~ wander.essence ~

anticipation & preparation: vietnam in 2011

wanderessence1025 July 26, 2019

There was still a lot I didn’t know about Vietnam, but in the months before my trip, I tried to immerse myself in the culture from afar, reading novels, guidebooks, memoirs, historical books and watching movies.

Vietnamese Buddhist temple

My Korean friend Kim Dong Hee had seen the movies Indochine and The Scent of Green Papaya, so she was determined that I should see them as well. One night we went to the DVD bang in Daegu and watched the 1992 French film Indochine, with Catherine Deneuve and Vincent Perez. Set in 1930s French Indochina, it tells the tale of a love triangle between a rubber plantation owner, her adopted daughter and a younger French navy lieutenant. The rising Vietnamese nationalist movement is the backdrop of the movie. It was a great movie that gave me a feel for Vietnam under the French Protectorate.

I read a book by Uyen Nicole Duong called Daughters of the River Huong; it told of 4 generations of women in the same family, beginning with the story of the Mystique Concubine of the King at the time when the French were in charge in Vietnam; the love story continued through to the modern-day. This this book, I got a a feel for the beauty and the mystique of Vietnamese culture.

I also read Catfish and Mandala, a memoir by Andrew X. Pham, a Vietnamese-American guy who bicycled all around Vietnam to explore his heritage. He and his family escaped Vietnam after the fall of Saigon in 1975. This book tells a true story of Vietnam from a victim’s perspective, with no gloss or glimmer. The horrors visited upon families during the war are depicted here; when he returned to his home in 1989 for this trip, Vietnam was still a very poor country, rife with corruption and filth. It’s a memorable and sometimes disturbing personal story of war and a search for roots and identity. Some parts were difficult to read, but I’m glad I did, because I could really feel for Andrew’s struggles and the search for peace in his life.

When my son Alex came to visit in Korea in December of 2010, he brought two movies, The Scent of Green Papaya and Three Seasons. Kim Dong Hee, who had been dying to see The Scent of Green Papaya for months, went with me to dinner at Little Italy across the road from my apartment. We shared an entire bottle of wine and then took my DVD to 3 DVD bangs before we were able to find one that could play an American-made DVD. We settled in to watch it. It was really a mood piece, depicting the simple daily lives of a Vietnamese family and a servant girl. It had very little dialogue and even less action. After all the wine I drank, I’m sorry to say I fell asleep and missed parts of it! Kim said it looked to her like I slept through the whole thing, but I think she was mistaken because I remembered a lot. A lot of lush green leaves dripping with dew, green papayas, cooking, scrubbing of floors, and ants. Taken from Wikipedia, here’s a plot description:

A young girl, Mui, becomes a servant for a rich family. The family consists of a frequently absent husband, a wife and two young boys. When the husband leaves, he takes all the household’s money. As Mui grows up, the family falls on hard times, and eventually she becomes a servant for a pianist who befriends the family. That man is engaged to be married, but he prefers playing the piano to spending time with his fiance. One night, after blowing off his fiance yet again, the pianist sleeps with Mui. The engagement is broken off. The pianist starts teaching Mui how to read and write. A pregnant Mui reads to her unborn child.

I read another book by Duong Thu Huong called Paradise of the Blind, the first Vietnamese novel published in the United States in 1988. In 2010, it was banned in Vietnam because of the political views expressed. It told the story of a girl whose family was torn apart by the Communist takeover, including the land reforms and the so-called Rectification of Errors. The girl’s uncle was the primary culprit in the novel and was the personification of the evils of Communism. A powerful book, it infuriated me to read it.

Last but not least, on Christmas Day, my colleague Myrna lent me her computer, since mine crashed two days before Christmas, and I watched the 1999 movie, Three Seasons, a movie that takes place in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon, well after the war. It tells intertwining tales of different Vietnamese characters in a changing Saigon, including that of an American ex-soldier who comes in search of his lost daughter and a cyclo-driver who falls in love with a Vietnamese high-class call girl. The movie may be somewhat romanticized but I found it also depicted the dark underbelly of the city, especially in the story of a little boy, Woody, who lived on the streets. But the story was also a hopeful one, one that showed a Vietnam on the verge of a new life, caught up in modernization and globalization.

Scent of Green Papaya

Three Seasons

I would take along another book by Andrew X. Pham called The Eaves of Heaven, which I planned to read while I was traveling, in between writing, seeing the sights, floating on a junk in Halong Bay, and eating some great Vietnamese food!

Books set in Vietnam:

American Romantic by Ward Just (Indochina) ****
A Dangerous Friend by Ward Just (Indochina)
The Eaves of Heaven: A Life in Three Wars by Andrew X. Pham ****
Catfish and Mandala: A Two-Wheeled Voyage through the Landscape and Memory of Vietnam by Andrew X. Pham ****
Daughters of the River Huong by Uyen Nicole Duong ****
Paradise of the Blind by Dương Thu Hương ****
The Unwanted: A Memoir of Childhood by Kien Nguyen
The Lover by Marguerite Duras (Indochina)
The Lotus Eaters by Tatjana Soli
What It’s Like to Go to War by Karl Marlantes
The Things They Carried (stories) by Tim O’Brien
If I Die in a Combat Zone, Box Me Up and Ship Me Home by Tim O’Brien
Going After Cacciato by Tim O’Brien
The Man From Saigon by Marti Leimbach
The Quiet American by Graham Greene
Chickenhawk by Robert Mason (Thanks to Mari for the remaining suggestions)
Live from the Battlefield, autobiography of one of the greatest war correspondents, Peter Arnett
Nam by Mark Baker
In Pharoh’s Army by Tobias Wolff
Dispatches by Michael Herr (possibly Mari’s favourite)
All the Wrong Places by James Fenton
A Wavering Grace by Gavin Young
Derailed in Uncle Ho’s Victory Garden by Tim Page
A Bright Shining Lie by Neil Sheehan (history)
Winning Hearts and Minds, war poems by Vietnam Vets

Movies set in Vietnam:

The Deer Hunter (1978) ****
Apocalypse Now (1979) ****
Platoon (1986) ****
Good Morning, Vietnam (1987)
Full Metal Jacket (1987)
Hamburger Hill (1987)
Born on the Fourth of July (1989)
Casualties of War (1989)
Indochine (1992) *****
The Lover (1992)
The Scent of Green Papaya (1993) ***
Heaven and Earth (1993)
Forrest Gump (1994) *****
Cyclo (1995)
Three Seasons (1999) ****
The Vertical Ray of the Sun (2000) *****
The Quiet American (2002)
We Were Soldiers (2002)
The Fog of War (2003)
The Beautiful Country (2004)
The Buffalo Boy (2004)
Owl and the Sparrow (2007)
Tropic Thunder (2008)
21 and a Wake Up (2009)
The Sapphires (2012)
Noble (2014)
The Vietnam War (Ken Burns 10-episode TV series) (2017) *****

Hanoi

junks in Halong Bay

Finally, on Tuesday, January 11, 2011, I was sitting in Daegu, Korea and finalizing the details of my trip to Vietnam and Cambodia. I would leave the following Thursday, January 13; my plane would take off at 2:15 pm from Incheon and arrive in Hanoi at 11:15 the same evening, after a 5 hour layover in Guangzhou, China. As usual, I was stressed out, as I always was before I travel; thinking of all the details made my head spin. In addition to the regular stress, something happened to my back; I didn’t do a thing, just got out of my bed after a nap on Sunday, and voila, I couldn’t move! Why was it that I always got sick or got some physical pain right before I left for a vacation? So, in addition to being stressed because there was not enough time to get everything ready, I had to take the time to visit the hospital for physical therapy on my back!

Here was my itinerary for Vietnam:

January 13-14 & January 17-18, 2011: Hanoi Ngoc Mai Hotel: Address: : 07-17 Cua Dong str., Old Quarter, Hoan Kiem Dist, Hanoi, Vietnam

Tel: (84-4) 3923 1931/39231932 – 3828 6236/38282605

Hanoi Ngoc Mai Hotel

January 15-16: Indochina Junk on Halong Bay (The Dragon’s Pearl Junk): Indochina Junk

************************

“ANTICIPATION & PREPARATION” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about anticipation & preparation for a particular destination (not journeys in general). If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, August 22 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, August 23, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the 4th Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂 If you’d like to read more about the topic, see: journeys: anticipation & preparation.

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

call to place: vietnam in 2011

wanderessence1025 July 25, 2019

In January of 2011, I had been living and teaching English in South Korea for almost a year and had been trying to explore as much of Asia as I could. I felt the urge to travel during my winter break to Vietnam and Cambodia. In Vietnam, I’d throw myself into the craziness of Hanoi and sail on a placid junk through the mystical karsts of Halong Bay.

chaos in Hanoi

karsts in Halong Bay

karsts in Halong Bay

I was excited, as always, to travel to an exotic land. But, I also felt trepidation about this trip, mainly because of my lifetime exposure to the horrors of the Vietnam War and the extensive reading I’d been doing to prepare. I was a child of the Vietnam War-era, but I was in the generation too late, thank goodness, to actually go to war. I was too young to understand everything that was going on at the time, but I remember the horrifying images of the war brought into our living room nightly on T.V.: A Viet Cong suspect being shot point blank in the head, the terrified naked “Napalm girl,” a Buddhist monk setting himself on fire, and many others. The Vietnam War was the first U.S. military conflict to be televised. We had never before been able to watch, from the comfort of our homes, scenes of a faraway war unfold in moving pictures.

The world seemed a crazy and scary place in those years of my youth.

This June of 2019, I saw an exhibit, Artists Respond: American Art and the Vietnam War (1965-1975), at the Smithsonian American Art Museum (SAAM). The following photos by Martha Rosler from the series House Beautiful: Bringing the War Home, juxtapose the feminine realm of domestic life with the masculine business of waging war. The artist combined documentary and advertising images cut from popular magazines like Life and Ladies’ Home Journal to show figures from the war front, like soldiers or refugees, moving unexpectedly through affluent American homes. The photomontages aim to show how we are all interconnected, and they are reminders of how the war was brought into our U.S. homes, far from the violence our country was inflicting on Vietnam. The artist collapses the distance between “here” and “there,” essentially “bringing the war home.”

Red Stripe Kitchen by Martha Rosler

First Lady (Pat Nixon) by Martha Rosler

Beauty Rest by Martha Rosler

Cleaning the Drapes by Martha Rosler

From my home, I also watched news coverage of student protests on college campuses all over America and was infuriated by the Kent State massacre and by the way war protestors were vilified. My father was a die-hard Republican who hated war protestors, and I grew up having to listen to his tirades. I didn’t know at that time who was right, but since then, I have learned much about the Vietnam War and what a disaster it was for our country and for the Vietnamese people. And I have formed solid opinions about people’s rights to protest horrible things that governments do.

Here is a poem I wrote about a famous photograph (see photo here) taken in the aftermath of the Kent State shootings:

KENT STATE FREEZE FRAME

A young woman kneels, face jumbled,
mouth open, howling in disbelief.
In her daisy bellbottoms, she grabs
a faceless friend in a fringe jacket.
A white scarf hangs lopsided
around her neck like a noose.
The acrid smell of gunpowder
and blood blossoms in the air.

She belts out her death wail.
I traipse by and gape, as captured
by her screaming agony as by the dead
blue-jean boy lying face down
in blood and concrete.  He’s stretched out
straight as a battle line,
like my boyfriend
when he sleeps on the beach.

Someone tells me they also killed
two other boys and a girl.  Before
she was shot, she slipped a flower
into the barrel of a guardsman’s rifle
with a wistful smile –
“Flowers are better than bullets.”

Dazed and foggy, I’m on my way
to Biology lab, not even part of the protest.
I hate the whole Vietnam, Cambodia scene,
but my God, it’s on the other side of the world.
Frankly, I don’t want to get involved.
Now, here it is on my campus
and I want to kneel with that girl
and wail for my massacred fellow students
and all the boys blown apart in Vietnam,
and for fathers who think the way
mine does – that those damn hippies
deserve to die.

I wrote this poem in reaction to the photograph, as if I were a college student at Kent State. I was too young to be in college during the Kent State massacre, but I wasn’t too young to be furious over, and disgusted by, my father’s and others’ anti-protester rants.

One prominent protester of the war was Muhammad Ali. I remember my father’s diatribes about him too, because Ali objected to the draft and refused to fight in Vietnam. By taking a stand against the war, he put himself into the crossfire of public opinion. Earlier this year, I visited the Muhammad Ali Center in Louisville, Kentucky, where I learned of his opposition to the war.

Changing Opinion

Muhammad Ali’s words

more about the war

Muhammad Ali

In later years, in one of my writing classes, I read a great short story by Tim O’Brien, “The Things They Carried.” It told about the things American soldiers in the Vietnam war carried with them and the meanings behind these things; in essence, these items told the greater stories of the soldiers’ lives and the horrendous war they were part of.

In another part of the recent SAAM exhibit, I saw how American artists made statements about the immorality of the war. Dennis Oppenheim’s photograph, “Reading Position for Second Degree Burn,” shows two photographs of the artist lying on the beach for five hours with a volume of military field tactics on his bare chest. He was trying to register a sense of what many human bodies in 1970 had to endure: His weaponizing of the sun, in particular, conjured media reports of American soldiers baking in the Vietnamese heat and Vietnamese citizens being burned, far more gruesomely, by napalm weapons (from a plaque at the museum).

Reading Position for Second Degree Burn by Dennis Oppenheim

In the Non-War Memorial, artist Edward Kienholz, “imagined thousands of army uniforms – the same number as American soldiers killed in the war – filled with clay and placed in a chemically destroyed meadow in northern Idaho. Given that mechanical and chemical deforestation were deliberate U.S. military strategies in Vietnam, Kienholz’s unrealized plan to plow under and poison a pristine field sought to bring the war home to the American West” (from a plaque at the museum).

The Non-War Memorial

Also in the SAAM exhibit, Liliana Porter appropriated a photo taken by photojournalist John Schneider of a woman detained by U.S. and South Vietnamese forces on suspicion of Communist affiliation. Her words go from “northvietnamese” to “my mother, my sister, you, I,” to guide the viewer to empathy and identification.

Untitled by Liliana Porter

Finally, there were the refugees. In The Vietnamese Exodus History Learning Project: the exodus, the camps and the half-lived lives, artist Tiffany Chung commissioned a group of young artists from present-day Ho Chi Minh City to make watercolors based on photographs of the refugee crisis in the late 1970s and 1980s. These images were unknown to the artists painting them, having grown up in a country whose textbooks and public conversations do not acknowledge the crisis. Through this process, the artists began to recover parts of their own past.

In one scene of an immigrant camp, a little girl holds out an empty food bowl, her hopeful expression unfazed by the rain and the barbed wire surrounding her.

The Vietnamese Exodus History Learning Project

The scene below depicts Hong Kong in 1988, when refugees were no longer admitted; it shows a father clutching a small child as scores of people disembark from a crowded boat.

The Vietnamese Exodus History Learning Project

The Vietnamese Exodus History Learning Project

I had seen one movie about Vietnam that evoked a peaceful and slow-paced culture. The 2000 movie, Vertical Ray of the Sun, was about 3 sisters and their families and their loves. The movie is full of lush greenery, drenching rains, and romantic scenes. This movie has colored my imaginings of Vietnam since I saw it in 2001. Of course, when I was younger, I also saw violent and disturbing Vietnam war movies, such as the 1979 film Apocalypse Now, Platoon, Good Morning, Vietnam, Born on the Fourth of July and others.

Vertical Ray of the Sun DVD & Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried.

Here’s the trailer for Vertical Ray of the Sun.

Here’s a video of Vietnamese music I found on YouTube to inspire future visits.

Though I was only able to go to the north of Vietnam on this trip in 2011, I hope to return sometime to the south.

********************

“THE CALL TO PLACE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about what enticed you to choose a particular destination. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. If your destination is a place you love and keep returning to, feel free to write about that. If you want to see the original post about the subject, you can check it out here: imaginings: the call to place.

Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, August 21 at 1:00 p.m. EST. My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, August 22.

If you’d like, you can use the hashtag #wanderessence.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the fourth 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!

Ulli, of Suburban Tracks, wrote about why he’s called to one day visit the capital of Inuit Art in Cape Dorset, Arctic Canada.
- Inuit Art at Cape Dorset, Nunavut, Arctic Canada
Anabel, of The Glasgow Gallivanter, wrote about what called her to Islay: family lore, walking and whiskey.
- Islay: call to place

Thanks to all of you who wrote posts about “the call to place.” 🙂

louisville, kentucky: of bourbon, bridles and boxers

wanderessence1025 July 23, 2019

Louisville, Kentucky. The city’s nicknames reveal its many sides: Derby City, River City, Gateway to the South, Falls City, The ‘Ville. Founded by George Rogers Clark and named for Louis XVI, it was my least favorite of the cities I visited during my Midwestern Triangle Road Trip.

Maybe it was the gloomy and cold weather that put me off. Maybe it was the heavy cast iron structures on Whiskey Row. Maybe it was the dark brick, blackened windows and earth colors of the imposing buildings in West Main District. Maybe it was the lack of a mural arts program such as Cincinnati’s or Philadelphia’s, and a profusion of messy graffiti. Maybe it was my inability to find charm in any of the neighborhoods. On the day I visited, the steely skies seemed magnified by the colors and heaviness of the buildings, the general dereliction of the neighborhoods.

There were good things of course. Churchill Downs immersed me in the history and excitement of the Kentucky Derby. I enjoyed the Frazier History Museum, where I learned all about bourbon: the bottles, speakeasies, and whiskey’s artistic side; I learned about bourbon barrels, limestone, wood, farming, grains, crops, and water – all the things that converge in Kentucky to make the perfect bourbon possible.

“The Lewis & Clark Experience” taught me about the Corps of Discovery, the specially-established unit of the United States Army that formed the nucleus of the Lewis and Clark Expedition from May 1804 to September 1806, and what eventually became of them: their keelboat and supplies; York, the only black man in the party — slave and manservant to William Clark since they were young; the young Indian woman, Sacagawea, and her baby and husband, who shared a tent with Lewis and Clark for most of the journey, and whose skills and resilience saved the mission more than once.

I learned about Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer, a flamboyant figure who rose to fame during the Civil War but met his end at the Battle of Little Bighorn. I saw Teddy Roosevelt’s Big Stick and Custer’s pistols.

I admired watercolors of life along the Ohio River by Harlan Hubbard (1900-1988), who lived with his wife on a shantyboat, floating up and down the Ohio River for five years; he wrote the book, Shantyboat: A River Way of Life. On the 2nd floor, I saw a German miniatures collection, which soldiers used to plot war maneuvers.

On the first floor was an amazing exhibit of photographs of Americana related to travel — kitschy American places and signs, gas pumps, coke machines and coke bottles from the 50s and 60s. This was the stuff of my childhood, so I traveled back in time in the exhibit titled “Road Map to Heaven,” through photographs taken by Linda Bruckheimer. After my delightful discovery of remnants of Route 66 last year during my Four Corners Road Trip, I found inspiration in these photographs. I want to keep taking American road trips and finding evidence of time at a standstill.

I watched the 35-minute film of Kentucky Show! narrated by actress Ashley Judd, a native Kentuckian. I learned about the different landscapes in Kentucky, the economics of coal-mining and bourbon-making and horse breeding and racing. I heard the voices of famous Kentuckians, including writer Bobbie Ann Mason. I learned about the importance of the city’s location, basketball in the state, and politics. The film captured the essence of Kentucky.

Frazier History Museum

Bourbon display at the Frazier

The Lewis & Clark Experience

“Road Map to Heaven”

German miniatures

I couldn’t figure out what a 30-foot-tall gold statue of David was doing on Main Street. I walked past the Louisville Slugger Museum notable for the 120-foot-tall baseball bat leaning against it. Erected in July 1996, the hollow carbon steel bat weighs 34 tons and simulates the 34-inch long wooden bat used by Babe Ruth in the early 1920s. It is covered with the same kind of paint used on battleships. Since I have little interest in baseball, I didn’t bother to go in. But I did love that bat.

At Los Aztecas, I sat at the bar and ate lunch of a chili relleno and ground beef taco, with refried beans and pink lemonade. It was cozy and warm, and here I could see Louisville society in microcosm.

30-foot-tall gold statue of David

Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory

downtown Louisville

downtown Louisville

downtown Louisville

Los Aztecas

at the bar at Los Aztecas

chili relleno, taco with refried beans

At the Muhammad Ali Center, I watched a fascinating movie, “If You Can Dream,” narrated by James Earl Jones and Maya Angelou. Exhibits showed the famous boxer’s early boxing career during the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War. I had forgotten that he was originally Cassius Clay but changed his name when he converted to Islam; he wanted to rid himself of that slave name. He also refused to go to Vietnam when he was drafted because he would not aid in white domination over dark-skinned people by killing.

In his early days, he had quite an ego, and plenty of gusto, confidence and bravado, but he was certainly a man who lived by his convictions. The museum, in a prominent spot looking over I-64 and the Ohio River, was well done, leaving me impressed with this man’s contribution to the world. Ali’s six core guiding principles were 1) confidence, 2) conviction, 3) dedication, 4) giving, 5) respect, and 6) spirituality.

This museum showed the best of Louisville. It took a hard look at racism and the immorality of the Vietnam War, as well as the struggles of the 1960s and onward. Our country to this day grapples with racist attitudes, police brutality, and the dehumanization of people of color. Muhammad Ali fought to bring these issues to the forefront. He was a boxer, yes, but he was more importantly an activist for African Americans at a time when they were beaten down at every turn.

I came face to face with a painted horse standing on a bourbon barrel, part of the 2015 Gallopalooza, an event held every five years that bridges artists and sponsors, and holds an auction that finds homes for these life size horse statues.

Muhammad Ali Center

Display at the Muhammad Ali Center

downtown Louisville

colorful horse on a bourbon barrel

I went on the Speakeasy Tour at the Evan Williams Bourbon Experience. I had to whisper a password to get into the “illegal and secret” establishment. I am not a big fan of bourbon, but since it’s one of Louisville’s claims to fame, I figured I’d partake. I downed my first glass and then found I was supposed to “chew” it, or swish it back and forth in my mouth so I got used to it. I never got used to it and failed to see the appeal.

Later, I dropped into KMAC, or the Kentucky Museum of Art and Craft, where there was an exhibit of Clay Bodies by Sarah Crowner, as well as fabulous paintings by young students.

Evan Williams Bourbon Experience

Kentucky Center for the Performing Arts

a gloomy downtown Louisville

a beaded stretch limo

street sculpture looking a little worse for wear

Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory

KMAC Exhibition

After leaving downtown, I drove around looking for certain neighborhoods that were in my guidebook, hoping to find an appealing restaurant for dinner. The neighborhoods seemed derelict, rough and uninviting. I was frustrated that there seemed to be no place where I could walk up and down a street and find a restaurant that invited me in. It was only when a restaurant randomly came up in my Instagram feed that I found Ditto’s in Bardstown. In that cute and cavernous restaurant, I had a crab cake on a salad of lettuce, cranberries, carrots, purple cabbage and broccoli, all accompanied by a mint julep. For dessert, I treated myself to a delicious chocolate brownie torte with a layer of marshmallow and raspberry sauce.

The friendliness of Louisville came out in that Ditto’s waitress, and I felt at last, as my day came to an end, that I was at home in Louisville.

street art in Louisville

fading ad in Louisville

Ditto’s in Louisville

mint julep at Ditto’s in Bardstown

I live in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., in northern Virginia, but I go periodically into the city for explorations. Washington is the nation’s capital and it has some beautiful neighborhoods. Wide avenues weave through the city between white or colorful buildings. Some of the best museums in the country (including the Smithsonian museums, which are free to the public), and multitudes of monuments, are on offer. Washington also has more money, filled as it is with expensive real estate owned by a plethora of politicians, lobbyists and lawyers, than a city such as Louisville. Of course, as in many American cities, it has its share of derelict and crime-ridden neighborhoods. Somehow there is plenty in D.C. that seems inviting, whereas I didn’t find this in Louisville.

Maybe, as an outsider, I simply wasn’t looking in the right places. And possibly, my opinion of it is colored by my politics. I know Kentucky is a red state that voted for Trump in 2016. They also keep that loathsome senator Mitch McConnell seated in Congress. Virginia, my home, is a blue state, and northern Virginia is actually quite liberal compared to the rest of the state, parts of which are very conservative. I prefer places that embrace diversity. But Washington itself can be awfully conservative, dowdy, and prim and proper to a degree I find annoying. Louisville didn’t seem to have pretensions, as D.C. does. Louisville does the down-to-earth thing much better than Washington. That I appreciated.

*Friday, March 1, 2019*

*Steps: 8,254, or 3.5 miles*

**********************

“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 my intention was to tell about something I didn’t like about my destination:

Describe what it is you don’t like and then compare how the culture is different from what you’re used to in your part of the country. Consider how the way something in another culture is done could be better than how it’s done in your own culture.

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, August 12 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, August 13, 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!

{camino day 26} calzadilla de la cuenza to san nicolás del real camino

wanderessence1025 July 21, 2019

I had another stunning walk today of only 15.4km. The thing that makes me happiest when walking is a cool breeze, and I had just that from the moment I left at 6:50 a.m. until I arrived at tonight’s destination. Even after the sun rose, the pleasant breeze kept on giving.

As I shook off the dust of Calzadilla de la Cuenza from my feet in the dark, 30-year-old Anne-Charlotte from Lille, France appeared by my side and we shared our reasons for doing the Camino. I told her about my loved one and she told me of her boyfriend who has been suffering from trauma because he was accused of stealing at his last job, so he hadn’t been able to work since. She came from a family where everyone had a good job and they couldn’t understand why she was with him. She had been walking from Le Puy-en-Velay for two months and figured it was her Camino, not her family’s. It was a time for her to figure out her situation on her own without her family’s interference.

It was dark and we both had on headlamps so I barely saw her face. It was like that on the Camino – a person appeared beside you and you shared intimate details of your life and then you parted ways. In this case, after our lovely conversation, I had to take a nature break and she went on. These kinds of encounters happen so often on the Camino, pilgrims think of these appearances, or apparitions, as Camino angels. No advice was generally given; it was just simple sharing about life and our struggles. I was left to mull over thoughts that arose from the encounters. I’d had too many of these moments to count. It was one of many things that was magical about the Camino.

Calzadilla de la Cuenzato to Opción (1.0 km) to Ledigos (5.1 km)

Calzadilla de la Cueza to Ledigos

Camino arrow of rocks

Calzadilla de la Cueza to Ledigos

The other joy was that I took an optional path off the main Camino, without a soul in front or behind me, between Ledigos and Terradillos de los Templarios. It was lovely rolling farmland dotted with rectangular and cylindrical hay bales. A stunning sky hovered overhead. A special gift. The Camino gave and kept on giving.

Since I took the optional path, I skirted the town of Terradillos de los Templarios, supposedly the halfway point of the Camino. According to the Brierley guidebook, this town “approximates to the halfway point between St. Jean Pied de Port and Santiago de Compostela.” I couldn’t believe I’d made it this far!

Optional path from Ledigos (2.8 km vs. 3.4 km) to Terradillos de los Templarios

dovecote at the optional path from Ledigos to Terradillos de los Templarios

Optional path: Ledigos to Terradillos de los Templarios

Optional path: Ledigos to Terradillos de los Templarios

Optional path: Ledigos to Terradillos de los Templarios

Optional path: approaching Terradillos de los Templarios

Optional path: approaching Terradillos de los Templarios

In the following town, Moratinos, I stopped for my second breakfast of “artisan cheese on bread drizzled with olive oil.” In the town was a big mound of dirt with doorways; these were bodegas, used for food storage and wine-making. A fellow pilgrim, John, pointed out a TV antenna coming out of the mound, indicating someone must have been living there.

A sign at Las Bodegas de Moratinos informed us that “No, the hobbits don’t live here!”

These little caves are “bodegas,” used in the past for food storage and wine-making. Moratinos is one of several hillside bodega groups visible along the Camino de Santiago trail, part of a wine culture that dates back 2,000 years to the Romans.

The fields around you once were covered in vines, and the caves were full of wine presses, barrels, massive clay vessels, and bottling vats. Each family made wine enough each year to meet their own needs for the months ahead.

Only two or three Moratinos families still make their own wine, but the caves their ancestors dug into this hillside are used occasionally to store cheese, hams, and vegetables. Other bodegas were abandoned when their owners moved away to work in the city.

No one can say how old these bodegas are, but the stories told about them, and equipment still stored inside, say some may be at least 500 years old. Legend says they were dug in wintertime, a pastime for children who could keep warm and occupied scooping out the soft clay. Once exposed to air, the earth hardened to a stony finish, strong enough to support the waste earth that was raised in buckets through the chimney ventilation-shaft and dumped out to form the roof of the present “Castillo.”

Nowadays bodegas are used for party rooms and storage cellars.

Terradillos de los Templarios to Moratinos (3.2 km)

Terradillos de los Templarios to Moratinos

Hostel Moratinos

Las Bodegas de Moratinos

door in Las Bodegas de Moratinos

After leaving the bodegas, we came to the parish church dedicated to St. Thomas. The surrounding trees were wearing festive colorful sleeves. Soon, we were leaving the town of Moratinos.

Moratinos with parish church dedicated to St. Thomas

dog at rest in Moratinos

festive trees in Moratinos

After that, it was only a short distance to San Nicolás del Real Camino. Before town, I saw the sign: “I know that I know nothing… but the 2nd bar is “cool”!! Socrates. This refers to a problem faced by bar owners who are not located at the entrance to Camino towns. Usually, pilgrims have been walking quite a distance, and by the time they reach a town, they stop at the first bar in town. In many towns, if they don’t stop at the first bar, there is no other bar, so they’re out of luck. I know whenever I reached a town, I was ready to stop immediately at the first bar.

Moratinos (3.2 km) to San Nicolás del Real Camino (2.8 km)

Moratinos to San Nicolás del Real Camino

“I know that I know nothing… but the 2nd bar is “cool”!! Socrates

approaching San Nicolás del Real Camino

As I walked into San Nicolás del Real Camino, I saw Simon, Karen, and Tasmanians Bud and Adele, having snacks and a beer at the first bar in town, Casa Barrunta. I had reserved a bed at the second bar (the one referred to in the above sign), so I told them I’d go check in and then return to see if they were still there.

I checked in at Albergueria Laganares, a most charming place. When I walked in, romantic French music was softly playing. The owners were very friendly and welcoming.

Albergueria Laganares

After a shower and laundry, I returned to have a limon y cerveza at the first bar in town with Simon, Karen, Bud and Adele. We talked of the simplicity of the Camino and how we want to downsize when we return home. Karen said she looked forward to a shopping spree for new clothes. I agreed heartily with her as I was so sick of wearing the same clothes day after day. Karen was always so stylish and cute. Simon was super friendly and Bud and Adele were incredibly laid back.

Restaurante Casa Barrunta

Karen, me, Bud, Adele and Simon

The town was smaller than Calzadilla de la Cuenza but exuded so much more charm.

My friends all moved on, heading for the night to Sahagún, another 6.2 km along; it was a major stopping point along this stage of the Camino.

I returned to Albergueria Laganares. Out back was a small green courtyard, brightened by abundant flower pots and window boxes, where pilgrims could do laundry. Not many people seemed to be staying here, probably because of Sahagún ahead.

Albergueria Laganares

There were only 20 beds at the albergue. Spanish and French music wafted through, creating a mellow and pleasant ambiance. I felt a bit angst-ridden for the husband-and-wife owners, as theirs was the second bar in town; it was awfully quiet all afternoon. They had fixed up the place so delightfully.

Out front was a shaded seating area in a square beside the parish church, Iglesia de San Nicolás Obispo. Sitting outside in the afternoon, I had crudites and hummus, accompanied by a glass of wine. I enjoyed watching the pilgrims walking past. There was another guy sitting out there; he didn’t say a word so I assumed he must be non-English speaking. However, it turned out he was Phil from Britain. He was not very talkative or friendly, and when I’d see him numerous times in the days ahead, he would continue to remain aloof.

wine, crudites and hummus

Iglesia de San Nicolás Obispo

the town of San Nicolás del Real Camino

the town of San Nicolás del Real Camino

Iglesia de San Nicolás Obispo

Iglesia de San Nicolás Obispo

In the late afternoon, I had a WhatsApp call with Mike. My sons were getting ready to sign a lease and move into a new apartment. I hoped it would work out for them to live together, although I had my doubts.

We had a lovely pilgrim meal in the albergue: lentil soup, albondigas with French fries, and pudding. I met Pierre from France, Marius and Simona from Lithuania, Irene, Chen and another person from Taiwan, Augusto from Spain, Phil from Britain, and 19-year-old Moritz from Germany who had been walking 40-45 km/day for over two months from Germany.

Simona told how she stayed in an albergue whose owner had done the Camino many times. This woman believed the Camino was a death walk: you shed who you were to make way for becoming someone new.

front: Pierre; L to R: Marius, Simona, Irene, Chen, unknown, Moritz, Augusto, me and Phil

Albondigas and French fries

In the albergue, only a young Korean girl shared the 10-bed room with me. She never said a word. She also sat alone upstairs on her phone while everyone else was at the pilgrim meal.

It was strange that I passed the halfway point in my Camino today. I got my last sello in my credenciale. Now I would have to use a new one for the second half of my journey.

**********

*Day 26: Saturday, September 29, 2018*

*24,542 steps, or 10.4 miles: Calzadilla de la Cueza to San Nicolás del Real Camino (15.4 km)*

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

Camino de Santiago 2018

**************

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: Porto Pim.

portuguese ceilings

wanderessence1025 July 18, 2019

I found the ceilings throughout Portugal to be quite elaborate and beautiful, so I thought I’d assemble some photos of them from my trips in 2013 and 2018.

“Ceilings must always be considered. They are the most neglected surface in a room.” ~ Albert Hadley

main chapel of the Cathedral of Evora 2013

Chapter House of the Capela dos Ossos, Evora 2013

Igreja da Conceicao Velha in Lisbon 2013

ceiling in Blazons Hall at Palácio Nacional de Sintra 2013

ceiling in Blazons Hall at Palácio Nacional de Sintra 2013

Blazons Hall at Palácio Nacional de Sintra 2013

the Palatine Chapel at Palácio Nacional de Sintra 2013

Galleon Room at Palácio Nacional de Sintra

The Palace of Monserrate in Sintra had some gorgeous ceilings and intricately carved arches.

Palace of Monserrate, Sintra 2013

ceiling at Palácio Nacional da Pena 2013

ceiling at Palácio Nacional da Pena 2013

Basilica dos Martires in Lisbon 2013

Basilica dos Martires in Lisbon 2018

The Sé of Braga showcased some fine painted ceilings.

Sé de Braga 2018

“Fear sees a ceiling. Hope sees the stars…” ~ Colton Dixon

Paço dos Duques de Bragança in Guimarães 2018

Torredos Clérigos in Porto 2018

Igreja de São Francisco 2018

Sé de Porto 2018

Sé de Porto 2018

Livraria Lello in Porto 2018

Igreja do Carmo in Porto 2018

church in Óbidos 2018

Palácio Nacional da Pena 2018

Igreja & Museu São Roque, Lisbon, 2018

“Not every wall needs a ceiling” ~ Munia Khan

Convento do Carmo in Lisbon 2013

*********************

“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!

In my case, my intention was to look for thematic possibilities during my trip to Portugal and I found the country’s ceilings quite elaborate and unique.

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 20-25 photos and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, July 31 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, August 1, I’ll include your links in that post.

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

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

on journey: seeking optimism from illinois to louisville, kentucky

wanderessence1025 July 17, 2019

I tried to be optimistic as I left my sister’s house in southern Illinois to drive to Louisville, Kentucky, but the dreary, frigid and damp weather — 28°F with icy rain — didn’t help my outlook. My moods tend to vary drastically depending on the weather, and it didn’t help that at the last minute my sister backed out because of a problem with her dog Babe, who she planned to bring along. Steph isn’t much of a traveler anyway, so I guessed it was for the best.

After saying my goodbyes at 9:10, I drove through DeSoto in freezing rain, and the car was soon caked in ice. Loreena McKennitt sang “Beneath a Phrygian Sky,” which dangled elusive dreams of The English Patient and Turkey all rolled into one. The song put me in an optimistic state of mind until the brown eddies of the Little Muddy River quickly pulled me back into the gloomy winter landscape.

I passed silver silos and red chicken coops dotting miles of farmland. I assumed the large silver cylinders with cone tops were silos, although I didn’t know if that’s what they were properly called. A silo is a structure used in agriculture to store grains or fermented feed known as silage. I didn’t know if the things I saw were silos or grain elevators. My farm lingo was challenged, to say the least.

In the town of Hurst, population 800, I wondered what treasures hid in Dave’s Man Cave. In the town of Bush, population 300, a sorry-looking area surrounded T&T Recycling. Just past Royalton and Ziegler were two flags: a U.S. flag and another that said TRUMP 2020. Ugh. I passed Plumfield Christian Church and Kreative Kitchens & Baths as my wipers pounded against a frame of ice accumulating around the windshield’s edges.

I headed north on Rt. 57 and it was 29° and still raining ice as I passed Rend Lake. Before long, I was on I-64 heading east. My gas tank was getting low so I stopped at a Citgo, but all the pumps were closed. The proprietor of the Citgo informed me I’d have to drive 35 miles to the next station on I-64. The other option was to drive six miles each way off course to Wayne City, which I did. I figured I could make it six miles but didn’t know if my tank could carry me 35 miles.

I pushed the inside lever to open the gas tank but it was frozen over with a solid sheet of ice. I attacked the ice encasing the gas cover with my sturdy ice scraper. Then I went to work breaking up the ice buildup on the windshield. I felt like some kind of crazed maniac as I stabbed at the ice.

Finally, I was back on the interstate, a flat stretch of highway over soggy and boggy land, flat and every shade of brown. I was lucky it wasn’t snowing and that the highway wasn’t icing over. I passed Burnt Prairie and AntQ Mall Antiques, the Little Wabash River and Mt. Carmel. Just before noon, I got a Welcome to Indiana: Crossroads of America.

In Indiana, I crossed the Big Bayou River, then drove past New Harmony and Mt. Vernon. Industrial sized water sprinklers hovered over the land and silos hunched, sodden, in the fields. Past Stateline Fireworks and the Black River, I stopped at a rest area to assail the ice that had built up again on the windshield. Then it was on past Poseyville, Cynthiana and Evansville. A Monastery offered prayers and a gift shop, and I supposed I should have stopped for a dose of optimism.

I called the Frazier Museum in Louisville to see what times the Kentucky Show! was playing. I figured I’d have to visit there tomorrow as I’d have a hard time making the last show at 3:00. I continued past Jasper, Birdseye, and Winzerwald Winery. I crossed into Eastern Standard Time, which put me at 2:15. I passed Marengo, Leavenworth, Indiana Caverns and Squire Boone Caverns, Palmyra and Corydon.

It was 3:07 by the time I passed the Kentucky state line: Welcome to Kentucky: United We Stand, Divided We Fall. Despite the continual testing of my threadbare optimism, I made it to Louisville and got to the Kentucky Derby Museum by 3:20.

Barbaro sculpture at Churchill Downs

At the Museum, I joined a tour of the outdoor racetrack at Churchill Downs. It was a miserable hour in the freezing rain, but I learned a thing or two: that the Kentucky Derby has been run every year since 1875; that it is run on the first Saturday in May; the whole event goes from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., in which time there are 14 horse races, the Derby being the 12th. Only three-year-old Thoroughbreds can run in the race, a distance of one and a quarter miles (2.0 km). After horses win, money multiplies as they breed and sire colts, anywhere between $175,000 – $500,000 for each shot, with a colt guaranteed. If an offspring becomes a champion, the sire’s fees can be raised.

a horse on display at the Kentucky Derby Museum

Churchill Downs

Churchill Downs

Churchill Downs

Churchill Downs

The Derby is the first leg of the American Triple Crown and is followed by the Preakness Stakes, then the Belmont Stakes. Anywhere from 16-20 horses can participate. All horses must carry 126 lb. (fillies carry 121 lb.). They must be weighed before and after the race. In the past some jockeys carried lead to get up to the required weight and then tossed it during the race.

the starting gate for the horses

Churchill Downs has 60,000 seats but no one is turned away. Usually around 170,000 wander around the stands, mostly in the infield. In the underground tunnel, up to $23 million – all cash – is wagered. Add concessions and lots of money is circulating.

the underground tunnel where wagers are made

I admired a rose-draped statue of Justify, winner of the 2018 Derby. The Derby is often called “The Run for the Roses” because of the blanket of roses draped over the winner. Because it was raining on that May day in 2018, the track was sloppy and difficult.

Justify decked out in roses

Back in the warmth of the Museum, I found an exhibit on jockey Bill Shoemaker, one of the biggest stars of Thoroughbred racing. He won his first race in 1949, his first Kentucky Derby in 1955, and rode his final race in 1990. He retired as the most winning jockey of all time (a record since broken by two others) and became a trainer. Despite suffering a life changing accident in 1991, in which he lost control of his car and went over an embankment, severing his spinal cord, he continued to train horses and be part of the industry he loved. He passed away in 2003.

jockey Bill Shoemaker

A poster featured the Louisville Jockey Club, which oversees breeding and racing of Thoroughbred race horses. Each winner of the Derby has a plaque bearing its name at Churchill Downs. The Racing Form is a tabloid newspaper founded in 1894 in Chicago, Illinois; it publishes the past performances of race horses as a statistical service for horse-racing bettors in North America.

Louisville Jockey Club

plaques to Derby winners including Secretariat

display in the museum

Racing form

Another exhibit featured outrageous hats worn on Derby Day.

Derby hats

Derby hats & outfits

Derby hats

My favorite thing about the museum was watching the 360° film about Derby Day, which enthralled me so much, I decided I must attend the spectacle one of these days.

energetic film about Derby Day

The Kentucky Derby reflects the unbridled optimism of horse owners and the public, a sort of encapsulation of the American Dream. Millions are spent on breeding and training horses for what many consider “the most exciting two minutes in sports.” If that isn’t an example of both the folly and power of optimism, I don’t know what is.

*Thursday, February 28, 2019*

*Steps: 6,148, or 2.61 miles*

**********************

“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.

One of my intentions was to write about the theme of “Optimism – Power or folly.”

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, August 20 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, August 21, 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!

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. 🙂

Meg, of Visiting Warsaw: 2018 & 2019, wrote about her latest zombie-like journey from her home in New South Wales to Warsaw.
- Flight

Many thanks to all of you who wrote posts about the journey. I’m inspired by all of you! 🙂

{camino day 25} carrión de los condes to calzadilla de la cueza

wanderessence1025 July 14, 2019

I started out at 7 a.m. because it was forecast to get to 87°F today. As I left town, a crow cawed loudly from a telephone wire, jolting me into the realm of the living. Today, I began to understand deeply the challenges of the Meseta. It was flat, flat, flat. It seemed endless and the hours were long.

The temperatures were nice enough in the morning but by 11:00, the sun was in full force. By that time, there was no shade to be found. There were no towns between Carrión de los Condes and Calzadilla de la Cueza, only a small mobile cafe offering a welcome break. There were also two shady picnic areas where I could sit for a spell to rest.

I passed the San Zoilo Real Monasterio, dating from the mid-11th century but now a luxury hotel, on the way out of town in the dark. Nearby was a pilgrim statue glowing as if wrapped in a halo.

Carrión de los Condes to San Zoilo (1.0 km)

pilgrim statue near San Zoilo

Walking along the quiet country road wasn’t bad because it was still early morning and cool. Then we joined a stretch of the original Roman road still intact after 2,000 years of use. This is known as the Cañada Real Leonesa, and, at the same time, the original Way. The Romans once walked over this same path, as this was, originally, part of the road they called Via Aquitania, which ran between Astorga and Bordeaux.

The stony covering on the road made the walk uncomfortable, with pebbles rolling out underfoot and causing ankles to twist repeatedly. The landscape was flat, monotonous and even hypnotic, with few visual references. The road passed through a kind of wetland. Apparently the substrata of the old Roman road required an estimated 100,000 tons of rock transported from elsewhere just to raise the surface above the winter flood levels.

San Zoilo to Calzada Romana / Via Aquitana / Cañada Real Leonesa (4.7 km)

wetland outside of Carrión de los Condes

Carrión de los Condes to Calzada Romana

Calzada Romana

The Oasis Café was a small mobile cafe offering cafe con leche, fresh orange juice, and chorizo sandwiches. It was a very welcome break.

At the rest area, I met up with Kate from London, who I’d met the previous evening, and told her my whole story, basically: my mother, my loved one, my leaving my husband for seven years, my loved one’s flat earth beliefs, etc. Kate had lost several people dear to her recently, and then several others had diseases they had been expected to die from, but they survived. She was doing a walk of joy, a thanksgiving of sorts.

At the Oasis Café, I also met a Canadian guy from Ottowa who had been living in the mountains in Mexico. He said from things he’d read, it seemed the U.S. was in the middle of a political civil war. I agreed completely.

Calzada Romana to Area de Descanso (rest area) (4.4 km)

Café Oasis

Café Oasis

After the rest area, we walked a long way on a flat, hot and boring path, then crossed several small arroyos, or small streams, before descending into Calzadilla de la Cueza.

Area de Descanso to Calzadilla de la Cueza (7.2 km)

Café Oasis to Calzadilla de la Cueza

Café Oasis to Calzadilla de la Cueza

approaching Calzadilla de la Cueza

I checked into the Albergue Camino Real, right at the entrance to the town of Calzadilla de la Cueza. It was 5€ and not very nice. I certainly got what I paid for. However, the adjoining Bar el Camino wasn’t bad, with its lively owner. I joined Kate, who I’d met last evening and walked with earlier today, and Sheryl from Seattle, who I met for the first time, for lasagna and a huge beer. Sheryl was walking the Camino for her niece who was 30, addicted to meth, and in prison. We had a long conversation about their respective IT jobs and the challenges of family.

A good deal of the conversation was spent dissecting Sheryl’s experience with Sharon, who Sheryl was walking with. Kate had also met Sharon and thought she would be hard to take. I wouldn’t meet Sharon until later in the Camino.

Sharon had done the Camino 4-5 times before, and had arranged Sheryl’s trip for her, booking shared rooms in hotels; 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. Sharon had plans to meet up with her husband John sometime in the next few days, and then the three of them would travel together for the remainder of the Camino. It was odd situation and a bit stressful for Sheryl, as she was closer friends with John and didn’t know Sharon very well. Also, Sharon was apparently a driven type-A person.

I would turn out I would run into Sheryl off and on for most of the rest of my Camino. I talked often to her, but we didn’t seem to connect at a level that would lead to any lasting friendship.

Lunch with Sheryl and Kate at my albergue

In the evening, I wandered around the town. There wasn’t much to see and it was quite deserted.

Not all towns on the Camino are created equal. Many of the towns have declining and ageing populations and oftentimes it seems that business from the Camino is the only thing keeping them alive. This town was such a town; with its population of 60, there wasn’t much life here. After the lively town of Carrión de los Condes, it was a bit of a drag.

Calzadilla de la Cueza

After my walkabout, I went by Kate’s hotel, but there was no sign of her, so I ate alone at Bar el Camino. I had a salad for dinner with white asparagus. The asparagus was good, but the salad also had broccoli, cauliflower, green beans and mushrooms that seemed to be either from a can or frozen and cooked. They were most certainly not fresh. I also enjoyed a glass of red wine.

Albergue Camino Real

Albergue Camino Real was one of my most disliked albergues on the Camino, with 40 beds packed into a tight space. Space, facilities, beds – none were great, but it was a place for pilgrims to lay their heads after a long walk on the Meseta. The only saving grace was a nice green courtyard area with a swimming pool; in the early afternoon, I had dipped my feet in the pool, which was icy cold.

Albergue Camino Real

In the evening, I sat in the green courtyard by the pool to watch the sunset, which was lovely. It was the only redeeming feature of the albergue.

sunset over the pool at Albergue Camino Real

I didn’t talk to a soul in the albergue as I didn’t know anyone and no one seemed particularly friendly. I went to sleep early. The bed covers were horrible and I could feel the springs in the bed. I couldn’t wait to get out of there in the morning.

I had reason to believe I would be in an even smaller town the following day.

**********

*Day 25: Friday, September 28, 2018*

*28,328 steps, or 12.0 miles: Carrión de los Condes to Calzadilla de la Cueza (16.8 km)*

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

Camino de Santiago 2018

**************

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Cosmopolitan Horta.

portuguese laundry

wanderessence1025 July 11, 2019

One thing I find so charming about Portugal is the laundry hung on balconies and clotheslines. Because Portuguese buildings are often colorful yet decrepit, the background and the laundry together make for picturesque scenes.

Evora 2013

Lisbon 2013

Lisbon 2013

Lisbon 2013

Lisbon 2013

Porto 2018

Porto 2018

Porto 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

Lisbon 2018

*********************

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 20-25 photos and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, July 17 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, July 18, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first, second, and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month (I’ve now added the second Thursday). 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!

Jo, of RestlessJo, climbed up a hill for a view over Velas, in the Azores, and captured some mystical views.
- A Scoot Up a Hill!

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

colorado’s “cosmic highway:” pagosa springs to crestone

wanderessence1025 July 9, 2019

When I arrived in Pagosa Springs, Colorado at 3:30 p.m. after leaving Mesa Verde, it was pouring rain. After checking in to my hotel, The Alpine Inn, I headed straight to the library to do some research my youngest brother had assigned me. Pagosa Springs was my mother’s hometown, and my brother had asked me to find what I could about the Saddleback Ranch and “Fomp” Turner. The librarian was very helpful; she found that the ranch had recently sold for $11,900,000, as well as some vague directions.

The librarian also helped me search for “Fomp” Turner on the microfiche of The Pagosa Sun. There, I found some articles about her and also, incidentally, some articles about my mother. I found that my mother had been Miss Red Rider Roundup in the annual 4th of July celebration in 1950. I found she was a bridesmaid at the wedding of her cousin, Phyllis Martinez. I also found that my grandfather, Jasper Martinez, departed for Texas to spend the winter months with his daughter (& my aunt), Judith Shaw, in 1976. What interesting news these small town newspapers carry!

My grandfather’s brother, Emmett Martinez, had written an article about “Baldy” and “Fomp” Turner and a brief history of the Saddleback Ranch, that I found in The Pagosa Sun. Apparently, Wellmore “Baldy” Turner, a successful attorney in Dayton, Ohio, and his wife, Florence “Fomp” Turner, bought a major portion of the Saddleback Ranch in 1925. In 1927, he added more land to the ranch. Later, they built the lodge at Saddleback using spruce and aspen logs from Turner Mountain, near the ranch. Around 1935-1940, a two-story frame building was added to the the main ranch log cabin at the south end of the big meadow. A barn was built southeast of the main ranch house, along with a corral area to support cattle operations.

The Saddleback Ranch was a summer retreat for the Turners. Mrs. Turner usually arrived in early June, and divided her time between the ranch and her dress shop in Pagosa Springs called The Fashion Bar. She also entertained a lot of friends from the east and didn’t return to Dayton until late August or early September. Mr. Turner would stay for a shorter time each year, as he had to return to his practice in Dayton.

Though my grandmother, Hazel “Babe” Martinez, was not mentioned in this article, I found from my Aunt Judy (my mom’s sister) that Babe cleaned house for the Turners at the Saddleback Ranch. At that time, my grandmother had left her three daughters, including my mom, in an orphanage, as she was unable to care for them. Apparently, “Fomp” had five dogs and Babe used to sit with the dogs on a rock in one corner of the ranch. When Babe died, her son (my mother’s brother), Gilbert Martinez, buried her ashes one night in the pouring rain by that rock in the corner of the Saddleback Ranch.

Somehow, “Fomp” took an interest in my mother and took her to Dayton and helped her attend college at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio for one year.

Fomp Turner died in 1973, and Baldy Turner sold the Saddleback Ranch in 1975, and died in 1980. The Saddleback was purchased in 1983 by Adolph Coors Company. I wasn’t sure who owned it at the time of my visit.

Apparently, my brother was interested in this information as he had spent a summer in Pagosa Springs with my Aunt Judy and had visited the Saddleback Ranch in the late 1970s.

Bojack Ranch in Pagosa Springs

After doing my research in the library, I went in search of the Saddleback Ranch. The directions I got from the librarian said it abutted the southern boundary of the Bootjack Ranch, and was 15 miles down the valley from the Wolf Creek Ski Area. It was getting late in the day and I was driving down dirt roads in the middle of the San Juan Forest, and as darkness descended, I gave up trying to find the ranch. I found instead the Bojack Ranch, which looked pretty impressive. I don’t know if the “Bootjack Ranch” and the “Bojack Ranch” were one and the same.

Bojack Ranch in Pagosa Springs

Bojack Ranch in Pagosa Springs

I stopped for dinner at Kip’s Grill & Cantina — “Pleasin’ the People for 22 years.” The place was bustling. I enjoyed a Fort Collins Wheat while waiting for a table. License plates on the walls said: “Eat Rice: Potatoes Make Your Butt Big.” And “Free Beer tomorrow.” And “Oklahoma RDY2FLY.” Burly men sat at the bar. All around me were ruddy whiskered faces, baseball hats, plaid shirts, hiking shoes or heavy boots, camouflage jackets and hats. Waitresses had green-tinted hair. A poster said “Wolf Creek: The Most Snow in Colorado.” I enjoyed three shrimp tacos on corn tortillas while testosterone buzzed around me.

Kip’s Grill & Cantina

shrimp tacos on corn tortillas

rugged Colorado men

The next morning I got an early start for my long drive to Crestone, crossing over the snow-covered Wolf Creek Pass summit at 10,856 feet. Tall thin trees jutted up through wispy clouds like swords piercing the sky. Chartreuse cottonwoods huddled alongside a boiling, churning river below. I passed Goodnight’s Lonesome Dove & Moon Valley RV. I drove past Chinook Cabins and the Rainbow Motel under heavy skies.

Rainbow Motel on the way to Crestone

Past the mountains, the land flattened out and browned. Ranches abounded: the Pronghorn Ranch and the Double Spur Lodge and Ranch. Pioneer United Church and Haefeli’s Honey Farms offered glory and sweetness.

When I reached Saguache County, a handwritten sign on the road said “This is the Cosmic Highway.” Another sign notified drivers that this was a UFO-spotting site. High Valley Retail Cannabis beckoned. As I turned onto a county road, a herd of yak nodded a “Welcome to the Baca Grande.” The GPS led me over dirt roads: Tranquil Way, Caprice Way, Harmony Way, Peaceful Way, Rarity Way, and Spanish Trail.

My youngest son was WWOOFing on a small organic farm in Crestone, so I met him at the yurt where he was staying. The couple in the yurt ran a small farm that had been in operation for two years. They used the three bedrooms on the bottom floor for Airbnb clients. My son, who was working for them for no pay, just board (but no room) was staying in a hammock under a tarp outdoors on the grounds. He had set up an elaborate system of cairns around his “living space” as a bear warning, as well as a special meditation spot near his hammock.

The farm had raised beds with fences around them to keep deer and other animals at bay. A Geodesic greenhouse nourished crops they’d transplant when it warmed up. They had chickens and ducks and collected 20-30 eggs each day from the chickens. A rabbit coop kept rabbits for slaughter. The owners got their protein from the eggs, chicken and rabbits.

Yurt in Crestone

My son was at that time investing in a 6-acre piece of land that looked quite barren to me. He had done research to find that Crestone has quite a large aquifer underground and in order to develop the property he would first need to drill a well 80-100 feet to draw on the aquifer. This would be sometime in the distant future, as he had no means to develop the property at that time.

my son’s land

We drove all over dirt roads, hilly and bumpy, roads with soulful names such as Spring Beauty Trail, Enchanted Way, and N. Wanderlust Trail. I got a tour of a hodgepodge of architectural styles: Earthship homes, yurts, cobbled-together structures, and a residence that locals called a Dr. Seuss house. Quirkiness ran rampant. While people had to get a permit to build, they didn’t have to follow many regulations on how things got constructed. Solar and other forms of alternative energy were popular.

Earthship house under construction

The Baca Grande subdivision was also known as a center for alternative building, permaculture and sustainable living. Environmental organizations, eco-villages and community gardens were located here.

close up of Earthship house under construction

Dr. Seuss house

Crestone itself had just 127 people in the 2010 Census. The entire Saguache county had a population of 6,108. At 7,500 feet in elevation and ringed on three sides by mountains, Crestone is beautiful and isolated, subject to extremes of weather, wind, and temperature. It is known as a spiritual community and a haven for those seeking a contemplative or alternative lifestyle. It has an array of spiritual sites: ashrams, monasteries, temples, retreat centers, stupas, labyrinths, and other sacred landmarks, including a ziggurat, a structure modeled on the temples of ancient Babylon. Centers here represent faiths that include Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, Native American spiritual traditions, and New Age beliefs. Eastern spiritual traditions, especially Hinduism and Buddhism, are pervasive. However, all paths are honored.

The community of Crestone is unique because of its spirituality, its social and political activism, and its commitment to environmentalism.

“downtown” Crestone

“downtown” Crestone

We enjoyed lunch at a cafe in town: a chili vegetable stew chock-full of onions for me and a chicken sandwich for my son.

Cafe in Crestone

After going to visit Great Sand Dunes National Park & Preserve, my son wanted us to stop at a hot springs but it was getting late. We drove back to Crestone, where we enjoyed a lovely dinner at the only restaurant in town, Desert Sage. I had a huge meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy and a glass of wine (not a smart move with a long drive ahead of me). I left half my meatloaf with my son, dropped him at the farm, and took off as the sun was setting for a five hour drive to Pueblo, where I’d reserved a non-refundable room early in my trip, before I’d known my son would be in Crestone. I wished I’d opted to stay the night in the yurt, because it was a very unpleasant drive in the dark over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in total darkness.

For our visit to the Great Sand Dunes, see my previous post: great sand dunes national park.

sunset in the Sangre de Cristos

*Pagosa Springs: Monday, May 21, 2018*

*Crestone: Tuesday, May 22, 2018*

**********************

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, July 22 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, July 23, 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!

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. 🙂

Arundhati, of The Travelling Diary of a Dippy-Dotty Girl, wrote a charming prose piece about her visit to Montauk.
- Montauk

Thanks to all of you who wrote prosaic posts following intentions you set for yourself. 🙂

{camino day 24} villarmentero de campos to carrión de los condes

wanderessence1025 July 7, 2019

Because I knew today’s walk would be short, I enjoyed sleeping in a bit between nice sheets, a rarity on the Camino. Upon waking, I found that my hotel room had no electricity. When I tried to tell the woman at the front desk, she couldn’t understand at first and then couldn’t figure out why the power was out; it seemed the outage was confined to my room. It was a good thing I had my headlamp.

Today was only 10.1km of walking, but it felt like an eternity. I didn’t talk to a soul for the entire walk. The path ran straight along a road through a flat, featureless landscape. I kept it short, because the next town after Carrión de los Condes was 16.8 km, and I wasn’t up for walking 26.9km.

Villarmentero de Campos to Villalcázar de Sirga

Villarmentero de Campos to Villalcázar de Sirga

Villarmentero de Campos to Villalcázar de Sirga

Villarmentero de Campos to Villalcázar de Sirga

I left at 8:15, so the sun had already risen and was quickly bearing down. The 4.1km climb into Villalcázar de Sirga wasn’t steep but it was long. There, I stopped for a potato tortilla, peach juice, and cafe con leche. Known as the town of the canal towpath, it is also known for its hospitality; it has welcomed pilgrims here since the 12th-century, when it became an administrative district of the Knights Templar.

I visited the impressive 13th-century Templar church, Santa María la Virgen Blanca. It houses the tombs of nobles and royalty and is now declared a national monument. The porch has a wonderful sculpted south door.

Many of the chapels and altars in Spanish churches are cloaked in darkness. In the Templar church, I saw a woman putting a coin into a box, which resulted in an altarpiece lighting up. I wondered how many churches I could have put a coin in a box for light! There were panels depicting the life of St. James — his meeting with Jesus to martyrdom and transference to Galicia. Another side chapel had a statue of Santa María La Blanca, who supposedly performed many miracles. There were also tombs of Infante Don Felipe and Felipe’s wife Doña Leonor.

I stopped and said prayers and enjoyed the interior of this sacred space.

Villarmentero de Campos to Villalcázar de Sirga (4.3km)

Villalcázar de Sirga

Villalcázar de Sirga

Santa María la Virgen Blanca

Santa María la Virgen Blanca

Santa María la Virgen Blanca

interior of Santa María la Virgen Blanca

When I stopped in churches today, I prayed for my mom, who died in 2002, and asked her forgiveness for my lifetime of hard-heartedness to her. I hoped she would forgive me and that I could forgive her for not being the mother to me I thought she should have been. I knew I needed healing in my relationships to both my parents.

statue in Villalcázar de Sirga

The stretch between Villalcázar de Sirga and Carrión de los Condes (6km) seemed an eternity because of the heat and the gnats and flies swarming around my face the whole way. I used my hiking poles like a baton, twirling them around and around to keep the flying insects at bay. They were so annoying. I guess I got spoiled by the two cooler days we had and was not prepared mentally to return to the annoyances of summer. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a fan of summer and its heat, bugs, or humidity. I hate sweating! I was so ready for fall.

Villalcázar de Sirga to Carrión de los Condes Entrada (5.2km)

Villalcázar de Sirga to Carrión de los Condes Entrada

LIFE IS A CAMINO

Villalcázar de Sirga to Carrión de los Condes Entrada

Flowers along the way

I entered the town of Carrión de los Condes at close to 11:30 a.m. The town occupied a a strategic position in this volatile border area. Though only 2,200 (+ declining) people live here now, it once had a population of 10,000. It has meandering side streets that give it a medieval feel and at one time was home to no less than 14 pilgrim hospitals.

mural at Entrada – Carrión de los Condes

The first monument I came to in the town was the Monasterio de Santa Clara. It is one of the oldest Order of St. Clare convents in Spain, dating from the mid-13th-century.

Monasterio de Santa Clara in Carrión de los Condes

Carrión de los Condes Entrada to Carrión de los Condes (0.5km)

I walked past the 12th-century Romanesque Iglesia de Santiago, which was destroyed during the War of Independence in 1809. Luckily, the magnificent facade and frieze were left intact as a national monument and the church itself had been converted to a museum.

Iglesia de Santiago

I may have hit a wall today. I was almost halfway done, but the 10k seemed too much; I felt tired of the whole thing. I hoped I’d have a better outlook tomorrow.

I checked into a private room at Hostal Santiago. I was increasingly enjoying having private rooms on the Camino.

Carrión de los Condes

Carrión de los Condes

There was a pilgrim store in town and I wanted to get a better backpack in which I could carry my water bladder through the long Meseta ahead. I found one I liked in one shop but went off to think about it. When I returned to buy it, it was gone. So I went to another shop and bought a red and black one, still bigger than I wanted. And I hated the red color! I also bought a shirt and two new buffs.

After I went out in the early evening, I joined Simon and Karen at an outdoor cafe where I met some new people. I met Kate from London but originally from South Africa. She had lived in Dubai for a time and had visited Oman, so we shared our experiences there. I also met Adele and Bud from Tasmania. It was a lively group who lifted my spirits considerably. They would tease me about my new red backpack over that evening and in the coming days.

Simon, Karen, Adele, Bud, me and Kate

At 7:15, church bells started pealing through the town, calling pilgrims to the 7:30 mass at the 11th-century Romanesque Iglesia de Santa María del Camino (St. Mary of the Way). Its south façade depicts the terrifying annual ‘tribute of the hundred maidens’ which Christians were obliged to make to the Moors during the time of Muslim rule. Because of that forced tribute, the Christians fought the battle of Clavijo in 844, where, thanks to the miraculous intervention of Saint James on a white horse, they defeated the Moors.

Iglesia de Santa María del Camino

The mass was all in Spanish, but I recognized the ritual: communion, singing of Hosanna, the “peace be with you” greeting, a nun playing guitar, and the readings and prayers. I sat beside Leanna (Lee), who I’d met earlier that day in the bar. After the service the two priests called the pilgrims up and read blessings in Spanish and English. They they placed their hands on each of our heads and said blessings on our Camino journey and on each and every day of our lives and did the sign of the cross on our foreheads. I was in tears.

When I skipped communion, I said to Lee that I didn’t participate because I hadn’t been to confession in many years. She insisted none of that mattered anymore, that anyone could take communion. If that were true, I was disappointed I didn’t take it. Before the service, I saw a Scottish guy I’d met at San Anton confessing to the priest; there was no screen or curtain and the confession was open to the rest of the church. I obviously hadn’t attended a Catholic mass in a long time if things had changed that much.

After the mass, when we went into the Sacristy to get our sellos, the really tall priest who had performed the mass took off his robes to reveal a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt underneath. I thought this odd, although I don’t know why I should have!

Iglesia de Santa María del Camino

I went in search of the 11th-16th century San Zoilo Real Monasterio, connected with the order of Cluny. It was now a national monument and had been restored to a private hotel similar to a Parador. I couldn’t find it, but it was supposedly on the outside of town; hopefully it wouldn’t be too dark to see it in the morning when I left the town.

**********

*Day 24: Thursday, September 27, 2018*

*22,773 steps, or 9.65 miles: Villarmentero de Campos to Carrión de los Condes (10.1 km)*

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

Camino de Santiago 2018

**************

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Simply São Jorge.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: