I am normally a tea drinker but this morning in Cartagena, a cup of coffee was what I needed. I wandered down to the ship’s coffee station and placed my order.
The barista’s coffee station on the ship, Deck 5
Usually a strict, young blond, most likely of Eastern European background, rations out the coffee requests. She would be pretty if she weren’t so stern and clearly judgmental. But this morning there is a new woman this morning and she is much friendlier. Her dark hair is pulled back and she goes cheerfully about her tasks. I far prefer todays barista who hands me my coffee.
It is hot.
Both the coffee and the weather.
The heat of the weather is oppressive and omnipresent, except in the super cooled ship’s air. This bubble of western opulence is docked in Cartagena for the second day. The first day I had high hopes for this Caribbean city, but my hopes were quickly dashed.
Two Columbian women chat, as they wait for the tourists to arrive
Yesterday I took a tour of Old Town Cartagena. It was a disaster on many levels. Super cooled buses deposited tourists at touristy shops to shop. Colorfully dressed women with fruit baskets balanced on their heads demanding payment for pictures.
But it was the throngs of vendors that appeared with each step that did it fo me. Pearls! Hats! Cigars! They thrust their wares into my face.
“No,” I reply.
But they pester at every step. They step in front of me, impeding my ability to simply walk, and hawk their wares.
I feel hunted.
I feel unsafe.
Then there was the ignomy of group travel. This is just not for me. I like to explore and wander on my own timeline, but yesterday’s foray left me feeling with no feeling for this historic town. My recollections are of oppressive heat, ice cold air conditioning and a moving heard of overweight tourists led by a guide (kindly) hustling for tips.
This is just not my style.
It is day two in the Cartagena harbor and I weigh whether or not to venture out or just stay on the ship as I sip my coffee.
German, French and English wafts across the room. A conversation in accented English catches my ear.
“… Their driver provided a private car…she had it all day.”
My ears perked up.
“He took them everywhere and just waited for them…”
I inserted myself into the conversation.
We introduced ourselves. “Sandra,” one woman says. “Teresa,” the other woman smiles.
Sandra continued her story.
“She paid $50 for the day. A private guide and a car whenever she needed it.”
This was sounding better and better.
I relayed my experiences from the prior day and my resulting trepidations about going into the city alone.
Now I’m seldom fearful of anything. I fly airplanes without engines over un-landable terrain. I’ve taken off traveling, homeless. I’ve done three rounds of chemo, radiation and surgery, alone. It takes more than a little bit to rattle me, but my instincts that arose from yesterday’s experience clearly said be careful.
So I’m wondering how to visit the city on my terms.
And then, thanks to a cup of coffee, serendipity has brought the feisty Teresa into my life. We look at each other and smile.
“Let’s do it!” Perhaps her husband Gerry will join us? We decide to meet up in half an hour.
It would appear that an adventure is in order.
So it was that Teresa, Gerry and I became fellow travelers for the day in Columbia.
And then came Alfonso.
Alfonso presented himself at the exit from the docks.
Alfonso our tour guide in Cartagena, Columbia (See below for information on how to contact him.)
“Hello, Welcome to Colombia,” he greets us in near perfect English. “Would you like to go into the city?”
“How much?”
“How long?’
We talk; we haggle. Teresa clearly enjoys the negotiating process. After some back and forth,we agree on a price. And we’re off.
Three people with three separate agendas.
Gerry wants to buy Colombian coffee.
Teresa wants to shop.
I want to wander and take pictures. Maybe follow the wafting smell of garlic and see where it leads.
We climb into the cab and weave through the streets of Cartagena towards Old Town.
Old ramshackle buildings share the route with gleaming white high-rises. A long beautiful stretch of beach lines the waterway and follows the road. Inside the cab we chat.
Ramshackle buildings along the street in Cartagena, Columbia
Modern white high-rises line the beach front in Cartagena, Columbia
Teresa runs a hotel (one of several) in Florida. It’s a smaller property, more of a middle class property she explains. Not$600/night, she emphasizes.
The recent brush with Irma was devastating for some but thankfully not too bad for her property. She had a downed sign and debris, but power was back on in a day or so. Which meant warm food and hot coffee.
Teresa cooked for the volunteer doctors, fireman and others that had come to help, offered them rooms and set up a coffee station. Word of hot coffee spread, and a line formed. People gathered, grateful for the warmth of a beverage, along with some companionship.
With things reasonably under control at her property, Teresa walked the streets of the neighborhood, surveying the damage, sipping on her steaming cup of brew.
“Where did you get the coffee?” a cop asked. At the mention of coffee, the entire compliment of policemen perked up.
Teresa counted. Five. There were five policeman.
“Stay here, I’ll bring you some”, she replied.
Teresa went back to the coffee line with 5 cups in hand. “It’s for the policeman”, she explained as she joined the line. The line parted, allowing her to go to the front.
Five cups of hot coffee. Five cups of community and warmth at a time of need. A simple cup of coffee indeed!
Photo by Javier Molina on Unsplash
Humanity Runs On Coffee –unknown
Teresa is a hard working, grounded woman who immigrated from Poland. Her husband, Gerry, had a stroke a recently.
“He can be a bit difficult”, she confided.
I can handle difficult. But that’s a separate story.
No problem, I tell her, and the three of us, plus our driver Alfonso, head for the Old City where we park just outside the walls.
Vendors with linens and coffee! greet us with their wares. Gerry quickly hones in on the absolute, very best Columbian coffee.
“This is the one I want,” he proclaims. “We’ll get it on the way back.”
“I’ll be back,” he waves to the vendors as we head into the walled city of Cartagena.
Gerry is a friendly, affable fellow. His stroke has meant that Teresa needs to keep an eye on him.
Gerry hates to spend money, Teresa tells me. So his karma, of course, is to attract every vendor in Old Town. He seems to delight in the art of surveying the goods and bargaining.
Shopping and wandering in beautiful Old town Cartagena, Columbia
Today the vendors seem more friendly, even fun, as they approach us with their wares.
Teresa keeps a close eye on Gerry as she divides her attention between shopping and her husband.
“I’ve got him,” Alfonso, offers, giving Teresa has a rare day off. Alfonso and Gerry wander off, a trail of merchants hawking their wares in their wake.
I sense an opportunity to make a break from the solicitations, and Teresa and I head off down the main shopping streets.
On the corner, a leather store beckons. An beautiful, rich orange purse with embossed shapes immediately catches Teresa’s eye. She handles the bag, turning it over, surveying the workmanship.
“How much,” she asks.
The shop keeper comes back with a number. Teresa comes back with another. Back and forth; back and forth, until Teresa walks away.
“I’ll come back later,” she confides once we’re in the street.
“You have to understand the culture here,” she tells me. “The average salary is $300/month. This is how people make money”. And part of the process is the dance of the deal.
So dance we did, everywhere we went.
We wandered the streets and the shops. Jousted with the vendors. Visited the emerald museum and the churches.
A few hours into our foray, everyone has long since sweated through their clothes. The damp fabric just sits on the skin. It’s too humid for the moisture to even evaporate. Sweat-soaked is a constant state of being in the omnipresent heat.
We reconnect with Gerry and Alfonso in the Plaza Santo Domingo. The Plaza was once used as a market for slave trading. Today it’s a meeting place. The sculpture “Fat Lady” by Columbian artist Fernando Botero dominates the square.
I’m not a beer drinker (Woody, an old—and now dead flying buddy—always said that you were allocated so many beers in your life. I feel that I’ve probably had my allocation). But in the incessant, stifling heat and humidity, nothing does it like a cold beer. Even a lukewarm beer offers much needed sustenance.
I sip my beer gratefully and watch the world go by.
And then, a hat vendor decides to hone in on me.
And I am a hat person.
It started years ago in New England in an attempt to keep my naturally wavy hair in place. A hat kept the humidity at bay, at least for a bit.
And along the way there have been sun hats, soaring hats, tennis hats, ski hats, cowboy hats and now, of course, the possibility of a Columbian sun hat.
I have a crushable sun hat with me but it’s just too hot to even wear it. But the persistence of the the hat vendor finally paid off.
Two, two for $15 the vendor offers
Two for $10, Teresa counters.
My new found friends bargain for me. I walk off with two hats. One a classic black and white; the other a cream hat with a black band. I am a sucker for a good hat.
Gerry orders another beer.
Alfonso and I stick with one.
Teresa shops.
Our conversation ranges, from history to shopping to coffee to immigration.
“Have you ever thought of going to America”, Teresa asks?
“A green card is needed to get into the U.S.,” Alfonso explains.
The precious green card. Traveling through the Caribbean I see how wealthy we must appear to many of the people we come into contact with. I think of my former perfect house with endless air conditioning. Such a luxury would be unattainable here for most.
“Coffee,” Gerry interjects after the beer. It is time to move on.
Along the way, we stop at one of the street side fruit vendors. While Columbia boasts over 400 types of mango, there are lots of other exotics that I don’t recognize.
The street vendor beckons to me, holding a piece of fruit. The universal language of a food offering is one everyone understands.
“What is it?” I ask.
The vendor cuts an opening in the top of the orange like fruit. A grey mass huddles beneath the rind. It really doesn’t look too appetizing.
He hands me a fork and gestures for me to scoop out the sticky grey goo.
Grey goo? Seriously. This looks like dead brain matter. Should I at least see what it smells like before I taste it?
I eye the strange fruit with the fork sticking out of its belly.
When in Cartagena…
Inside the citrus rind are pearl-like bubbles, bound by a viscous goo. I stick the plastic fork into the hull of the fruit and it comes up with pearls suspended in a grey mass.
Grey goo belies the sweetness of the granadilla.
I look at it and pause. I think fleetingly of my cancer impaired immune system, of sanitary conditions and of the goo.
What the heck. I put the muck into my mouth.
And I smile. A big and unexpected smile. It is sweet and oh so good! I greedily gobble the contents of the fruit.
“What is this,” I ask Alfonso?
“Sweet granadilla,” He replies. I ask him to spell it.
Granadilla is a variety of passion fruit.
I buy another, and one for the ride back, delighting in the sweet, grey goo.
I am always pleased when I discover something new to add to my culinary repertoire. No matter that it’s an ancient fruit, known to many. It’s new to me, and I am delighted.
Old Town Cartegena is well policed, and seemingly safe from a tourist perspective. Or at least that is my perspective today. I’m gratetul for the chance to dispel my first impressions from the previous day. Perhaps it was just too much oppressive heat, too many people attracting aggressive vendors like flies feasting on a carcass. Today even the vendors are more playful. and probably so am I.
“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.”
–Ralph Waldo Emerson
Alfonso is fabulous. He indulges our individual quirks, herds us carefully in a general direction, and keeps an eye on Gerry as he is surrounded by various vendors on every street.
With a cold beer refreshing my ability to continue to sweat, we decide to keep wandering. Teresa revisits the leather store where she finds an acceptable bargain, not only for the orange handbag, but for several pairs of shoes as well. Gradually we wander back towards the cab, just outside the old city walls. The heat permeates everything, everyday, everywhere, and it is inescapable. The thought of arctic shipboard cool beckons. It’s time to head back, unless of course staying on in Cartagena is on one’s agenda.
The walls of the old city are thick and time tested. We pass through one of the gates one last time on the way back to Alfonso’s cab, looking for the coffee vendors Gerry had seen when we first arrived. We brace for the final onslaught of linens, hats and coffee sellers. Perhaps a few cigar vendors or sellers offering strands of pearls.
But it is quiet; empty. They were gone! The vendors had left for the day!
Gerry spun about. None of us could believe it.
No coffee.
Gerry is disappointed but the disappointment seems to pass as we weave our way back to the dock where another a cold beer potentially awaits, not to mention the arctic air that will freeze our sweaty clothes in place on our exhausted bodies. A shower is definitely in order.
After cleaning up, I head to the lawn deck where a sunset awaits. I wear my new hat and watch as the ship pulls out to sea, leaving Cartagena in its wake.
Sunset over Cartagena, Columbia
I order a glass of wine as I watch the coastline of Colombia recede. Cool white wine.
It’s been a long time since I spent that year in New Orleans. It seems like a lifetime away. So I was curious about whether or not I’d feel sentimental about the town and my past.
I didn’t. Which was good.
It allowed me to look at New Orleans with fresh eyes.
So it was that I decided to get up early one morning and just go walking. I started in the French Quarter.
Cabildo in Jackson Square at Sunrise
Cathedral and Cabildo, New Orleans
New Orleans French Quarter
I always enjoy wandering the streets. Being the foodie that I am (it’s in my DNA; I can’t help myself) one of my favorite stores is Lucullus, a culinary antique shop on Royal Street:
Lucullus in the French Quarter, a culinary antique store
Antique candlesticks with a pedigree at Lucullus in the French quarter
The sheen of old copper is stunning at Lucullus in the French Quarter
And of course, the standards like Napoleon House:
Napoleon statue on the Napoleon House bar in French Quarter, New Orleans
Bartending at Napoleon House, New Orleans
Drinks at Napoleon House in the French Quarter, New Orleans
Not to mention the street processions celebrating…anything and everything! Here are three videos I took while just strolling about. Let the good times roll!
Many New Orleanians have said to me that they couldn’t imagine ever leaving New Orleans. I can understand that. It’s a blend of history, heredity and a melting pot of culture that is unique. From Louis Armstrong:
I was curious to get away from the touristed streets and re-visit some of my old haunts further uptown. I started with the warehouse district.
Since Katrina, New Orleans has grown up. The entire warehouse district–which was definitely on the shabby (not chic) and dangerous end of the social spectrum when I lived there–has been totally renovated. It’s full of hotels and galleries and a serious cruise ship terminal. And now it boasts the National World War II Museum that is simply extraordinary. The museum inspires, informs, engages and awes the visitor, through film, artifact and emotion.
I am always moved by World War II history because my father flew in the 8th Army Air Corps as a navigator. It was a brutal job. The 8th army Air Force was tasked with the air war over Europe . It had the highest casualty rate of all the service branches.
My father flew two tours. Knowing what I know now, about history and war and as a pilot, I do not know how these men survived this, physically and emotionally.
But on a lighter note, the museum also captures some of the revelry of the day:
History, and war, always creates winners and losers. It’s seldom as black and white as it’s sometimes presented. Take General Robert E. Lee for example.
The empty monument at Lee’s Circle, New Orleans
Lee is no longer atop the monument at Lee Circle. He had faced north because “you never turn your back on the enemy”. Lee and all the history he represents–of vanquished slavery, of a changing way of life, of the re-unification of this country under terribly difficult circumstances–was recently deemed to be “politically incorrect”.
Now an empty column sits awkwardly in the traffic circle.
Somehow his absence speaks louder than his quiet presence ever did.
In the ’80’s when I lived in New Orleans, the Civil War was just 100 years past. That meant that memories were still alive. People’s great grandparents experienced being on the losing end of a war, a war that ripped apart their traditions and culture and dramatically changed the trajectory of many lives.
That history–those very personal experiences– lived on through subsequent generations. The stories were of ordinary people, living ordinary lives, impacted by extraordinary events and times.
Like most history, the story that evolved was incredibly imperfect, unfair, uncertain, and full of imbalances. It’s one of the reasons that we need historic reminders. Not to celebrate defunct institutions or ideas, but to remember them with humility not hubris. For better and for worse, they are part of our human experience.
Those who fail to learn from history are condemned to repeat it. -Winston Churchill
Such wise words.
The Garden District
Commander’s Palace in the Garden District, New Orleans
I’m not yet ready for museum wandering this early morning . The sun is rising, and I want to head uptown. I snag a cab and head for the garden district using Commander’s Palace as a starting point.
Commander’s Palace will always have a fond spot in my heart. It’s my quintessential old New Orleans restaurant. Some prefer Antoine’s (where local families have their own waiter that looks after them) or perhaps Tujaques (which dates back to the 1850’s), both of which are terrific. But for me, it will always be those aqua striped awnings of this building nestled into the Garden District.
My first experiences at Commander’s occurred when Emeril Lagasse was chef. At the time he was unknown, but his bread pudding souffle with a bourbon creme anglaise became rapidly known. Talk about decadent! Rich, yes. Lucious, yes. Yet it was never to sweet. Really just the perfect, totally decadent balance. Teamed with dark, rich chicory coffee, a dinner at Commanders was to be savored.
That perfect balance of decadence and delight has found its way into dishes at other Brennan properties as well. At Sobu, the bread pudding was absolutely perfect. Hot sweet rich crunch from pecan; cold ice cream over a hot, fresh from the oven casserole… I almost never eat dessert, but a few bites of this was irresistible and I’m glad I was weak of will.
“New Orleans food is as delicious as the less criminal forms of sin.” –Mark Twain
Mr B’s in the French Quarter, New Orleans
Mr. B’s, one of my all time standbys was, however, somewhat disappointing. I stopped in late in the afternoon and ordered a bowl of gumbo. the bowl arrived heaped with seafood. Yum. But it was cold. I sent it back.
The bowl returned, but it was only barely warmed. And that pile of seafood was gone.
In all fairness, it was late in the day, after lunch, but quite before dinner. And they didn’t charge me for the gumbo. But surely managing to serve a basic bowl of gumbo HOT in a premier New Orleans French Quarter restaurant isn’t asking too much.
My tepid gumbo aside, if you’ve never been to New Orleans, it’s almost impossible to be disappointed, It’s a fun town, ready to party. The food is both local and exotic; the architecture wonderfully dated and original; the weather, is well, gulf weather.
***
At the Garden District I lighted from the cab and started walking. I had no particular plans, other than to simply explore. The gates to the cemetery across from Commanders was open and the morning light poured in:
New Orleans Cemetery
Cemetery New Orleans
Cemetery, New Orleans
Cemeteries are a unique and fascinating part of the New Orleans landscape. These “cities of the dead” exist because the city is below sea level. Digging down six feet simply isn’t an option so bodies are buried above ground. This practice follows the Spanish custom of using vaults for burial. Wealthier families created ornate tombs, some resemble small houses complete with iron fences.
The cemeteries are scattered throughout New Orleans, and each has its own tale to tell. They say dead men tell no tales, but in New Orleans, I wouldn’t be so sure of that.
***
Just down the way from the glorious mansions of the Garden District is Magazine Street, a funkier area that stretches from the Garden District to Uptown. But it’s too early for any shops to be open, except of course for breakfast.
Breakfast, Big Easy Style
Now you have to understand that breakfast in New Orleans is a genre unto itself. Decadent, sometimes heavy, always creative, and usually mouthwatering.
I had a fabulous breakfast at The Ruby Slipper on Magazine street. Here is a link to their menu. Try not to drool on your electronic device as you read this.
There is an option to combine any two items on the menu so I went for the Shrimp Boogaloo Benedict:
Gulf shrimp sauteed with pork tasso and creole tomato sauce served over fried green tomatoes, a buttermilk biscuit and two poached eggs
And the Hot-Smoked Salmon Bennie:
Hot-smoked salmon served over a buttermilk biscuit, topped with two poached eggs, finished with red onion, flash-fried capers & dill hollandaise
Both were great, but the Shrimp Boogaloo had me nearly licking the plate.
OMG.
Serious #Foodgasm!
The combination is simply irresistable as the slight acidity of the fried green tomatoes perfectly plays with the eggs and creole sauce. You’ll note that I totally abandoned my usual vegetarian diet here and it was worth every bite. (Life after all is about balance, rather than absolutes).
Let the good times roll!
While we’re on the topic of food, so many options, so little time! I had a wonderful dinner at Sobu:
Dinner at Sobu, New Orleans: Lightly blackened fish lends just an undertone of deep flavor, over a slightly smokey broth filled with charred tomato and corn.
An unbelievable desert at Sobu. This qualifies as #foodporn, as they say on Twitter.
Bartender Laura Bellucci at Sobu
Bartender Laura Bellucci also came up with some fabulous drinks including a milk punch with desert. I can’t say enough good things about my dinner at Sobu. It was sophisticated, well executed and creative. New Orleans at its best!
I also ate at Suzan Spicer’s Bayona. Suzan is a highly regarded NOLA chef. The dinner was good but I didn’t see a brilliance of creativity or execution that evening. The fried oyster salad I had to start was on the menu at Maison de Ville (a “hot” restaurant in its time) over 25 years ago. And the dish wasn’t executed with the attention to detail that makes this sing. The breading was heavy and less than artful. I don’t even recall what my main course was.
While we’re on the topic of restaurants, I also stopped int the Flying Pig Cafe near the World War II Museum for lunch. Another terrific meal in a luscious bowl of gumbo:
After breakfast at Ruby Slipper, I continued uptown. I walked off part of my breakfast (hah! I wish!) and bought a street car pass for the day for $3. While I lived here, I never rode the street car. My air conditioned car allowed me to insulate myself from the relentless heat and humidity and I used that to navigate town.
But the weather is pleasant today and as a tourist, it offered the perfect way to get around town. So along with some other tourists and a few locals, the car headed north. I got off at Audubon Park, walked and wandered.
Street car New Orleans
The architecture throughout New Orleans is so magnificent. Having studied architectural history for a year in New Orleans was a gift. The course was divided into the Quarter, Garden District, Uptown and the Plantations.
My professor was the principal of THE architectural renovation firm in town, and he loved his subject. Everywhere we went, people knew him. So we were invited into numerous houses, mansions and places that one might not normally see. Between classes, field trips and new friends, I explored New Orleans.
Since those days, much has changed. Much has remained the same. A wonderful new addition is The National world War II Museum.
This is a stellar museum. From the entry that simulates the experience of boarding a train to leave for war, to the films and the airplanes (and more!) this is simply a stunning museum. From the museum home page:
The National WWII Museum tells the story of the American experience in the war that changed the world—why it was fought, how it was won, and what it means today—so that all generations will understand the price of freedom and be inspired by what they learn.
May the lessons of history be learned, never to be repeated.
Here are just a few pictures from the Museum:
Suspended World War II bomber in theNew Orleans Nation World War II Museum
One of the propellers, up close, National World War II Museum New Orleans
World War II bomber, New Orleans National World War II Museum
New Orleans is so much more than one can present in a brief post. In just a few days I covered all this and so much more. Pictures from my wanderings are in the Gallery, accompanied by some “”Nawlins” jazz, some chicory coffee and lots of luscious pictures. Do visit!
Final thoughts: I’m grateful for the chance to revisit this town. It’s a fun town. In many ways it is smaller than I recall, but then the characters from my stay here in the eighties were somewhat larger than life. They were all very real as were their faults and foibles. But these days, the appeal of a reality grounded in now rather than escapism or egotism, is more my style.
New Orleans will never be a place that resonates for me. But this visit reminds me that we take ourselves wherever we go, and whatever we encounter we view through our own prism of time and experience.
I think back to a woman who sat next to me at the bar at Mr. B’s. She loved New Orleans, and made it a point to come regularly. For her, it’s a three day party. And she’s quite right. New Orleans really needs to adopt that motto that what happens here, stays here. Viva New Orleans!
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”
–Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken
I am always moved when I read this poem. I feel as though Robert Frost stood not just at a parting roadway, but perhaps a roadway with one path to the future and one to the past. But only the path forward, the path into uncertainty, was worth taking.
It is the beginning of a new year. I am grateful. And in gratitude, I take the time to look back and to look ahead.
What wisdom comes from six months of travel, six months without a home or an endpoint? Without certainty, possessions or security of place?
What have I learned? Here are some of my go-to lessons to cope with life, travel and, oh, yeah, cancer!
Some Lessons From The Road
Life Lesson #1: Have A Sense of Adventure
Some travel to take tours.
I say travel for the detours!
Set sail, and go with the wind. I actually knew a pilot that would simply take off and fly into high pressure (i.e. good weather). He landed wherever he landed. He visited the most unusual places!
Travel for life’s detours!
Life Lesson #2: Take The Time To Be Still
Only when you’re still can you progress. I know that sounds contradictory, but consider: A life well lived implies some creativity and creativity needs quiet to take root and grow. Quiet is nurturing; restorative.
Sometimes it is the change of place that allows one peace. That’s where travel comes in.
To capture that peace day to day, that’s where discipline comes into play. (see Life Lesson #9)
Wisdom from Oprah
Life Lesson #3: Believe In Yourself
Look to your own inner guidance. Believe in it.
The most powerful voice is the one that lives in your head. Learn to calm your mind; observe your thoughts. Learn to carefully craft them as well. This is a conscious choice, one that involves ongoing effort. (See Life Lesson #9)
Healthy Attitude
Life Lesson #4: Be Optimistic
According to Oscar Wilde : “The basis of optimism is sheer terror”.
I laughed (see Life Lesson #7) when I read this because there are days when I have to agree.
I like to think of optimism as positive energy. It’s where I prefer to dwell. And why not? It takes considerably less energy than living in fear; it’s fun; it is the energy that makes good things happen. Optimism means taking the time to dream, and pursuing those dreams.
Optimism alone isn’t a cure all. (See Life Lesson # 9). But the energy it creates can drive events and it certainly makes the journey much more fun. (See Life Lesson #7 again and be sure to at least smile).
Optimism from the Dalai Lama
Life Lesson #5: Be True To Yourself
Only in truth, do we find our way. Stop, be still, listen to yourself. (see Life Lesson #2 and #3).
Life is short. Live it well.
Make Each Day A Masterpiece
Life Lesson #6: Choose Beauty
Beauty is everywhere if you choose to see it. It pleases the eye and fills the soul. Do you choose to see it?
And if so, did you notice, that it’s hardly “perfect”?
Perfectionism robs us of beauty. Instead we look for flaws. And they’re always there if that’s what you’re seeking.
When I saw the picture below, and the weeds in the field of flowers, it seemed perfect to capture the essence of this life lesson:
Beauty is wonderfully imperfect.
Life Lesson #7: Have Fun
Make fun a priority. It’s really quite easy. First it’s a decision; secondly it’s an outlook. It becomes a mindset.
I’m not talking about partying ’til dawn. Fun can be gentle, quiet and kind. I’m talking about enjoying the moment here and now.
How does one survive life– much less cancer!– without a sense of humor and fun? Make it a habit to cultivate both.
Remember to laugh and play
Life Lesson #8: Be Curious
Be ready for some twists and turns; be prepared to double back on yourself, and always be learning! Learning breeds curiosity, curiosity makes us focus and with focus we can enter “the flow”, that wonderful, timeless place of maximum creativity and productivity. Only in the flow of life can serendipity occur.
Curiosity breeds serendipity.
Embrace both.
Only in the flow of life can serendipity occur.
Life Lesson #9: Be Dogged
Things do not magically happen. On a daily basis, do what must be done. Meditate. Work. Eat well. Be persistent even when the climb seems insurmountable.
An old Zen saying:
“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”
Baby Steps and Perseverance
Life Lesson #10: Embrace Change
For whatever reason, change is hard for most of us. Yet staying stuck in an outdated past can be deadly on so many levels.
Why not learn to cultivate curiosity about change and integrate it into your life? Since change is inevitable, why not make it pleasurable as well? (see Life Lessons # 1, 3, and 5)
Life Lesson #11: Be In The World But Not Of The World
This is a saying attributed to the Bible (which I must admit I’ve not read–organized religion just isn’t my thing). And it’s one of my favorite phrases.
To me it speaks of being here, now. Being fully alive. But remembering that the meaning in the experience isn’t the trend du jour, the bigger house, the newest car or the coolest electronic.
The meaning in life comes from within.
Wisdom transcends time.
To looking within; To helping out.
Looking ahead to 2018, May it be a year of prosperity, wisdom and peace for all of us.
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11 Life Lessons From The Road
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I’ve become quite intrigued by photography. I’ve taken to carrying my camera almost everywhere with me. Some days it’s frustrating. I can’t seem to get a single decent shot. Other days it’s exhilarating. The Photo Gods of Light and Luck align and voila! Actual pictures emerge!
If my skill level were greater, I’d like to think my efforts to create a good photo would at least be more consistent. But listening to Annie Leibovitz the other day, she talked about passion. She says she does’t worry about the technicalities (although she does). But the magic that she captures in her highly personal pictures is the magic of the subject. The quirks, the wrinkles, the personality of the person or situation. She watches, she listens and she connects.
(You can click here to learn more about this class.)
If I am to have any hope, it is going to be through the connection. The detailed logistics of photo technicalities can be dull, except when you need them. So I’m hoping passion and curiosity will pull me through to the knowledge I need.
On this topic, I joined a photography group. Our task for January is to take a picture of “COLD”.
A photo assignment takes me to Taos where I try to capture the essence of COLD
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The end of the year brings with it a milepost of sorts: I have been on the road for six months now. I’ve visited 8 countries outside the U.S, 11 states (some more than once), traveled by car, foot, ship, boat, train, taxi, Uber and plane. I would have gone up in a rocket ship if NASA had let me.
I’ve stayed with friends, in AirBnB’s, in hotels, house sat three times, and cruised in a ship. So far I haven’t had to resort to sleeping my car, which is good because there is no room! And now, for the holidays, I am in a beautiful casita in Santa Fe.
This bench is just outside the French doors, on the patio, in my little casita.
My original plan was to stay in a location for an extended period. Sometimes that happened, sometimes it didn’t. But for now, I am stationed in Santa Fe for a bit which will give me a chance to catch up on all the places and posts I want to share, sprinkled with my Santa Fe forays.
Some of the locations coming up include New Orleans, Miami Beach (think fabulous South Beach architecture!), Key West, Costa Rica, Panama, Columbia, Grand Cayman, Honduras and Mexico. And lots of Santa Fe and environs.
Let me take this opportunity to say thank you to the many people worldwide who have been so supportive! May everyone have a healthy, happy holiday.
Chili adornments from the Santa Fe Farmer’s Market
In the distance, roosters crow at dawn as the thrusters of the ship rumble to life, docking at Key West, home of Hemingway, six toed cats and wild chickens that roam the streets and cafes.
KeyWest
Key West has the reputation of being a laid back island, just 90 miles from Cuba. It’s the furthest west of all the Florida Keys and just 4.2 square miles. But perhaps its greatest claim to fame is as the home of Ernest Hemingway from 1931 to 1939 where he lived with his second wife Pauline. It was here, at 907 Whitehead Street, across from the Key West Lighthouse that he wrote some of his best known short stories and novels including To Have and Have Not and Green Hills of Africa, a work of non-fiction.
His home was built in 1851 in the Spanish Colonial style. It has been fully restored and is now open to tours (bring cash, they don’t accept credit cards). The house and grounds are beautiful. In a small bungalow next to the house, Hemingway wrote. For years a cat walk connected the small office with the main house…
Hemingway’s typewriter and office in Key West
and of course, the six toed cats!
Cats above and cats below at Hemingway’s house in Key West
The six toes cats present on the property today are the result of a gift and a careful breeding program run by the museum management. The original cat, Snow White was a gift from a sea captain named Stanley Dexter in the 1930’s. Sailors believed that polydactyl cats were good luck, and perhaps they are. Irma’s recent Caribbean rampage left Hemingway’s house relatively unscathed.
Howard Hughes, one of the polydactyl (six-toed) cats at the Hemingway House in Key West
Forty to fifty six toed cats wander the grounds at will. All are named after movie stars of Hemingway’s period. So one might find Cary grant chasing Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers hanging with Lauren Bacall. They are well socialized (except for Howard Hughes who is a bit of a recluse, hanging out alone in the basement).
One of the best stories to come out of the house is the story of the massive swimming pool which in 1938 cost $20,000. It was the only pool within 1,000 miles. Poet Elizabeth Bishop, a friend of Hemingway’s wife Pauline, wrote of the famous pool in one of her letters to Robert Lowell:
“ . . .The swimming pool is wonderful -it is very large and the water, from away under the reef, is fairly salt. Also it lights up at night -I find that each underwater bulb is five times the voltage of the one bulb in the light house across the street, so the pool must be visible to Mars -it is wonderful to swim around in a sort of green fire, one’s friends look like luminous frogs . . .”
The swimming pool was also very high maintenance. The salt water would have to be drained every few days, the pool scrubbed down and then the refilling process would start again. According to the Hemingway Home website, and contrary to many stories, the pool was actually the mastermind of Ernest, not his wife Pauline who would be stuck overseeing the project while Hemingway’s travels as a war correspondent took him overseas during the Spanish Civil War. Hemingway is said to have commented “Pauline, you’ve spent all but my last penny, so you might as well have that!” He flipped a penny into the air, and it landed on the concrete where it would be permanently embedded in the patio.
Penny embedded in concrete poolside at Hemingway’s House in Key West
Hemingway is at once a galvanizing and polarizing figure. His larger than life persona of traveler, adventurer, gambler, drinker, womanizer– a “manly man”– the perfect “synthesis of brain and brawn”.
“To me heaven would be a big bull ring with me holding two Barrera seats and a trout stream outside that no one else was allowed to fish in and two lovely houses in the town; one where I would have my wife and children and be monogamous and love them truly and well and the other where I would have my nine beautiful mistresses on nine different floors.” –Ernest Hemingway, letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, July 1, 1925
There is no doubt Ernest lived with gusto. Yet this 1954 Nobel Prize winner killed himself July 2, 1961 at age 61. He had bipolar disorder and possibly several other psychiatric problems as well. Dr. Christopher Martin, MD, a board certified psychiatrist in Houston, Texas, affiliated with Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center and an Assistant Professor at Baylor College of Medicine has written a cornerstone paper on Hemingway and his psychological issues.
In this paper, Dr. Martin points out that some of the Hemingway myth begins to unravel. His war record, for instance. Hemingway was only 18 when he volunteered in World War I. His defective left eye meant that he entered the war not in combat, but as a non-combatant. In Paris, he evidenced mood swings and a tendency to turn against those who helped him. In Africa a string of accidents left a string of questions behind.
Dr. Martin dives deep into Hemingways upbringing and adult bravado to look at the real man behind the legend. The best summary of this study is in the article “Being Ernest.” It’s a fascinating read, about the fascinating, if highly human, man behind the myth.
Regardless of where the truth might lie, Hemingway cut a swashbuckling figure in literature and life. Hemingway was remembered in a 1966 memorial in Sun Valley. The eulogy had actually been written by Hemingway for a friend, but it certainly applied to him as well:
Best of all he loved the fall the leaves yellow on cottonwoods leaves floating on trout streams and above the hills< he high blue windless skies …Now he will be a part of them forever.
And today, the legacy of his six toed cats lives on.
Six toed cat, a descendent of Snow White, at Hemingway’s house in Key West
Roosters–or perhaps I should say chickens– roam Key West at will. That’s because the Cubalya chicken, a beautiful stately bird, was imported into Key West then later abandoned. They were originally imported for cockfighting, a popular Cuban pastime. But when the fighting was outlawed in the 1970’s the birds were left to fend for themselves.
Red topped Cubalaya rooster Key West
But onto garlic. Not necessarily with chicken (although that always has promise) but with shrimp for a spicy, light lunch.
Food is always a part of my travels. I’m inclined towards small bites with lots of flavor. Gone are the days of a plateful of food! Less is more, as long as taste isn’t comprised.
I stopped in a Caribbean restaurant–the name now eludes me–where I enjoyed a plate of garlic with shrimp. More or less in that order. A few roasted peppers, topped with a sprinkling of parsley. And it was wonderful. Just right.
I sat and looked out over the sculpture park across the way. Chickens wandered here and there. One wandered right into the restaurant. No one seemed to mind. They are simply part of the landscape.
Key West has a strong tourist vibe, but when you get off the main shopping streets the roadways and architecture are captivating. The island’s Old Town historic district is comprised of almost 3,000 buildings and is believed to be the largest predominantly wooden historic district in the U.S.
Shuttered house in Key West
Part of the architectural history of Key West is the conch house. Conch houses are built of wood, set up on posts. This allows air to circulate, and water to pass under. Weatherboarding, low gabled or hip roofs and double-hung sash windows are common features. Later victorian ornamentation would also be integrated into the island’s architecture resulting in a charming island mix of color and style. There are numerous house pictures in the gallery on Key West.
In “To Have and Have Not”, perhaps in one of Hemingway’s more mercurial moods, he predicted the death of all that brought charm to the island:
“What they’re trying to do is starve you Conchs out of here so they can burn down the shacks and put up apartments and make this a tourist town. That’s what I hear. I hear they’re buying up lots, and then after the poor people are starved out and gone somewhere else to starve some more they’re going to come in and make it into a beauty spot for tourists.” —To Have and Have Not
Thankfully he was wrong and Key West remains a gem of an island, particularly as you wander away from the tourist shops and into the neighborhoods and streets that lay beyond.
Las Vegas, NM is about an hour from Santa Fe. Santa Fe is a town that I’ve been through numerous times over the years and each visit, I love it. So, after my tour of Central America (which I’ll be posting about shortly) I thought it would be a good place to spend the holidays.
After getting back to the States, I picked up my car and started driving. North from the Gulf Coast, to the cooler weather! Texas rolled by. I stopped in Amarillo only to realize that I didn’t want to dally. Something within pushed me forward. I wanted to get to New Mexico.
But I was a few days early for my AirBnB reservation.
I’ll figure out something. I always do.
Route 40 is long and straight. Across the Texas panhandle, I start to count the miles. Surely New Mexico must be close.
I ask Siri how many miles to the New Mexican border.
She gives me the mileage to Mexico City. 1,280 miles due south.
Siri is not the best navigator. I decouple the navigation between my phone and my watch. I don’t want to be zapped because I am heading to Santa Fe, not Mexico City.
I continue west. The road goes by.
There, in the distance, I believe I see a line of purple. My heart skips a beat. The Sangre de Cristo Mountains. New Mexico.
It’s rather like spying the line of hills that define Napa as you approach from the east. The vast Sacramento plain seems endless until the promise of wine country is seen on the horizon. One’s heart quickens with the promise of wine and food, beauty and peace.
I pass the New Mexican border and nearly miss the turnoff for the information center. But I manage to make the exit. Barely.
I always like stopping, to chat and investigate. The rangers that often staff the areas are always polite and helpful. Today, a woman greets me. She seems rather stern, but we start chatting.
I tell her how much I’ve always enjoyed New Mexico. I feel deep emotion well up as I say this. I’m not sure where it comes from. Perhaps it’s just a need to be someplace after the nearly constant travels of the last six months. Perhaps its a need to be someplace where it’s not 100 degrees with 100 per cent humidity.
I try to contain my unexplained emotions. I think I am feeling rather homeless. And I’m thinking back to the past.
New Mexico is not new to me. Nearly twenty years ago, during my Whiskey Oscar foray, I house sat for a renown artist Alvaro Cardona-Hine in a small town called Truchas. He and his wife Barbara (a noted artist in her own right) were off to a showing of his work in New York City.
How had I wandered into their gallery? I try to recall the details now, twenty years later.
The ranger interrupts my recollections.
I refocus my attention on the now.
“Where are you going?” she asks
“Santa Fe,” I respond.
She nods.
“But I have several days before I have to be there.”
“Have you ever been to Las Vegas?”
“Nevada?”
“New Mexico.”
“No.”
“You should give it a try.” She pulled a map and a few brochures.
“The Plaza Hotel,” she suggested.
That seemed to be the end of her desire to interact, so I decided I’d give Las Vegas, New Mexico a go.
I returned to the car and called ahead for a reservation at The Plaza Hotel. I should be there by nightfall.
Now I have a game plan.
West of Cuervo, just past Santa Rosa, New Mexico Route 84 heads north. I head north with it.
Immediately, the sun steps from behind the clouds and pours its radiant light on the surrounding land. The grasses on either side of the two lane road glow golden and move with the stiff cross wind. The pinion trees pop throughout the landscape. And the mountains appear, mysteriously, majestically, beckoning, not too far ahead.
The moment is almost surreal; other-worldly. I almost have a chill in the warmth of the sun. There is something about the beauty of New Mexico that always touches me deeply. Something welcomes me here.
Las Vegas, NM is home to numerous film and tv shows. Its classic Spanish style plaza shows up in silent films during the 1913-15 period and later in numerous productions including Easy Rider, Speechless and Wyatt Earp, and more recently, Longmire.
The locals are non-plussed by the fuss. But the sheer volume of films filmed here is incredible. The film below captures some of the essence of this unique town. Be a bit patient with the slow start; it’s worth the watch:
Las Vegas owes its founding to its position on the Santa Fe Trail and to the railroad which came to town on July 4, 1879. This brought with it business and development, not to mention a few outlaws. Legends such as Doc Holliday, Big Nose Kate, Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Wyatt Earp, Mysterious Dave Mather and others poured into the eastern side of town.
The railroad brought business, but it also divided the town, with east Las Vegas (“New Town”) near the tracks, with west Las Vegas (“Old Town”) located near the square. Today the municipality is one, but with two separate school districts.
The Las Vegas, NM Plaza
Las Vegas isn’t posh like Santa Fe and it’s a very small town. It has a coterie of arts, some of which are available at el Zocalo, the Cooperative Art Gallery on the square in town. I really enjoyed the work of Sarah Frazier who had a number of items that could have found a home with me!
One of the many artists at El Zocalo on the plaza in Las Vegas, NM
And nearly next store is Plaza Antiques, a wonderful jumble of possible finds. Everything from jewelry to old silver to rugs cover nearly every square inch. There is a find waiting for you in this shop!
Plaza Antiques in Las Vegas, NM
Also on the square is the The Plaza Hotel, a regal building finished in 1882. It’s grand facade is decorated with elaborate scrolls across the roofline and the spacious rooms have fourteen foot ceilings. Like the rest of Las Vegas, it has a victorian flair. The pueblo style that is associated with New Mexico is notably absent in most of this town.
The Plaza Hotel sits at the corner of the Las Vegas, NM plaza
The Plaza is notable for variety of reasons. The staff is friendly; the rooms spacious; the dining room and bar food excellent. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places.
And it also has two resident ghosts.
The more well known ghost is that of Byron T. Mills, the original builder/owner of the hotel. He is said to haunt his former office, room 310, as well as the saloon. One of the innkeepers tells the story of a cleaning person who was in Byron’s old office. She left briefly and when she returned, the pillows on the bed had been thrown to the floor. Numerous other stories persist, as, apparently, does Byron’s ghost.
The other ghost is less well known and it is that of a small girl. Once again, people report brushes with someone or a feeling of a presence on their legs and there is even a picture of the girl in the lobby, sitting with a woman. But when the woman was asked about the child next to her, she said there was no child.
For the ghost chasers in the audience, this place is worth checking out. For the rest of us, it’s a great place to enjoy this wonderful small town in spacious, well restored rooms.
The bar and dining room offer good food at a good price. After months on the road and the vagaries of road food, I was so delighted at the site of a good kale salad, I ordered it two nights in a row.
Kale Salad at The Plaza Hotel
My stop in Las Vegas wasn’t really planned, so I was curious to see what was around. And I have to say that the warmth, friendliness and kindness of this small town was absolutely restorative.
Speaking of restoration, Las Vegas boasts over 900 properties on the National Historic Register, including the Plaza Hotel. In its heyday Las Vegas was bigger and richer than any other town in New Mexico. And the architecture reflects it.
“New Town”, Las Vegas NM
Elaborate Victorian homes populate the town. Some are restored, some need some work. But the sheer volume of buildings with historic value is stunning. I stopped down at the train station where The Casteneda is being restored. The Casteneda was part of the Fred Harvey Company’s chain of restaurants, hotels and hospitality services that grew alongside the railroad.
An old postcard of the Casteneda, Harvey’s famed hotel in Las Vegas, NM
This town peaks over the roofline at the under-restoration Casteneda in Las Vegas, NM
The Casteneda under renovation today in Las Vegas, NM
During the early days of the railroad, there was little in terms of food or amenities for rail passengers. Fred Harvey changed that. His restaurants and hotels boasted great food, large portions and pleasant service in the form of the Harvey Girls. The chain which traces its routes to 1875, was later popularized by Judy Garland in the 1946 movie of the same name. But today, at least in Las Vegas, this beautiful building is but a ghost of its former self.
Allan Affeldt –who also renovated La Posada, located off Interstate 40, old Route 66, along the Amtrak railroad tracks in Winslow, Ariz.–acquired this historic Mission Revival property and is in the process of renovating it. His efforts have spurred redevelopment interest in other nearby properties.
I pulled up to the property, curious. Mr. Affeldt had also restored The Plaza Hotel where I was staying. There wasn’t much to see, other than a lot of construction paraphernalia. Across the street I noted another building under renovation, the Rawlins Building, circa 1898. Parts looked beautiful; parts run down. A man waved at me; I waved back.
I got out and shot a few pictures.
Detail of the Rawlins Building in Las Vegas, NM
“Would you like to see the building”, he asked.
But of course!
I think my interest in architecture and renovation dates back to my early exposure to European architecture. Paris left an indelible imprint on the aesthetics of this six year old girl, as did the many, many months I spent in and out of Paris and environs over the years. In New Orleans I took a year long history of architecture class. In Pennsylvania, I was active with the Historic Preservation Trust, and even helped fund a survey of area architecture, presented in a beautifully bound book.
Architecture reflects the economics and times of a locale, and I always find that association interesting. Here in a town like Las Vegas, the vast amounts of wealth that founded the town moved on, leaving behind a most unusual architectural legacy in northern New Mexico, where most buildings are adobe/pueblo/Spanish mission or some combination thereof. Not in Las Vegas! This is not your typical New Mexican town.
I crossed the street and met Thomas Clayton, the Chief Deputy District Attorney and the grandson of the owner of the Rawlins Building. The building is partially restored. The beautiful facade facing the street has been lovingly refreshed. Inside, much of the work to date has been structural.
Tom was kind enough to take a bit of time off his work and show me around. Partly in anticipation of the re-opening of the Castaneda across the street, Tom and his wife will also be re-opening this family building, with retail below and either apartments or AirBnB’s above.
It’s a beautiful building, with fabulous space. I can’t wait to see the finished product.
I’m frankly stunned that this town hasn’t been “discovered” gentrified or whatever verb you want to apply to apparent progress. Tom explained the locals don’t really want any change. And Santa Fe is just an hour away, with all its adobe charm and all the tourists as well.
***
Las Vegas, NM and Environs
Stopping in Las Vegas was great travel serendipity. I am simply not a heat person and I was exhausted from the constant heat and humidity of Central America. All in all, the open, unending beauty of New Mexico coupled with friendly people, high altitudes and dry air was just what the doctor ordered.
And of course, the kale salad.
My room at The Plaza overlooked the plaza and every morning I was greeted with a beautiful sunrise. I’d pull back the heavy victorian style curtains and their lace underlay and watch the explosion of color in the sky.
Sunrise over the plaza in Las Vegas, NM, taken from The Plaza Hotel
Las Vegas is small and quiet. It was a perfect refuge for three days, but I started wondering what was about. Fort Union wasn’t far away. I decided to check it out early one morning.
The drive takes you north and east into the flat plains. The site sits near that geographic divide where flat plain becomes the Sangre de Cristo Mountains .
The 900 mile Santa Fe Trail was an important “highway” for trade and transportation.
Fort Union’s importance grew out of the need to protect the Santa Fe Trail. This major highway was a 900 mile trail from Independence, Missouri to Santa Fe. Travelers faced brutal weather with no place for shelter, rattlesnakes and Indian raids. Over time, larger caravans helped provide better protection from raids, but issues of exposure, uncertain food and water remained.
Fort Union was actually a succession of three structures. The first outpost was built in 1851-61. The second structure (1861-62) was traditional star shaped fort built with defense in mind during the Civil War. This second fort had 28 cannon platforms and a central magazine.
“With 30,000 Indians in or near the District and a native population very hostile to them and continually giving rise to quarrels, it is obvious that a permanent military force is necessary in the Territory.
–George W. Getty, Commander, District of New Mexico
The third fort, built in 1863-91 was simply massive, encompassing a military post, a quartermaster’s depot and an arsenal. Each had its own commander.
By 1879, however the railways had replaced horses, wagons and stagecoaches, trade replaced much of the hostilities, and Fort Union became unnecessary.
The remains of the fort are remarkable for their sheer size and scope. One can imagine the magnitude of the operations at their peak, as soldiers, traders and travelers converged on this outpost. This National Park is worth visiting simply to realize the massive size and scale of its former operations.
View of the surviving adobe at Fort Union, NM
Remnants of the past in the plaza at Fort Union, NM
A doorway at Fort Union
***
A final architectural note: Las Vegas is the location of not one, but two Fred Harvey buildings. The Montezuma, built in 1881, six miles west of Las Vegas was originally built to accommodate those that came for the hot springs. It’s now the US campus of the United World college and a stunning building:
Montezuma, A Frank Harvey building near Las Vegas, NM
You can visit Las Vegas in the movies, but it’s so much more charming in real life. If you go, stay at The Plaza Hotel, wander and enjoy the small town ambiance of this delightful little town. There aren’t many places like this. I just hope this small town continues to survive and prosper just the way it is.
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I had originally titled this post “Homeless: Traveling the Timeline of Now”, but I find that I often get a very strong reaction to the word homeless.
When people ask me where I live, I say I am homeless. I say it with a smile and a sense of humor, I’m usually well dressed and drive a decent car, and I follow my quip with a brief explanation. If I get my delivery right, I get a laugh. But I’m learning that I need to be careful.
The notion of homelessness strikes a deep unease. People feel …what? Fear that it could happen them? It can happen to any of us.
I have to admit I felt like a bit of a hobo with that title. Wearing a bandana, carrying a backpack. As if I am jumping on trains, going hither and yon without any particular plan. But there is a plan. And I’ll be sharing it in the months to come.
In the meantime, some thoughts on travel, life, cancer and time.
***
The road goes on
Travel is a journey and a metaphor. For some travel is about a place; for others it’s about an experience. Or perhaps it’s a cause for reflection.
But no matter your destination, you always travel with yourself. So what is the point of it all?
“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” Henry Miller
Traveling homeless is perhaps a bit extreme for some. For me it suits, at least for now. I want simply to be, to experience this moment and to be free of the horrible betrayal that started this journey.
Travel is my way of healing.
Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash
As I start this post I am in St. Augustine, looking out the window of my beautiful room, overlooking a lovely, trickling fountain on the grounds of The Collector. A palm tree frames the picture. It is late October, it is cool and gorgeous. The snowbirds won’t arrive for another 3 weeks.
If I were traveling alone, I would linger here a bit. To enjoy the weather and to write. But I’m on a road trip with someone else, and the agenda is set. Perhaps one of the things I need to learn is to set fewer agendas.
Yet one has to plan. And I am. Against the uncertainty of homelessness, cancer and my very uncertain future.
Do my words betray me? Does one plan for or against? Does one move in faith or in fear?
“The most important question you can ever ask is if the world is a friendly place.” -Albert Einstein
Photo by Dickens Sikazwe on Unsplash
I pass other homeless people on the sidewalks. One stations himself across from the ATM machine, near the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine.
Another marks his spot with a cardboard box and shoe, at a place along the water.
What separates me from them? What broke them? What has broken me?
Rather than broken, I think of myself as being mightily scarred. I think of a woman in California that helps people heal their cancer experience through art. She has one lovingly plan, design and paint a clay plate that is then fired in the kiln. The final work emerges, smooth and perfect.
Then she has you smash it.
What shall one make of the broken pieces?
It’s now your task to repurpose these broken pieces into something of beauty. It’s a perfect metaphor for many things, particularly life with cancer. Not to mention betrayal.
Overcoming betrayal and finding a new business avenue to support myself, I vacillate between pushing forward and not, although I know myself well enough that I will move forward. Somehow I always do. But the fantasy of no longer being responsible to responsibilities beckons. The thought of just letting the pieces lie is compelling.
Tom Booker: There was a boy from the Blackfeet reservation, he used to do some work around here for a while. Sixteen, strong kid, good kid. He and I were really, really good friends. One day he went swimming and dove headfirst into the lake… and right into a rock. And it snapped his neck, paralyzed him. And after the accident I’d look in on him from time to time. But he wasn’t there. It was like his mind, his spirit, whatever you want to call it, just disappeared. The only thing left was just anger. Just sort of as if the… the boy I once knew just went somewhere else.
Grace: I know where he goes.
Tom Booker: I know you do. Don’t you disappear. You do whatever you have to do to hold on.
While pondering my intent with the pieces of my life, I somehow manage to set goals that lead me forward. Baby steps, I tell myself. I think of the Bill Murray movie What About Bob? and I smile.
My mind deals with the logistics. The world is not set up for homeless people. You’re expected to have an address, a tax home, a home for the purchase of health insurance whose cost is designed to make you homeless.
My ego manufactures occasional bouts of terror and doubt, about finances and health and the practicality of it all. I try to ignore this creature, but some days it’s a bit of a battle.
My soul seems to be happy to just enjoy the journey.
This push and pull between mind, soul and ego is not a disconnect; it’s just a difference of opinion. Of the three, I rather prefer my soul.
“Life isn’t as serious as the mind makes it out to be.” -Eckhart Tolle
After this trip, I will head up to Santa Fe for a few months. My soul loves the culture and geography of this New Mexican haven. In this soul haven, my mind will focus the future of CancerRoadTrip, of creating healing havens for others, to provide education and inspiration for all of us.
Some people say I am inspirational, but I don’t feel that way. I have my share of struggles. I’ve learned many of the tricks and tools that keep me mentally and psychologically fit and on track. I work on this daily. I observe my thoughts and realize that they are just thoughts. What thoughts do I choose? What reality shall I create?
My mind, ego and soul often have different perspectives. But it’s my soul that has depth and wisdom, if only I can just stay atuned.
My soul is both worldly and other-worldly. Her worldly inclinations are towards beauty, peace and a sense of place. Aspects of being homeless are simultaneously stressful and delightful for her. Discovery and exploration is fun. Uncertainty is not.
My soul is other-worldly in that she exists to love the here and now, forever. She takes in the beauty around me with great gusto and feels fulfilled. She is very present moment.
Eckhardt Tolle, one of my favorite authors, comments that “the whole essence of Zen consists in walking along the razor’s edge of Now—to be so utterly, so completely present that no problem, no suffering, nothing that is not who you are in your essence can survive in you”.
In the Now, in the absence of time, all your problems dissolve. Even betrayal and cancer.
***
History is full of traveling souls. Others have come before me. Others will follow after me.
Right now (fast forward from St. Augustine where this post started) I’m sitting on a ship.
Looking out to sea
Yesterday I sat and simply stared out to sea. I wandered the ship and came across an “elite” area for people who repeatedly travel with the cruise line, spending large amounts of money. They are the prize customers. The ship isn’t set up for single people with cancer. We’re not a viable market. (Cancer humor)
What struck me was that my experiences, of looking out to sea, of being a part of a group or not, are and always will be universal human experiences. I think of the prior transatlantic crossings I’ve been on; I think of people a hundred years ago on ships like the Titanic. We all feel the stir of the sea breeze; we all experience the endless vastness of the ocean. I am fascinated by the timelessness and repetition of this human experience which binds us.
Sadly, cancer is an experience that binds more of us each year. And coming to terms with future uncertainty combined with one’s mortality isn’t the simplest of tasks.
The problem with cancer is that it suggests an end point; a finite horizon. It brings the choices of the past into bold relief and takes away the future without removing it. It creates an unknowable void. Will I have to face more chemo? Immunotherapy? How sick or weak could I become? I’ve done this three times now. It’s had horrible repercussions in so many ways. Can I do it yet again?
Do I want to?
You’ll notice that the fear I juggle isn’t about death. I came to terms with that long ago. My fear is about what it may take to “live”. The fear is about treatment and survival with the inevitable after effects of the therapy that’s supposed to save me.
***
Cancer has caused me to cultivate the present moment. This has been a connection of immense value to me on many levels. Through the simple act of being present, I can choose not to run in circles in my mind, but to just be.
It’s a decision that frees so much energy that otherwise would be poorly spent. I recently read that judgement is negative energy, and that thought hit home. So it is that the zen of the moment lies in acceptance, not judgement.
And by simply being present, the joy of possibilities outside the limited mind open up. The simultaneous complexity and simplicity of being present is endlessly fascinating.
When I was diagnosed in 2009, I googled marginal zone lymphoma. Some of the results weren’t so hot. Potentially manageable, not curable. May transform. Transplant. Five years, the stats said.
I refused to be powerless.
Taking charge of my cancer led to many changes in my life, all of which have been good. A vegetable rich diet gives me energy. Green tea and matcha provide antioxidant support. Connecting with others in the cancer community through Anti-Cancer Club has provided me with friends around the world, all of whom “get it”. Social media rocks when it comes to cancer.
Perhaps equally importantly, a meditation practice taught me to still my mind and that stillness comes with me in my day to day life. It reinforces that sense of being deeply, exquisitely, timelessly present.
“The art of living… is neither careless drifting on the one hand nor fearful clinging to the past on the other. It consists in being sensitive to each moment, in regarding it as utterly new and unique, in having the mind open and wholly receptive.” – Alan Watts
Photo by Jared Rice on Unsplash
If I set aside this unknowable future that my mind, health and ego periodically conjure up, I can see that I am here, now. Now, for the moment, is quite good. I can enjoy now. Now is sailing the Caribbean en route to Cartagena this perfect morning. This morning the sun rose, a perfect rising. The sea continues its gentle surge under the boat. In the distance, land is starting to appear.
Sunrise in the Caribbean
Life lived out of sync with the present moment is always uncertain. But now is very known. In now, I can usually find timeless peace. So I think I’ll just quiet the doubts in my mind, still my trouble making ego, and be here now, traversing the Caribbean, traveling my timeline of now.
For those of you with cancer, I suspect you’ll understand my ramblings. For the rest of you, I beseech you to try. We are separated only by three small words and a deep realization of the reality of fleeting time in this very human life we lead.
I’ll end my reflections with this video which is for my music loving friend Robin (The Cancer Olympics) who, after everything she’s been through, is sadly undergoing yet more chemo to deal with metastatic colon cancer due to unforgivable, gross malpractice (Read her book; the story is unbelievable.)
To Robin and to all of us:
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
GOD forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin’ might mean takin’ chances but they’re worth takin’,
Lovin’ might be a mistake but it’s worth makin’,
Don’t let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin’ out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone.)
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
Dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.
I hope you dance….I hope you dance..
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along
Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder where those years have gone)
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Traveling the Timeline of Now
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A Cuban Inspired Culinary Tour in Miami’s Little Havana
Little did anyone know that New Year’s Day 1959 would change the course of Miami’s history and the history of Little Havana.
Castro’s rise to power led to a wave of immigration, starting with upper middle class and wealthier Cubans looking to sit out the revolution in South Florida. But sitting out turned into settling in. And this migration transformed the ethnic and cultural map of Miami, taking it from a retirement backwater to an international Latin city.
While Latino culture is now integral to the Miami scene, the roots of this immigration wave start with the first wave of immigrants who settled in and around Calle Ocho (8th Street) to create the neighborhood known as Little Havana .
Little Havana
Nestled just west of downtown Miami, Little Havana is a neighborhood with soul and character. More and more in my travels, I am on a quest for soul. Not shopping, not tourist experiences, but the institutions, food, habits and people that make a place its own.
Little Havana’s soul grows out of the immigration of both the 1960’s and the 1980’s which embraced over 700,000 Cuban refugees who made it here, often in small leaky boats. Today, over 1.5 million Floridians identify themselves as Cuban.
Since that heyday, the area has seen some economic decline, and immigration from other groups seeking a spot in America. But the importance of this neighborhood—culturally and historically– is recognized if not designated on the National Historic Register who named the neighborhood on its annual list of 11 Most Endangered Places. In 2017, the Trust declared it a national treasure.
And a treasure it is. The combination of rich culture and politics have an inherently sticky quality, even decades later as people meet to share both over a game of dominoes in Maximo Gomez Park (aka Domino Park).
People meet in Domino Park to play dominos, share points of view and pass the time with friends.
In Little Havana, dominoes brings people together in Maximo Gomez Park on Calle Ocho
Visit the slide show gallery for more pictures and information on visiting Little Havana.
Any trip to Little Havana needs to start with a shot of Cafe Cubano to get the day rolling. That perfect intense blend of espresso-like bitter and sugar-sweet (from a perfectly dissolved cube of sugar) leaves your taste buds lingering for just a bit more. At La Ventanita the barista pours the thick liquid into little cups at a street side bar. Morning coffee here is an institution.
Photo by Asoggetti on Unsplash
An institution on the other end of the spectrum, just up the Calle Ocho (8th Street) is The Ball and Chain, a 1930’s club that hosted jazz notables including Billie Holiday, count Basie and Chet Baker. Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitgerald are rumored to have performed here, but no solid evidence has been found.
Mists create a cooling respite for dancers at Ball and Chain in Little Havana
Salsa music, dancing and a bar with the most perfect mojito combine at the intersection of slightly seedy and historic. It all feels so good.
Cooling mist pours from nozzles overhead under the green and white striped canopy. A band plays; a dancer dances. Fresh cane juice is squeezed for the most perfect mojito. In the back, a patio and stage offer an outdoor entertainment area.
Sit, have a mojito. Listen to the beat of the music. Outside of Cuba, this may be the best mojito you will find. And these days, who knows, it may simply be the best.
The Ball and Chain Saloon opened in 1935. The history of this establishment is nothing short of a microcosm of the history of the times through which it has lived. Click here to visit their website for a detailed account of the owners and the ups and downs of this Little Havana bar.
The day I visited it was late morning and already the music poured from the saloon onto the street. A dancer, a gentleman, salsas across the dance floor, beckoning the bystanders in:
All sort of remnants of Cuba are intertwined in daily life. Along Calle Ocho, mom and pop shops, cigars, pressed sandwiches, art galleries and more reflect the culture of Little Havana.
A bit further down the street, hand rolled cigars from Pedro Bello’s Cuba Tobacco Cigar Company displays over 100 years of family ownership and their expertise in the art of hand rolling a cigar.
Hand rolling is an art form perfected in Pedro Bello’s Cuba Tobacco Cigar Company
Pedro Bella is a legend of sorts. Many days he sits outside the shop, smoking his cigar, next to the wooden Indian where he poses for pictures and passes the day. Time seems to stand still on parts of Calle Ocho as old time craftsmanship and people lead the way forward.
Pedro Bello outside his Cuba Tobacco Cigar Company
The food of Little Havana is, as you would expect, Latin with that wonderful Cuban flair. Taste an authentic Cubano sandwiche at Old Havana Restaurant; savorthe sweet taste of guava perfection at Yisil Bakery; sip on guarapo at Los Pinarenos Fruteria.
At EL Pub, the Beef Picadillo Empanada is crunchy on the outside, with an unusual kick from the filing: olives that deliver piquancy and salt to the filling. The whole wheat pastry brings substance and savory to the pastry. A win/win on both counts.
And don’t overlook Azucar Ice Cream where the sweet mantecado is a must try. The owner, Suzy Battle, has perfected her grandmother’s recipes including one named after her, Abuela Maria.
As well as great food and Little Havana institutions, you will undoubtedly run into roosters. They began showing up on Calle Ocho in 2002 as part of the “Rooster Walk” project by artists in the Little Havana neighborhood.
These feathered fellows show up in all sorts of forms and outfits. Some are bright colored; some are patriotically dressed.
Patriotic rooster on Calle Ocho in Little Havana
Cuba ia a country so close yet so far from the U.S. A mere ninety miles separates the two. From sea, the morning sun rises over this island nation. While the early immigrants have aged and their children have become the force behind the rise of Miami as a rich Latino center, Cuba still beckons.
Little Havana is a story of America starting in the 1960’s. It’s about immigration, assimilation, hope and dreams and the inevitable evolution of events with time. May the people of Cuba see their homeland again, up close rather than from afar.
Sunrise over Cuba from afar, taken several miles out at sea Photo: Pat Wetzel
If you go…
Look up Miami Culinary Tours. They offer a very nice walking tour that combines numerous culinary highlights with a bit of history.
Stay at the Ball and Chain for Happy Hour (Uber is everywhere in Miami! Stay and enjoy this amazing institution and its equally amazing concoctions.)
Walk the streets and enjoy the old world ambiance of Cuban via Little Havana.
Visit the slide show gallery for more pictures and information on visiting Little Havana.
The last time I was in Ft. Lauderdale was in November of 1963. I know that because I remember the news accounts of Kennedy’s assassination. I was six years old.
In addition to the news of the day, I vividly remember three things from that trip.
One, my friend Becky from Texas would be at the hotel with her family and I looked forward to reconnecting with her. We’d met the previous year, same time, same place.
Secondly I recall endless beach; and thirdly, the sound of endless ocean.
The room, which was high above the beach, had a wall of sliding doors that opened to a balcony and looked out over the ocean. Night and day, the sound of the surf played against the sand. By day, there were sand castles to be built. By night the magical florescence of the waves breaking in moonlight danced upon the beach.
That would be my last trip to Florida for many years. Fast forward to 2017, and I’m visiting Ft. Lauderdale again.
My impressions as an adult are different, as is the town. But one thing is consistent through time: the amazing, endless beach. The Sonesta in Ft. Lauderdale stands somewhat alone on a long stretch of beach. It’s across the street from both the Hugh Taylor Birch State Park and the water.
View of Hugh Taylor Birch State Park and Ft. Lauderdale Beach from my room at the Sonesta as an afternoon shower passes
Ft. Lauderdale is rather developed these days which is why this stretch of uninhabited beachfront is so special. Hugh Taylor was a Chicago attorney in 1893. Like many others, he was lured to Florida by the climate and in his case, a chance for privacy. He amassed 3.5 miles of beach front property at a cost of about a dollar per acre, which was later donated to the city as a public park. Thus this amazing expanse of beachside land exists in the middle of downtown Ft. Lauderdale. And the The Sonesta sits at the edge of this expanse, with extensive beachfront between the hotel and any other resort.
Ft. Lauderdale offers so many things. In under two days, here’s what I managed to see and do:
The Ft. Lauderdale Beach
Nesting turtles and sanderlings call this beach home and at dawn the birds are always about, searching for food and dodging the waves. Sanderlings are migrant birds, living and breeding in cold climates such as the arctic, and flying thousands of miles south for the winter.
Sanderlings are abundant on the Ft. Lauderdale beach. And they’re adorable. Just for fun, I put together a slide show of sanderling photos.
In addition to birds, Florida is a Mecca for nesting sea turtles. Sea turtles travel hundreds and even thousands of miles to nest. And the Florida beaches of Brevard, Indian River, St. Lucie, Martin and Palm Beach counties attract over 100,000 turtles each year.
Signs alert people to the nesting sea turtles along the Ft. Lauderdale beach.
As a result, great courtesy is given to the nesting turtles. Lights are dimmed and the beach is kept as dark as possible to encourage nesting.
For humans, Ft. Lauderdale offers numerous amusements, ranging from shopping to restaurants. Sunny.org –The Greater Ft. Lauderdale Convention and Visitors Bureau- is a good place for starting your travel plans to Ft. Lauderdale.
With less than two days to explore, here are some of the highlights I enjoyed:
Water Taxis and Traveling the Canals
Ft. Lauderdale is called the Venice of Florida for good reason. The Intercoastal Waterway provides water based access to homes, businesses and boats. Water taxis stop at regular intervals allowing tourists (and locals!) to navigate the town via the water.
One of the many dockside restaurants easily accessed by water taxi.
Florida is also known as the “Yachting Capital of the World” and a short hop on the water taxi took me by the setup for upcoming Ft. Lauderdale International Boat Show (held this year from Nov 1- Nov 5, 2017). This event is simply amazing and it generates millions of dollars in revenue for the city.
It is said that you need to provide a net worth statement to get on some of the boats. I think I’ll just enjoy from afar!
Yachts line the Intercoastal waterway in preparation for the Ft. Lauderdale boat show.
Everglades
The other waterway worth exploring is the Everglades. It’s about an hour’s drive from Ft. Lauderdale. Commercial tours are readily available from a number of lauch points. But ours was having some mechanical problems. So a good samaratin, David came to the rescue and offered an airboat ride into the waters of the park. Thank you David!
David, a Good Samaritan with an air boat, stepped in and saved the day when the tour boat had problems.
The everglades are breathtaking in their scope. Early Spanish explorers named the area Laguna del Espiritu Santo (Lake of the Holy Spirit). It remained unexplored for decades. In 1773, British surveyor de Brahm who mapped the coast, called the area “River Glades” which in time became Everglades.
Early Florida Map
And the Everglades go on for ever and ever. The water is home to migrating birds, alligators and much more.
Photo by Aldric RIVAT on Unsplash
A visit to the Everglades really needs to be on your Ft. Lauderdale agenda. If you can, arrange it late in October when the migrating birds fill the marsh. For the photo buffs in the audience, this would be an amazing oportunity.
Flamingos
What’s Florida without flamingos? They’re fascinating birds and I was grateful to get a chance to take some pictures!
Flamingo Photo Credit: Pat Wetzel
The color of the birds feathers is actually dependent on their diet. As a result one sees flamingos ranging from pale pink to coral colored. They’re actually born gray. Their diet of blue-green algae contains a natural pink dye called canthaxanthin that changes the color of their plumage.
Shopping and Dining
I found myself needing both a sweater and an unexpected new suitcase. The sweater need was easily filled by the nearby Galleria, just up the street. And I want to send my special thanks to Lee at Freeman’s Luggage who found a wonderful Briggs & Riley suitcase on sale for me. I cannot say enough kind things about this local store and the people who run it. Check them out if you need anything luggage oriented during your St. Lauderdale stay.
Dining wise there is something for everyone. After getting up at sunrise to capture some pictures, breakfast at the Sonesta was welcomed! A combination of buffet and cooked to order dishes were available.
Made to order breakfast at the Ft. Lauderdale Sonesta
At night, various restaurants provided great fish (and other dishes as well!). With an easy emphasis on freshness, a healthy diet on the road in Ft. Lauderdale wasn’t difficult. And there is no shortage of dining options in Ft. Lauderdale!
Port Everglades Cruise Terminal
The airport, Port Everglades and the Sonesta are all within easy reach of each other.
Got a cruise on the mind? Port Everglades Cruise Terminal is the third largest cruise terminal in the world and easily accessible from Fort Lauderdale. The airport is just minutes away, making a fly-and-cruise vacation very doable. I’d suggest coming in a day early. If your flight is delayed, the cruise ship won’t wait for you!
If you go:
The fall into winter is really spectacular. Here’s some weather information on Ft. Lauderdale:
Flights can also be very reasonable. I was able to get a last minute flight out of the area for about $100. This rate will naturally vary depending upon a number of variables, including the type of ticket and time of year. But with easy, affordable flights and great weather, you might want to think Ft. Lauderdale when you need a bit of winter sun!
All my thanks to the Ft. Lauderdale Sonesta who put us up for two nights. It’s a wonderful place, with unbelievable floor to ceiling views of endless beach. Also thank you to Hello Sunny!–the Greater Ft. Lauderdale Convention and Visitors Bureau–for their warm welcome and assistance. Be sure to put them on your list of resources for planning your Ft. Lauderdale getaway!
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CancerRoadTrip is about making lemonade out of lemons.
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