterre” after arriving at Santiago de Compostela. Except in the movie, the setting is not Finisterre but Muxía. At this spot, Tom scatters the remainder of his son’s ashes into the sea.

After I moseyed down from Monte Corpiño, I traipsed around on the famed rocks and watched the sea churning and dancing; I admired the lighthouse surrounded by lichen-covered boulders. I sat and lost myself in the antics of the sea and contemplated the end of my Camino. Well, almost the end. I’d be going to the actual Finisterre by bus the following day.

After my walk and a long bath in a coveted bathtub, I headed back to A Marina, where I enjoyed a dinner of langostines (large prawns) with salad and bread, two glasses of vino tinto, and tiramasu for dessert. I never again saw Brian, Tyler, Sheryl, Sharon or John.

Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María

cemetery at Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María

cemetery at Igrexa Parroquial de Santa María

“A Ferida” (The Wound)

Roman ruins

Muxia from Monte Corpiño

cross on Monte Corpiño

“A Ferida” and Santuario da Virxe da Barca from Monte Corpiño

view southwest from Monte Corpiño

Santuario da Virxe da Barca

inside of Santuario da Virxe da Barca

lighthouse at Muxia

cross at Muxia with windmills in the background

Muxia’s harbor

Langostines with salad and bread at A Marina

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“ON JOURNEY” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about the journey itself for a recently visited specific destination. You could write about the journey you hope to take in the year ahead. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, February 19 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, February 20, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, once on the third Wednesday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

chaco culture: pueblo arroyo & the casa rinconada community

wanderessence1025 January 13, 2019

Pueblo Arroyo, Spanish for “village by the wash,” was built over a short time by Chacoans. The round tri-wall structure on the west side of the building is rare in the Chaco Region. The building’s position gave an unobstructed view through South Gap, between West and South Mesas.

Pueblo Arroyo

Pueblo Arroyo

Pueblo Arroyo

Pueblo Arroyo

The trail through Casa Rinconada and nearby villages is about a half mile long.

All over the Southwest, I found these pink-tipped grasses, but I’m not sure what they are.

pink tipped grasses

Distinctive masonry was developed at Chaco Canyon that added to the structure and stability of the large buildings. The trail through the Casa Rinconada Community showcases some of the diversity of architecture that existed within Chacoan culture.

On the canyon’s south side, Casa Rinconada is the largest excavated kiva in the park. The trail to this great house passes a dozen “small house sites” contemporary with Casa Rinconada but different in construction and function.

The great kiva named Casa Rinconada was a massive ceremonial and community building. Kivas are buildings used in Puebloan cultures for religious worship, similar to churches, mosques, and synagogues. Casa Rinconada is the largest excavated great kiva in Chaco Canyon and one of the largest in the entire Chacoan world. The alignment of the kiva’s architectural features are set on a north-south axis.

The Casa Rinconada great kiva was built atop a natural hillside, within the community of small villages. Across the canyon, Pueblo Bonito, Chetro Ketl, Pueblo del Arroyo, and Pueblo Alto formed the core area of Chaco.

Casa Rinconda has an entryway through a north antechamber through which people entered.

Great Kiva at Casa Rinconada

Great kivas may have been partially or completely roofed. Circular masonry-lined pits housed four massive upright timbers that supported the roof. Its actual configuration remains a mystery.

Great kivas commonly contained masonry benches, but it isn’t certain if they functioned as seating areas. In Casa Rinconada, there are 34 wall niches set into the interior. One of the niches seems to be a solstice, or astronomical, marker. At sunrise on summer solstice, sunlight passes through an opening in the eastern portion of the wall and shines on the interior western wall. It is not certain if this was intentional as researchers believe the kiva once had rooms surrounding the outer wall which would have blocked the sunlight.

Great Kiva at Casa Rinconada

Building sites at Chaco were chosen to allow great houses to communicate with one another by signal fires. Great houses were connected to other public buildings by roads and earthen architecture. Roads also connected the Chacoan world with mesas, lakes, and mountains within the sacred landscape.

The Casa Rinconada Community in Chaco Canyon

Of course, I collected my sticker and cancellation stamp for Chaco Culture National Historic Park.

Chaco Culture National Historical Park

I left Chaco Canyon at 4:00, taking the northern dirt road toward 550 N en route to Farmington, New Mexico. For the first four miles, the road was very bumpy. People were speeding and kicking up so much dust, I had to keep a good distance behind them. Then, I drove over a 19-mile gravel road; this was worse than the southern approach as the car tires kept skidding out on the gravel whenever I took a corner too fast. This exit out was much more heavily traveled than the southern route I took into the park.

I was relieved to finally reach the paved road. I passed the defunct Blanco Trading Post and buttes scattered here and there on the horizon. When I arrived in Farmington, New Mexico, I thought it looked as derelict as it did 39 years back, when my first husband and I dropped in to visit my Uncle Gibby, my mother’s brother. He’s no longer living, so I checked into the Brentwood Inn and Suites, which seemed to be run by Native Americans. There were some shady-looking characters about, but the room seemed fine. At The Chile Pod, I enjoyed red wine and a Navajo taco: a sopapilla covered in beans, cheese, chilies, lettuce and tomato.

Information above came from various brochures created by the National Park Service.

*Thursday, May 17, 2018*

16,489 steps, or 6.99 miles.

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On Sundays, I post about hikes or walks that I have taken in my travels; I may also post on other unrelated subjects. I will use these posts to participate in Jo’s Monday Walks or any other challenges that catch my fancy.

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: A Romp in El Rompido.

{camino: day 2} crossing the pyrenees

wanderessence1025 January 8, 2019

Ingrid and I left Orisson at 7:30 a.m and began our trek over the Pyrenees. It was a tough climb and an even tougher descent, 17km (10 miles) to Roncesvalles. Because I had reserved a bed two towns past Roncesvalles since the monastery was said to be full, I had to walk an additional 6.7km (4.2 miles).

The walk over the Pyrenees was grueling but we were rewarded with bucolic scenes of green meadows and infinite peaks, spotted pigs, cows, long-haired sheep, black-faced sheep (churros), and horses wearing gently clanging bells. Less than 4km from Orisson, we stopped to admire the Virgin Mary statue, Vierge d’Orisson, set against a stunning backdrop of mountains and valleys. We would find Marian shrines, a common sign of devotion, frequently along the Camino. The landscape reminded me a bit of England’s Lake District.

Rain threatened all day, but we only put on our ponchos twice for a short time; when the rain stopped shortly after, we took them off promptly as they were cumbersome to wear. Buzzards circled overhead and we heard that legend said not to lie down or they’d come after you.

Right before a wayside cross directing us off the road onto a rough grass track towards Mount Urkulu, a mobile vehicle for pilgrims offered drinks and snacks. I bought a hot chocolate, a welcome treat in the blustery cold.

As we continued our climb on the upland grass, giant black slugs dotted the path. We passed the primitive Santiago shelter, used in case of storms or bad weather. The Irish guy Cyril had told us yesterday at Orisson, where he hadn’t reserved a bed, that he planned to stay the night in the shelter, but we saw no sign of him at that hour of 10:30 a.m. Later, after filling our water bottles at the Fontaine de Roland, we crossed a cattle grid at the border between France and Spain without fanfare. At that point we were in Navarre. In a clearing, Ingrid and I sat on boulders in the midst of heather and ate sandwiches we’d brought from Orisson, mine a delicious patê on a baguette.

Later, we walked through a beautiful beech forest, the trees gnarled and moss-covered. They seemed in danger of toppling down the very steep hill to the river Arnéguy below. As we emerged from the forest, we reached the high point of Col de Lepoeder at a height of 1,450 meters. At that point the path forked and we could take a direct and very steep (and dangerous) route through the woods down into Roncesvalles, or we could take a less steep, but longer, alternate route. We chose the latter.

Purple, yellow and pink heather abounded as we made our descent on a paved road. The endless climb up had been physically challenging, but coming down was hell on my knees, legs and feet. Ingrid and I were pretty miserable at this stage, but we just let gravity pull us down, sometimes faster than we would have liked. I didn’t get any blisters, surprisingly, but my feet were aching dreadfully and I wasn’t sure whether the green Superfeet arches in my Keen boots were a hindrance or help.

When we got to Roncesvalles, the line of pilgrims checking in was snaking down a long corridor in the monastery, and Ingrid joined the back of the line. She was preoccupied with checking in, so we didn’t really say a proper goodbye. I had heard that the monastery allowed bookings on only half of its 183 rooms and reserved the rest for pilgrims who walked in. However, I could see by the line it would take quite some time to see if a bed was even available, and I had already reserved a room in Espinal anyway. I was anxious to get going the last 4 miles as it was 3:00 and I didn’t know what kind of terrain to expect.

After Roncesvalles, I walked mostly alone on a wooded path on the way to the next town of Burgette. I was wiped out after the Pyrenees, and wondered how I’d make it four more miles! On the way, I sneaked off the path into the bushes to pee. When I popped back out onto the path, I spooked an Irish lady named Mary and her English friend, who screeched at my sudden appearance out of the bush. The English girl had a huge backpack full of camping gear as she’d planned to camp the whole way with her friend. Her friend had abandoned her after the first day and took a plane back to England. She was upset and not sure what she’d do about the rest of the Camino.

In Burgette, the three of us stopped for a break at an outdoor cafe, where I had a delicious slice of orange cake and a Coke. There I met a couple from Austin, Texas who were living the easy life, staying in nice hotels and sending their luggage ahead. I would meet them many times in the coming weeks.

We three ladies trudged on to Espinal, where I checked in at Hostal Rural Haiza at 5:00 p.m. The English and Irish ladies stayed elsewhere. I had been walking for nearly 9 1/2 hours and wanted nothing more than to keel over. My backpack, which I’d sent ahead, had arrived safely, much to my relief. Our room had 13 beds, some single and some bunkbeds, for both men and women. Since the skies had opened up with thunder, lightning and a downpour almost immediately after I checked in, I relaxed for a while in my single bed. I chatted with two Italian girls, one studying to be a pediatric doctor and the other studying law; she wrote her thesis on copyright law for street artists. In our room were also five bicyclists from Amsterdam. One had gotten 5 stitches on his hand and wrist from an accident in a tunnel. His cycling trip was over.

I didn’t feel like eating the pilgrim meal (I didn’t care for the second course in the meal); instead I enjoyed red wine and an omelette with cheese and green pepper in the noisy bar full of locals.

I was nervous overnight as I had determined not to send my backpack ahead the next day, but to carry it myself. It was raining much of the night, so I fretted about the next day’s weather. I didn’t know if I’d run into Ingrid again, or if I’d see any of the people I’d already met.

me with Ingrid in Orisson

view from Orisson

spotted pigs

horse

friendly horse

sheep in the Pyrenees

horses on the hill

more sheep

Vierge d’Orisson Vierge de Biakorri

A man with his dogs

the endless road up

long-haired sheep

Over the Pyrenees we had magnificent sweeping views.

long-haired sheep

horse in the Pyrenees

pretty horse

we get on the grassy track

black-faced sheep

Santiago shelter

woodland

heather

beech forest

Col de Lepoeder is the high point on the Pyrenees at 1450 meters.

Me at Col de Lepoeder (1,450 meters) before descending to Roncesvalles

the rooftops of Roncesvalles

Roncesvalles

Roncesvalles

790 km to Santiago – one of many confusing signs

Roncesvalles to Espinal

the wooded path to Burgette

mossy rocks

a garden in jeans near Espinal, Spain

Espinal

Mary and her English friend

Espinal

Espinal – Iglesia de San Bartolemé

Haizea

*Day 2: Wednesday, September 5, 2018*

*40,066 steps, or 16.98 miles: Orisson to Espinal (24 km)*

You can find everything I’ve written so far on the Camino de Santiago here:

Camino de Santiago 2018

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“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write up to a post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose. In this case, one of my intentions for my Camino was to write using all my senses to describe place and to capture snippets of meaningful conversations with other pilgrims.

It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, January 21 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 22, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

on returning home from japan

wanderessence1025 January 7, 2019

I spent one semester teaching at Aoyama Gakuin University – Sagamihara campus with Westgate Corporation from March-August, 2017. I taught 2nd year university students majoring in Global Studies and Collaboration who were preparing for a study abroad in Thailand or Malaysia. I worked 9-hour days five days a week, and every weekend I went out exploring. I believe I had about two days of rest the whole time I was there!

I loved so much about Japan: The absolute regularity of everything from store opening times to train schedules. The smooth speed and convenience of the Shinkansen. The ubiquitous vending machines and the excellent food options at Seven & i Holdings, the parent company of the US-based 7-Eleven Inc. The dependable politeness of the Japanese — the kind greetings and the respectful bowing. The amazing Japanese gardens, moss gardens, botanical gardens, outdoor sculpture gardens, cherry blossoms, hydrangeas, parasol-shaded peonies, lotus flowers, quirky Rakan statues, and torii gates. The artistic displays of flowers, Japanese landscapes and calligraphy on sake barrels. The ema, teahouses, dragon-painted ceilings, carp flags, Chinese gates and tales of shoguns. The sushi, ramen, shrimp tempura, fresh fish, sake and beer. The impeccable cleanliness of the Japanese — the absence of garbage anywhere and the cleansing of worshipers in temizuya before they bowed, clapped their hands, rang bells, made offerings and prayed at temples and shrines. The efficient and convenient Japanese postal system, which made appointments to deliver or pick up packages. The tall bamboo at Hokokuji (the Bamboo Temple) in Kamakura. The huge Guanyin Bodhisattva at Ofuna and the Great Buddha of Nara at Todai-ji Temple. The “floating” O-torii Gate at Itsukushima Shrine in Miyajima. The colorful folded paper cranes at Hiroshima’s Children’s Peace Monument. The cheeky deer of Nara. The lively temples and devout Buddhist worshipers. The women wearing kimono or yukata. The monks swishing along in long robes. The vegetarian meals at shukubo (temple lodgings) and beautiful pre-dawn Buddhist ceremonies at temples in Koyasan.

As in every culture, there were things I didn’t care for: The constant work pressure and long hours. The students’ misbehavior and immaturity. The constant bustle and energy everywhere. The sheer size of the crowds at special bloom times, such as during hanami (cherry blossom viewing), at a wisteria festival at Kameido Tenjin, at the season of the rabbit-ear irises at the Nezu Museum, and at hydrangea walks in Kamakura. The assault on the senses in hyper-commercial areas of Tokyo, such as Shinjuku, Shibuya, and Akihabara Electric Town.

Shibuya

ion on a bicycle at Golden Gai

Tokyo

Ofuna

On the morning of August 8, 2017, I took an early taxi from Narita to Narita Airport, where I had a 10:40 a.m. flight to Dallas/Fort Worth airport. However, we sat on the runway for over an hour because Alaska’s tiny Bogoslof volcano had erupted, sending an ash cloud about 6 miles into the sky. As a “red” aviation warning was issued, we couldn’t take off until a new flight path was charted.

We took off over an hour late, so I knew before we left the ground that it was unlikely I would catch my connecting flight home to Virginia.

After an 11 hour and 45 minute flight, I arrived in Dallas at 9:50 a.m. on the same day, August 8, earlier than I left. I always find this amusing when traveling home from Asia.

However, because of our late departure from Tokyo, by the time I disembarked from the plane in Dallas, I missed the boarding time for my connecting flight. It turned out I would get on a later flight to Dulles Airport, a more convenient airport to my Virginia home than BWI, where I was originally scheduled to land.

Because I had extra time to kill in Dallas, I enjoyed a Mexican lunch at the airport, as I wouldn’t arrive home until dinnertime. Finally, after a three-hour and 12 minute flight, I was back home, and my Japan adventure had come to an end. It was a great adventure, a whirlwind really, and I felt a bit despondent when it was all over. 😦

Upon my return from Japan, I found out when I weighed myself for the first time in four months, that I lost 8 pounds while in Japan. I guess it was a combination of the healthy diet there and all the walking I did. 🙂

My walks while home became sporadic, and I rarely hit 10,000 steps a day. In Japan, I met my goal of 10,000 steps every day just by walking 30 minutes each way to work and being on my feet teaching. On weekends, I often walked 10-20,000 steps. Needless to say, the pounds started creeping back on since I wasn’t exercising as much at home. It was frustrating because I get bored walking around in circles in the same old places without any destination. My heart just wasn’t into walking, but I would have to get back to my regular exercise routine soon.

The first week after my return to Virginia, it was quite hot and humid, not much different from what I experienced in Japan. But on Wednesday, the 23rd, the weather improved and dropped to temperatures of my liking, around 75 degrees Fahrenheit (23C). This is perfect weather; my mood lifts considerably when I can feel a hint of fall in the air. 🙂

Upon my return, I found my youngest son had boomeranged back home from Hawaii and had settled into our basement. One of our agreements since he returned home was that he would hold a job, which he had done at that point. He’d been working hard, so hard in fact that he ended up with some kind of flu. He seemed to be doing well overall, and I was happy to have him stay temporarily as long as he was working. He was saving money to take a trip to the land down under to see his Australian girlfriend Maddy, who he’d met in Hawaii. He planned to be gone for nearly a month beginning September 20. On my second night back from Japan, he and I enjoyed a nice dinner together at the Whole Foods Seafood Bar.

Things felt strange once I returned. I felt that I’d returned to a parallel universe, and one not much to my liking. The very weekend after my return, I watched on TV a despicable white supremacy march in Charlottesville, about two hours from where I live in northern Virginia; in shock, I then had to listen to our “president” fanning the flames of hatred and arguing that there was moral equivalency between neo-Nazis, the KKK, and white supremacists and the “alt-left,” a made-up term lumping counter-protestors and Antifa, or anti-fascists, into one big boat. Granted, there should be no violence in protests, but the white supremacists marching openly with weapons in one of the most peaceful college towns in our state was a frightening display and one that almost begged violence from counter-protestors. I was disheartened by what our country was coming to, and it was hard to be back after being in a culture where people greet each other with respect and bow to each other in nearly every interaction!

I didn’t watch any movies the whole time I was in Japan (I didn’t even know where any movie theaters were, except in downtown Tokyo). In an effort to catch up, I went to several movies once I returned: The Big Sick and The Glass Castle, both of which I enjoyed. While I was in Japan, I watched three full seasons of The Good Wife, which I was hooked on.

The first weekend I was home, I took 4-hour naps each day as I tried to reverse my internal clock. In Japan, nighttime was daytime here, and daytime was nighttime here, so no wonder my body was confused. I didn’t get much of anything done. As a matter of fact, I felt somewhat paralyzed with indecision. I never had a spare minute in Japan, and at home I seemed to have too much time on my hands. I didn’t know how to focus my attention with so much time. It would take me a while to become acclimated to this parallel universe.

On Wednesday morning, August 16, I found out my daughter Sarah had taken a fall the evening before while running on a muddy path in the woods. She cut her knee wide open. She didn’t have her phone with her and had to walk with an open gaping wound until she found someone. Using a stranger’s phone, she called for an ambulance and was admitted to the emergency room where she had to have 25 stitches across her knee. She was immobilized for quite some time. As a waitress/bartender, she was losing valuable work time. I constantly worried about her, as a mother’s work as chief worrier is never over.

Adam took a course about podcasts and posted his first podcast on the same day I heard about Sarah, so there was a bit of good news as he had wanted to do this for some time.

On August 19, after I started to feel more like a human being, Mike and I went out to see the movie Wind River, which I enjoyed, and had dinner at Coyote Grill, where I had my favorite chili rellenos.

On Monday, August 21, I went at 2:00 to Kalypso’s at Lake Anne to watch the partial solar eclipse at 2:40 pm. It was a festive atmosphere, with people enjoying the beautiful day outdoors, drinking wine, wearing the funny eclipse glasses. I had seen a total eclipse in 1970 in southern Virginia, so I didn’t feel the need to travel a long distance to see the total eclipse, but Adam drove 10 hours to Tennessee, where he loved seeing a total eclipse for the first time in his life.

Mike and I began planning a holiday from September 22-October 7, 2017 to Budapest, Sopron, Vienna, Český Krumlov, and Prague. We spent many days plotting out our trip and making all our reservations. In preparation, I read guidebooks on Hungary, Austria and Czech Republic.

Alex came up from Richmond to visit and spent two days here. It was so nice to see him after my time in Japan. He, his dog Freya, and I took a walk on the Fairfax Cross County Trail on Wednesday, August 30. As we were walking, I felt a sting on my right wrist and looked down to see something small and black on my wrist. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t tell what it was, but I didn’t think it looked like a bee. I thought it might be a spider. Anyway, the second I felt the sting, I knocked the creature away with my left hand, and immediately felt a sting on my left middle finger. Whatever it was, it got me in two places, on both hands, and they hurt like hell! I watched as the sting areas reddened and spread into a hard and hot raised area up over my hand and around my wrist. The next day, I went to see the doctor, who advised me to take Benadryl and gave me an antibiotic.

It was a rough time coming back into this parallel universe, but overall I was glad to be home with my family, even though we all seemed to be falling apart due to nasty falls, stomach bugs, and spider bites.

Hiroshima

Miyajima

Nara’s Big Buddha

Koyasan

Narita

I spent a lot of time recording my time in Japan by editing my thousands of photos, and writing my blog about life in Japan. If you like, you can check out my Japan blog here: catbird in japan.

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“ON RETURNING HOME” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about returning home from one particular destination or, alternately, from a long journey encompassing many stops. How do you linger over your wanderings and create something from them? How have you changed? Did the place live up to its hype, or was it disappointing? Feel free to address any aspect of your journey and how it influences you upon your return. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

For some ideas on this, you can check out the original post about this subject: on returning home.

Include the link in the comments below by Sunday, February 3 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Monday, February 4, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation on the first Monday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

chaco culture: chetro ketl & pueblo bonito

wanderessence1025 January 6, 2019

Archeologists use the word “great house” to describe large sites such as Chetro Ketl and Pueblo Bonito. They share many architectural features such as planned layouts, multi-storied construction, distinctive masonry, sprawling rooms, plazas and huge subterranean ceremonial chambers called “great kivas.”

Chetro Ketl is the second largest great house in Chaco Culture National Historical Park. It covers more than three acres and includes an immense elevated earthen plaza that stands 12 feet above the valley floor. The trail here offers a unique view into the lower sections of the building and the construction of the great kiva.

Chetro Ketl

Here, builders quarried rocks for construction, harvested timbers on distant mountains, and erected massive blocks of rooms during building episodes. The people built dams and canals, and engineered straight avenues and “roads” that crisscrossed the region and connected Chaco to distant communities.

Chetro Ketl

All of these projects required complex planning, organization, and cooperation on a region-wide level.

masonry at Chetro Ketl

masonry at Chetro Ketl

Chetro Ketl

kiva at Chetro Ketl

wall at Chetro Ketl

kiva at Chetro Ketl

Chetro Ketl

Chetro Ketl

Chetro Ketl

masonry at Chetro Ketl

Chetro Ketl

It was very hot and dry walking through these complexes, with no shade in sight, and I ran out of water quickly. I could see my car the whole time, but I didn’t want to walk back to it and then have to retrace my steps. I should have gone back to the car, because in the heat of the canyon, I felt parched, sunburned, and slightly dizzy. A sign in a pit toilet warned about heatstroke, and I wondered if I felt this way due to the power of suggestion, or if I were really dehydrated.

Walking on the path along the cliff from Chetro Ketl to Pueblo Bonito, I found a most unlikely character.

sea creature at Chaco Canyon

Pueblo Bonito is the core of the Chaco complex and the largest great house. It is deeper into the canyon than Chetro Ketl. Built in stages between the mid 800s and the early 1100s, Pueblo Bonito reached at least four stories with over 600 rooms and 40 kivas. The building served many functions, including ceremony, administration, trading, storage, hospitality, communication, astronomy and burial of the honored dead. Only a small portion seemed to serve as living quarters.

Pueblo Bonito

The graveled trail through Pueblo Bonito is 0.73 miles roundtrip.

Overlooking Pueblo Bonito

Researchers believe great houses were examples of public architecture, used only periodically when ceremonies, commerce or trading drew people together from other areas. It is believed these great houses did not have large resident populations.

Pueblo Bonito

Lt. James Simpson and his Mexican guide, Carravahal, gave Pueblo Bonito its name (“Beautiful Town” in Spanish) in 1849, during a military expedition into Navajo territory. For the Hopi and the Pueblo people of New Mexico, this great house is an important part of their ancestral homeland — a special place where clans stopped and lived during their sacred migrations. Descendants of these groups continue to return to this place to honor the spirits of their ancestors.

Pueblo Bonito is the most thoroughly investigated, visited, and celebrated cultural site in Chaco Canyon. This was the center of the Chacoan world, a world that eventually covered much of the present-day southwest, including the San Juan Basin in New Mexico and portions of Colorado, Arizona and Utah.

Pueblo Bonito

Great kivas are found in nearly every Chacoan culture built between 900-1200. Often located within or near the plazas of great houses, they were central to communities. They were probably used for ceremonial purposes and could have accommodated hundreds of people.

kiva at Pueblo Bonito

kiva at Pueblo Bonito

The building’s unique D-shaped geometry enclosed two plazas with dozens of ceremonial kivas. Straight avenues linked the building with nearby and distant great houses.

Pueblo Bonito

wall at Pueblo Bonito

Pueblo Bonito

Pueblo Bonito

walls at Pueblo Bonito

Burials uncovered at Pueblo Bonito contained large quantities of worked shell, turquoise pendants and beads, conch-shell trumpets, painted flutes, and other items perhaps representing people of higher rank or status in the Chacoan society.

Pueblo Bonito

While great houses such as Pueblo Bonito and Chetro Ketl were being used, smaller, more typical villages throughout the canyon were also inhabited, suggesting that different groups of people, perhaps speaking different languages, lived side by side.

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This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Canalside at Leeds in Christmas.

poetic journeys: what i carried

wanderessence1025 January 4, 2019

What I Carried

I carried “just in case” scenarios in my
hat, gloves, rain poncho, and extra layers –
to guard against infringements
by unruly weather.

I carried useless things: the camera I thought I’d need
in case my iPhone died. The waterproof
notepad tucked in my turquoise pouch,
where memories wouldn’t be washed away.

I carried my fears in the neon orange
whistle slung over my shoulder — fears
of vicious dogs and lurking men, fears
of losing myself or losing my voice.

I carried respect for my feet in the jar of Vaseline
and the tiny pocketknife with the tiniest of scissors
to cut tape for blisters. Respect for my knees
in a knee sleeve and athletic tape. Respect

for my parched body in the water, sloshing heavily in a bladder
in my day pack. I carried my aching shoulders and bone-tired legs,
my snoring and frequent bathroom breaks, only because
it was impossible to leave them behind.

I carried my flyaway thoughts, my fickle memory,
my mistrust of strangers in the journal I never let out of my sight,
those pages that held close the moments of my days:
joys and sorrows, resentments and frustrations.

I carried my longing and dogged determination in the
Brierley guidebook’s torn-out pages, with their crowded
words, main and alternate routes, elevation maps, kilometers,
pilgrim hostels, cafés, and practical and mystical paths.

I carried my losses: my deceased mother and brother,
my distant and judgmental father, my unreachable son.
I carried my love for them all. I carried my failures, my selfishness,
my anger, intolerance, annoyance and impatience.

I carried my worries in my pack, in my heart, in my mind,
in my insomnia. Even after I rubbed them into a rock and
placed them at the foot of Cruz de Ferro, they stole back in,
thieves of my serenity.

I carried my solitude, guarded it even,
until some stranger’s kindness penetrated it.
I held tightly to my aloofness, even
when it served no purpose.

I carried my awe of coral sunrises, of cows, pigs, sheep and shepherds,
of Vespers and priests that laid their hands on my bowed head.
I carried blessings from those priests and stories shared by fellow pilgrims,
of lives brimming with suffering and hope.

Into churches, I carried my meager faith, sent my prayers – for my adult
children, my friends, my country – into the vortex of pleas from all pilgrims
through a thousand years, converging from naves, aisles, and cloisters and
spiraling into a sky turbulent with prayers.

I carried possibilities: that I could finish, be safe, discover a sense of wonder.
That I could learn to trust that my pilgrim prayers,
given weight in their mingle with a million others, might grow wings,
and just might save me, might save us all.

A pilgrim’s dreams

Inside Iglesia de Santiago at Carrión de los Condes

Cruz de Ferro

wooded path in Galicia

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“POETRY” Invitation: I invite you to write a poem of any poetic form on your own blog about a particular travel destination. Or you can write about travel in general. Concentrate on any intention you set for your poetry.

In this case, my intention was to write a poem about the things I carried on my pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago.

You can either set your own poetic intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: poetry. (This page is a work in process). You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, January 31 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, February 1, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the first Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

January 2019
M	T	W	T	F	S	S
« Dec
	1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12	13
14	15	16	17	18	19	20
21	22	23	24	25	26	27
28	29	30	31

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