tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85213837958595012522024-03-05T17:37:15.037-05:00Margaret MontetUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger182125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-10269126521234239142022-06-27T19:15:00.000-04:002022-06-27T19:15:19.686-04:00Melville, Rockwell, Wharton, and Moby Tick<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I drove up to the Berkshires in
Massachusetts in late May. I had this trip planned for 2020, but then a
pandemic happened. Finally in 2022, I felt comfortable enough to stay in a
hotel (the<span style="color: #fcff01;"> <a href="https://www.yankeeinn.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Yankee Inn</span></a></span> was better that expected—microwave, fridge, and freezer
along with a free breakfast) and visit Edith Wharton’s house, The Mount. She
has been one of my top favorite fiction writers for decades, and I’ve only
recently become interested in her nonfiction on topics such as home decoration,
gardens, and travel.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I’ve long been a fan of Wharton’s
fiction, especially <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Age of Innocence</i>
and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The House of Mirth</i>. This fiction inspired
in me an interest in the Gilded Age that Wharton chronicles, and I used her
quotes and mentions in my multimedia presentation on the Gilded Age, months
before HBO’s series began. Tours of The Mount began on May 15, and my spot was
reserved for May 16. I already had a ticket for a live interview planned for
the 15<sup>th</sup> at the Mahalwe Theater in Great Barrington (Debbie Millman
and Roxanne Gay) and I didn’t want to over-schedule my days. I wanted plenty of
time to take notes and journal, and possibly also put down some inspired
writing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Before I set out on my Berkshire
journey, I noticed that the hotels listed their proximity to the Norman
Rockwell Museum. That would be an interesting excursion and might suggest a
future essay, blogpost, or presentation. I booked a tour there, too, for one of
me free days in Lenox, Massachusetts. And once I got to Lenox, I noticed there
was a house nearby in which Herman Melville lived. I’ll go there, too! I had an
interesting thing to do each day, and still plenty of time to relax and write.
I was filling my well of ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I drove north to Massachusetts on
a Thursday and checked in to the Yankee Inn. I was thrilled with the hotel. It
was quiet and my room had a writing nook with a large desk and chair. The
posters on the walls were retro ski pictures clueing me in to the fact that
this is a popular ski area. (I wouldn’t have known that otherwise, not being a
skier.) I settled in and tuned in to a streaming lecture about Ralph Waldo
Emerson I had planned. I got hooked on streamed lectures and book talks during
the pandemic when various libraries and museums were forced to put their
content online. There are still many available, and I attend whenever I can.
Being an introvert, I thought this was the best way to spend my first evening
in my hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9r7UQCY-87PUtx0JDfDqpOxIa1oolSuMxVxVutUD4wpy1YD0Hv4EovSpOJnFwvHURm21NcweQWde4Me9wiiyELoe61C1GjEaQ92Vmp17-AALrRCuKUDPOIu6dRlwVwrPbu_LFWqsRe8YPwbtDlKG-fTzLGJMxkjQ4WBi_U6NSHufd-soOPUKPrTSvKA/s640/IMG_0563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9r7UQCY-87PUtx0JDfDqpOxIa1oolSuMxVxVutUD4wpy1YD0Hv4EovSpOJnFwvHURm21NcweQWde4Me9wiiyELoe61C1GjEaQ92Vmp17-AALrRCuKUDPOIu6dRlwVwrPbu_LFWqsRe8YPwbtDlKG-fTzLGJMxkjQ4WBi_U6NSHufd-soOPUKPrTSvKA/w293-h390/IMG_0563.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My writing nook</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I headed over to the </span><a href="https://www.nrm.org/" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fcff01;">NormanRockwell Museum</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: #fcff01;"> </span>on Friday.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix4kql5vPtQrICBcraAYj3yLzgh8PiLHIsoIaAOf0xWodsLThj8xw_7D2QG9ZJACQxJGx9c-Iesn0xvX-K2tiwE0FpbYjDOMsZCL5Fc8qzv0b8-9BT4E8Pn9ZRw2RAZ00J2mmYfwpRC_wal2k30Gm23xzcxGCtTEQOcl6CUpeArjwjm9Z6Bu4bd94K5w/s640/IMG_0544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix4kql5vPtQrICBcraAYj3yLzgh8PiLHIsoIaAOf0xWodsLThj8xw_7D2QG9ZJACQxJGx9c-Iesn0xvX-K2tiwE0FpbYjDOMsZCL5Fc8qzv0b8-9BT4E8Pn9ZRw2RAZ00J2mmYfwpRC_wal2k30Gm23xzcxGCtTEQOcl6CUpeArjwjm9Z6Bu4bd94K5w/w403-h302/IMG_0544.jpg" width="403" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Norman Rockwell Museum</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> It’s near the charming village of Stockbridge which
Rockwell thought was charming, too. He painted a famous Stockbridge portrait of
the shops that remain there, still. The museum is a newer construction away
from the village. His house is there, and his last studio. For a while he had a
studio on the second floor of one of the shops in the famous painting, but
moved to his property later on. The studio wasn’t open for visitors yet (maybe
Memorial Day), but I could walk all around it and imagine creating art in such
a fabulous, tranquil setting complete with pond. There were some nature trails,
but I didn’t walk them. I regretted that because what else did I have to do
after touring the museum besides going back to the hotel? Maybe I was afraid I
would get a tick or something.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX4anS83XpwH1QmsFFQTd3pqA2xJMcqCQUMJG5jG7idfeGK7i9A8fB4H2fQujY__0ACoradiGPlJkYi7UjuxCN27F3muTeIvTLKzM_5QzE7JgV34Vbl18Ia-eLrbcCuuf57uvMDsSNH2k17ESuid6Q3KzaYbt0zwTWUG4U0_rKKAyvPChzBS67tsQuw/s5568/DSC_4893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjX4anS83XpwH1QmsFFQTd3pqA2xJMcqCQUMJG5jG7idfeGK7i9A8fB4H2fQujY__0ACoradiGPlJkYi7UjuxCN27F3muTeIvTLKzM_5QzE7JgV34Vbl18Ia-eLrbcCuuf57uvMDsSNH2k17ESuid6Q3KzaYbt0zwTWUG4U0_rKKAyvPChzBS67tsQuw/s320/DSC_4893.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norman Rockwell's Studio</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The museum supplied a thorough
education on the life and work of Norman Rockwell. Always in museums I pick out
my favorite thing or two, and here I chose Home for Christmas (Stockbridge
Main Street at Christmas)—read more here: <a href="https://www.nrm.org/images/mobile-app/msc/msc-Steph.html"><span style="color: #fcff01;">https://www.nrm.org/images/mobile-app/msc/msc-Steph.html</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">and the four paintings
representing the Four Freedoms:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Freedom of Speech</span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Freedom of Worship</span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Freedom from Want</span></li><li><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Freedom from Fear</span></li></ul><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When FDR spoke about the Four
Freedoms as what we are fighting WWII for, Rockwell thought hard about what he
could do. He arrived at a solution: he would make paintings about those
freedoms so that regular citizens could understand. People might not click with
abstract ideas, and were more likely to understand a painting. The four
paintings are hung together and I was happy to see postcards of each freedom
individually as well as an extra-wide card with all four in the gift shop. Take
a look at them here: <a href="https://www.nrm.org/2012/10/collections-four-freedoms/"><span style="color: #fcff01;">https://www.nrm.org/2012/10/collections-four-freedoms/</span></a>
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Home for Christmas (Stockbridge
Main Street at Christmas) was everywhere as well, and I came out of that shop
with another extra-wide card of it, a refrigerator magnet, and a cross-stitch
kit which when done-up will be extra-wide like the original painting. On my
last day in the region, I took myself out for lunch in a Stockbridge café
located in the central building of that painting, the second floor of which was
Norman Rockwell’s studio for a time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Saturday was devoted to </span><a href="https://berkshirehistory.org/" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Herman Melville’s Arrowhead,</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> a mere four miles from my hotel.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> This
turned out to be the very location where Melville wrote </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Moby Dick</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">! I find authors’ houses interesting, but when their
actual desk is right there in front of me I’m thrilled. This is where it
happened! I’ve seen Pearl S. Buck’s desk and Louisa May Alcott’s and others,
and could barely contain myself. My friends heard all about these desks, and
now they’ll hear about Melville’s. His is positioned near a window where he
could look out and see Mount Greylock which he imagined as the whale!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpANpc3JdJGZUQL0toXs3vZROW3uzb6BYQOrAsl1JON5UZygfEd0_RLeEcc6dZdmk-IKcKA6mMNNCVdPeiwnmbOZFo80fpZBlqyJ-rfL5c3f8S4aZIHzPkXv-ke8eZspp_KWdPvRW8jZBkX9DHDi7c-FrTiwZYPjArzsxohnWHEbe1MXcu0FtSQ30Ow/s4649/DSC_4940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3311" data-original-width="4649" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpANpc3JdJGZUQL0toXs3vZROW3uzb6BYQOrAsl1JON5UZygfEd0_RLeEcc6dZdmk-IKcKA6mMNNCVdPeiwnmbOZFo80fpZBlqyJ-rfL5c3f8S4aZIHzPkXv-ke8eZspp_KWdPvRW8jZBkX9DHDi7c-FrTiwZYPjArzsxohnWHEbe1MXcu0FtSQ30Ow/w483-h344/DSC_4940.JPG" width="483" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melville's writing table with Mount Greylock just beyond those trees</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I could
imagine someone who had never known high-definition TV convincing himself that
the mountain was a whale, sure. He even built a piazza (porch) on that side of
the house so that he could sit outside and gaze upon his whale.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The Arrowhead tour before mine
had four people on it, and the one after mine had ten. My tour was just me, and
I was able to chat with the guide without worrying that I would bore other
tourists with my questions. I told her I’m a writer and that I was especially
interested in a later work, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billy Budd</i>,
for an essay I was starting to write. He didn’t write <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billy Budd</i> in this house, she said. He wrote that later on when he
house-swapped with his brother and moved back to Manhattan. After his early
success with his first few groundbreaking novels, and moderate success with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Moby Dick</i>, Melville’s writing career
took a nosedive and he couldn’t afford to keep Arrowhead and its property
going. So he moved his family to Manhattan where he got a job but kept writing
(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Billy Budd</i> among other novels), and
his brother and family moved into Arrowhead.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJeKlon_z0N1a1kfE5UMEk6RQg2S7om64gn4uPcxJo9VuAsHWvdq-OjdQlw5d-j9LG9jSLB70uxbo_1SNMGKrrs4PxMcXHMXraPK2TjuzYDL9nKU0XhWNsycT6HFHBc3LgV4VPOZtzMkjV6BIeJgIbYJkIkmDkBrJ5GDIfUE_hP60pNI9LMru-iGm9w/s5568/DSC_4927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJeKlon_z0N1a1kfE5UMEk6RQg2S7om64gn4uPcxJo9VuAsHWvdq-OjdQlw5d-j9LG9jSLB70uxbo_1SNMGKrrs4PxMcXHMXraPK2TjuzYDL9nKU0XhWNsycT6HFHBc3LgV4VPOZtzMkjV6BIeJgIbYJkIkmDkBrJ5GDIfUE_hP60pNI9LMru-iGm9w/w450-h299/DSC_4927.JPG" width="450" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melville's Arrowhead--that's the piazza on the right side</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Arrowhead has its own walking
trails, and although it was a hot day I decided to walk them. One went into the
woods where the trail was well marked but still rather wild. The other marked
the boundary of a field, fallow now, but yielded crops in earlier years. All
totaled, I walked about three miles in that unseasonal heat, and I was glad for
my car’s air conditioning. Back to the hotel I went to ponder my Melville visit
and look closely at the books I bought there. </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I and My Chimney</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> is a short memoir about the central chimney of
Arrowhead and how it prevented any remodeling ideas Mrs. Melville presented
Herman with. That chimney was central to the house tour, too. While looking at
my new books, I noticed a tick on my salmon-colored pants and brought him/her
to the bathroom sink drain promptly. Proud of myself for not over-reacting to a
dreaded tick, I soon found another, already embedded in my calf. Without
tweezers or other amateur surgical instruments, I used Neosporin and my
embroidery scissors to extract the bug. In pieces. The following week, back in
New Jersey, my doctor told me I had successfully gotten all of the bug but
prescribed a course of antibiotics and daily Neosporin on the wound. Back at
work in Pennsylvania, a clever colleague named my tick Moby Tick, and that’s
what I mostly remember about Herman Melville’s nature trails.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81nkuZDkUda4qeqmskuY-4vT3wSRFPGLlkRq_WZxo9__3ik_kHf7sYgS8umrhSm-FO-mJX0lgHWM3XYXoA11KvR0HHrmX0v0nad0de2ov4L8dykz4FNJjFJbI7mqSIaZOQmJ4YhrrDJlRrr284kpWj0m3WPy-Tvae7gMv8psWtKXNxuL5_2APEupOrg/s5568/DSC_4946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj81nkuZDkUda4qeqmskuY-4vT3wSRFPGLlkRq_WZxo9__3ik_kHf7sYgS8umrhSm-FO-mJX0lgHWM3XYXoA11KvR0HHrmX0v0nad0de2ov4L8dykz4FNJjFJbI7mqSIaZOQmJ4YhrrDJlRrr284kpWj0m3WPy-Tvae7gMv8psWtKXNxuL5_2APEupOrg/s320/DSC_4946.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beware of ticks</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sunday was free until Debbie
Millman and Roxanne Gay’s interview at the </span><a href="https://mahaiwe.org/" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fcff01;">Mahalwe Performing Arts Center</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> in Great Barrington.
I learned of this event from The Mount, Edith Wharton’s House. They provided my
pandemic experience with many book talks and lectures, and I’m still on their
email list even though most of their offerings are now in-person. I was
thrilled to have the chance to attend this interview as both women are important
writers. Millman was meant to be the interviewee. She has an award-winning
podcast which focuses on design as well as a big book of her best podcast
interviews. Gay was to be the interviewer, but as it turned out, their
interview was really a conversation. Either way it would have held my interest for hours, and the beautiful Mahalwe Theater was a posh setting. This excursion was the
furthest from my hotel at 20 miles, but I got to drive through Stockbridge
which I recognized immediately from the Norman Rockwell painting. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hcHLhy1H0pJ5RpNQeuOnAByNJeUZWyyMQ1uH1ftE2QNLMk7Wo6wPpyWOiJXFADgoTAcFvUJPykPNKqN_v58v1Dm-hpxF9f-VMZ_LI1fCZ6-SqoPZOqp5eRhnNr6nRXa1jQJx7eO3Yiss8otYORMpBjMNKUzJgPeqHptxm2yR55b9ZF2QsVKeKwbDmg/s640/IMG_0559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="640" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hcHLhy1H0pJ5RpNQeuOnAByNJeUZWyyMQ1uH1ftE2QNLMk7Wo6wPpyWOiJXFADgoTAcFvUJPykPNKqN_v58v1Dm-hpxF9f-VMZ_LI1fCZ6-SqoPZOqp5eRhnNr6nRXa1jQJx7eO3Yiss8otYORMpBjMNKUzJgPeqHptxm2yR55b9ZF2QsVKeKwbDmg/s320/IMG_0559.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1WRgZTCA66SG_oUGdcmxFPedgWSoaxYrx4GsR-U52x0mPkSXVcnsjeBwzdkJgfLon11Oii_dwAPUVSFeldh1PlsHN6gX6llfYlf6gvXVFON9_qhBV5TFzpYX7_vwQF1hHOnryrAUUMMfBVZ8iPCWjoXbtV7qPWjIcH7nEqC0wNeVD04GsG4EaCT6QCA/s640/IMG_0561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1WRgZTCA66SG_oUGdcmxFPedgWSoaxYrx4GsR-U52x0mPkSXVcnsjeBwzdkJgfLon11Oii_dwAPUVSFeldh1PlsHN6gX6llfYlf6gvXVFON9_qhBV5TFzpYX7_vwQF1hHOnryrAUUMMfBVZ8iPCWjoXbtV7qPWjIcH7nEqC0wNeVD04GsG4EaCT6QCA/s320/IMG_0561.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The reason I drove the four hours
to Massachusetts is <a href="https://www.edithwharton.org/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #fcff01;">The Mount</span></a>. This was Edith Wharton’s home from 1902-1911,
just after the Gilded Age she chronicled in her stories and up to when she
divorced her husband Teddy and moved to France. I listened to her book, <i>The
Decoration of Houses</i> during the car ride from New Jersey, and learned a lot
of things that I would see on this tour. For example, she loved symmetry. Even if
she had to create fake window or doors, she insisted that everything be
balanced. She disliked ruffled curtains, but strangely had them in her boudoir,
an office connected to her bedroom. This boudoir is where she would sit at a
central table to pay bills, talk to staff, and conduct the business of running
the estate. She actually wrote in her bed, every morning, like someone else I
know.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUE9za0q6fWYW1Hykr4-WgE5UtM1SptllDohaJXuxh8RzIdtJLjFWd0ue5XxDVC4mj0KRW5qHDt3_Fx1glr5TDo1XPaQQezSmW79th0VwNLq4kZJaAObp2u-Fi7E0mpFd5tndMArL6TyL1Q6OpWWxo8XK44duyftVX2qMQPVO7ZGp0st2trCMC380SlA/s5568/DSC_4960.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUE9za0q6fWYW1Hykr4-WgE5UtM1SptllDohaJXuxh8RzIdtJLjFWd0ue5XxDVC4mj0KRW5qHDt3_Fx1glr5TDo1XPaQQezSmW79th0VwNLq4kZJaAObp2u-Fi7E0mpFd5tndMArL6TyL1Q6OpWWxo8XK44duyftVX2qMQPVO7ZGp0st2trCMC380SlA/w463-h308/DSC_4960.JPG" width="463" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Edith Wharton's The Mount<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The Mount features gardens and
trails. After the trauma of the Moby Tick incident, I skipped the trails and
focused on the gardens. There are two, the Flower Garden and the Italian
Garden. It was early for flowers to be blooming in the former, but there was a
center fountain providing visual and aural niceness, and a few pops of color. I
remember a few tulips, notable to me since New Jersey is finished with tulips.
The Flower Garden and the Italian Garden are connected by the Lime Walk, two
rows of Linden trees with a path between. The Italian Garden, as Edith Wharton
describes <i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">in Italian Villas and Their Gardens</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">, does not feature lots of flowers
but instead shrubbery, masonry, and furniture. It’s too hot in most of Italy to
grow flowers, so the gardens are really rather outdoor hangouts with few
flowers. Having for years tried to grow petunias and begonias at our family’s
beach house, I understood this immediately. I’m not there to water typical
annuals every day, so the only flowers I can nurture are geraniums and portulaca.
I imagine it would be even more difficult in Italy!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_59OfYVbPbDEaIUqQro7B_I6oQZnEg9cn1TmP8XXqvh37lx_OzNZvAtiSjxaMWkVRsVIFYXpHvQXFBLmiGnLX64J2jUCvz9ajsq1IYFwyQI4ocMFjT-c6qh7xvKiiDQC2j7FGqZ73FJ1epKqQUoe9euFvnsD5N_fWIYfTfxHoDZgGwlvisS7hyA4BZA/s5568/DSC_4983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3712" data-original-width="5568" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_59OfYVbPbDEaIUqQro7B_I6oQZnEg9cn1TmP8XXqvh37lx_OzNZvAtiSjxaMWkVRsVIFYXpHvQXFBLmiGnLX64J2jUCvz9ajsq1IYFwyQI4ocMFjT-c6qh7xvKiiDQC2j7FGqZ73FJ1epKqQUoe9euFvnsD5N_fWIYfTfxHoDZgGwlvisS7hyA4BZA/w427-h284/DSC_4983.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Columns in the Italian Garden at The Mount</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">I toured the house and learned
that Edith Wharton loved dogs. She always had a few, and there were dog beds
(fancy ones) in odd places in the house. She kept a glass jar of dog biscuits
at her place on the dining room table. </span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizyabPvJDFuDVIrbR0L0q1vipbXbJ7YPGKN8gER3Z9oIFEWog2hXBGi9F4ptx3cKk_BnswhsipfPXgrS928U2kmh015xyj8XLsfSP40qcCekrj3fCSAfzQQBqvC7SlLcD1Pe4wOvn4kfs-b4rfIXFTEH_xVHag4qJnlkR5Ah7PlVaY_fcI-P5WniDpRw/s438/IMG_0576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="438" data-original-width="434" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizyabPvJDFuDVIrbR0L0q1vipbXbJ7YPGKN8gER3Z9oIFEWog2hXBGi9F4ptx3cKk_BnswhsipfPXgrS928U2kmh015xyj8XLsfSP40qcCekrj3fCSAfzQQBqvC7SlLcD1Pe4wOvn4kfs-b4rfIXFTEH_xVHag4qJnlkR5Ah7PlVaY_fcI-P5WniDpRw/s320/IMG_0576.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dog biscuits in the dining room</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">That dining room table was round, by the
way, because Edith Wharton liked to be able to see everyone with whom she was
eating and promote good conversation. It was set for tour visitors as she would
have had it. A recurring theme on this tour is that Wharton did not subscribe
to the confined fanciness she wrote about in her Gilded Age novels. She rebelled
against it. The house was inviting and welcoming. It seemed comfortable. We saw
an actual librarian in the library who was more than happy to say a few words
about some treasure in that room. She showed us some books that were signed to
Wharton, one by her friend, novelist Henry James. She spent a lot of time and
energy on this library, and roughly half of her books came home to stay there.
She died many years after The Mount years, in France, and her will stipulated
that her books would be divided between two young men. One of those kept his
books in a warehouse in which the Wharton books were destroyed, and the books
belonging to the other young man found their way back to The Mount. The Mount’s
library would be a dream to explore, and the librarian seemed willing to help
scholars explore it.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-ZLmKmYmDVHeC_HiZ3HJptKn7OKpkvtstaZ9a32m-JQnoN-xg2Rad48ICmWwFnuOh2fMrTzEtSXXIvpIrdDoLcxBumt_tksOjsSH9TAMxnkzU0G7MycymnJbyAx0v2wXapIqbrO3IEWnpfNv79nG_k-dniHnJ12aLghT23YdZC2EtPef5dy4oS1IOw/s640/IMG_0568%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-ZLmKmYmDVHeC_HiZ3HJptKn7OKpkvtstaZ9a32m-JQnoN-xg2Rad48ICmWwFnuOh2fMrTzEtSXXIvpIrdDoLcxBumt_tksOjsSH9TAMxnkzU0G7MycymnJbyAx0v2wXapIqbrO3IEWnpfNv79nG_k-dniHnJ12aLghT23YdZC2EtPef5dy4oS1IOw/w422-h317/IMG_0568%20(1).jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of The Mount's Library</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">All in all, this turned out to be
a fantastic solo trip, one I wouldn’t mind repeating since these destinations
are so committed to providing special exhibits, lectures, and book talks which
are like catnip to me.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 106%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-67467708187481818232021-05-01T17:01:00.002-04:002021-05-01T20:49:13.659-04:00What My Retirement Should Look Like<p>I often wonder what the next phase of my life will look like. I'm familiar with childhood, teen years/high school, college-into-young-adulthood, marriage, and divorce-hood. Through most of these phases, I worked, worked hard, worked multiple jobs simultaneously, and was loyal to my employers. Retirement looms in front of me now as the next big phase, but it is a ways away (a decade) and I'll have to pay off some debt (I'm looking at you, student loan!) before I get there. What do I want retirement to look like? The following fanciful constellation of jobs has been compiled from positions I've actually seen advertised this spring.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfpgEUyayqXIW2wuTcaUySJbSznGXsvEt8sRBCGlwPItsaqQV6v2pPUkCzRqaj2Orhswi-QLGpexNRuOfYckX4rgdhPWtzppvNVGyrfxoVQnJ4q8G3GR5UVIUcpaOmJOYM2pUNjOEkFwh/s3100/DSC_4602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2067" data-original-width="3100" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfpgEUyayqXIW2wuTcaUySJbSznGXsvEt8sRBCGlwPItsaqQV6v2pPUkCzRqaj2Orhswi-QLGpexNRuOfYckX4rgdhPWtzppvNVGyrfxoVQnJ4q8G3GR5UVIUcpaOmJOYM2pUNjOEkFwh/w534-h356/DSC_4602.JPG" width="534" /></a></div><p>I'll be living at the New Jersey shore, Cape May specifically. That's a given, because that is where my heart is and that is where I feel most at home. The Cape May Light is my icon for this part of the universe, and recently I saw that <a href="https://capemaymac.org/" target="_blank">Cape May MAC</a>, the organization that administers the property, was advertising for Lighthouse Keepers. A dream of mine! These keepers would not have to tend to the light to keep mariners safe because that is automated. These contemporary keepers would not have to lug heavy barrels of oil up the circular wrought iron steps, either. (Have you seen the 2019 movie, <i><a href="https://youtu.be/Hyag7lR8CPA" target="_blank">The Lighthouse</a></i>? It wouldn't be like that, I don't think.) These new lighthouse keepers mainly corral the many visitors and tell stories and facts to keep them occupied. One of the previous keepers offered short, illustrated lectures in the Nature Center on weekends. I could do all of this and then go for a two-mile walk in my beloved Cape May Point State Park afterwards. I don't think there's a uniform, but I seem to recall a navy blue polo shirt with the keeper's name and "Lighthouse Keeper" embroidered underneath. I would also want an authentic, retro-looking lighthouse keeper hat.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="326" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/42_UHhpq530" width="392" youtube-src-id="42_UHhpq530"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUwKy0yKnm3VYlStypmJ4D_UUrEnuMurBeFcB1qoFr0yPBQZJ8NAFSBLk9vRoA08Gkm4J7YFdoDvLoX_Gozdcl8qKlMVmypgB2y6F6rYqK6GnfWEndx5PfkVdYLcXWYkfIaGvHkdYro0O/s1196/1-fierce-woman-pirate-cartoon-clipart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="776" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgUwKy0yKnm3VYlStypmJ4D_UUrEnuMurBeFcB1qoFr0yPBQZJ8NAFSBLk9vRoA08Gkm4J7YFdoDvLoX_Gozdcl8qKlMVmypgB2y6F6rYqK6GnfWEndx5PfkVdYLcXWYkfIaGvHkdYro0O/w85-h131/1-fierce-woman-pirate-cartoon-clipart.jpg" width="85" /></a></div>On a different day of the week, I'd schedule myself to drive over to Wildwood in my black-and-fuschia lady pirate uniform in order to portray the enemy of the <a href="https://www.starlightfleetnj.com/pirate-cruises" target="_blank">Dark Star Pirate Cruise</a> ship. This job would require captaining a small motorized vessel, shooting a powerful but harmless water cannon in the general direction of the tourists, and creating a colorful (and humorous) lady-pirate-villain costume. A pirate hat would be required. From my landlubber desk where I currently write, non of these job requirements seem prohibitive, but in rare moments of introspection I suspect I might feel a twinge of imposter syndrome. I'll snap out of it. My name would be either Lighthouse Lil (combining my first two job personas), or Maritime Margie (to preserve my 'MM' initials). I imagine that on my days of portraying the villain, I would fly big, bright, black-lace-trimmed, fuschia bloomers from the mast instead of, or in addition to, the Lighthouse Lil flag and the skull and crossbones. I will be refreshing my pirate talk fluency. <p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqridSq59adeqEOu3YH2-JJWYwdywrlp0JH4U2LanEOR4KrISoxo51SvtjWbfY8PlnFfVvAHXx6xQ9GCaAN4wvVoxOWCvfT0Cge-BKUk6F-1uNdTflTMPSpAJ_VIuBq3uGH2McY-MOUREp/s640/IMG_6074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqridSq59adeqEOu3YH2-JJWYwdywrlp0JH4U2LanEOR4KrISoxo51SvtjWbfY8PlnFfVvAHXx6xQ9GCaAN4wvVoxOWCvfT0Cge-BKUk6F-1uNdTflTMPSpAJ_VIuBq3uGH2McY-MOUREp/w310-h413/IMG_6074.jpg" width="310" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Robert Shackleton Theater</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrpBQuDBqCSYoPwZvXQOEbB6EYMLob4ednBVkiaYGNu221YC3BeJMnMpkth6KjynW-525YZSkKjSAH15fIpRF3e95by6CsuEWGoN5iGAmZ6lXkzNPE5Dy8Z66mhylLckJ_fNM9iTDGY10/s1437/IMG_5400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1437" data-original-width="1059" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrpBQuDBqCSYoPwZvXQOEbB6EYMLob4ednBVkiaYGNu221YC3BeJMnMpkth6KjynW-525YZSkKjSAH15fIpRF3e95by6CsuEWGoN5iGAmZ6lXkzNPE5Dy8Z66mhylLckJ_fNM9iTDGY10/w93-h133/IMG_5400.JPG" width="93" /></a></div>When I'm not guiding tourists up and down the 199 lighthouse steps, or shooting water jets at unsuspecting pirate cruisers, I predict that I will be creating and sewing costumes for one of the classy theater groups in Cape May, <a href="https://www.capemaystage.org/" target="_blank">Cape May Stage</a>. (I've seen lots of their plays in their little church-turned theater.) They really are, as I write, looking for a Costumer. The job description included other required skills including working with the public and lifting fifty pounds. I can lift fifty pounds, but do I have to then carry it? I can sew. I've made costumes, mostly Halloween and Colonial. Once, whe I took a career aptitude test along with my students, my result was Costumer for Opera. That result seemed outrageously specific, but it has launched me into many a daydream. Have I missed my calling? There is still time.<p></p><p>I will need to generate income during my retirement, and I haven't yet crunched the numbers to see if this trio of gigs will sustain me. I imagine they won't if I want to still buy books and travel. I will have to supplement this income with royalties from my award-winning, best-selling author career which is about to take off with the publication of my collection of grown-up travel essays, <i><a href="http://www.readfuriously.com/p/nerd-traveler.html" target="_blank">Nerd Traveler</a></i> (published by Read Furiously, July 2021). </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLepKAzCRio-Nojm_3eCU2GagofX9B6kEo2P616oGbO_h0x6_B1_qc7fO2ktR4ScSEWOMU4aWFMj3JVbF02dGBmU59zntraC47uM9yzRSk5paC9S9PC2RsCNFJEHTbxjqq52cxAy5c_yRY/s886/Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="587" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLepKAzCRio-Nojm_3eCU2GagofX9B6kEo2P616oGbO_h0x6_B1_qc7fO2ktR4ScSEWOMU4aWFMj3JVbF02dGBmU59zntraC47uM9yzRSk5paC9S9PC2RsCNFJEHTbxjqq52cxAy5c_yRY/w235-h355/Cover.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 6 from Read Furiously!!!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>I've been waiting a long time to bust out of the hum-drum, the quotidienne, the quietly anonymous. In retirement, I'll have the opportunity to be a character...or four.</p><p>A To-Do List has been created:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2G_ctNRQDYum-sCld0H_JfdhSDJsYQPTIYVNDBNVys2FIU-nM-_WvjGeS0mQ-BfQb2UYCwkvymrkHg_q7gBJhXFB-VVw7AkLwLEbnFVIzDezOdX4x1S_jBbKjK-Rp0Dx8tDZoE8_CcmnH/s640/IMG_9092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2G_ctNRQDYum-sCld0H_JfdhSDJsYQPTIYVNDBNVys2FIU-nM-_WvjGeS0mQ-BfQb2UYCwkvymrkHg_q7gBJhXFB-VVw7AkLwLEbnFVIzDezOdX4x1S_jBbKjK-Rp0Dx8tDZoE8_CcmnH/s320/IMG_9092.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-75206675492494459042020-07-26T22:48:00.000-04:002020-07-26T22:48:20.674-04:00CYANOTYPES: Look at Me Doing Science!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9bnOS4NraFe1OsFZw1ZNPtjHpd4BspiuJ4uY6K0LpnRnt_tYxcCsB3x326ZEk69-ZiwhWQt2U9Opg8HKyHW3odsU_aw79a7rLlO5ZB4qbO69QRwxFkLS_XzhMnH4ht0o3OSAmfF2-y5g/s1600/IMG_8082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9bnOS4NraFe1OsFZw1ZNPtjHpd4BspiuJ4uY6K0LpnRnt_tYxcCsB3x326ZEk69-ZiwhWQt2U9Opg8HKyHW3odsU_aw79a7rLlO5ZB4qbO69QRwxFkLS_XzhMnH4ht0o3OSAmfF2-y5g/s400/IMG_8082.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impression of Ivy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I've been attending quite a few webinars, book talks, and other Zoom offering during this quarantine, and among some eye-catching author talks I found a demonstration of Cyanotypes offered by the Boston Athenaeum. Those are those blue images, like blueprints, right?<br />
<br />
Tatiana Cole is the Paper Conservator at the Boston Athenaeum, and she showed her workspace full of tools for fixing old books and paper properly. Among all this, she was set up to make cyanotypes on paper. She painted her paper with a special solution, put an object on top, a piece of picture-frame glass on top of that, and then went up to the roof to let the cyanotype sandwich sit in the sun for about five or ten minutes. When time was up, she removed the glass and the object and there was a distinctive photo image of the object on the paper. As she explained to her audience where we could get our own supplies to make cyanotypes, she mentioned that these could be done on specially-treated fabric, too. That's when some bells went off in my head: I had received, years ago, the very specially-treated fabric she spoke of. I never got around to actually making images because I thought it would be difficult. It isn't.<br />
<br />
1. Place item on fabric or paper. 2D objects will be better because 3D will let light underneath.<br />
2. Put the fabric/paper with object on top in the sun for 10-15 minutes. If you have some glass, it might help flatten out any 3D-ness of the objects. I didn't have glass handy, but I'll look harder for some next time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHK9uDVo9vOhctweQdUlOMUxFjVNpOeVCYAxg9WMjzM7_4FJWepB27Kq5YDKY8nmc05GHxj9fEHo6WdCy3aMW2r8VLB3RYAs5Xk0mfglhs-uj7W1bMK-6fj5k9uCkPOI1RoItVO4yoS5-/s1600/IMG_8074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHK9uDVo9vOhctweQdUlOMUxFjVNpOeVCYAxg9WMjzM7_4FJWepB27Kq5YDKY8nmc05GHxj9fEHo6WdCy3aMW2r8VLB3RYAs5Xk0mfglhs-uj7W1bMK-6fj5k9uCkPOI1RoItVO4yoS5-/s320/IMG_8074.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An assortment of botanical objects from my yard on specially-treated fabric in the bright sun on a wickedly hot day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
3. Remove object(s).<br />
4. Rinse fabric/paper until water runs clear. You probably want to wear gloves for this. I forgot. I'm okay.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7F4NDDKpePU2EV_H01GDrfAh1k0vRiTz5B2SdsMsENXAfWC-65imEPMuPtIod5SuHgANN8E5BraHy81ToQlttcronnsyEoX9aMjxqqLiR2km7FOdrisTrnEsibYzc_5vCmCSQEVrjUDGQ/s1600/IMG_8075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7F4NDDKpePU2EV_H01GDrfAh1k0vRiTz5B2SdsMsENXAfWC-65imEPMuPtIod5SuHgANN8E5BraHy81ToQlttcronnsyEoX9aMjxqqLiR2km7FOdrisTrnEsibYzc_5vCmCSQEVrjUDGQ/s320/IMG_8075.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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5. Protect your clothing, too.<br />
6. Dry.<br />
7. Once my fabric was dry I pressed it.<br />
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For a first try, I'm happy with my end result. My fabric was three feet by four feet, and I decided since I'd probably be chopping it up anyway and putting it in a quilt, I'd have better luck in the sun if I cut it into strips first. I didn't want to expose half the fabric while I was dithering over placement of my botanical specimen. I have some great images to use in some sort of quilt, but I'll be dithering over how to set them for months, I'm sure. For some reason, some of the leaves and things made better impressions on the wrong side of the fabric. I haven't figured that one out yet. Here are the items I placed on my fabric:<br />
1. holly branch<br />
2. ivy vines--great performers here<br />
3. fig leaf--great impression<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wJihUbw8CRvHDtL4DnyCWEccbjok-_YP5NMeqFqVpKE3_EZ6moFatM24hmWksftn3DrIog-jfTNqOkzaX6GK8bXK11kLeYufZYwkpvTOf0hiRUcZZfrIigFZTD4gZfbrrTyylQH7zAK-/s1600/IMG_8085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wJihUbw8CRvHDtL4DnyCWEccbjok-_YP5NMeqFqVpKE3_EZ6moFatM24hmWksftn3DrIog-jfTNqOkzaX6GK8bXK11kLeYufZYwkpvTOf0hiRUcZZfrIigFZTD4gZfbrrTyylQH7zAK-/s200/IMG_8085.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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4. magnolia pod<br />
5. magnolia leaf--just a big blob<br />
6. Virginia Creeper to which I am highly allergic, but I used my garden scissors as tongs and was VERY careful. I needn't have bothered--it didn't make a great impression.<br />
7. lilac leaves<br />
8. shells (not from my yard but sitting on a counter in the house)<br />
9. portulaca leaves--too tiny<br />
10. geranium leaf<br />
11. vinca vine<br />
12. camellia leaves<br />
13. purslane<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviTwHrTIGxltjvKON4WjikcT8mWOsjv0RZRj507_1TzMF0KP3xjBfkwfj0y2PSbymLP_CV7YxVG4GifQfX2l0fQSPlThE0vnIY7AByL4g0tcNb5IQk4a3zVx8H1Yo7qILdsUgBwitdZSk/s1600/IMG_8087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="640" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhviTwHrTIGxltjvKON4WjikcT8mWOsjv0RZRj507_1TzMF0KP3xjBfkwfj0y2PSbymLP_CV7YxVG4GifQfX2l0fQSPlThE0vnIY7AByL4g0tcNb5IQk4a3zVx8H1Yo7qILdsUgBwitdZSk/s200/IMG_8087.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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14. juniper leaves and tiny berries--this looks kind of great, but would have benefited from a piece of glass to mash it flat. Too much sun got under.<br />
15. mystery tree leaves (I don't know--my father planted a few of these after all our Mimosa trees died.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYFVb_QUi3g3Bd_bF2nm1ZwO7fcOSc7KfchErVyhxOxf5Z41LKaNLfB0oJqCbY0HizW4sPQwCqaKREg6UXoLk4EAQUb-2tOoLMaIYL1J5GPnn6P8fIBp7oq3IyMI1T75WT_wIMX6VC3hw/s1600/IMG_8086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="487" data-original-width="640" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLYFVb_QUi3g3Bd_bF2nm1ZwO7fcOSc7KfchErVyhxOxf5Z41LKaNLfB0oJqCbY0HizW4sPQwCqaKREg6UXoLk4EAQUb-2tOoLMaIYL1J5GPnn6P8fIBp7oq3IyMI1T75WT_wIMX6VC3hw/s200/IMG_8086.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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That was my experience, and I'm sharing my photos here. If you're interested in seeing some really good cyanotypes, a botanist named Anna Atkins published three volumes of cyanotypes of British algae. You can read about her and see some examples from the UK's Natural History Museum <a href="https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/anna-atkins-cyanotypes-the-first-book-of-photographs.html" target="_blank">here</a>. If you're on Facebook, there's a cool site called Alternative Photography which shares some great modern cyanotypes: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/alternativephotography/">https://www.facebook.com/alternativephotography/</a>.<br />
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If you'd like to acquire your own supplies and make your own cyanotypes, try <a href="http://www.blueprintsonfabric.com/">www.blueprintsonfabric.com</a> (fabric) or <a href="http://www.sunprints.org/">www.sunprints.org</a> (paper). Both were recommended by Ms. Cole at the Boston Athenaeum. I had a ball doing mine and felt like a mad scientist. I can't explain why the fabric looks pale blue in the "before" shots, medium blue while it is drying, and grey after it is dry. The medium blue is the most accurate.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72VFglW5NAF3kcH-pK60pAoGS4VUwTX1_fHDAcLEgAXDc-dN2sXZ97FU-OtZ5AiHWnF1kMbSb-lKLfwtK_mEKKNW0JgzDoRb6EKfSd8xWB-tg6A20ODFFLsZZjyT1CXyTFT3AfAgTpjzf/s1600/IMG_8073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj72VFglW5NAF3kcH-pK60pAoGS4VUwTX1_fHDAcLEgAXDc-dN2sXZ97FU-OtZ5AiHWnF1kMbSb-lKLfwtK_mEKKNW0JgzDoRb6EKfSd8xWB-tg6A20ODFFLsZZjyT1CXyTFT3AfAgTpjzf/s640/IMG_8073.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-22109044222844126312019-05-21T21:14:00.000-04:002019-05-21T21:14:06.183-04:00Newport, Rhode Island's Cliff Walk: I Did Not Have to be Rescued!I drove to Newport in order to immerse myself in the Gilded Age. I've been thinking of putting together a presentation or essay about that era sandwiched between the end of the Civil War and the beginning of World War I when new technologies changed the way American humans lived and innovators and businessmen got very, very rich. Many of these rich folk summered in Newport in lavish mansions with many a gold-leafed surface and listened to some interesting music which is what draws me to the era. Mark Twain coined the term Gilded Age with one of his novels, but he didn't mean it as a compliment. He referred to the gilded surfaces of the rich which obscured the reality of the rest of the people, many living in poverty, and not yet benefiting from the new technological advances. There really was gilt, but he was using it as a metaphor.<br />
<br />
I visited The Breakers, the most opulent of all the mansions,<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lupsGh0mS5EsmLba4d3kWohyrtEx76LpcWJneUcFIoIspJtkjolLUPYRe1vPc_z3jNKg1s6NIyC4Z7OCljt53y93zArNoL_UurPiKETC1AOFq6lW4GdzsG90ELV_nM78CKuZoCQXxCLP/s1600/DSC_4365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lupsGh0mS5EsmLba4d3kWohyrtEx76LpcWJneUcFIoIspJtkjolLUPYRe1vPc_z3jNKg1s6NIyC4Z7OCljt53y93zArNoL_UurPiKETC1AOFq6lW4GdzsG90ELV_nM78CKuZoCQXxCLP/s400/DSC_4365.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Breakers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
and the number two mansion, Marble House.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRDHlsoDrcrJbcrfiwXoWlfmUTBvRB3Nbw24ZanEQNGi0XyJLnFAh9GfRz_-xWXM1kGMN4QVwqqS9QYxRB-9vR7x5KtH7xA_Qj4FyTi_YIsmqHtPNb1YiMshogL0InGM_4nqmdTYXwYMJ/s1600/DSC_4384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRDHlsoDrcrJbcrfiwXoWlfmUTBvRB3Nbw24ZanEQNGi0XyJLnFAh9GfRz_-xWXM1kGMN4QVwqqS9QYxRB-9vR7x5KtH7xA_Qj4FyTi_YIsmqHtPNb1YiMshogL0InGM_4nqmdTYXwYMJ/s400/DSC_4384.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marble House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Both of these belonged to branches of the Vanderbilt family. That's how I occupied my Saturday.<br />
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I saved the Cliff Walk for Sunday morning. I wasn't sure how much of the walk I'd do because I read that some of it was challenging, and as there is no Cliff Walk Aptitude Test I'd have to evaluate in the moment what they meant by "challenging." The popular part of the walk is a sidewalk running along the edges of many of the famous mansions' enormous back lawns with the rough, rocky ocean on the other side. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia5GK-JF4RkMmCTSFaI3afGZbBB0xh_QoKOrfOUG5W6iUQcVOT4nIPf7yAhCfz4mOUpm0nyxaed3ZNlAyne5CkE0z0sjnZXrflmirEA1H2Gq8pHp53g5VZaVeSz5E8Gl5QXNKI2mJ6bJ4c/s1600/DSC_4408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia5GK-JF4RkMmCTSFaI3afGZbBB0xh_QoKOrfOUG5W6iUQcVOT4nIPf7yAhCfz4mOUpm0nyxaed3ZNlAyne5CkE0z0sjnZXrflmirEA1H2Gq8pHp53g5VZaVeSz5E8Gl5QXNKI2mJ6bJ4c/s400/DSC_4408.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The easy part of the Cliff Walk</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcF6NOv9HRoY6HFk3Ng7RJbToJS3-XWHJz-U7VlN2QDrOLrdvpACu5Qe4TbedTGEFduMqrQbXgbqp4JO1NdhH4ovB-9nYrjtu4K4VRggNPQjT-Oks3dDFY2qxotzJWa_svBG5GZ7TI4go/s1600/DSC_4412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcF6NOv9HRoY6HFk3Ng7RJbToJS3-XWHJz-U7VlN2QDrOLrdvpACu5Qe4TbedTGEFduMqrQbXgbqp4JO1NdhH4ovB-9nYrjtu4K4VRggNPQjT-Oks3dDFY2qxotzJWa_svBG5GZ7TI4go/s400/DSC_4412.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Breakers, as seen from the Cliff Walk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7bAq5g_l3GTrIvwNoE79l6MaFPnaX8cJwS0b6KYJCWiA16v5RtIJltp-Zgg3auYrYzfCSMv6V_gUvocd3FwSc8lvTLpvW0X3v4a6837MiXqcnZ-ExEqNz83YYsUJPNO5qhgNET-Kx-RF/s1600/DSC_4416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="1600" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7bAq5g_l3GTrIvwNoE79l6MaFPnaX8cJwS0b6KYJCWiA16v5RtIJltp-Zgg3auYrYzfCSMv6V_gUvocd3FwSc8lvTLpvW0X3v4a6837MiXqcnZ-ExEqNz83YYsUJPNO5qhgNET-Kx-RF/s400/DSC_4416.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">breakers with a small 'b'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It's gorgeous, really, and very popular with what seems to be locals and tourists alike. Some of the privately-owned mansions have erected fences to keep Cliff Walkers from gawking at their homes, but most of the rest are visible. There's also a university taking up residency in one of the mansions formerly owned by a titan of industry, now known as Salve Regina University. Their commencement was being held under a huge white tent adjacent to the Cliff Walk on my Sunday morning amble.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rk3fMviBeWnjaQfpV5rLYeyGS2TJltICaswg_HP66G9pHxE4p-pQM6fUgt65ZTl-1pCWo5IIUlfxAVMjv_gImsFEMVHNUCq8uWNKzD5lG4l96xPgbRv3wo12kntKX0PhWRu2bBsIwPYU/s1600/DSC_4402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rk3fMviBeWnjaQfpV5rLYeyGS2TJltICaswg_HP66G9pHxE4p-pQM6fUgt65ZTl-1pCWo5IIUlfxAVMjv_gImsFEMVHNUCq8uWNKzD5lG4l96xPgbRv3wo12kntKX0PhWRu2bBsIwPYU/s400/DSC_4402.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The giant commencement tent is further down the walk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Eventually I got to a spot where the sidewalk ended and there were giant, flattened-out boulders to walk on. These posed no great challenge to me as I grew up walking on boulders like this in Cape May with my dog, Bambi, and my dad. I'm no expert, but I think these were the same kind of rocks Bambi and I walked on.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZZaPKRxN2IXaujaNGGSbT5wj_vTSPm5m1rsqmNaWNCFfprJCDYSXda7R_zL322NMhwVPwq1sRdZKLs2QOa7gSV5YVWFupuuMk39V34SWsk9LCMGnhw98hn2lqHeF3BF3V5bZQFJjLi0W/s1600/DSC_4425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="1600" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZZaPKRxN2IXaujaNGGSbT5wj_vTSPm5m1rsqmNaWNCFfprJCDYSXda7R_zL322NMhwVPwq1sRdZKLs2QOa7gSV5YVWFupuuMk39V34SWsk9LCMGnhw98hn2lqHeF3BF3V5bZQFJjLi0W/s640/DSC_4425.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's not Bambi; that's a Newport dog with an impressive stick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The boulders linked to more sidewalk, some gravel areas, and more boulders. Every now and then there would be a tunnel going under mansion property or a grandiose fence. It was such a unique and scenic walk! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrOKnPQvhnvTe251F9sojktyOaQrywyqGqDoDmRI67yzb7CjDVJ12U4nPzSW_RNhauO64LMCSuVCUnQyVx9tT7b-CbQSZZIsVOSMWHUUu1yqbrg8Zri29fgO9Z9iyIgJXC45R0c5ZE6dX/s1600/DSC_4413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrOKnPQvhnvTe251F9sojktyOaQrywyqGqDoDmRI67yzb7CjDVJ12U4nPzSW_RNhauO64LMCSuVCUnQyVx9tT7b-CbQSZZIsVOSMWHUUu1yqbrg8Zri29fgO9Z9iyIgJXC45R0c5ZE6dX/s400/DSC_4413.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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One tunnel went under the Chinese Tea House which belongs to Marble House. This tea house was built for Alva Vanderbilt to hold her women's rights meetings, but now refreshments are sold there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDhUyU_Ov-Qq3WwhhQAlh_5-hj0UMqrb8XC1zrawUJboynDVNTjEwyA53dMrbYOeQWp6M9gC-nKa22Zpj72Eywy9KF-9tQXhNpbJTTx0PzQxwnX1E5TSs6RjB0syy5uQm0Oiigdbd9nqZ/s1600/DSC_4431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDhUyU_Ov-Qq3WwhhQAlh_5-hj0UMqrb8XC1zrawUJboynDVNTjEwyA53dMrbYOeQWp6M9gC-nKa22Zpj72Eywy9KF-9tQXhNpbJTTx0PzQxwnX1E5TSs6RjB0syy5uQm0Oiigdbd9nqZ/s640/DSC_4431.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chinese Tea House and the tunnel to the left</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At some point I saw a sign explaining that the walk from that point would be more challenging. Did this mean "challenging" for my grandmother, or "challenging" for me who has experience walking on flattened boulders with Bambi. I decided to keep going because the place was so gorgeous and different, and because I was hoping to find Lands' End, the mansion once owned by writer Edith Wharton, a great critic of the Gilded Age. The gravel and flat boulders gave way to large, smooth rocks which had no place to put my sneakered feet. These were not Bambi rocks. Soon these boulders required big steps up (or down) which the hiking guys who passed me navigated easily with their longer legs and hiking boots. I am physically unable to step that far up or down. I had to use the sit-and-spin-the-legs-around method. (Luckily for me, there is no video evidence of this.) At times there might have been a chain link fence to hold on to (for dear life) and at times there wasn't. Periodically, I checked my illustrated Cliff Walk guide to get my bearings and remind myself what Edith Wharton's Lands' End looks like.<br />
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I considered turning around when I got to Rough Point, a mansion built by Vanderbilts and eventually inherited by Doris Duke, the tobacco heiress, who died in 1992. It's now open for tours.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZIzAMLrrvtufp0CtM-AO9TtBegrLNnERRX2bQ-qmrLdn_VyfaPxgrNL7jOn1x9jdkM4cBAzq8HLCs0-ZoXmCsmMeWA_xpvlI64vhGYXjrZ1yoXq-wFR6Lc655bK0LIrP1uQcHiSFtMnD/s1600/DSC_4460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiZIzAMLrrvtufp0CtM-AO9TtBegrLNnERRX2bQ-qmrLdn_VyfaPxgrNL7jOn1x9jdkM4cBAzq8HLCs0-ZoXmCsmMeWA_xpvlI64vhGYXjrZ1yoXq-wFR6Lc655bK0LIrP1uQcHiSFtMnD/s640/DSC_4460.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rough Point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At Rough Point, I was standing atop a boulder contemplating the wisdom of continuing, when one of those long-legged hiking gentlemen happened by and told me I was pretty well into it and might as well keep going. I did, for a little bit, but paused again to consider my situation. How would the U.S. Coast Guard (or Newport police) rescue me if I wiped-out? That would be embarrassing. No matter how far I walked/climbed, I would have to walk back to my car. I should probably turn back. It was then that I looked ahead, about where Lands' End should be according to my book, and there were the white chimneys of Lands' End! (I think.) So I shot them (with my camera):<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkxGl70R4GqJP2MtVLQKZaPdhYBC5P79NLFy3kp_qGOZblRJahdYRZZ9sexCcqvJMpFQQgqsDGlcpwnVj7GNZ_quIYQPw8Lrxme0MvN_68m46NHv2QQMYF91vqfp5-djikEaN-9PZgvCp/s1600/DSC_4463_LI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkxGl70R4GqJP2MtVLQKZaPdhYBC5P79NLFy3kp_qGOZblRJahdYRZZ9sexCcqvJMpFQQgqsDGlcpwnVj7GNZ_quIYQPw8Lrxme0MvN_68m46NHv2QQMYF91vqfp5-djikEaN-9PZgvCp/s640/DSC_4463_LI.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I started back. At one point I turned around to take in the vista I had just climbed down. Look for the tiny people near the top to get the scale of this (and the magnitude of my accomplishment):<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDfICgT4S35wigcTTdXmuIlJp_ZM2p0uHzUsQhCVx4DgDE3QTsI3LD5dGqEPKA8g8tgfK2bfRGS289FR3JkkDPg3HjEByj_S_o5XqxzEe62tJ5pNuQDmtWcIHr3XX0YDXLXTWMV4MD0ME/s1600/DSC_4450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDfICgT4S35wigcTTdXmuIlJp_ZM2p0uHzUsQhCVx4DgDE3QTsI3LD5dGqEPKA8g8tgfK2bfRGS289FR3JkkDPg3HjEByj_S_o5XqxzEe62tJ5pNuQDmtWcIHr3XX0YDXLXTWMV4MD0ME/s640/DSC_4450.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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But gosh, it was beautiful! It took me a couple days to recover from this exhilarating walk, but it was worth it! (<b>And I did not have to be rescued</b>.) Later I calculated that I walked/climbed about five miles which is my usual walk in the park, actually, but without boulders...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt23gKYFvoAoOqA-88u5OUS_pNPmkZI5ochkF-I10LD5C7J_cFKeuSZvArDnoQNtEI9GrfGUPPm_NeFbMPjVBLE45lh7bFolESkyPMKl91aps7LrF3kCpDWwIZOKFhP33OOmZ9swjyhFxb/s1600/DSC_4447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt23gKYFvoAoOqA-88u5OUS_pNPmkZI5ochkF-I10LD5C7J_cFKeuSZvArDnoQNtEI9GrfGUPPm_NeFbMPjVBLE45lh7bFolESkyPMKl91aps7LrF3kCpDWwIZOKFhP33OOmZ9swjyhFxb/s640/DSC_4447.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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More tiny humans taking the Cliff Walk challenge!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-24549344892817059932018-07-14T17:15:00.001-04:002018-07-14T17:15:19.513-04:00I Went on a Swamp Tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7GoE0RkU-oN0kgyWo3KZiLBb6Z4Ekr9p4w6zvQsDyNapqMpzZWBe3RCG1KMhgzSlK9WSgWfFtMYQhLaWi4yhcCxSPVmUf_RcnoWUijBMSNUxrVzToDDamL5ISzkwMrNs4UyCl71qz8BI/s1600/DSC_3900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB7GoE0RkU-oN0kgyWo3KZiLBb6Z4Ekr9p4w6zvQsDyNapqMpzZWBe3RCG1KMhgzSlK9WSgWfFtMYQhLaWi4yhcCxSPVmUf_RcnoWUijBMSNUxrVzToDDamL5ISzkwMrNs4UyCl71qz8BI/s640/DSC_3900.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was in New Orleans for a conference and checked off some things on my list that I always wanted to do (Preservation Hall Jazz, the World War II Museum, lunch at Cafe Amelie). Still, I found myself with an unencumbered Sunday afternoon in June, and thought to myself, "I've never seen a Cajun guy feed marshmallows to an alligator in the swamp, so maybe I should do that!" I have a special affinity for Louisianan swamps and Cajuns since that's where my father came from. This would mean I am half Cajun, obviously. (The half that likes spicy food, but not the half that is allergic to shellfish.) My father lived on the bayou not far from where this swamp tour would happen (LaFourche Parish) until he was about eight years old. He mentioned it often: pelicans and egrets, alligators and crawfish, sugar cane and molasses.<br />
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Okay, truth be told, I had no idea alligators like to eat marshmallows and that Cajuns like to toss them to alligators, but I found this out on the Swamp Tour. Our guide, Captain Reggie,<br />
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narrated a very informative (and fun) tour of the swamp. Bayous, he explained, are naturally-occurring thoroughfares through the swamp while canals are man-made ones. There is marshland in the swamp, too. So, the swamp, as they define it here, is the whole ecosystem which includes bayous, canals, and marshes.<br />
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We rode on a flat-bottomed boat almost exactly like the Salt Marsh Safari boat I'm familiar with in Cape May.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQDE7U6Fb_xAhJ9b-2pYKCTvky518TxmW4irGrHbl8iliGZxI1uS0uR4wq-71rDjyzq3Fb5U2Kn3IVyIIjWuGG9UV14I2ypkhInI-O4R8aI-YsiWmPtTRqMSrQU3Q6LA1YSnlnpb3BYEl/s1600/DSC_3824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQDE7U6Fb_xAhJ9b-2pYKCTvky518TxmW4irGrHbl8iliGZxI1uS0uR4wq-71rDjyzq3Fb5U2Kn3IVyIIjWuGG9UV14I2ypkhInI-O4R8aI-YsiWmPtTRqMSrQU3Q6LA1YSnlnpb3BYEl/s400/DSC_3824.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My ride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Other visitors were riding on large and small fan boats, but these things are noisy. As Captain Reggie explained, "You wouldn't learn anything."<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fv0Y-BC_EUmxGdIw6-xutUZuFTbfOIrJyao8p7vpaN0tn_l8ZqhoCnHDBZjWhRG9kjz8btApoUCQKFjEku0U18EFJ7XG7dQ4ODGka_C9MMXVy20aEOdu_lpTQidfgPAMmBwD2-ZTrche/s1600/DSC_3833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1273" data-original-width="1600" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Fv0Y-BC_EUmxGdIw6-xutUZuFTbfOIrJyao8p7vpaN0tn_l8ZqhoCnHDBZjWhRG9kjz8btApoUCQKFjEku0U18EFJ7XG7dQ4ODGka_C9MMXVy20aEOdu_lpTQidfgPAMmBwD2-ZTrche/s400/DSC_3833.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A smaller fan boat (noisy)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kp4cY015iG_XpO1DsKe6Xh7ozskR0ijyyvVE36BLALt8mx1B2H8Idg4ndJ9Yfp773CHZI0plc5mGT6puIQiIsxfggK4usW0qaoV67VLgpr-w8BadrO6WnL7Lx0OfiPmDSSpIGT3TmPYx/s1600/DSC_3859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kp4cY015iG_XpO1DsKe6Xh7ozskR0ijyyvVE36BLALt8mx1B2H8Idg4ndJ9Yfp773CHZI0plc5mGT6puIQiIsxfggK4usW0qaoV67VLgpr-w8BadrO6WnL7Lx0OfiPmDSSpIGT3TmPYx/s400/DSC_3859.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A larger fan boat (noisier)</td></tr>
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This swamp is in Jean LaFitte National Historic Park and Preserve, specifically the Barataria Preserve. We saw trees, moss, dragonflies, and yes, ALLIGATORS. Early in the ride we saw a small alligator swimming around by himself, and he came right over to the boat. Captain Reggie explained that alligators don't see the white marshmallows he tosses, but they feel the vibrations when it hits the water. Besides luring the alligators closer to us, those marshmallows allow us to see the reptile chomp down on something not alive (like a tourist).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDDuqu6QJHJ4zcbMA8xeHPNlLPL46bHreKnhMwYaSHp451r4yuayG4UEZNlZg0GUqy42nGaGDn5gL1wZ3gtwYHqP6o8sjE8ABFy08klI-lBZgbTBfl_UvTL-GrD5ofHMZ6TRecTTnczft/s1600/DSC_3851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1395" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBDDuqu6QJHJ4zcbMA8xeHPNlLPL46bHreKnhMwYaSHp451r4yuayG4UEZNlZg0GUqy42nGaGDn5gL1wZ3gtwYHqP6o8sjE8ABFy08klI-lBZgbTBfl_UvTL-GrD5ofHMZ6TRecTTnczft/s640/DSC_3851.JPG" width="558" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first reptile we encountered</td></tr>
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We toured through some interesting heat-tolerant flora on our way through the swamp to see even more marshmallow-eating alligators. The stuff hanging from trees is sphagnum moss, and according to Captain Reggie, "Yankees actually buy that stuff." Yes, he's right, once or twice my non-Cajun Yankee side actually bought that stuff for various craft projects. It is used to stuff boat cushions, too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2iBIy-z_PxnZEEtOhHVrwlJC8_F4bAYlVfpha_KBOcFMeRTOhgS7zrcfhBMXkCP73ZZGHiKU4QvkMAA1xk3RQrF1KR1EXStk7PjRQCU2qKxV9e8lr7gg6lJ9tYajth3aKlC6zu83MCTA/s1600/DSC_3862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1600" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2iBIy-z_PxnZEEtOhHVrwlJC8_F4bAYlVfpha_KBOcFMeRTOhgS7zrcfhBMXkCP73ZZGHiKU4QvkMAA1xk3RQrF1KR1EXStk7PjRQCU2qKxV9e8lr7gg6lJ9tYajth3aKlC6zu83MCTA/s640/DSC_3862.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sphagnum moss hanging from tree</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_Qbh2C4sU4Lwo6e2lixNvam6iD2ixrHeqIy5koA9r_MJXcRoKoP5CTH8XBratkjF6uMGgPrUsq_5S8RjGbRk6ilUmSExg4wqsCdfocjRkTpwtBKTC8n_n-HKrmJDhpQIRblyL3QijCsA/s1600/DSC_3906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_Qbh2C4sU4Lwo6e2lixNvam6iD2ixrHeqIy5koA9r_MJXcRoKoP5CTH8XBratkjF6uMGgPrUsq_5S8RjGbRk6ilUmSExg4wqsCdfocjRkTpwtBKTC8n_n-HKrmJDhpQIRblyL3QijCsA/s640/DSC_3906.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It looks tropical...</td></tr>
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At one point on the tour, we passed a Cajun graveyard. One of Captain Reggie's grandmothers is in there, and he confirmed what I always suspected: when the area floods, the coffins can pop out of the ground and float around. I stopped listening at this point because I have nightmares about my long-dead ancestors floating around in their coffins during catastrophic floods. I started listening again when the Captain told us that the hill in the middle of the cemetery is an ancient Native American burial mound going back to 500AD.<br />
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At one point during our tour, Captain Reggie found a breezy spot to stop and give the boat a rest. From out of a closet that none of us had noticed, he brought out his companion, Elvis, a baby alligator. Cool enough to see one up close, but each of us got to hold it. (Kids got to wear Elvis on their heads.) I did hold Elvis, and here follows photographic proof. He squirmed a little, but more interestingly made soft little sounds almost like a dove cooing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Margaret and Elvis (profile)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elvis, straight-on</td></tr>
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Finally, we saw alligators. I counted seven simultaneously swimming around our boat and grabbing whatever marshmallows they could.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See the marshmallow about to be eaten?</td></tr>
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This was a fabulous tour in spite of the June Louisiana heat. Of course it was going to be hot, and I did the best I could dressing comfortably and sipping my water. My big worry had been mosquitoes, so I bought a yellow spiral bracelet which was supposed to form a forcefield around me unpenetrable by mosquitoes who love me. I can't tell you if the bracelet worked, but I can tell you no one else was complaining about mosquitoes.<br />
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After I was delivered back to my New Orleans hotel, I Googled Captain Reggie. He said some Disney movie character was named after him, and I was curious about that: Ray in "The Princess and the Frog"? I'm way behind on Disney movies, but I found something even more interesting. Here's Captain Reggie himself (the "Alligator Whisperer") feeding marshmallows to alligators on someone else's tour. You can hear him saying "Ici!" ('here' in French) to the reptiles. Now why didn't I take a video???<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-18620052553294879892018-05-03T22:26:00.004-04:002018-05-03T22:28:05.097-04:00San Antonio, Texas: Remember the Mariachis!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's a strange phenomenon I experience before I leave for a trip lately: I'm looking forward to immersing myself in a place I haven't been or revisiting an old favorite, but this weird anxiety takes over. What is this pre-homesickness? It's not related to flying or solo travel. It's not related to the reason for the trip, this time a library conference. I really wanted to see San Antonio, so I pretended I wasn't pre-homesick and soldiered on, even though my airline changed my flight from a comfortable 1:30pm departure to an inhumane 6:00am.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">in La Villita</td></tr>
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What I hadn't figured was that I'd be in San Antonio early enough to enjoy a whole day there before the conference. I visited the Alamo, which to my delight was not "too small" or "no big deal" as I had been told. I liked the Alamo. The small iconic church is surrounded by gardens, the historic Long Barrack Museum, a living history encampment, and the gift shop, originally built in 1937 as a museum. There were interesting artifacts including a well and a millstone brought to San Antonio from the Canary Islands. News to me: in 1731 approximately 56 people (15 families) from the Canary Islands arrived in San Antonio. They were sent from Spain to help populate the Texas territory for that country which also controlled the Canary Islands. I noticed a street and a restaurant named for them. I have a Canary Island ancestor or two way back in my family tree, so this Texas connection has intrigued me into a new research project.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mill Stone from the Canary Islands</td></tr>
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I learned all about the Alamo from the IMAX movie starring Patrick Swayze's brother, Don, offered in the adjacent modern shopping mall. The Alamo was built by the Spanish-dominated Mexicans in 1718 for Spanish missionaries and their Native American converts in what was then known as San Antonio de Valero. It was taken over by the Texans. Eventually, Mexicans independent from Spain since 1821 wanted it back. They stormed the place under the leadership of General Antonio Lopez Santa Anna. It was a bloody struggle in March 1836, brought to life vividly in letters written by Colonel William B. Travis. He was writing to Andrew Ponton and the citizens of the city of Gonzales trying to get reinforcements because he knew the Mexicans were coming:<br />
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<i>"The enemy in large force are in sight. We want men and provisions. Send them to us. We have 150 men and are determined to defend the Alamo to the last."</i><br />
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Additional soldiers never came, and the Mexicans overpowered the Texans and slaughtered any survivors (including Davy Crockett) once the fighting was over. All of the bodies were burned. It is dramatic and heartbreaking when you take the time to learn about it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Alamo</td></tr>
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After Texas became a republic in May 1836, the Army used the Alamo to store supplies. In 1883, Texas purchased the church and made it into a memorial to soldiers and a historic monument. My hotel was very near, so I walked around the Alamo area every day imagining that horrific battle and what the Alamo looked like before the big, modern city buildings were built. Some old buildings survive and give the impression of a movie set. In 2015, the Alamo and other missions in San Antonio were declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Alamo, sideways</td></tr>
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"You're going to love the River Walk!" I heard that more than once, and I did love it. Each evening after the conference, I'd take the hotel elevator down to the very bottom floor and wander out to this abbondanza of restaurants. I ate Tex-Mex the first night, then Barbeque the second, then Italian, and then finished with Tex-Mex again. The River Walk restaurants were fun, festive, and casual. I took every meal <i>al fresco</i> beside the river, watching the resident ducks and the tourists on river tour-barges. My weird anxiety evaporated by the second day because this evening eating experience was consistently comfortable, not like going solo in some crowded family emporium or stuffy date-night restaurant.<br />
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I embarked on one of those river barge tours on my last afternoon, when the library conference concluded. The San Antonio River winds around the city with concrete walks on either side. These walks date back to the 1930s (but have been restored since), and some of the bridges have WPA plaques on them. This is unique San Antonio. So many of the San Antonio sites are reachable from the River Walk: the Briscoe Western Art Museum (top on my list for next time), La Villita shopping and restaurant village with its own theater, <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Villita</td></tr>
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and even the hospital where Carol Burnett was born.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oivct1vKnhFOYn0hfA7lGxYwSbftLkm0F9251-v2qPVKb14PFc8MgZy51cy744swz9-pUBhfscK6U5RoVgnxrp7Eki_OwPGn__tdK6yW0DOLPTZxUsEjmvWxfhqROcWV5S-4gBuhvS70/s1600/IMG_5059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9oivct1vKnhFOYn0hfA7lGxYwSbftLkm0F9251-v2qPVKb14PFc8MgZy51cy744swz9-pUBhfscK6U5RoVgnxrp7Eki_OwPGn__tdK6yW0DOLPTZxUsEjmvWxfhqROcWV5S-4gBuhvS70/s400/IMG_5059.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carol Burnett was born here.</td></tr>
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"Would you like to be serenaded?" asked the Mexican musician with the enormous guitar. Certainly I would. He asked if there was a song I'd like his trio to play. They knew no Bruce Springsteen material, so I told them to choose something. These guys who had elluded my camera for days now stood around me and my beef burrito performing "More" (the theme from <i>Mondo Cane</i>) from 1962. (I remember this tune from junior high school band.) I shot them repeatedly...with my camera...and tipped them heavily for the privilege. It was a thrill to be sure, and I loved that they chose a 1960s instrumental. In the evenings after dinner, I had worked on an essay about 1960s music in my hotel room. It was a perfect farewell to Texas. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJw_8bnniHm8prbDnz7GFYh8RBVFUUiKNkZ6fYxALy0T33kb2m_vq-XCcIGpDp-uNP9_HZrQvDilZllXhO0F6rE88sVD6_C5f2hNqVrHEA8bVrI4hkugTq6-cUpAxG9SinQYSFsQlERTqY/s1600/Mariachi+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJw_8bnniHm8prbDnz7GFYh8RBVFUUiKNkZ6fYxALy0T33kb2m_vq-XCcIGpDp-uNP9_HZrQvDilZllXhO0F6rE88sVD6_C5f2hNqVrHEA8bVrI4hkugTq6-cUpAxG9SinQYSFsQlERTqY/s400/Mariachi+collage.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My serenaders</td></tr>
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The tune has been recorded from everyone from Frank Sinatra to Bobby Darin to Doris Day to Andrea Bocelli, but here's a 1960s instrumental version by Kai Winding:<br />
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I made no progress in figuring out why I experience that strange travel anxiety, or pre-homesickness. But I am happy to report that I enjoyed San Antonio once I got there and experienced Texan hospitality. On my last day, the travel day when both of my planes departed late, I experienced a strange and wonderful phenomenon. Both at breakfast in the hotel and at lunch in the SAT airport, I was offered a to-go cup of my beverage of choice (no charge!) by my server. This small gesture of warmth meant so much to my sense of well-being and relaxation. I sipped on my to-go soda with my book on my lap as I waited (and waited) (and waited some more) for my plane to arrive reflecting on the fine time I enjoyed in Texas. When can I go again?<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-1595629134855070292017-11-11T16:14:00.001-05:002017-11-11T16:14:18.608-05:00Finbar Visits Ireland, Part Two: Beyond Dublin City<h3>
Day Trips from Dublin </h3>
Finbar had proven that he is a fine, low-maintenance travel companion, so I had no reservations about letting him tag along with our group and subsets of it on excursions further afield. He slipped easily into my travel bag which was the same color as him and provided some camouflage where toads have not gone before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KAdAFZcg18Qpt7FT99K7VvgrrmxzUutjqC-GJ1bStww54kNvQ-C3ko2Inv3ZBQwsc0dDm9gb8O3tjbg3UGy34EJsOemmb4OA4X1mDjf5TR9Buvoi8GX2Ncg4TS3V_08SYl6vMGxYj1ot/s1600/Howth+Head.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KAdAFZcg18Qpt7FT99K7VvgrrmxzUutjqC-GJ1bStww54kNvQ-C3ko2Inv3ZBQwsc0dDm9gb8O3tjbg3UGy34EJsOemmb4OA4X1mDjf5TR9Buvoi8GX2Ncg4TS3V_08SYl6vMGxYj1ot/s400/Howth+Head.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar views Howth Head on Dublin Bay, our first excursion into the scenic countryside</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EFyvrQHTfBHl-kNBmx_rl_tMuEz4xwK0L8gbO7igy7nA9yYnePA_D6eZdnU8BobCJpKc-xZOwCMzfG03EFb6vcKhvsGEcAOJnjbF7knUFhcQRZkNX_97xeYT39EE_TIac7Nm3K2jQpAr/s1600/Trim+Castle+Finbar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EFyvrQHTfBHl-kNBmx_rl_tMuEz4xwK0L8gbO7igy7nA9yYnePA_D6eZdnU8BobCJpKc-xZOwCMzfG03EFb6vcKhvsGEcAOJnjbF7knUFhcQRZkNX_97xeYT39EE_TIac7Nm3K2jQpAr/s400/Trim+Castle+Finbar.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trim Castle, which is haunted</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvvZrTxtKli0mOm5jsj4eB96I5KJXhgt_EjuBc9cP1fFAqYptx_ZfoEMPvLroEl7TKg8ZSUAdsxg4po4L_UFLCOo3wjXSTzprAnKWvUujNKOaPFGzKh4nXwxiyKa-rWL4qJzE-d9KHx9zZ/s1600/Trim+Castle+Fin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvvZrTxtKli0mOm5jsj4eB96I5KJXhgt_EjuBc9cP1fFAqYptx_ZfoEMPvLroEl7TKg8ZSUAdsxg4po4L_UFLCOo3wjXSTzprAnKWvUujNKOaPFGzKh4nXwxiyKa-rWL4qJzE-d9KHx9zZ/s640/Trim+Castle+Fin.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar suns on a flat rock outside Trim Castle; clouds filled with rain begin to form above</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov-gFwObusSGxB6MsBr40mEG2u9ek0ixfagvlnqgitS0adngifcOfJZLVL53ciJT34qI4MSYCjf4LXyBteQa4nnBbMioMlBeoCHT7Vz19dkKS63LI4it6B98HjmP4CPyh0pzjgbMq0Bv9/s1600/IMG_3262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhov-gFwObusSGxB6MsBr40mEG2u9ek0ixfagvlnqgitS0adngifcOfJZLVL53ciJT34qI4MSYCjf4LXyBteQa4nnBbMioMlBeoCHT7Vz19dkKS63LI4it6B98HjmP4CPyh0pzjgbMq0Bv9/s640/IMG_3262.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another toad-friendly flat rock, this time in Glendalough in County Wicklow, south of Dublin</td></tr>
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A small group of us took an independent bus trip to Northern Ireland to check out the coastal sites and the city of Belfast where it rained and rained and rained. Finbar came out to see the Giants' Causeway, but stayed in the waterproof travel bag for Belfast.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJjR0VEqarlUwER217IQUvi7YItmqWOQ0gQmkhR6mdORgj3ipoo57klIIDoIk4oE4kIO1Vw_GLm-2vCdMjUyOXUjycPwPGUivrVYVKAevko57RWRB9HoSFy5xbVoQy1Ie7g-fYedbMiWN/s1600/Giants+Causeway.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJjR0VEqarlUwER217IQUvi7YItmqWOQ0gQmkhR6mdORgj3ipoo57klIIDoIk4oE4kIO1Vw_GLm-2vCdMjUyOXUjycPwPGUivrVYVKAevko57RWRB9HoSFy5xbVoQy1Ie7g-fYedbMiWN/s640/Giants+Causeway.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is some challenging terrain, but not for toads.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWe5EUoac_p9ePmiObD1JomT_K0w8mz9hM1KFfVxzcAWA5bABkmPdurEV7JfQJJGYKAEp0lEdN11damymVafzn8i1X_AvLX9lr1syICodL3oi9Vt-qy5J5dioGVj-erImCKpUqTfkLzqIT/s1600/DSC_1189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWe5EUoac_p9ePmiObD1JomT_K0w8mz9hM1KFfVxzcAWA5bABkmPdurEV7JfQJJGYKAEp0lEdN11damymVafzn8i1X_AvLX9lr1syICodL3oi9Vt-qy5J5dioGVj-erImCKpUqTfkLzqIT/s640/DSC_1189.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar requested that I show this photo of the basalt columns which make up the Giants' Causeway</td></tr>
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<h3>
Galway and the West</h3>
After the writing program residency was over, newly-graduated Kathy and I took a train across the middle of Ireland to Galway. We enjoyed the train ride as the people inside were merry and the scenery outside was green and lush.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ__NRvp_Eb0ZZCp_bA8GlqsVAArmyhjp7sTISgS6F7gVyMcF6XgbFA5NkDNwBrGq4YyVWx9JnuK1lFhjjXw6IYFhpQ6XYY1qvDEVSrkwMBpHfZjJGeG0gM4kyJMuMh1UQJPf7Nv0X4wfF/s1600/Snacks+on+Train.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ__NRvp_Eb0ZZCp_bA8GlqsVAArmyhjp7sTISgS6F7gVyMcF6XgbFA5NkDNwBrGq4YyVWx9JnuK1lFhjjXw6IYFhpQ6XYY1qvDEVSrkwMBpHfZjJGeG0gM4kyJMuMh1UQJPf7Nv0X4wfF/s320/Snacks+on+Train.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I shared my snacks with Finbar.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtSAbfz0gBy5XTstEyOuUVwFF2fP6OnY_-5LjV6nVB_q__Aabhoak_e6MifbR5Gnty2g01ts8ymBrja7rs1NMPfRncgIXzSGyjnaTGtsRgUmhDgi7Ep8Ae8teBUkfix6c6NliozaDtwpZ/s1600/Finbar+on+the+Train+to+Dublin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJtSAbfz0gBy5XTstEyOuUVwFF2fP6OnY_-5LjV6nVB_q__Aabhoak_e6MifbR5Gnty2g01ts8ymBrja7rs1NMPfRncgIXzSGyjnaTGtsRgUmhDgi7Ep8Ae8teBUkfix6c6NliozaDtwpZ/s320/Finbar+on+the+Train+to+Dublin.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had a nice table which was similar to a flat rock (and the train filled up soon after I shot this.)</td></tr>
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We walked around Galway, shopped, and ate in some swank pubs and restaurants. There was more music than usual as our visit coincided with the Galway International Arts Festival! Our real motivation for this westward journey was to launch from our Galway hotel on day trips to Connemara, the Cliffs of Moher, and Inishmor, the largest of the Aran Islands.</div>
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Connemara is a region just south of Galway, and we toured it on a comfortable motorcoach with a very entertaining and informative driver. We cruised through the area where the movie "The Quiet Man," starring John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, was filmed. We saw a stone bridge which figures prominently in the film.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0W9apL008ixz2e6L0hbYwTBAn5SC_32Yvu2oZOAWllJ9b8on2g1_MSZf5GFUNjs9NURTVOxVCK8bvaeFaVxIJ-y7YrKAxVjLeBC0FK36SfiEPpCBUKV8mEr5J1JH7ydtgXbzvBQLToru3/s1600/On+a+bus+to+somewhere+probably+Cliffs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0W9apL008ixz2e6L0hbYwTBAn5SC_32Yvu2oZOAWllJ9b8on2g1_MSZf5GFUNjs9NURTVOxVCK8bvaeFaVxIJ-y7YrKAxVjLeBC0FK36SfiEPpCBUKV8mEr5J1JH7ydtgXbzvBQLToru3/s400/On+a+bus+to+somewhere+probably+Cliffs.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar approves of this brand of water. </td></tr>
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We visited Kylmor Mansion which features an outstanding garden.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii5sFRzCKnJ6Z8-2APbm1PNC1Of6BNVoMS2qkmbnJ27XitSMrSZjGJUtc9PTrlATkiCAvJ97MuSZKDpmiDZw9i3WPW0EXDjjvKxKe6RF9t4iY9IgQKxAmvgV9BYPblaNcJHT4SO1M1Tz9V/s1600/Kylemor+Garden+Rhubarb.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii5sFRzCKnJ6Z8-2APbm1PNC1Of6BNVoMS2qkmbnJ27XitSMrSZjGJUtc9PTrlATkiCAvJ97MuSZKDpmiDZw9i3WPW0EXDjjvKxKe6RF9t4iY9IgQKxAmvgV9BYPblaNcJHT4SO1M1Tz9V/s640/Kylemor+Garden+Rhubarb.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar inspects the rhubarb...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and the flowers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxal7nBHdyq2aLZ6qRKMFda5DBo61IhcBBHXagG3qgiVPyYdzKyU8FZS8uIi_5MZrKTGWIkrCCxZmHMeZoHP6fitVHL2-zWrKej-DsnW3QG1Udm7gv5dLVUKQ4EgdMI7nEbwvDDxn_YZg/s1600/Also+Leenane.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxal7nBHdyq2aLZ6qRKMFda5DBo61IhcBBHXagG3qgiVPyYdzKyU8FZS8uIi_5MZrKTGWIkrCCxZmHMeZoHP6fitVHL2-zWrKej-DsnW3QG1Udm7gv5dLVUKQ4EgdMI7nEbwvDDxn_YZg/s640/Also+Leenane.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A village called Leenane</td></tr>
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I had heard of the Cliffs of Moher, but couldn't imagine their grandeur. (Although, after the Giants' Causeway I was starting to get the feel for Irish scenery.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtKEhX5tvHQx5wt0ym9lKYO_vxeN-2zDTbpMH4Ofanb-31pZAMzsA2ECwg58z3XpeP6f-ngrT1HvHOXxppDbUBlghtWkO9mhffhPLS6hYrDxejaVyxhTkb3O8giALRrT01mMfQpA_Gi6gh/s1600/Cliffs+of+Moher.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtKEhX5tvHQx5wt0ym9lKYO_vxeN-2zDTbpMH4Ofanb-31pZAMzsA2ECwg58z3XpeP6f-ngrT1HvHOXxppDbUBlghtWkO9mhffhPLS6hYrDxejaVyxhTkb3O8giALRrT01mMfQpA_Gi6gh/s640/Cliffs+of+Moher.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar approves of the castle...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_ziugfrM3y6-ElwZ9Sq11XM8F2hQHErPBl96S2ScLfSXToYhAzRI3va6JCUNsJ9tPPnwSzyIRCmeyrnzjkO43IDOULYLymrC6nL0nURBwWE45W34n4dVCg_0wwP5H-4euYxH9QKgUJIa/s1600/Cliffs+of+Moher+also.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_ziugfrM3y6-ElwZ9Sq11XM8F2hQHErPBl96S2ScLfSXToYhAzRI3va6JCUNsJ9tPPnwSzyIRCmeyrnzjkO43IDOULYLymrC6nL0nURBwWE45W34n4dVCg_0wwP5H-4euYxH9QKgUJIa/s640/Cliffs+of+Moher+also.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and the Cliffs</td></tr>
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Kathy, Finbar, and I agreed that Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands, was our favorite Irish spot. We did some hiking on rocky terrain, but the views were worth it! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSdvdy08dnmZn0MXmFSeqsCReOIMJq9-qM267IoZawMKF9BlX8UqMhWsf3B0uN85Z1Nb7plpk8K2IkkU6BLtsYEYCJQ3dbI9PSjN-3DpXf9PnA-fK293S3fKzvilDoPEhP4jpxkmqytfW/s1600/ferry+to+Inish+Mor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSdvdy08dnmZn0MXmFSeqsCReOIMJq9-qM267IoZawMKF9BlX8UqMhWsf3B0uN85Z1Nb7plpk8K2IkkU6BLtsYEYCJQ3dbI9PSjN-3DpXf9PnA-fK293S3fKzvilDoPEhP4jpxkmqytfW/s400/ferry+to+Inish+Mor.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took a bus to the ferry and then a minivan around the island.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0kdPrp5JWTmLRsDmDQqrFU1FMs1Zan0FNaCmw459ng3l33VvocHsijR79FBIYFG71ppqRv7EZlvilJ8e5fDDdIyTdROmuzlMoeVMRKqWN2NAXmKpnJqj9eW_FTNemx7NtvsYSQ555pe6/s1600/Fort+on+Inish+Mor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0kdPrp5JWTmLRsDmDQqrFU1FMs1Zan0FNaCmw459ng3l33VvocHsijR79FBIYFG71ppqRv7EZlvilJ8e5fDDdIyTdROmuzlMoeVMRKqWN2NAXmKpnJqj9eW_FTNemx7NtvsYSQ555pe6/s640/Fort+on+Inish+Mor.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The highlight of the trip (besides purchasing a green Aran cardigan) was this fort, Dun Aonghasa.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOwWAbGO_5fPXnJMHA7gh936MVy-2KMvGpsgm_QB7zxHMHiOT_g9FUKzRxH2mjXyYv5nr0Dsnp4h-hd9jJ6yvz0dwp9GqLAPT2rwNMETLMGzjUjUOCmLM_VAHBnfVbbTE4n7NbWinIHCC/s1600/On+Inish+Mor+near+fort.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOwWAbGO_5fPXnJMHA7gh936MVy-2KMvGpsgm_QB7zxHMHiOT_g9FUKzRxH2mjXyYv5nr0Dsnp4h-hd9jJ6yvz0dwp9GqLAPT2rwNMETLMGzjUjUOCmLM_VAHBnfVbbTE4n7NbWinIHCC/s640/On+Inish+Mor+near+fort.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what we were walking on!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdKok25f5zk31kYvf9sZoM5wxmBP-Pd8jgJXK98oib4GtNGSYWC5qaRc7ECGQdaqSLIaOnwc-BvPX6prUZr2cC4LaDLBUWU7M-9SAm_DMub7ngWQWlOwFE-fVUZ0ryjNAowCksthWkahd/s1600/Inish+More+lunch--veggie+burger.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRdKok25f5zk31kYvf9sZoM5wxmBP-Pd8jgJXK98oib4GtNGSYWC5qaRc7ECGQdaqSLIaOnwc-BvPX6prUZr2cC4LaDLBUWU7M-9SAm_DMub7ngWQWlOwFE-fVUZ0ryjNAowCksthWkahd/s400/Inish+More+lunch--veggie+burger.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We stopped for lunch near Galway Bay. This is a veggie burger.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNOd9vVjXdo890AmK32p7eCmDTR8UhkVTA1JdIUfsVcQBeh_wTvN5xikJi0rMXmTjkSg6pb3_xxJ_u4CgMn3VeEsFW7PiLAJ6heeYB135wIKy1R6e7fZyxf9XBZk3tfkdS2cKUpo87V2_/s1600/Inish+Mor+beach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNOd9vVjXdo890AmK32p7eCmDTR8UhkVTA1JdIUfsVcQBeh_wTvN5xikJi0rMXmTjkSg6pb3_xxJ_u4CgMn3VeEsFW7PiLAJ6heeYB135wIKy1R6e7fZyxf9XBZk3tfkdS2cKUpo87V2_/s640/Inish+Mor+beach.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We sat on this little piece of beach to eat our ice cream, purchased at the only place on the island that seemed to sell it!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pk_UvS1MPRtmUmUPDO6cg0H4sHqVJoRofdjA_BVsWPY-QBCnTAvUAHunUd4fOAOzHgQ3bc_T-dJC_UZJYpAq0x1RwQjYWlQfvmCssOmTrsLeQVZFOjXmaU89yjJoPvObprAXoavcQ5zV/s1600/Irish+Finbar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pk_UvS1MPRtmUmUPDO6cg0H4sHqVJoRofdjA_BVsWPY-QBCnTAvUAHunUd4fOAOzHgQ3bc_T-dJC_UZJYpAq0x1RwQjYWlQfvmCssOmTrsLeQVZFOjXmaU89yjJoPvObprAXoavcQ5zV/s640/Irish+Finbar.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Finbar and I loved Ireland and thought it a very friendly place for humans and toads. We walked a lot, and much of it was uphill. We saw more sheep than people, and thatched roofs, and stone fences. Everywhere I pointed my camera, there was scenery...or a small brown toad. Finbar is now back on my desk at work, in the shade of a spider plant, but I'm sure would be willing to accompany me on another visit to his favorite destination in the safety of the brown travel bag.<br />
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<a href="https://margaretmontet.blogspot.com/2017/11/finbar-visits-ireland-part-1-dublin.html" target="_blank">Back to Part One, Dublin </a><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-32824737003755945442017-11-11T16:12:00.001-05:002017-11-11T16:45:48.764-05:00Finbar Visits Ireland, Part 1: DublinFinbar is a toad. He accompanied me on my 2016 trip to Ireland and graciously posed for many photographs. Finbar usually hangs out on my desk at work, among the plants, and as I was closing up shop on the last day before this three-week trip, he jumped into my bag to demonstrate how easily he could travel. He squishes to almost flat in any bag, he's quiet, and therefore can sneak into any Irish tourist destination. Finbar was a nameless toad when we set out for this trip, but would acquire an Irish name in Dublin. More on that event below....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLA42u62p-rEIPsOyU6LAVXmbvWoYz9AT3rI81uTgJvYjNei0remm0YS4GH7cuQkDsIY4QfLGIULi89IK7EvVFfbsKzWdERMCnCLGv5QutUFp0B7tDMkrrrZ4hOzaXA6AySvap2jUlFT2s/s1600/Finbar+packing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLA42u62p-rEIPsOyU6LAVXmbvWoYz9AT3rI81uTgJvYjNei0remm0YS4GH7cuQkDsIY4QfLGIULi89IK7EvVFfbsKzWdERMCnCLGv5QutUFp0B7tDMkrrrZ4hOzaXA6AySvap2jUlFT2s/s400/Finbar+packing.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nameless toad helps me pack for Ireland</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Hc6vO5ZQ8rxkwHHlLtLWlhdiZM2k0T49a_pwwKGElVfFiPRNM1vUTfNRtx4x-Ce8bQqmIWiiq1fG2YXZ6k8cb5pSlOj-YJZkFvtJo3B33Pe2b3c85-DOrIkI5_FDCfTUCdHK1XlxF97V/s1600/Finbar+on+the+NJ+Turnpike.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Hc6vO5ZQ8rxkwHHlLtLWlhdiZM2k0T49a_pwwKGElVfFiPRNM1vUTfNRtx4x-Ce8bQqmIWiiq1fG2YXZ6k8cb5pSlOj-YJZkFvtJo3B33Pe2b3c85-DOrIkI5_FDCfTUCdHK1XlxF97V/s400/Finbar+on+the+NJ+Turnpike.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the turnpike to the airport on a stormy day in July</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjhQJjckwKDHZ4ead6oYKc2m_08BN-vUj34EjYDQRgS4hso52_Z0lx1C2a8L4ykI6nN4QpL7yHeZjgxsoNoqKqwt6QOq_SL4WsZp2h7v0RmwE1H6-IH8y5sIMSSa8f_9D-cwTZepGS0Qt/s1600/Finbar+at+airport.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjhQJjckwKDHZ4ead6oYKc2m_08BN-vUj34EjYDQRgS4hso52_Z0lx1C2a8L4ykI6nN4QpL7yHeZjgxsoNoqKqwt6QOq_SL4WsZp2h7v0RmwE1H6-IH8y5sIMSSa8f_9D-cwTZepGS0Qt/s400/Finbar+at+airport.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We made it to Newark Airport safely, but our plane was delayed.</td></tr>
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In Dublin </h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEBfmAot994cv9vPy4N-pihWMObsOB9MENBiSpMBDKHTp0DpPFwEM9DG-Nldq59Evo9aenGaz3mJ9bK3WBqGU2AXnUm6ryuIAGc3EbegLzeM7hL2aWUiOvwQxXxaeR5FDXGV3JNvafGPZ/s1600/Finbar+at+Bobos+for+lunch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEBfmAot994cv9vPy4N-pihWMObsOB9MENBiSpMBDKHTp0DpPFwEM9DG-Nldq59Evo9aenGaz3mJ9bK3WBqGU2AXnUm6ryuIAGc3EbegLzeM7hL2aWUiOvwQxXxaeR5FDXGV3JNvafGPZ/s400/Finbar+at+Bobos+for+lunch.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nameless Toad surveys the menu at Bobo's in Dublin. We would eat a lot of burgers these three weeks.</td></tr>
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The trip to Dublin was a requirement for my MFA writing program. A group of twenty-or-so of us were to stay at Trinity College in the center of Dublin to learn about the location, its history, and its literary importance. Nameless Toad and I flew from Newark Airport to Dublin with Kathy, a fellow Creative Nonfiction writer and student who would graduate this year. The three of us arrived at Trinity via taxi ride with the most friendly driver ever. Our rooms weren't ready yet, so we stashed our bags on campus and went exploring in the Trinity neighborhood. We had lunch at Bobo's and shopped at Carroll's where I would later buy a box full of fun souvenirs, including an Aran sweater, and have it all shipped back to New Jersey.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvFnafBRU9rU9Qye0PuquhWkLWcF24eeBpMfvxz3q7XQyQ7GNXhyIkaqZ_GwjojC6xEJ2lOxBabuUuMDdt_wwMJr_UV-dIyHPoPM3-GBbkUlKBU4APc9ysmegXLlXQ_wDX_WIA0AH9lRc/s1600/Finbar+shops+at+Carrolls+in+Dublin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvFnafBRU9rU9Qye0PuquhWkLWcF24eeBpMfvxz3q7XQyQ7GNXhyIkaqZ_GwjojC6xEJ2lOxBabuUuMDdt_wwMJr_UV-dIyHPoPM3-GBbkUlKBU4APc9ysmegXLlXQ_wDX_WIA0AH9lRc/s400/Finbar+shops+at+Carrolls+in+Dublin.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the extra small sweater is too big for a toad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a few hours of weary wandering, we were allowed into our rooms. These were single dorm rooms, comfortable but small, and I would share the facilities with two other students new to the program. We had a nice window at treetop level, and the Toad found his favorite spot here.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZOMZG1dXuFlllqZZCNFLLrF7hMzLDqdFr6wyZpNfnDXIYoRasKV79qlTNfq1HN3DtKHnkM2egaFoiy-P39c_Nb3YzrlZNzjDXds2ERfv-7gNWW9FOS6Bnb9OEHl-6cQLUTdKrAHmeUpX/s1600/Finbar+looking+for+flies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZOMZG1dXuFlllqZZCNFLLrF7hMzLDqdFr6wyZpNfnDXIYoRasKV79qlTNfq1HN3DtKHnkM2egaFoiy-P39c_Nb3YzrlZNzjDXds2ERfv-7gNWW9FOS6Bnb9OEHl-6cQLUTdKrAHmeUpX/s640/Finbar+looking+for+flies.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nameless Toad looks for flies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Through this window we would hear the sounds of nearby Grafton Street at night, revelers, singers, and buskers including an electric guitarist who played famous guitar solos of the 1970s and 1980s. Some nights we would hear the rain on the leaves just outside. It rained every day in Ireland, I think, even if only for a short shower. Carry your rain jacket or umbrella always.<br />
<br />
Every morning we'd have breakfast at The Buttery on campus, scones and yogurt mostly,<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicUI9LdME186zAjpd3La7gOQ1GaYvv9gQtlXQQvrza66G-iVmOmazaVkokrGIuWjA4_nLCozmR_F1-Zn12SKVz3GskeXkOh5NUs6jHQhucpB5NEyU0IczmqTFbHSRByir_5nYl6cdfcFn/s1600/Breakfast+at+the+Buttery.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicUI9LdME186zAjpd3La7gOQ1GaYvv9gQtlXQQvrza66G-iVmOmazaVkokrGIuWjA4_nLCozmR_F1-Zn12SKVz3GskeXkOh5NUs6jHQhucpB5NEyU0IczmqTFbHSRByir_5nYl6cdfcFn/s400/Breakfast+at+the+Buttery.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's a toad eyeing my Irish scone</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
and then we'd be off for lectures, workshops, excursions, and general exploration.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJaFSw3JNeRKzbdR-9h4tcL36c4L2jxtw8Oi_ht-GQi8hJNIx_JvCXIVRXiyyLf9ey3VTSM_i-1jvp9nS2AXSJlgEUMte5-fM632GRW40P4toiPkQKjsHJyaZONGCAqKW5-x-6qqVHKPv/s1600/Finbar+at+class.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJaFSw3JNeRKzbdR-9h4tcL36c4L2jxtw8Oi_ht-GQi8hJNIx_JvCXIVRXiyyLf9ey3VTSM_i-1jvp9nS2AXSJlgEUMte5-fM632GRW40P4toiPkQKjsHJyaZONGCAqKW5-x-6qqVHKPv/s400/Finbar+at+class.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the seminar to start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmPkw-bt9hhpqw-BO0A2lMGMjsTtdK-dbUf5aEXzf-uD234bCxr-LFnIIooPFnkcchyphenhyphenVAj3CBTT23dqHO4fAmJ_E3sSQZRB-QfHMAIKsRgGhDrjBnL8YLx_JHTx57IWz4BMiT6J5Yr993/s1600/Workshop.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmPkw-bt9hhpqw-BO0A2lMGMjsTtdK-dbUf5aEXzf-uD234bCxr-LFnIIooPFnkcchyphenhyphenVAj3CBTT23dqHO4fAmJ_E3sSQZRB-QfHMAIKsRgGhDrjBnL8YLx_JHTx57IWz4BMiT6J5Yr993/s320/Workshop.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Preparing for workshop where our work would be scrutinized</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KZBr5kTKf4-09SWB8PtQLXSIpG4jJDvOeVB2DpkEcgHs13BRY-dGLCjHIP0y8p4mNAM1inZj1HRha11PcLG7K2iXVpa_LV6TpjOZPADHH6hTGts9avxgUjGkZzJ-uMyvp_VvA5kcnN5Z/s1600/checking+the+map.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KZBr5kTKf4-09SWB8PtQLXSIpG4jJDvOeVB2DpkEcgHs13BRY-dGLCjHIP0y8p4mNAM1inZj1HRha11PcLG7K2iXVpa_LV6TpjOZPADHH6hTGts9avxgUjGkZzJ-uMyvp_VvA5kcnN5Z/s400/checking+the+map.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little Nameless Toad finds Trinity College on the map</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeflwq249LcMmyQaz7jVz2QXrjSmaOYQcCsx_J-Wyz_XelnIceEP_bAMGv2gcxN2fIScxfR6mM8CYviG_3VvSv3PT4jX4gsiKqdWO1Z0GD_dXNH7frC1r1Yugoet5hy01g0Ic3VgIxEkLa/s1600/the+line+for+Book+of+Kells.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeflwq249LcMmyQaz7jVz2QXrjSmaOYQcCsx_J-Wyz_XelnIceEP_bAMGv2gcxN2fIScxfR6mM8CYviG_3VvSv3PT4jX4gsiKqdWO1Z0GD_dXNH7frC1r1Yugoet5hy01g0Ic3VgIxEkLa/s400/the+line+for+Book+of+Kells.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyday, we monitored the line to get into the Old Library to see the Book of Kells.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfBfADQQS7CHoOy8Y69zvOvWLnTJMMBFe5YX-J661gARnWQF4S35ynd48LT5gFD-0-Nsi5qTzsUo3tyvlwuNS4TrKa19DpAGj1p-vDu4KvkQthZmPSUeI0TIWO2PBdyytj_joAEI1Nqpi/s1600/Finbar+in+the+Old+Library+Long+Room.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWfBfADQQS7CHoOy8Y69zvOvWLnTJMMBFe5YX-J661gARnWQF4S35ynd48LT5gFD-0-Nsi5qTzsUo3tyvlwuNS4TrKa19DpAGj1p-vDu4KvkQthZmPSUeI0TIWO2PBdyytj_joAEI1Nqpi/s640/Finbar+in+the+Old+Library+Long+Room.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One day we found a short line and went inside to view the Book of Kells and the Long Room. Chills!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
In the evening, we would listen to the presentations of the graduating students, attend (or speak at) an Open Mic, or experience the literary life of Dublin at a Faculty Reading in an old bookstore or a play at the famous Abbey Theater.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEn2NfsnltGMoSbg0to-byxyPxxBwD6wS_wm3P1jA-QZZ_FAWbtHq2Jz4cFRcjZWy5c5RNcB8jTR1hcrgfw5fi2BE5MjNw08p-FJsUUFqPFbZita8E_03AyvtGmaLC3aEuzFthIgfVGGEW/s1600/Finbar+listens+to+theses.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEn2NfsnltGMoSbg0to-byxyPxxBwD6wS_wm3P1jA-QZZ_FAWbtHq2Jz4cFRcjZWy5c5RNcB8jTR1hcrgfw5fi2BE5MjNw08p-FJsUUFqPFbZita8E_03AyvtGmaLC3aEuzFthIgfVGGEW/s400/Finbar+listens+to+theses.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nameless Toad listens to the graduates</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6SK1BjSV9wEJaaTxBW4hw-nlIpjH3ujjoBy1L-k3xkIP_NyorcN1ewGcyOPi0J4HKysOPWttbspkKFLdKh_0DXzuTXEl7YAyqCneKKDQCH6TcAvm5TLssZU-o-anBr-E11bwdFaS9_Bn/s1600/Finbar+at+open+mic.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif6SK1BjSV9wEJaaTxBW4hw-nlIpjH3ujjoBy1L-k3xkIP_NyorcN1ewGcyOPi0J4HKysOPWttbspkKFLdKh_0DXzuTXEl7YAyqCneKKDQCH6TcAvm5TLssZU-o-anBr-E11bwdFaS9_Bn/s640/Finbar+at+open+mic.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little toad listens to me read about Prague at the Open Mic event</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQczBW2vQ4jMfbPNN2TIzlSoCtXWMdbtgEFDqzMLyvL9Rm6pYIOwfkP6AtvTwsxGm3zhsTyQrtz-d1TjWZ0xAYjGOmW3-f_Aboa4AKEcuNjY0bWvB8IgdVQ0m8lZiQktO4VBnqkgjPoiYb/s1600/Finbar+attends+a+play+at+the+Abbey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQczBW2vQ4jMfbPNN2TIzlSoCtXWMdbtgEFDqzMLyvL9Rm6pYIOwfkP6AtvTwsxGm3zhsTyQrtz-d1TjWZ0xAYjGOmW3-f_Aboa4AKEcuNjY0bWvB8IgdVQ0m8lZiQktO4VBnqkgjPoiYb/s400/Finbar+attends+a+play+at+the+Abbey.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our group + a toad attended a play called "The Wake" at the Abbey Theater.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don't attend many plays without music, and the toad doesn't attend many plays at all, so this was a special event. The title refers to a gathering after a death, not the wavy water in back of a fast-moving boat. In this play, there was a memorable character, actually a goofy but lovable guy, whose name was FINBAR! And that is where the Nameless Toad picked up his Irish name.<br />
<br />
We did some other exploration of the city of Dublin:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-J-_jUh4RO0iiEyegDogQFRRSYnUQfRrBVE_AVb_78f2NldrjFsvo94Hr-fhWLyZCH7t4KF_gUDFXhjZd7gf7J7bZ_dqiAymcwapwgS2jfYLqsT4unAFqpSdQHbwsKCCKRfLelpW8yz9/s1600/City+Hall+Arch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="360" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_-J-_jUh4RO0iiEyegDogQFRRSYnUQfRrBVE_AVb_78f2NldrjFsvo94Hr-fhWLyZCH7t4KF_gUDFXhjZd7gf7J7bZ_dqiAymcwapwgS2jfYLqsT4unAFqpSdQHbwsKCCKRfLelpW8yz9/s640/City+Hall+Arch.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar at the City Hall Arch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiRT60UIk3livFIQMdy5D-WOve0ifE3JVRiTy20fQ6J0L7tWExnqfTDScJJ2NSsYSsb42hTXvmlkLnQxFeXKdHDr1I7AWBGBy3IZwlN1ZVD0pt-p5LPcyqNmyOKaoAKOYX2fYiIDDKjkI/s1600/Finbar+in+Stephens+Green.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYiRT60UIk3livFIQMdy5D-WOve0ifE3JVRiTy20fQ6J0L7tWExnqfTDScJJ2NSsYSsb42hTXvmlkLnQxFeXKdHDr1I7AWBGBy3IZwlN1ZVD0pt-p5LPcyqNmyOKaoAKOYX2fYiIDDKjkI/s640/Finbar+in+Stephens+Green.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephen's Green was our favorite grassy spot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjstadBFPjQ7kjL3p7fgl6DCkGSflMIbH33gEqhURKm3Ky8U1t-tcrO3_CPTK45__fIzZ_L6fQvh0OsMHUKYohYM_P68bcL1xK20B6rMqw35pHhIfkHJSwip0_SZPDgjZBsq5p5wEiY5q-u/s1600/DSC_1310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjstadBFPjQ7kjL3p7fgl6DCkGSflMIbH33gEqhURKm3Ky8U1t-tcrO3_CPTK45__fIzZ_L6fQvh0OsMHUKYohYM_P68bcL1xK20B6rMqw35pHhIfkHJSwip0_SZPDgjZBsq5p5wEiY5q-u/s640/DSC_1310.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finbar found a great spot to perch on the Oscar Wilde statue in Merrion Square Park.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Later, I learned about that Wilde statue and all of the exotic materials used:<a href="http://www.dublincity.ie/DublinArtInParks/English" target="_blank"> http://www.dublincity.ie/DublinArtInParks/English </a><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIzcQgsJxv0UqEirukY4BimFQ3infxe6izxq0ARDMpnsRmsSbG68l_f7a0LZyphA2ndZGuF7046S0rbgwz-sdrDMUi2_NLyEyiDuqZNMC9tEysRqgm98iL6Y2t7823CtOYEdEgk_sBIa2/s1600/at+Croke+Park+for+Hurling.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfIzcQgsJxv0UqEirukY4BimFQ3infxe6izxq0ARDMpnsRmsSbG68l_f7a0LZyphA2ndZGuF7046S0rbgwz-sdrDMUi2_NLyEyiDuqZNMC9tEysRqgm98iL6Y2t7823CtOYEdEgk_sBIa2/s640/at+Croke+Park+for+Hurling.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We even got to attend a hurling match at Croke Stadium in Dublin. Neither of us can say we understand the game, but it was fun!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOFdC4MRib1NoW-Uc5qqfRmtNg2FbgaxhLGEi-_w5bfn9902I_z54EWpmZ4lJgERToj9Smy1XJfRhXvqnUoVfywzmHecQR-_hHd8F-jsnaUpgwIqFaJWnJSqB3abQOaQD0P4naFrcx-Jtt/s1600/Doing+Laundry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOFdC4MRib1NoW-Uc5qqfRmtNg2FbgaxhLGEi-_w5bfn9902I_z54EWpmZ4lJgERToj9Smy1XJfRhXvqnUoVfywzmHecQR-_hHd8F-jsnaUpgwIqFaJWnJSqB3abQOaQD0P4naFrcx-Jtt/s400/Doing+Laundry.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before exporations further afield, we'd better do some laundry at the college laundromat.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://margaretmontet.blogspot.com/2017/11/finbar-visits-ireland-part-two-beyond.html" target="_blank">Finbar Visits Ireland, Part 2</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-18331150082554772152017-09-04T16:28:00.001-04:002017-09-04T16:28:47.974-04:00The World War II Tour, Part Three: PARIS!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKd5Zg5gtdkzdApp5kooeYoLzagNt6ojtHgPhOgoB47NktdHRJPcOAwcdrVCUFOwykktG6TQ42yM4EJVvVqcbtZDNpNkKafK1hqEqBS7rlFg4chfxg1qQDMijeD8wftX4Auf3ZBHay-u5/s1600/Eiffel+Tower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKd5Zg5gtdkzdApp5kooeYoLzagNt6ojtHgPhOgoB47NktdHRJPcOAwcdrVCUFOwykktG6TQ42yM4EJVvVqcbtZDNpNkKafK1hqEqBS7rlFg4chfxg1qQDMijeD8wftX4Auf3ZBHay-u5/s400/Eiffel+Tower.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from the Seine</td></tr>
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I was struggling to reconcile my purpose for being in Paris with the harsh reality of the May heatwave. I felt compelled to explore this favorite city, but I struggled to stay moving in the steaming hot fondue that was Paris. Another conflict appeared: I wanted to learn about the Parisian experience in World War II, but my guidebook warned me that Parisians did not much want to talk about that war. Can we blame them? Their city was overrun by Nazis. Here's one World War II fact that I took away: Paris was not bombed. Its architecture survived so that I could gaze upon it from the rooftop of a department store in the scorching heat. Sure there are bullet holes in the Ecole Militaire, the German stronghold during the last days of the occupation. These pock marks for all I knew, could have been part of some fancy concrete effect. When I learned that these were bullet holes, after the chill in my spine subsided, I realized that they remained to serve as a subtle reminder of that dreadful time, but more importantly that this beloved city survived the war and its culture flourishes today.<br />
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Our group visited the Eiffel tower and walked through the Marais to a quiet courtyard garden where our Parisian guide, Christoph who had been with us since London, told us he takes his family on weekends.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What is that? Anybody know? Please don't tell me it's an artichoke.</td></tr>
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Christoph pointed out subtle clues on the surrounding buildings that designated them as royal or governmental. He also brought us to a department store which is also kind of a mall called <a href="http://haussmann.galerieslafayette.com/en/culture-and-heritage/" target="_blank">Galeries Lafayette</a> where we ascended by elevators to a level where we could see a fantastic glass dome.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The glass dome and the upper levels of shopping</td></tr>
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Then we ascended further, by stairs to that rooftop for an incredible 360-degree view of the city.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous tower right of center, and on the left...the Paris Opera!! (You can't tell from the photo how HOT it was up there!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the back of the Paris Opera, a sign that I must examine the front and inside ASAP!</td></tr>
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It was hotter than fondue up there: I was now a noodle swimming in a boiling saucepan of water. The roots of this mega-shopping experience date back to the late nineteenth century, but the Art Nouveau elements, including that grand dome and the opera-inspired staircase, are from a renovation and enlargement in 1912.<br />
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I got to walk around the Arc de Triomph on this trip,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kinda artsy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sign is telling you that you have to walk under the street to get to the Arch.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photographic evidence that I was, indeed, there.</td></tr>
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and explore the neighborhood around Notre Dame.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When they are holding their own head like that, it means they were a martyr.</td></tr>
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It was in this neighborhood that I found a pink Eiffel Tower for my cousin's granddaughter who is obsessed with Paris and I scored a purple tower for her sister. I ended up with three Eiffel Tower scarves because I couldn't decide which color to get, and I'm a bit obsessed myself. There was a relaxing cafe lunch near here, too.<br />
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There was a World War II site on our itinerary, the <a href="http://www.memorialdelashoah.org/en/english-version.html" target="_blank">Shoah Memorial</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbww4L1fRirHZ-G3hFnUsh51JabPrbMOcgfM2RtGXIz_j4-DHFU4_XypbLUoaTZewBMfZY8zYkZqULXHR18nbrgdUKW9r4VB7oSdoLrphYs0TuMvAOwnKmxAJQ4YDMQ-M_TWyPyzN4sJ7/s1600/Shoah+eternal+flame.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbww4L1fRirHZ-G3hFnUsh51JabPrbMOcgfM2RtGXIz_j4-DHFU4_XypbLUoaTZewBMfZY8zYkZqULXHR18nbrgdUKW9r4VB7oSdoLrphYs0TuMvAOwnKmxAJQ4YDMQ-M_TWyPyzN4sJ7/s400/Shoah+eternal+flame.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">eternal flame</td></tr>
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This site is a moving memorial to the victims of the Holocaust. In another section, names are carved into stone, and photos displayed with horrific stories attached. Visitors are moved and tears are shed. There was a display of World War II comics on the top floor. I was fascinated to learn how many comics were inspired by war, not just in the U.S., but other countries, too. The bookstore attached to the memorial had books on this subject but they were in French and I'd be kidding myself to think I could read my way through them. I could read the titles easily, though!<br />
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Many of my fellow travelers elected to visit the Louvre on our free afternoon, and we walked around this museum's fountains and pyramid to get the lay of the land ahead of time.<br />
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There was a dog by one of the fountains who looked a lot like my Gladys, but at the same time she didn't really look like a Sheltie. But she kind of did.<br />
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She was friendly and took edible handouts from people, and my heart was breaking to think that this distant cousin of my loyal canine companion was having to walk the hot streets of Paris in all that fur scrounging to make a living. Alas, no. She had humans sitting by the fountain, but like most dogs in Paris is allowed to walk leash-less. Later we walked under the Louvre where there is a kind of concourse in order to learn where the Metro station is, and where to buy museum tickets without standing in a long line.<br />
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I learned most of this on a different trip to Paris ten years before, and toured the crowded Louvre, too. I decided on this trip to do something different. I remembered how much I enjoyed touring the <a href="http://margaretmontet.blogspot.com/2016/03/the-unexpected-vienna.html" target="_blank">Vienna Opera</a> and seeing as how opera and ballet are traditionally so important to Paris's music scene, I planned a trip to the <a href="https://www.operadeparis.fr/en/visits/palais-garnier" target="_blank">Palais Garnier</a> (L'Opera de Charles Garnier). Christoph, our guide, showed me how to get there efficiently, by foot in the hot oxygen-less heat and since I arrived an hour before a tour in English, I bought some cold water and sat on the steps with many other exhausted Parisians and Paris visitors to rest my feet, drink my water, and people-watch. I can do that for hours in a good spot, and this was a great spot with vehicular traffic circling around the opera island of culture and no shortage of people walking every which way.<br />
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Finally it was time for the tour and I got to explore this monument to Paris culture. Our guide was exceptional--I think she came from Sweden--and told us stories about the building and its symbols. There's a lizard, a brass lizard, creeping up one of the staircases because to the French lizards are good luck. I actually did narrow down the collection of photos to this group, nonetheless you have a ton of Palais Garnier views coming at you right now!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3FgnRF-xu2KQ9B0bdgq-SPD2L-JvhyObEwRbXjJibblkFehzD33JRwEj7koxVV6tf_3RS93oZcC8AavLblB06r3abGMWQdG-k2ywsj8eoKeVyxtnqoTZKAJTRyZH4Q-89Z9B5gtyfUPG/s1600/DSC_2804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1138" data-original-width="1600" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm3FgnRF-xu2KQ9B0bdgq-SPD2L-JvhyObEwRbXjJibblkFehzD33JRwEj7koxVV6tf_3RS93oZcC8AavLblB06r3abGMWQdG-k2ywsj8eoKeVyxtnqoTZKAJTRyZH4Q-89Z9B5gtyfUPG/s640/DSC_2804.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L'Opera de Charles Garnier (He's the architect. There are other opera houses in the city, but this is the GARNIER.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtD-gbr4lFBElCoW-RqDhzsI3jaDRlPDTis9Dwn2psjp-Q_TLM_lnMrVkV0WHGHQLRixA8oZyFVVYiqkVPKBeAcrgPND4WOR0vKEgY6KM9hfKOgdcll8ik-AgqAu1ktZA-1TKCIcZSWENg/s1600/DSC_2808.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="782" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtD-gbr4lFBElCoW-RqDhzsI3jaDRlPDTis9Dwn2psjp-Q_TLM_lnMrVkV0WHGHQLRixA8oZyFVVYiqkVPKBeAcrgPND4WOR0vKEgY6KM9hfKOgdcll8ik-AgqAu1ktZA-1TKCIcZSWENg/s400/DSC_2808.JPG" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Use the entrance under the eagles," he said, "because that's the King's entrance!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_rI0aRORuyUn7PuCpX1FSkfVX5ciX3GbPLgmOulvzeSDQhXwV5OCp3jCqg1idWrPFwVLQ8i6jnimn9PQfsNtsNvErJ52Xwx-eOs_QFMPODqfv4UEZnEJlVTMfvBYXyANHf__MrBzFdjc/s1600/DSC_2828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_rI0aRORuyUn7PuCpX1FSkfVX5ciX3GbPLgmOulvzeSDQhXwV5OCp3jCqg1idWrPFwVLQ8i6jnimn9PQfsNtsNvErJ52Xwx-eOs_QFMPODqfv4UEZnEJlVTMfvBYXyANHf__MrBzFdjc/s640/DSC_2828.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IMAGINE attending a performance here!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUjVLFxlaHHyZMOuVUIWZtuvCUicZjsdF6xkwKsKubEm-Qdm9Xraz-eH12odJ8S56kn8n77zo46WRkT_kftzlA1DNY1N_4niYiJiqZSI185_SNNQ91VoYdDqM6QWeLXxx9cKlaNvoDOk1/s1600/DSC_2825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="1600" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVUjVLFxlaHHyZMOuVUIWZtuvCUicZjsdF6xkwKsKubEm-Qdm9Xraz-eH12odJ8S56kn8n77zo46WRkT_kftzlA1DNY1N_4niYiJiqZSI185_SNNQ91VoYdDqM6QWeLXxx9cKlaNvoDOk1/s400/DSC_2825.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the floors!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBHTAcVtONkQHgxEmvr3tTXKLa3mavRjL65dJsCPvmbUxDtoaAdZDBdkIjfawubOHXDrWbgTS3WiWcqdmJx7HYZLmwTR9KLwHXsPAX_dJpbCGwJUm2Eduyn_fq7cGeo82FqJUcme5oorM/s1600/DSC_2815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBHTAcVtONkQHgxEmvr3tTXKLa3mavRjL65dJsCPvmbUxDtoaAdZDBdkIjfawubOHXDrWbgTS3WiWcqdmJx7HYZLmwTR9KLwHXsPAX_dJpbCGwJUm2Eduyn_fq7cGeo82FqJUcme5oorM/s640/DSC_2815.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The floors! (detail of photo just above)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMhRtZv171Cfyg6SwkPHJLIlxoFsYelqoeGImGb5u5XMYrtbMlAqaO1bI8tsZJAtmg72iDAnbMbkqF9VmylB2PP6CNgJLr7mJJhJXBUpYSUjCFyr3qjg0P9qT6mbjikv7Z-sJffGvme0zf/s1600/DSC_2837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="1600" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMhRtZv171Cfyg6SwkPHJLIlxoFsYelqoeGImGb5u5XMYrtbMlAqaO1bI8tsZJAtmg72iDAnbMbkqF9VmylB2PP6CNgJLr7mJJhJXBUpYSUjCFyr3qjg0P9qT6mbjikv7Z-sJffGvme0zf/s400/DSC_2837.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good luck lizard</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTO-J2FjQ3otfvvcWND3KyqWyo3-J3XayDIiesMQrTAbMg8aSh8pM4GO4TkBCOlGFN-kvM17AhDMVhPnmgYlzG8lc6zkt7Pzg4DJ3kv0jL20T2H2E-sWVNW8O0QjnxZU-8GwayCsI1gMgQ/s1600/DSC_2839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTO-J2FjQ3otfvvcWND3KyqWyo3-J3XayDIiesMQrTAbMg8aSh8pM4GO4TkBCOlGFN-kvM17AhDMVhPnmgYlzG8lc6zkt7Pzg4DJ3kv0jL20T2H2E-sWVNW8O0QjnxZU-8GwayCsI1gMgQ/s640/DSC_2839.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0K4z6B15BF9NfcvdN0sZuFYvqTGzHRdX7eSRsp4LjXiFEqamV6BXS1tpXV9mTA0H9ALHbI1VFEBAwK9UWXEKPNmeSx2r81xDx1Nk5X4rj9NmSP991at5bsVDToIRte55Dp1cwGNmnU75/s1600/DSC_2844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0K4z6B15BF9NfcvdN0sZuFYvqTGzHRdX7eSRsp4LjXiFEqamV6BXS1tpXV9mTA0H9ALHbI1VFEBAwK9UWXEKPNmeSx2r81xDx1Nk5X4rj9NmSP991at5bsVDToIRte55Dp1cwGNmnU75/s640/DSC_2844.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marc Chagall painted the chandelier.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6GenqLjZQQ1ytUKlnsaQU0ZjID_BHXbWRHbsuva2Hkn70l3t0eEtR9ui2w3Lse7Dzq-5VB0xQu8e91sQYVrgAVc1KUkzc5Sc_sZfV9uzlD13YGRwaZc4lHcdIsFMyw7ZuIvIpvPD8ShB/s1600/DSC_2852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6GenqLjZQQ1ytUKlnsaQU0ZjID_BHXbWRHbsuva2Hkn70l3t0eEtR9ui2w3Lse7Dzq-5VB0xQu8e91sQYVrgAVc1KUkzc5Sc_sZfV9uzlD13YGRwaZc4lHcdIsFMyw7ZuIvIpvPD8ShB/s640/DSC_2852.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even the seats in the auditorium are fancy. ('Abonne' means a subscriber sits here.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9i7pCpp89wi8ZquvAgOeAFBs1IQkVRa8HjAec9rApP9OHZ79xCUOyx6FN_i3jDPB5N-5fb54SKnWNKj3idgJUzS7APzgR7LI_sc2EKNJ_nT2DNGXWpjCPaDLrys4QuVqdBa5u7s5Bg8LH/s1600/DSC_2872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9i7pCpp89wi8ZquvAgOeAFBs1IQkVRa8HjAec9rApP9OHZ79xCUOyx6FN_i3jDPB5N-5fb54SKnWNKj3idgJUzS7APzgR7LI_sc2EKNJ_nT2DNGXWpjCPaDLrys4QuVqdBa5u7s5Bg8LH/s640/DSC_2872.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where you hang out during intermission. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was exhausted after this tour, but it was that happy-exhausted that comes from finally touring the Paris Opera. I found my way via the Paris Metro back to Notre Dame where our group met for a farewell dinner (duck confit) and dessert (Creme Brulee) and another kind of dessert, a cruise on the Seine! I did this on my ten-years-ago trip, too, but it was pouring and my photos were not so great. I'll end with the 2017 shots:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pirate ship?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Musee d'Orsay, formerly a train station.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRAhPfUjmgB-adxCsDemScguNRZHgFHvpoMaQOj0cDuEnbLh9a9zKey3u1crDyGMSXquB-givfMKyBAiyUSVZaCOSTJPjSbKM_HtijgHK3ohv5JkyjQfqMTj6jV7fpXVP2ftqxMEoxaIiV/s1600/DSC_2962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRAhPfUjmgB-adxCsDemScguNRZHgFHvpoMaQOj0cDuEnbLh9a9zKey3u1crDyGMSXquB-givfMKyBAiyUSVZaCOSTJPjSbKM_HtijgHK3ohv5JkyjQfqMTj6jV7fpXVP2ftqxMEoxaIiV/s640/DSC_2962.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notre Dame</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-9737243850761949172017-06-05T21:17:00.001-04:002017-06-05T21:17:46.115-04:00Normandy: World War II Tour, Part Deux<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOu6eOAcDAl8EJCmr5Tp-KIuF-8uWLIQHXF5Lkkk1_ial5nnlZe1JEUg9-00p3qJvdIrLFk7MuZ0lR-kST3On9zpjY3pvjPH6l2qxZuHZOUX5-MaDZ6QzJu48B8nqHDo5W9Ob5OMdoME5/s1600/DSC_2577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1007" data-original-width="1600" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOu6eOAcDAl8EJCmr5Tp-KIuF-8uWLIQHXF5Lkkk1_ial5nnlZe1JEUg9-00p3qJvdIrLFk7MuZ0lR-kST3On9zpjY3pvjPH6l2qxZuHZOUX5-MaDZ6QzJu48B8nqHDo5W9Ob5OMdoME5/s400/DSC_2577.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">German bunker; now ours.</td></tr>
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This World War II-themed tour connected England (Portsmouth) with France (Caen) with a seven-hour ferry cruise. Emanating from Cape May as I do, I didn't think the ferry cruise would be a highlight. Then I realized that this route over the English Channel was very similar to the route that the Allied forces took on D-Day 73 years ago TODAY! That realization cast a solemn note onto the cruise, but that shouldn't infer that the trip wasn't fun. It was! It was windy on deck, and very refreshing, and the enormous ferry was fun to explore.<br />
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We dined aboard ship, and the part of this meal I remember best was the eclair I had for dessert which had chocolate cream inside. We arrived in France rather late, so headed straight for our hotel in Caen, a city in Normandy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QHVFmm0hQ4OboTcXpLZEjNt17b7BBZLAhDLW5jwnbqWkTDyMGrJz0A1rgCDusAoJCoMUlf9uY0VACutwn5C7RoRYc5_d2NEhFyCfUTP2XmYXEwbPZHHScPuGkBLjauiXzj5vn8hgS97O/s1600/DSC_2537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5QHVFmm0hQ4OboTcXpLZEjNt17b7BBZLAhDLW5jwnbqWkTDyMGrJz0A1rgCDusAoJCoMUlf9uY0VACutwn5C7RoRYc5_d2NEhFyCfUTP2XmYXEwbPZHHScPuGkBLjauiXzj5vn8hgS97O/s400/DSC_2537.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The flags of the Allies outside the Caen Memorial</td></tr>
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Bright and early the next day, we were off to the Caen Memorial. This huge modern structure featured a museum-like exhibit of artifacts from the Normandy region.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYWpvRWfY0MWCHlgj2I2WbBzPKDYnc2Qn-MK0JaoezLCkYNBM4kiVjD0d7VIr-C_Bgy0T4KPCJiDz9ZSaj00JFAHYkjVNYkvJdxTJFaIXPCV7itkzHeR4B5U5_6H7dieVF094RWlCGcfd/s1600/DSC_2550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYWpvRWfY0MWCHlgj2I2WbBzPKDYnc2Qn-MK0JaoezLCkYNBM4kiVjD0d7VIr-C_Bgy0T4KPCJiDz9ZSaj00JFAHYkjVNYkvJdxTJFaIXPCV7itkzHeR4B5U5_6H7dieVF094RWlCGcfd/s400/DSC_2550.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book casualty of war</td></tr>
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Let me set the Normandy scene: Normandy is the region, and the beaches on which the Allied forces came ashore were Utah (American troops), Omaha (American), Gold (British), Juno (Canadian), and Sword (British and some Canadian). Each of these beach areas is a village with a French name known to the locals. Caen is a moderately-sized city which the Allied forces were heading for after taking the beaches. Although these battles were extremely bloody, the Allies did manage to reclaim the areas from the Germans as they made their way inland to Paris and points beyond.<br />
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At the Caen Memorial, we watched a compelling movie about D-Day and the events following. I don't remember how long the movie was, and I can't even estimate the time because I was so captivated by it. Somehow, the film-makers were able to tell this story without words. There were pictures and video clips, but <i>no words</i>. Sure this was a handy device to use for multilingual visitors, but honestly, the wordless movie was SO GOOD. It prepared me for the sites I would see next.<br />
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We jumped on our bus with a local guide named Mario who would tell us all about the area, D-Day, and the events following. Our first stop was Point du Hoc, a piece of land that juts out into the
English Channel. Point du Hoc is a promontory, meaning that it ends with
cliffs that fall into the channel. When the U.S. Army Ranger Assault
Group arrived, they had to scale those cliffs to get to the Germans
hiding out in pillboxes, bunkers, and hidey-holes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VxPBFuTmjF-RT-rCgVCWfv92gOLv-XuywsgxVY4oLxBr34H37Ly89IsrVQjADz_EZq_039QpVDI7SeFEI1dv12Vta7Rj4WC0qgyYdq8l0c-ZxWU3x7x8KBP3OMqQVpUpxUqa-M_P-0Y_/s1600/DSC_2585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2VxPBFuTmjF-RT-rCgVCWfv92gOLv-XuywsgxVY4oLxBr34H37Ly89IsrVQjADz_EZq_039QpVDI7SeFEI1dv12Vta7Rj4WC0qgyYdq8l0c-ZxWU3x7x8KBP3OMqQVpUpxUqa-M_P-0Y_/s400/DSC_2585.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a 'pillbox' bunker</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3WKIZAf0ZdRNp3uD73ReGJ76jwyTO-MY4fVB9pwaYm2dvWvmaheM5z_0sVyBYGfS9Dy-kTQJVPPIPuMwtBhh80Wo8Cv1dUFToOgIuOKowBPHp5unIrx3U2BGQ4rJN-qegsCbm8FQWIr8/s1600/DSC_2562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3WKIZAf0ZdRNp3uD73ReGJ76jwyTO-MY4fVB9pwaYm2dvWvmaheM5z_0sVyBYGfS9Dy-kTQJVPPIPuMwtBhh80Wo8Cv1dUFToOgIuOKowBPHp5unIrx3U2BGQ4rJN-qegsCbm8FQWIr8/s400/DSC_2562.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only one or two guys would fit in this hidey-hole.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We got to tour and
inspect those concrete ruins, climbing on, in, and down into to see
Point du Hoc from the perspective of the Germans. These concrete ruins
were fascinating, but the craters really grabbed my attention. Point du
Hoc was assaulted by explosives from Allied aircraft, but also from
ships at sea. Those very strong explosives made craters that can still
be seen today, 73 years later. The round craters were made by bombs
dropped by aircraft, but the oblong or oval craters were made by
missiles launched from ships. their flight would make an arc and then
when they hit they would push the earth in front of them resulting in
deep, oblong craters. They are huge!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeQtPJG2TSJ3pXM3jjeiTFGtsIoLfb_799TFiw_5hINs3mKsNc-kqorii-_0LKNEeYuTgwrahb7yQj2rIHV2OvEcNH7-Nc5DbnkUmyDtPEHtQWJ231rjglgFo4wV-DHZwU6hkSKP2t1__/s1600/DSC_2573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQeQtPJG2TSJ3pXM3jjeiTFGtsIoLfb_799TFiw_5hINs3mKsNc-kqorii-_0LKNEeYuTgwrahb7yQj2rIHV2OvEcNH7-Nc5DbnkUmyDtPEHtQWJ231rjglgFo4wV-DHZwU6hkSKP2t1__/s400/DSC_2573.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HUGE craters!</td></tr>
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Back on the bus, we toured through some cute French seaside towns sprinkled with tanks, vehicles, and other war-like artifacts. Having recently read through the Normandy chapter of Donald Miller's <i>The Story of World War II</i>, I was aware of the carnage at Omaha Beach 73 years ago. The vicious battle was here between the Americans and Germans, thousands of guys died, and dead bodies were lined up on the beach for retrieval. Yet, people were frolicking, and swimming, and playing in the sand as if it were any other beach. I felt the same kind of internal schism that I felt on the ferry. I don't resent the beach-goers, but I could never enjoy a relaxing day in the sand there as I do at home...knowing what I know. It was a moving thing to see this beach site, so similar to my own favorite beach in New Jersey, but not exactly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24TN-kb0jiyQQrlzi8D6xvPX9FJZYE6EdDigpDaW0QrQh_EVGjFYn6F5x8T_XGCoXFaBHr7wkHVyrRyUpg5OAq1PE9GXLwaTo6mPH4fSY_SlK9gEpShZj2HyPSZPU_oZmRz877Irc_9A8/s1600/DSC_2593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24TN-kb0jiyQQrlzi8D6xvPX9FJZYE6EdDigpDaW0QrQh_EVGjFYn6F5x8T_XGCoXFaBHr7wkHVyrRyUpg5OAq1PE9GXLwaTo6mPH4fSY_SlK9gEpShZj2HyPSZPU_oZmRz877Irc_9A8/s640/DSC_2593.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Omaha Beach</td></tr>
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Finally, we arrived at the American Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer. The photographs you've seen of this place are no substitute for being there. It is huge. Hundreds and hundreds of crosses and stars of David mark the graves of Americans who lost their lives here 73 years ago.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtajqi1pRMWT2gO4i_CKZxN_qktEEVtT4bg_eA8QOJLtmWIHRYBT1Nqo3HJoqoBKsbrDZ1zLx8I3gD54As1NpSJeMHyHzLSL8Es_ZrNsd3HwInLFgdJvPEefhtUMP7BIRXCaruaGSqgq1X/s1600/Cemetery.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtajqi1pRMWT2gO4i_CKZxN_qktEEVtT4bg_eA8QOJLtmWIHRYBT1Nqo3HJoqoBKsbrDZ1zLx8I3gD54As1NpSJeMHyHzLSL8Es_ZrNsd3HwInLFgdJvPEefhtUMP7BIRXCaruaGSqgq1X/s400/Cemetery.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The whole time we were there, I could hear the waves of the English Channel crashing--I hadn't realized that this cemetery was so close to the water. As sad as it was, it was beautiful, too. There's a chapel in the middle and a large memorial near the entrance surrounded by a wall in which the names of MIA soldiers and sailors are engraved. Now and then there would be a name marked with a brass rosette--this would be a person whose remains were found later. This site effectively illustrates the magnitude of those Normandy battles.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cemetery chapel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cemetery memorial</td></tr>
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Having no relatives here that I know of, I went in search of the Roosevelt brothers that our tour guide Mario told us about. I remember learning their stories on a documentary years ago. Quentin Roosevelt was President Roosevelt's youngest son, and he died in France during World War I (1918). His family was given special dispensation (eventually) to have Quentin's remains exhumed and re-buried here next to his brother, Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. He died at Normandy during the World War II battles on July 12, 1944. His grave marker is distinctive with its gold Medal of Honor designation. Mario explained that these would be easy to find as they sat at the edge of the second block of graves on the English Channel side of the huge cemetery. I walked right to them, and when I was there, a rope was tied around the area to keep people off, perhaps to let the grass get started growing in the spring.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhochmUDuq3HlbiwVA8jU8uE0zrCUz9flGkntDXW9VrjfYzdWofk4k4uSoG3r-gR3s_J4jYl8zS8FYKIBA7HT7q_8VfeiqQrp4o7wtv_CljpG0pfh-yVetZMCGvytFFECvc0NvYa7p5cVE7/s1600/DSC_2606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhochmUDuq3HlbiwVA8jU8uE0zrCUz9flGkntDXW9VrjfYzdWofk4k4uSoG3r-gR3s_J4jYl8zS8FYKIBA7HT7q_8VfeiqQrp4o7wtv_CljpG0pfh-yVetZMCGvytFFECvc0NvYa7p5cVE7/s400/DSC_2606.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Roosevelt Brothers, Quentin and Theodore, Jr.</td></tr>
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It was a long day exploring the emotional sites of Normandy. I was just saying to a friend that I feel that I lived through World War II since I had such a strong connection to my parents who did. Seeing these parts of Normandy was meaningful to me and got me thinking of all I knew from them and all I've learned recently in preparation for this trip. It was a special day and was topped off by a lovely dinner in Caen, on a pedestrian street full of quaint restaurants and European beauty. This is what we fought for.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZqDEbgkPHqGW-6w9qIlAQr76Oa2OOTYoJxIAsN4kSJc0HQnCfBws5UZM5QrD2vL_addCfAJySt2nQUePuWVK6O6YrH9twWL5NX3k8yNq2cSoSt6Y8YcSXNHVr8hi_-42Tf14FytLPE1y/s1600/Caen+street.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZqDEbgkPHqGW-6w9qIlAQr76Oa2OOTYoJxIAsN4kSJc0HQnCfBws5UZM5QrD2vL_addCfAJySt2nQUePuWVK6O6YrH9twWL5NX3k8yNq2cSoSt6Y8YcSXNHVr8hi_-42Tf14FytLPE1y/s640/Caen+street.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caen street: Dinner!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxM4JWx4KBSq8F_xWuRF1OruPoWmNnUYjckCS421YturmkZ-nKI7mc5_lXIrqJtoLewkx-jLEZu8Ys0c5ONfIQPGY4gQASQX3ERfZ0nh5Wbn8VMzXwuJay4nZV3vhKt94Zf2823romh2gn/s1600/Caen+cafe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxM4JWx4KBSq8F_xWuRF1OruPoWmNnUYjckCS421YturmkZ-nKI7mc5_lXIrqJtoLewkx-jLEZu8Ys0c5ONfIQPGY4gQASQX3ERfZ0nh5Wbn8VMzXwuJay4nZV3vhKt94Zf2823romh2gn/s640/Caen+cafe.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Could this street be prettier?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSj7GdNkjzPeaA5O64ouBw7_ekvrhzSzs-vho24RyaJHekmoM9vDpqUVhz5VFX16m-BMqiRZsYPLuCAWkduoazFdzBKtUiNVDke_w8Vc_JwtfQyhg-2Tfu0v2MemBdrDejxxTdGuMDmz5q/s1600/Caen+Menu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSj7GdNkjzPeaA5O64ouBw7_ekvrhzSzs-vho24RyaJHekmoM9vDpqUVhz5VFX16m-BMqiRZsYPLuCAWkduoazFdzBKtUiNVDke_w8Vc_JwtfQyhg-2Tfu0v2MemBdrDejxxTdGuMDmz5q/s640/Caen+Menu.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caen menu</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpPnOnB6OVZqHoVtq3bZbKLEo0AMt2A3PuoQepolZVspHSzFhVL5ERMPie9RntevWeP5quP4lBD4tyWA61QCv68Ka1exN7WQKv3VdB7cycwhn6nKdy0YVEE-GIuK4qksVKxPyRBTb_iTo/s1600/Caen+dessert.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpPnOnB6OVZqHoVtq3bZbKLEo0AMt2A3PuoQepolZVspHSzFhVL5ERMPie9RntevWeP5quP4lBD4tyWA61QCv68Ka1exN7WQKv3VdB7cycwhn6nKdy0YVEE-GIuK4qksVKxPyRBTb_iTo/s400/Caen+dessert.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caen dessert</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-57747921284232853472017-06-03T21:29:00.000-04:002017-06-03T21:29:42.334-04:00The World War II Tour: Part One, London<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf7xwjknq9CGVG93e2heUAqsZkaQs5kaSdYyxeEjsna_7Uw-d5fIDRSwPcYkC0eK8pxFmeJNGpHbGdD_qJO0Mio7CimH3LL4WW4EGcLZ6PhUmagHPjW8wj9DvBOQpbZ_3ZBLohL8n_7pJ/s1600/DSC_2347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcf7xwjknq9CGVG93e2heUAqsZkaQs5kaSdYyxeEjsna_7Uw-d5fIDRSwPcYkC0eK8pxFmeJNGpHbGdD_qJO0Mio7CimH3LL4WW4EGcLZ6PhUmagHPjW8wj9DvBOQpbZ_3ZBLohL8n_7pJ/s640/DSC_2347.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Imperial War Museum, formerly Bethlem (mental) Hospital from which the word 'bedlam' sprung as a synonym for chaos</td></tr>
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If you had told me before this trip, me, a Princess Di fan from way back and general royal-watcher, that a museum with the word 'war' in its name would be the highlight of the London part of this trip, I would not have believed you. But, I had just read Donald L. Miller's fantastic book <i>The Story of World War II </i>(Simon & Schuster, 2006), and that war was so firmly planted in my head that I was having WWII dreams. This museum was a fantastic compliment to my recent study of the war and my almost-lifelong interest in the homefront of that time. First I was mesmerized by the music of Glenn Miller from watching <i>The Glenn Miller Story</i> on TV with my parents, and then I became interested in the clothing of that time, and then I wrote an A+ research paper in 12th grade entitled, "The Effect of World War II on American Styles." It wasn't until recently, in preparation for this trip, that I delved into the details of the war.<br />
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So the Imperial War Museum (IWM) was fantastic, and I limited myself to the WWII floor. That was roughly one-quarter of the museum. I took many photos, and I'll pick out the best for this blogpost. (If you come to my lecture at Bucks County Community College on November 9, 2017, you'll see these and many more!) Walk into this museum, and the first exhibit you encounter is the atrium collage of aircraft and vehicles from various wars. It's overwhelming, and difficult to pick out the WWII artifacts. Most importantly, among the planes suspended from the ceiling, there's a Spitfire. That is the model flown in the air battle with Germany over London in the Battle of Britain in 1940. The daring Royal Air Force Spitfire pilots shot down many German Messerschmidts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ti2cSKmd1-L8SSohyphenhyphenDQl4ctB7a0Xd5KNMAfMYBFRsnUk1qETTPkKPTBItSJ_lzX2P3omspWOXF13Fx4C9xjcrMVu0ey1CMBYD5GWm3_qc29c3tGjaEZUmbOt6jCK-oAg_CUBJVcaAnxH/s1600/DSC_2422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ti2cSKmd1-L8SSohyphenhyphenDQl4ctB7a0Xd5KNMAfMYBFRsnUk1qETTPkKPTBItSJ_lzX2P3omspWOXF13Fx4C9xjcrMVu0ey1CMBYD5GWm3_qc29c3tGjaEZUmbOt6jCK-oAg_CUBJVcaAnxH/s400/DSC_2422.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's the Spitfire in the middle with the circles on the side. This is the Atrium of the IWM.</td></tr>
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The IWM also boasts a thrilling display of a Japanese Zero plane. It's a bit beat up and British bullets were found in it when it was being prepared for display. The Zero had been in multiple battles--parts of it were patched-up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beat-up Japanese Zero plane</td></tr>
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I suppose I should explain how I found myself on this World War II tour...a colleague at the college brought it to my attention: "It's experiential learning. That's what you write about, right?" Indeed it is, and I signed up for the trip straight away, keeping my fingers crossed that enough people would sign up to make the trip go. The leader, Jerry, did a lot of work spreading the word to history classes and the college at large. One needn't be affiliated with the college in order to sign up. At last we ended up with a group of 14: four young ladies, three young men, a dad with two college-age girls, an older fellow from the community, Jerry and his wife, and me. Most had never met, but by the end of the tour the group had come to know one another pretty well. It was a good group. We were blessed.<br />
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Back in the IWM, I was pleased to see displays on the British homefront. Unlike the US homefront, the British homefront was also at times the frontline. Nevertheless, housewives were encouraged to "Make-do and Mend" and to serve potatoes instead of bread.<br />
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This was just the tip of the IWM iceberg, but we had to move on to our next stop, Churchill's War Rooms. Our tour director, Christoph from Paris, led us through the streets of London, onto a bus, off the bus, and between two large, official buildings to the entrance. Just as we were to go in, a bus full of Beefeater musicians pulled up and the guys walked past us. We never saw the performance, but when we came out of the War Rooms, they were loading up their bus again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFAeIO0PR88_sMkncMzby1CcLDfV_caTkyLmhSzdrGdoJVE53Rl65hexFdlNd42te7AGsv_E7ZrdUAm6Ix5ridgdU4GwH_e2fbhqf5_x0oDWDIPTgGQuUh5zt5QLm5XDVMFVevdlkHn8g/s1600/DSC_2455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1071" data-original-width="1600" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFAeIO0PR88_sMkncMzby1CcLDfV_caTkyLmhSzdrGdoJVE53Rl65hexFdlNd42te7AGsv_E7ZrdUAm6Ix5ridgdU4GwH_e2fbhqf5_x0oDWDIPTgGQuUh5zt5QLm5XDVMFVevdlkHn8g/s400/DSC_2455.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I could have heard them perform!</td></tr>
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I was especially looking forward to Churchill's War Rooms underneath that big official building. This is where Churchill and his cabinet and staff worked during the air raids on London. Even his wife Clementine had a room here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cabinet Room, just as it was left in 1945. Except for the blotters: those were replaced every day just in case there were any incriminating impressions left from cabinet members writing notes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clementine Churchill's underground bedroom</td></tr>
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We would see more of London by walking tour and bus tour. We were warned months before we left that we should expect six to ten miles of walking each day. Really? That seems like a lot. But we did walk that much except for one day which I'll tell you about next time. In London we walked around St. Paul's Cathedral, Winchester Cathedral, Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, and many other photogenic spots. My favorite was St. Paul's Cathedral, not only because Princess Diana got married there and I woke up very early that day to watch it on TV in New Jersey, but because during the Battle of Britain in 1940 when so much of London was destroyed and damaged, the gorgeous dome rose above the smoke unaltered. There's a famous black and white photograph of this scene, but I'll close with my own shots here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three shots of St Paul's Cathedral</td></tr>
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And yes, we did hear the famous bells of St. Paul's:<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-11843525704775324182017-03-14T16:56:00.000-04:002017-06-07T08:58:06.284-04:00Red Boots, A Blizzard Warning, and Mercedes Limousines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTygPbAnGFTsdq0lzFzQu6g-vMy2GI6DHu-6TRF90fYUNqkqY7HVsOWB8lP4oqDnf0EbmAML5a9emK9KsNYbLhBlC8WQKR1vBOxI0BNDRo_fyHDS97uJhEOaidOflIFS-_e-Ogf9NBN20/s1600/Easter+194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTygPbAnGFTsdq0lzFzQu6g-vMy2GI6DHu-6TRF90fYUNqkqY7HVsOWB8lP4oqDnf0EbmAML5a9emK9KsNYbLhBlC8WQKR1vBOxI0BNDRo_fyHDS97uJhEOaidOflIFS-_e-Ogf9NBN20/s400/Easter+194.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Purrrl, who can tell time, woke me up with gentle paw taps at 6:00 so that I could get ready for work. Purrrl did not know that the blizzard outside had already inspired work to be cancelled. When she woke me, I had been dreaming that I was in Cape May, carrying around a fat Psychology textbook with Hannah Arendt on the cover, and the neighbors I hardly knew were trying to get me to drive them somewhere in my fictitious extra-long vintage Mercedes. I didn't know where they had to go, but I had to get to class and I was frightened of them. Perhaps Purrrl woke me up because she could sense that I was in distress. I've never seen one of these while awake, but they do exist, with three rows of seats just like in my dream!<br />
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Purrrl and I walked into the kitchen where the tiny ice pellets from the storm were hitting that window with a racket much louder than the bedroom. Maybe that's what had Purrrl concerned. Cats act crazy during storms. Once I was fully awake, she settled down, and we both found our spots in the living room. I recognized the Psychology book from the dream. It was actually my thick World War II history book that I'm reading for a trip I'm taking in May. Instead of Arendt on the cover it shows two lines of soldiers trudging through snow in helmets on their heads and masks over their mouths and noses. I don't know why I wasn't carrying the actual book in the dream or why it was Psychology. I never studied Psychology (formally) for more than a semester, and I never studied Hannah Arendt at all. (Maybe she appeared because I'm currently binge-watching <i>Transparent</i>, and the Pfefferman Family is Jewish. I would be surprised if I made that connection, even subconsciously.)<br />
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The storm was supposed to be a big deal. We were supposed to get 10-18 inches, or 8-14", but what actually happened is that the snow alternated with ice and what we have now is a highly compact eight inches of heavy slushy stuff which the meteorologists say will freeze overnight and make travel tomorrow treacherous at least until it melts back to slush. I saw a stray cat walking across the back yard on top of the snow, and wouldn't you know, even twenty-pound Gladys could walk on top of it when we ventured out in the afternoon. Here's the proof:<br />
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It's as if she walked through a layer of thick dust.<br />
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I wanted to feed the birds, so Fred, Gladys, and I walked outside after watching a documentary about the Vikings. We felt adventurous. The birds got fed although the feeders had ice and snow in them and we couldn't get it all out.<br />
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We couldn't see it from inside, but tiny ice pellets were shooting out of the sky still. We didn't mean to linger long, but I wanted to shoot some photos and try out my new red boots, and Fred wanted to dig a canal next to the curb so that the melting slush can drain down into the rain grate which happens to be in front of my house. Gladys was in no hurry to go inside (she has that double coat from her ancestors' days on the Shetland Islands where Vikings explored) and seems to be suggesting a backyard picnic.<br />
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The red boots worked, and I was glad to finally have the chance to test them out. I think I bought them back in the fall. I ALWAYS wanted a pair of these:<br />
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I took some snowy photos...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A corner of Spring Lake (Hamilton-Trenton Marsh) and Sturgeon Lake beyond (from my back yard)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of the frozen Marsh</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And one more (this was a big reason why I bought this house 23 years ago.)</td></tr>
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There have been some casualties:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daffodil cadavers (I wish I would have thought to cut these before the cold weather returned.)</td></tr>
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And then there's the pussy willow tree I grew from a stick that a lady gave me years ago at the public library. This tree is a source of pride for me and even made it into one of my essays because it looks like Hawthorne fairy trees I saw in Connemara, Ireland. And it happens to be in my Fairy Garden. Coincidentally. Or not.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-54728492041514134662016-09-10T15:19:00.001-04:002016-09-10T15:19:47.084-04:00Dispatch from Bruce's River Tour: Philadelphia 9/9/16<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Before we left New Jersey, I admonished Fred to leave his giant, multitool pocket knife home. "There'll be a security screening," I said, "just like at the Monster Truck show, and I'm going to be mad if we have to walk back to the car to stow your knife like we had to do then." I drove, because Philadelphia is mine, and because I have the working radio with the pre-set Bruce Springsteen satellite channel on it. We were headed to Citizens Bank Park to hear, see, and admire The Boss and the E-Street Band. Adele was appearing at the neighboring Wells Fargo Center, and together with New Jersey shore traffic, the traffic for these concerts jammed up I-95. We drove mostly between speeds of 20 and 40 MPH all the way to the Sports Complex. Usually this takes an hour. It seemed an eternity last night, but worth the effort for Bruce. I was hoping he would break his all-time concert-length record of four hours and six seconds, or at least his American record of four hours and four seconds set two nights before in Philadelphia. It would be quite a distinction to have attended a historic concert such as this, and I looked forward to bragging about it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me waiting for the concert to start and making a rare political statement</td></tr>
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The concert started at 8:00 and a roar came up from the crowd. The woman next to me let out a shrill banshee scream, the likes of which I knew I would not be able to tolerate for four hours. I scanned the area for other possible seats. She beat me to it. She moved down a few rows with her mother and their Coors Lights. Mama turned out to be quite the dancer. "New York City Serendade" was the first song, just like at this August 2016 concert at MetLife Stadium...(not my video)...(I wasn't there)...<br />
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I sat in my blue plastic baseball fan seat for four hours, fascinated by the crowd interacting with their (my) idol, and Bruce metabolizing the crowd's enthusiasm and energy. After all of these years, and all of these (long) concerts, he still looks like he's having the time of his life performing "Born to Run" for us. <br />
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He descended into the crowd many times to interact with people lucky enough to be in the Pit Line. He collected homemade signs requesting songs and favors ("Dance with me, Bruce!") and smiled the whole time. At one point he brought a talented college student on stage to perform with him, and at another point a woman and her guitar-playing pre-adolescent daughter. Both young musicians got to play one of Bruce's guitars. Many fans got their wish to dance with (next to) their favorite band member other than Bruce. All of these requests were made known to Bruce via the homemade poster board signs which have become legendary at Springsteen concerts.<br />
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All our favorite E-Streeters were there: Max, Steven, Nils, Roy, Garry, and Sookie. And then there was Jake Clemons on the tenor saxophone, frequently taking solos indistinguishable from his late uncle Clarence's. Jake found his way down into the pit crowd quite a bit. From our seats, we could follow Bruce through the sea of people by watching the spotlight on him. When Jake was down there, too, there was a second spotlight. What an honor for him, I thought. It was as if he's no longer simply Clarence's replacement, but is now Jake Clemons, a full-fledged member of the band with his own distinct personality. And he sang back-up a number of times. <br />
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I've always dreamed about what I would ask Bruce if I ever got the chance to talk to him or even interview him. ("Dream Baby, Dream") I have my questions ready. I can't tell you what they are but I can tell you they have to do with the creative process, performing, and charisma. For example, "What goes through your mind when you walk out on stage and see thousands of people who not only paid lots of money to see you perform, but sing your words back to you? Does that ever stop being surreal?" I can't ask this one--"If you were to write a book, what would the topic be?"--because we are now eagerly awaiting the release of Bruce's memoir <i>Born to Run</i> to be released on September 27. (Yes, I've preordered it.)<br />
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Last night I watched individuals and couples around me swayed to the slower songs and danced like maniacs to their favorite Springsteen showstoppers. The guy next to Fred must be the maniac leader. His crazy-macho dance moves didn't fit the music most of the time, but it was impossible not to watch him. But watching him was at the same time uncomfortable. Quick: look back at Bruce!<br />
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Many of my favorites were performed last night. We don't often hear "Rosalita" and "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)" in concert. I was thrilled to hear them last night. Before launching into my favorite boardwalk song, "Sandy," he asked, "Is anyone here from the Jersey Shore?" YES BRUCE, I AM! It's sad to think that every time I hear that song my own Wildwood boardwalk days are further in the past.<br />
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How appropriate to perform the song "Philadelphia" from the movie <i>Philadelphia</i> in the city of Philadelphia. Fred grabbed a few seconds of that.<br />
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Bruce saved the very best for last. We didn't break any records for concert length, but a three-hour, 45-minute concert is nothing to complain about. It was a steamy, humid, HOT night, and the guy on the radio Springsteen channel said it was 106 degrees on the field. (I consider us lucky that we got more than two hours.) Bruce and the band ended the show with "Jersey Girl" which is a treat by itself, but when he brought a Gold Star Widow up on the stage to dance with him (requested by a poster board sign) there was not a dry eye in the park.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Performing "Jersey Girl"</td></tr>
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I know skeptics will say that Bruce and his advisors are simply master manipulators of fans and marketing geniuses, but I have proof that Bruce's allure is more than an act of manipulation. Fred, who I thought would balk at the length and volume of the music if he was even able to stay in or near his blue plastic seat during the whole concert, was enthralled the entire time. He took photos and the videos you see here. He took more videos you don't see here. "I can see what all the fuss is about," he said. Or he said something like that--my ears were ringing rather loudly still at the time of the quoted material.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Us</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-48581147459731019732016-09-08T21:44:00.002-04:002016-09-08T21:50:37.123-04:00Inishmore, an Aran Island<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dry-stone wall in Inishmore</td></tr>
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I regret not taking the time to write more on-location in Ireland, and especially on Inishmore. (Important Irish writer John Millington Synge lived there and wrote about his observations in 1907, before the ferries and airplanes and throngs of tourists.) That was the place in Ireland I was most looking forward to, because of its legendary remoteness and unspoiled Irishness. On-site, I might have been able to capture the environment more precisely. The reality is that tourists ferry over from Galway in the morning. tour the island, buy sweaters and miscellany, eat, and leave before evening. Every day there is like a New Jersey shore summer in miniature: tourists in, chaos, tourists out. Substitute T-shirts for Aran sweaters and it's the same kind of thing. (Not that this is a bad thing...)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the Galway-Inishmore ferries</td></tr>
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Western Ireland, Connemara and County Galway specifically, and the Aran Islands, have an interesting ecology. If not for people, the parts sticking up from the ocean and bay would be mainly bare rock. But over the centuries, people carried sand and seaweed from the shore and placed it by hand on the bare rock. This has actually made a fertile soil, but it takes hundreds of years. Also interesting about this place: fuschia, the same plant that my mother carried inside to protect in cold weather, fuschia grows outside <i>in the ground</i> all over the place in western Ireland. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Windswept Inishmore remoteness</td></tr>
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There are probably some people who sign up for the Inishmore excursion thinking that they'll find ancient Irish civilization and culture untouched and intact on these remote Aran Islands. I can't speak for the other two islands, Inishmaan and Inisheer, but on Inishmore frequent ferries and tourism have erased most of the remoteness. We heard the natives speaking their native Irish language (known elsewhere as Gaelic) to each other, but English to us. There is only one ATM on the island, and many of the shops do not accept credit cards, so there is a taste of ancient civilization, I guess.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqu2y1t_i9gzqc9xGmMDKONNk9FlERVLBLbNVHXVu3y-Gub-lWETkZqw-9PF33mFOGGS1R30-zoPN3P0vfauJZk1ZPGTUS0IeLJweLLFDynf4VJO_L7coR4Iu8xguG-1xwmG9WqP0S-Fp/s1600/DSC_1656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqu2y1t_i9gzqc9xGmMDKONNk9FlERVLBLbNVHXVu3y-Gub-lWETkZqw-9PF33mFOGGS1R30-zoPN3P0vfauJZk1ZPGTUS0IeLJweLLFDynf4VJO_L7coR4Iu8xguG-1xwmG9WqP0S-Fp/s640/DSC_1656.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fort on the cliff: Dun Aengus</td></tr>
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Most people board those ferries, I suspect, to see the island's wild scenery and ruins.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg148OPablCPq6InhLxmgO88TVkWnb6jeYB2JBJSu7txDvNeLslCrKhdN-5_OktUb2JrxeL9uP4PnrpJhMBZ33icQ-MRXyoMvNfMCbX0P0gx0_WyRAu8EBquczYoRTajuQRsvRniogkq2p0/s1600/DSC_1666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg148OPablCPq6InhLxmgO88TVkWnb6jeYB2JBJSu7txDvNeLslCrKhdN-5_OktUb2JrxeL9uP4PnrpJhMBZ33icQ-MRXyoMvNfMCbX0P0gx0_WyRAu8EBquczYoRTajuQRsvRniogkq2p0/s640/DSC_1666.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out those cliffs behind me! The wall behind me is part of Dun Aengus.</td></tr>
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Foremost is Dun Aengus, a fort built on a cliff which dates back to around 1100 BC. At some point, probably around 700-800 AD, the fort was strengthened. Fortified.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2kcq7ZYL8rwQrSjo6-2oOZOfUPIAA5yA_7C_Lox4vkDOj-cD5IgJgDdNDlVD6gFkTHbqBhIQUoX_uv62iwyNe47tc7-bp3d5ypydolenZ21HWNO66kl_r0SQgNnCIAsXgrnCmbCpWNlFB/s1600/DSC_1663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2kcq7ZYL8rwQrSjo6-2oOZOfUPIAA5yA_7C_Lox4vkDOj-cD5IgJgDdNDlVD6gFkTHbqBhIQUoX_uv62iwyNe47tc7-bp3d5ypydolenZ21HWNO66kl_r0SQgNnCIAsXgrnCmbCpWNlFB/s400/DSC_1663.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really tall dry-stone walls at Dun Aengus</td></tr>
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What we saw this summer were the remains of a structure surrounded by three concentric half-circle, dry-stone walls, taller than those we saw throughout the Irish countryside. Don't climb on these walls: the stones are just placed on top of each other without benefit of mortar, concrete, rebar, or any other support. My guidebook says that the one kilometer walk from the visitors' center to the fort is "slightly strenuous." Indeed it was. I never felt that the walk was beyond me, but I did feel compelled to take extra care over the rough rocks that make up the last section of the hike. (Where is the nearest hospital? How would an ambulance get to me? A broken ankle would be embarrassing.) This is a place for sneakers or hiking boots, not for flip-flops or ballet flats. Luckily I was wearing my blue sneakers with the memory foam insoles. They were nice. I think I'll wear them tomorrow.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C8_Qk_NTfPpkC4PQjIKZZybLii2UCqButNDBZ2fgUv1UHUuIynWooXB3Y-LEs0-Ok9ROeSUg2kJaMOw0MmhEZiHcmsrYW2x4XxMvrDlm3m7v0YUhuAeFvkSy0Ei6b2kIYvMY0IU0LKQw/s1600/DSC_1655.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0C8_Qk_NTfPpkC4PQjIKZZybLii2UCqButNDBZ2fgUv1UHUuIynWooXB3Y-LEs0-Ok9ROeSUg2kJaMOw0MmhEZiHcmsrYW2x4XxMvrDlm3m7v0YUhuAeFvkSy0Ei6b2kIYvMY0IU0LKQw/s640/DSC_1655.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back on the walk to Dun Aengus with Galway Bay in the background. The rocks in the foreground make for some tricky hiking. Yes, we walked from that building you can kind of see the roof of, but the van was parked even further out on the road.</td></tr>
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We were transported to Dun Aengus by one of the many minivans...<br />
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that exist on the island to move tourists around. For ten or fifteen euros, we got a ride and narration to Dun Aengus, a few hours to spend there and at some quaint shops, and the a ride around to see more of the island's sites.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSt7u7SPmCEeSeVffkcAiWs08Up4V25FOj38trnI4FOxwD8O_-PT2bL6mp3-5W7Cd9xhnX58vNzmdtbim7PrnfjT4H0S7DaGa0h_jKJT-Xct9db9XLSV3RnAw8UulD_egR7ijICMcpowoS/s1600/DSC_1626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSt7u7SPmCEeSeVffkcAiWs08Up4V25FOj38trnI4FOxwD8O_-PT2bL6mp3-5W7Cd9xhnX58vNzmdtbim7PrnfjT4H0S7DaGa0h_jKJT-Xct9db9XLSV3RnAw8UulD_egR7ijICMcpowoS/s640/DSC_1626.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There are sweater shops all over the island, but they also sell postcards, books, and other souvenirs. In a few minutes, those picnic tables would be crowded with thirsty tourists.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg2PZZtacFXTW1ej8REHyc-oJhYNOOdni8nNZYihxQRRjGmxuO5e2y33uTXQxbNE2pAmncIxHbZx4U40OrMD6rskzWzJ27Fcu_gfHANg6uaWr95GOsEkSsTm_z2BFFRPukWgKaYRSkGkOa/s1600/DSC_1682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg2PZZtacFXTW1ej8REHyc-oJhYNOOdni8nNZYihxQRRjGmxuO5e2y33uTXQxbNE2pAmncIxHbZx4U40OrMD6rskzWzJ27Fcu_gfHANg6uaWr95GOsEkSsTm_z2BFFRPukWgKaYRSkGkOa/s640/DSC_1682.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another way to tour Inishmore!</td></tr>
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We saw The Seven Churches which is actually remains of two old churches, ruins of some fifteenth-century monastic houses, and some old gravestones.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin29hwPbOXUrsrtz7Ni_YbcTzs4EmKnPR5olou_hAFqcUPhl73DsXA7z2nY-EdOlH0hf1geMK2aUGARr9OD_sV8LUd15ueT4tTE6a0BBJy_kbEhyGpa2QShLfXhNkErp1wK1n9CYWRzhoK/s1600/DSC_1693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin29hwPbOXUrsrtz7Ni_YbcTzs4EmKnPR5olou_hAFqcUPhl73DsXA7z2nY-EdOlH0hf1geMK2aUGARr9OD_sV8LUd15ueT4tTE6a0BBJy_kbEhyGpa2QShLfXhNkErp1wK1n9CYWRzhoK/s640/DSC_1693.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUahGaJW8hlb0tyji10Lv5RKkJ7j7ePXvb0Kj3ItM_eg-h1mQBaPN2DbhhZGD2j9xa_B95_Ej-XQYkNldmuwC_6MOEWg3A5vBlQw6BzM3wsxKP6DzxRjH7ma0hZAsxyA1WwARmhdk1AS_/s1600/DSC_1694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUahGaJW8hlb0tyji10Lv5RKkJ7j7ePXvb0Kj3ItM_eg-h1mQBaPN2DbhhZGD2j9xa_B95_Ej-XQYkNldmuwC_6MOEWg3A5vBlQw6BzM3wsxKP6DzxRjH7ma0hZAsxyA1WwARmhdk1AS_/s640/DSC_1694.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Seven Churches site</td></tr>
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There's a seal colony down the road, but some overly-seal-friendly tourists ruined our chances of seeing the seals by moving too close to the seals' beach territory. The seals went into the water and all we could discern from our van were possible seal heads bobbing in the water.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyP4OFHXppBuohiGwSb9CNPxB8k_iM2Y5Aw6GvOIlsC9y8ihKNYVwWkLhOLkGqahFj5EZghyphenhyphenYU8ct2cHyOsijf0Wz6UtlbryfGVt0ZHuIDqCrFbidbulWM-iKtF0UjS3xDxBlzqExibjuu/s1600/DSC_1700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyP4OFHXppBuohiGwSb9CNPxB8k_iM2Y5Aw6GvOIlsC9y8ihKNYVwWkLhOLkGqahFj5EZghyphenhyphenYU8ct2cHyOsijf0Wz6UtlbryfGVt0ZHuIDqCrFbidbulWM-iKtF0UjS3xDxBlzqExibjuu/s400/DSC_1700.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the two ruined churches at The Seven Churches</td></tr>
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Back at our starting point, Kilronan, the only town on the island and location of the ferry pier, we enjoyed lunch and a little shopping. I bought a second Aran sweater (I needed a green one) at the touristy <a href="http://www.aransweatermarket.com/" target="_blank">Aran Sweater Market</a> even though I've been told that they're probably not actually made on the islands, or even the larger island of Ireland, and they're not made from wool of resident Irish sheep. (They sell yarn, too.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGe95Va-ZLBnseGo4ekWwRCIG8jjhQDcZrIGuYUT4PPFFdc5XdgeNWJRvmhlcSKzk1HV8RBw41nKRgNSett7D9QYUJXESLPpZn6BcIXq-tkzFWZIQe6x6bwlph9GIxpFu5zX_wsOABiyi5/s1600/DSC_1704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGe95Va-ZLBnseGo4ekWwRCIG8jjhQDcZrIGuYUT4PPFFdc5XdgeNWJRvmhlcSKzk1HV8RBw41nKRgNSett7D9QYUJXESLPpZn6BcIXq-tkzFWZIQe6x6bwlph9GIxpFu5zX_wsOABiyi5/s400/DSC_1704.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOTS of sweaters and free shipping for 100+ euro purchases</td></tr>
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If I look into my crystal ball, I'm reasonably sure I see another trip to Inishmore or one of the other Arans, but with a brief stay at an inn so that I can see the place without mobs of tourists. I'd like to experience some of that remoteness and some of that extreme Galway Bay weather I've heard about.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdWd3PMmOSdbbpXlv-PcydrI_I-B67PdYDrywssxrNTLB3f3TztjbpV6sc2tU4mwez09pRDIzehKcQUfd4Z7VY8D5TCH-aRj0g3m53Cq7AwaY5QE-t6lWLonsn_LzCZa9L7SE8p7cRgdf/s1600/DSC_1686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwdWd3PMmOSdbbpXlv-PcydrI_I-B67PdYDrywssxrNTLB3f3TztjbpV6sc2tU4mwez09pRDIzehKcQUfd4Z7VY8D5TCH-aRj0g3m53Cq7AwaY5QE-t6lWLonsn_LzCZa9L7SE8p7cRgdf/s400/DSC_1686.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rent a bike or take a minivan tour of the island.</td></tr>
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If I can get my cycling legs back, it would be charming to tour the island on a rented bike as our friend did the day before our day trip. My crystal ball shows nothing about a third Aran sweater, though.<br />
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Bonus Aran Island shots: <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-67821352326758790522016-08-04T16:22:00.001-04:002016-08-04T16:22:37.954-04:00Peaceful Glendalough in County Wicklow, Ireland<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtyTLYVKedwbWeYWqlkciENXEyr_hVJBmnZgACcU8iC49-jb5Fz_A-uj9obe2wthZS2IKwnHdaoMbHkaVZG_4yOkEJGcnbpBPS_fUoJiHTqKBsO_hqV-MMQN2Bnz0JB3JHY94xzTh7vvy/s1600/DSC_1406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtyTLYVKedwbWeYWqlkciENXEyr_hVJBmnZgACcU8iC49-jb5Fz_A-uj9obe2wthZS2IKwnHdaoMbHkaVZG_4yOkEJGcnbpBPS_fUoJiHTqKBsO_hqV-MMQN2Bnz0JB3JHY94xzTh7vvy/s640/DSC_1406.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Kevin's Church behind the trees</td></tr>
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Up a bumpy road, in a bus with threatening clouds above, my group finally found <a href="http://www.glendalough.ie/" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Glendalough</span></a> in County Wicklow. We had been told by our leader that this is a pleasant nature place, but I learned through some advance detective work that there are ruins from a medieval monastery and remnants from a defunct mining community. "Photo ops," I thought.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZ3h9m4ANFw0OxFlS937-PnA5Ka6PNfrrny7q2oqiP3bsNmFqd9wg4m0-Fg3V3T8uJfH4kfZo7zMR5Q9X_ePJ3lsTfqVQclARFBYbuWzaUQAOuM8n8eIDhhVhgy2enNAac_ofzcxAQ7H2/s1600/DSC_1368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmZ3h9m4ANFw0OxFlS937-PnA5Ka6PNfrrny7q2oqiP3bsNmFqd9wg4m0-Fg3V3T8uJfH4kfZo7zMR5Q9X_ePJ3lsTfqVQclARFBYbuWzaUQAOuM8n8eIDhhVhgy2enNAac_ofzcxAQ7H2/s400/DSC_1368.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some members of my group and the general public entering the monastery ruins through the double arch.</td></tr>
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I walked around the ruins after checking out the 3D map display in the Visitors' Center. As with many old Irish ruins, the stone walls remained, but any trace of roofs is long gone. They were made of wood and probably straw thatch and didn't stand up to weather as the stones did. Luckily, by the time our group made it outside to the old monastery, the rain clouds had floated away to dump on some other part of Ireland, and we had some sun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTo8avPCtsCxPFyFTQ4Nr4BlYrHgfDz8TZzboljGP0KM4YMKzDP_zzMW1hw-4V-dGldB793V3TWQrClfk8DycyR3RjeQNRY8X6YGAID9l159Cs1YzF4TFTYST2LDi9WCW3q1drt16gn5cB/s1600/DSC_1403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTo8avPCtsCxPFyFTQ4Nr4BlYrHgfDz8TZzboljGP0KM4YMKzDP_zzMW1hw-4V-dGldB793V3TWQrClfk8DycyR3RjeQNRY8X6YGAID9l159Cs1YzF4TFTYST2LDi9WCW3q1drt16gn5cB/s400/DSC_1403.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheep are everywhere in Ireland, including Glendalough.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJh9n5Wxe2PNCU9m3LSHQWE41KOl2tb7ONY-DqDRVnMrHnQx-NLsxiuKlor_1uQNSSWVfL7jWB5HUGflN4tDk8oC2qQEnBli1E3h6Ajt_YUZVa0RHo7GI7iLOL_8zcHx6O7gqIPWuggQEp/s1600/DSC_1384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJh9n5Wxe2PNCU9m3LSHQWE41KOl2tb7ONY-DqDRVnMrHnQx-NLsxiuKlor_1uQNSSWVfL7jWB5HUGflN4tDk8oC2qQEnBli1E3h6Ajt_YUZVa0RHo7GI7iLOL_8zcHx6O7gqIPWuggQEp/s400/DSC_1384.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detail of the cathedral at Glendalough</td></tr>
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One of the notable buildings from the monastery is the cathedral. This is the biggest building in the monastic cluster and dates from 900-1000 AD. The chancel and sacristy were added later, probably 1100-1200 AD. According to my Glendalough guidebook, the outside of the cathedral (and perhaps other buildings) was plastered over when it was new, and didn't have that rocky look.<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4BjQV2pLRtAGIs2FaNFRD8LQyJKqCjWG8VZ7SHR_3sITlAlOS53TPIoki7YPIS3tCZL4ac7zHl18EW8U4R8QFmcdFK79bLceDy_FdJfojck1kJxtBVJakQX-ch-qpRWX3kr1pMCkjU8a/s1600/DSC_1383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm4BjQV2pLRtAGIs2FaNFRD8LQyJKqCjWG8VZ7SHR_3sITlAlOS53TPIoki7YPIS3tCZL4ac7zHl18EW8U4R8QFmcdFK79bLceDy_FdJfojck1kJxtBVJakQX-ch-qpRWX3kr1pMCkjU8a/s400/DSC_1383.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monks' graves were moved to the cathedral at some point</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY4XDDboEEcqqosNqApaKNSl0Wq3e_C822oeAaFTL0qmaqGYK0QK4Ghx07VOOlT0HpZ8lO8l1rXqcz8ugyh2BCAkVP9odVEHM2d_YVRe1LUcvqgi6BPEyiwSmJLisbvnqx3_QbqgXF90J/s1600/DSC_1392.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY4XDDboEEcqqosNqApaKNSl0Wq3e_C822oeAaFTL0qmaqGYK0QK4Ghx07VOOlT0HpZ8lO8l1rXqcz8ugyh2BCAkVP9odVEHM2d_YVRe1LUcvqgi6BPEyiwSmJLisbvnqx3_QbqgXF90J/s400/DSC_1392.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These ferns were popping out of a lot of the stone walls here.</td></tr>
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The Round Tower is a prominent feature of this monastery, and our guide told us it is in the best shape of any such tower in Europe. Although the roof fell through in a nineteenth-century storm, it was rebuilt soon after from the same materials gathered from the floor of the tower.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wQQuxWMLQRvYI466fyftqhOQf8J2ociGjZrYNq4g433y7y1lJWhaYnPpeew1u_pGwY48HkR6Cg50US8gZQ0K-6vEvq-dFttNGvpf7g6XN9IttyoYCSgZP_-8yLN8unwaVRoOD11N7rlL/s1600/DSC_1386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wQQuxWMLQRvYI466fyftqhOQf8J2ociGjZrYNq4g433y7y1lJWhaYnPpeew1u_pGwY48HkR6Cg50US8gZQ0K-6vEvq-dFttNGvpf7g6XN9IttyoYCSgZP_-8yLN8unwaVRoOD11N7rlL/s640/DSC_1386.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Round Tower is in better shape than some of the grave markers.</td></tr>
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The tower was not used for defense, but as a bell tower. Valuables were also stashed here, hung in pouches from stones inside. A ladder was used to access the outside door, but since each interior level was shorter than this ladder, it could not be stowed inside. This is not the place to shelter-in-place if the monastery was under siege. The Round Tower dates from the early 1100s AD.<br />
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I wandered around the ruins shooting photos and reading the grave markers. Some of these markers were very old and unreadable, but many were quite recent, marking the last resting places of prominent Glendalough-area citizens.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cIOOp6KZiPL-9uvdRmS2knqosIt9b1nhyphenhyphenJ8lLpHwaJ6dqLDdAZeufA_fEMd262Erj_KUS92Y-dhMbbef6kyZFo_hUs8ihXGYbfGWA1kY_DdvAcEd1gtQ8KjM0R8KcAKcq4YdSk-bxohK/s1600/DSC_1385.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cIOOp6KZiPL-9uvdRmS2knqosIt9b1nhyphenhyphenJ8lLpHwaJ6dqLDdAZeufA_fEMd262Erj_KUS92Y-dhMbbef6kyZFo_hUs8ihXGYbfGWA1kY_DdvAcEd1gtQ8KjM0R8KcAKcq4YdSk-bxohK/s320/DSC_1385.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5W3Fr3DS0kGtsaQHdmrDjbdG3QP8ZwaKo47Qr0dbYEfxsZo9yrht8jTYzTHo12ieQddon1oQGOR8O8DIHaHPkH5r81v-XUI54HH5JQbUeEujt4-WEvezmNl4grdkJDrNH885PwCbAWk0/s1600/DSC_1407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5W3Fr3DS0kGtsaQHdmrDjbdG3QP8ZwaKo47Qr0dbYEfxsZo9yrht8jTYzTHo12ieQddon1oQGOR8O8DIHaHPkH5r81v-XUI54HH5JQbUeEujt4-WEvezmNl4grdkJDrNH885PwCbAWk0/s320/DSC_1407.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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St. Kevin is the monk who founded this monastery. I read that he started out as a cloistered monk, reading and worshiping in solitude, but he had so many visitors he decided he would serve God better if he became a more social animal and started this monastery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTk3oEovMGJUG2-POLXUwEz_2xamyqFeYfqP4zr-JVL74RmqV_O28DrWy2hTP6RfkxiP2qpPut8oeuARdrh79qmv7GTNWBEX5wYuYJ-5dfKUcHzC9fbStuvUMi9opDJKvcRq_vFoO9610Q/s1600/DSC_1387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTk3oEovMGJUG2-POLXUwEz_2xamyqFeYfqP4zr-JVL74RmqV_O28DrWy2hTP6RfkxiP2qpPut8oeuARdrh79qmv7GTNWBEX5wYuYJ-5dfKUcHzC9fbStuvUMi9opDJKvcRq_vFoO9610Q/s640/DSC_1387.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Kevin's Church has a belfry and a roof.</td></tr>
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Most of my group walked beyond the ruins and grave markers to visit either of two lakes, the smaller close one or the further large one. (The Miners' Village was too far to attempt during our visit. Lead, zinc, silver, and maybe iron were mined there.) I stayed behind to wander among the ruins. A big dark cloud moved over the sun creating an ominous atmosphere around the site. I doubled back and photographed the Cathedral, St. Kevin's Church, the Round Tower, and the grave markers in the contrasting light until I started to feel drops of rain. From the bus, I watched as my colleagues got drenched in yet another heavy Irish rain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGukxCDmJtOirv9T6trXuMo-o2kqUYAclaINmCCySv0t6fMY60Q9PyLuLMokPuq162ZnNNy48PzG-CGXExoIkKk6oOEirTMIFjQ7e62w9o2bQgJ06lUb936IIvXyqKuGW6XGcGW5Vf0Mvs/s1600/DSC_1439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGukxCDmJtOirv9T6trXuMo-o2kqUYAclaINmCCySv0t6fMY60Q9PyLuLMokPuq162ZnNNy48PzG-CGXExoIkKk6oOEirTMIFjQ7e62w9o2bQgJ06lUb936IIvXyqKuGW6XGcGW5Vf0Mvs/s640/DSC_1439.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The clouds are rolling in.</td></tr>
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The raindrops are falling with increasing frequency...time to head back to the bus!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-9835769673425923612016-07-27T19:57:00.001-04:002016-07-27T20:03:32.373-04:00Dublin: Living at Trinity College, Eating at Pubs, Exploring the Region<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHoM8MwaCPmgKgaXOCVjraVPhaNd8RpRDLQYNYyJj7Ygh1w8j8h6UjjlgZGEqd07uyzOnvKyuNRky-5aPA12JGJJVUsaN1kXnvWMylm3J86wXRiPyOO7heg4iSamj4InpoXQq46P6xIjp/s1600/DSC_0960+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkHoM8MwaCPmgKgaXOCVjraVPhaNd8RpRDLQYNYyJj7Ygh1w8j8h6UjjlgZGEqd07uyzOnvKyuNRky-5aPA12JGJJVUsaN1kXnvWMylm3J86wXRiPyOO7heg4iSamj4InpoXQq46P6xIjp/s640/DSC_0960+-+Copy.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll meet you at the Campanile!</td></tr>
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Dorm life. I thought I was done with that forever, But this summer's residency for Cedar Crest College's MFA Program in Creative Writing included a two-week stay in Trinity College's dorms. I dreaded it. We were told that we'd each have a single room but share the bathroom and common space with two other people. I'm too old for this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Number 2: My Dorm</td></tr>
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It was fine. My suite-mates and I got along fine and hardly saw each other on our floor unless we wanted to. We were very busy with seminars, workshops, excursions, and eating. And, I got to know them better. Yeah, my room was small (and there was no TV) but really all I needed was a bed, a desk, and a place to keep my stuff. The window had drapes and shutters built-in to the inside wall to shut out the noise (mostly traffic and street music) of busy Dublin. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SkhWg_6YuH8QlZv8AxhkdA09L4gO56br0BH6T93090WL8X9i1vvJdJlJZxSNdtqy8RFv37ni82PGctg_0mdsdFZkEFQqTO3JOqRfD5G9Dx3m9HvA1dJTrnxlTCUEZd_QwZzOAwYgetBL/s1600/dorm+room.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SkhWg_6YuH8QlZv8AxhkdA09L4gO56br0BH6T93090WL8X9i1vvJdJlJZxSNdtqy8RFv37ni82PGctg_0mdsdFZkEFQqTO3JOqRfD5G9Dx3m9HvA1dJTrnxlTCUEZd_QwZzOAwYgetBL/s640/dorm+room.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My room on the FOURTH floor (no elevator)</td></tr>
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Living on Trinity's campus was actually cool. There was a wall around us with limited open gates which didn't stop the tourists during the day, but at night if we went out to explore the town we had to remember which gate would be open so that we could get back to our dorms.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Main Gate, from the outside</td></tr>
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We got the hang of it within a few days. I took a walk around campus one morning before our seminar to see what the rest of campus looks like: grassy squares, lots of ivy, and both old and new buildings. The train is elevated over the other end of campus. And then there's the <a href="https://www.tcd.ie/Library/manuscripts/book-of-kells.php" target="_blank">Book of Kells</a>! That medieval manuscript is housed in the Old Library which also contains the Long Room, a centuries-old library reading room with an arched ceiling. The Old Library and the Book of Kells were my neighbors.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Long Room in Trinity's Old Library</td></tr>
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We ate dinner on our own eat evening, and got to explore the many pubs around Dublin: Merchant's Arch, O'Neill's, Porterhouse, and Brazen Head were some of our favorites. Most pubs were either adorned with flowers like O'Neill's and Brazen Head,<br />
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or painted in crazy bright colors.<br />
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Ya know what's big in Dublin? Hurling is big. This is a fast-paced game which seemed to my American friends to be four or five games played simultaneously. There's a small white ball that is batted around with a wooden stick which has something like a spoon at the end. The goals are a combination of soccer and football goalposts and there seems to be more than one way to score. We watched a game between Kilkenny and Galway at Croke Park, a rather nice stadium that our airport taxi driver was excited to tell us about. We never did figure out all of the details of the game, but it was fun to be there to watch the proceedings on the field and the jazzed-up fans wearing their favorite team's colors. We were told before the game that Kilkenny always wins, and although Galway seemed to be leading for some of the game, Kilkenny got the win. <br />
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Dublin is James Joyce's city. We were required to read part of <i>Dubliners</i> before our residency, but it's really <i>Ulysses</i> that the real Dubliners talk about. We visited the Joyce Tower as a group--this is now a museum dedicated to Joyce and focusing on <i>Ulysses</i>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Joyce Tower, now a museum</td></tr>
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It's a Martello Tower, a kind of tower built as a defense against Napoleon who was rumored to be planning an attack on Dublin. We climbed the very narrow (narrower than the typical American lighthouse) spiral steps to the top to enjoy the spectacular view. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the top of the Joyce Tower--is that Howth over there?</td></tr>
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Scenes from that epic novel are based on rooms in the tower. <br />
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Some scenes are set in Kennedy's pub and Sweny's Pharmacy, both near Trinity College. The protagonist Leopold Bloom bought lemon soap for his wife at Sweny's. (I bought some of that lemon soap for a friend at work who is a big fan. She loved it!) Sweny's is known as the "worst pharmacy in Dublin" mostly because it exists now to sell the lemon soap and used books, and to host readings of James Joyce literature in many languages.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside Sweny's Pharmacy</td></tr>
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The Joyce Tower, in Sandycove, forms the southern border of Dublin Bay, and at the northern shore of the bay we found Howth, a suburb of Dublin. This delightful seaside city made me feel at home and gave my camera a workout. Check out these shots (it was hard to take a bad picture there!):<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Howth Head</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was windy that day--that's not my hairdo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Howth</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-38009833319343682392016-07-23T15:16:00.001-04:002016-07-23T15:16:39.833-04:00Connemara, Ireland: Generally Gorgeous Gaelic Gawkables<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I still have a ways to go with my unpacking and laundry chores, but I have finished sorting out my photos from the three weeks I spent in Ireland. I couldn't wait to look at them on a bigger screen. I didn't know where to start my story--I'm overwhelmed--so I decided to plunge in to the middle, actually near the end of my journey, and show my dear readers the Connemara region of western Ireland. Kathy and I took a bus tour from Galway last Sunday and enjoyed the scenery as well as the narration by our driver, Martin.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Low clouds over the Maamturk Mountains</td></tr>
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Those Maamturk Mountains are made of quartz schist and granite, and rocks of those substances pop up all over the landscape. In order to make the land farmable, farmers have been digging them up for centuries and making dry stone walls with them. Apparently farmers do this in the U.S., too, but what do I know? Kathy says the fieldstone dry stone walls in Pennsylvania look different because the fieldstones are flatter. I thought it was interesting that the stones are just piled up without benefit of sand or concrete or grout. They've lasted for centuries like that.<br />
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The walls are used to mark property borders, field borders, to keep animals in, and to give animals shelter in bad weather.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdqwMk3hzaPf98Sk0BnifOWAQq2zAMVyKusniMIICZYr-iSDrUEC848A03zIGxzHMU03kA4-HPdArwfrXkVK8tCMVmY7e23twS5RMcJzFh33fu4fSSlWqfV6rkic0OHFYfZvhwZNPtFR3/s1600/DSC_1468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdqwMk3hzaPf98Sk0BnifOWAQq2zAMVyKusniMIICZYr-iSDrUEC848A03zIGxzHMU03kA4-HPdArwfrXkVK8tCMVmY7e23twS5RMcJzFh33fu4fSSlWqfV6rkic0OHFYfZvhwZNPtFR3/s400/DSC_1468.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gawkable Connemara scenery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Speaking of fields, many of them are inhabited by Connemara Black-faced
sheep. Sheep are a big part of the economy here, and I almost hate to
tell you this, but these sheep are mainly used for meat and the wool of
the survivors is not spun into sweater yarn. It is spun into yarn for
carpets. Typically, farmers have anywhere between 100 and 500 sheep in
their herds and they brand their own with big splotches of color on
their backs. We saw red, blue, and orange. <br />
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Have you seen the John Wayne/Maureen O'Hara movie, <i>The Quiet Man</i>? It was
filmed in this region of Ireland in 1951. There's a little bridge here
that we saw from the bus. It is seen in the movie and now known as The
Quiet Man Bridge by the locals. The movie in DVD form is available in
gift shops all over, but I'm confident my friends at the TCM channel
will show it soon. I'm going to make a guess that old-fashioned thatched-roof houses also make appearances in that film and in another, <i>The Field</i> (1989), starring Richard Harris. These houses still exist, but they are mostly used for tourist "holiday" houses now, and the roofs are no longer straw but reeds. (Underneath is a layer of metal to help prevent fires from spreading.) These and other houses are heated with turf taken out of bogs. The turf is dried and burnt as fuel. We saw from the bus where turf has been removed in a few places, and Martin the driver told us there are laws limiting how much turf can be taken out. It takes hundreds of years to form.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actual thatched-roof house</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We passed a fjord near the town of Leenane. A fjord is a finger of deep water forming an inlet surrounded by mountains. Glaciers were involved in their formation. Keep your eyes open for a play called "The Beauty Queen of Leenane" because its playright Martin McDermott was inspired by this location.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLHJs-h7kDGFdccMOaqenV_ifBe-uv7LQtkigsJfnmKrDBnR6r1DDD_9S8EDxJhvjrTD3RBvyTLz3PwmQEOUIwvbY_sLcmQb5JvVowWclm2qOaiPHskhLg3XO0L3OMZvTMsjn2nhrJy9N/s1600/DSC_1495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLHJs-h7kDGFdccMOaqenV_ifBe-uv7LQtkigsJfnmKrDBnR6r1DDD_9S8EDxJhvjrTD3RBvyTLz3PwmQEOUIwvbY_sLcmQb5JvVowWclm2qOaiPHskhLg3XO0L3OMZvTMsjn2nhrJy9N/s400/DSC_1495.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fjord</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This area of water is also called Kilary Harbor, and it was here that we saw a Fairy Tree!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4YopXw2t9VY4Ckl391HJPQks7__94b68_QlMQK-qqc-NVZIcnXgdVzMRHej3oS2NFMP0EEPe5z6n_CEprurajF1lp2KlrnQ2cpx2bcfo3zI3LEJ3uxn3FlZpFNDbf9vZI1_0qP8P8YaN/s1600/DSC_1493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4YopXw2t9VY4Ckl391HJPQks7__94b68_QlMQK-qqc-NVZIcnXgdVzMRHej3oS2NFMP0EEPe5z6n_CEprurajF1lp2KlrnQ2cpx2bcfo3zI3LEJ3uxn3FlZpFNDbf9vZI1_0qP8P8YaN/s400/DSC_1493.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fairy Tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The legend goes that if you leave something of value on the Fairy Tree and make a wish, fairies will make sure your wish comes true. It looked like most people left rags and socks and gloves, and we saw a child's rain boot also. (It probably had value to the child.) I didn't leave anything, but instead took a picture. By the way, that is a hawthorne tree. We saw many of them shaped like this from the Connemara wind.<br />
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Waterfalls are found all over Connemara, and our bus driver Martin knew we'd be interested in photographing them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkeXAqqQsqHkZ3dz0tK2RcHOmqhwD9vwMHbVR1N0G6qNdXlMibDkAwb41MYOiqlG36LTOoWkn8FmFGySOCG-SSp0IayzzF-QPRVAtQR8-BPKxvLoMStkEODgZWAPcBXLxYeadA0VV3g1J/s1600/DSC_1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWkeXAqqQsqHkZ3dz0tK2RcHOmqhwD9vwMHbVR1N0G6qNdXlMibDkAwb41MYOiqlG36LTOoWkn8FmFGySOCG-SSp0IayzzF-QPRVAtQR8-BPKxvLoMStkEODgZWAPcBXLxYeadA0VV3g1J/s400/DSC_1470.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Small waterfall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBO2EuvqFHcrx1-_HDdsZFTW-jWr2OPiqRFiFUr1wV0p-lQyabEqf43Ll8PBXHzSNTcO1fMh9ErYdduX0uroOhlDyHUbTa5sCU6Em5F4ixOfYnNbCADj27AvqvjVk0bCCTy-1lJvSJLfk/s1600/DSC_1582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTBO2EuvqFHcrx1-_HDdsZFTW-jWr2OPiqRFiFUr1wV0p-lQyabEqf43Ll8PBXHzSNTcO1fMh9ErYdduX0uroOhlDyHUbTa5sCU6Em5F4ixOfYnNbCADj27AvqvjVk0bCCTy-1lJvSJLfk/s400/DSC_1582.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Larger waterfalls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The highlight of this tour was <a href="http://www.kylemoreabbey.com/" target="_blank">Kylemore Abbey</a> and its Victorian Walled Garden. This gargantuan gawkable home was built by a wealthy doctor for his lovely wife, Margaret in 1920. It then became a monastery for nuns who ran a boarding school there. The nuns eventually gave up the school and devoted their time to tourism. There's a small Gothic church nearby where Mitchell and Margaret Henry are buried. I'll be quiet now and share some shots of the property...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look confused.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM0_8IcFzg8GO4dZQNd5BTEVbDFA9lZikDvCyalmYsI_lxlP1ewvpzDebqQIfoYdm0BQ4od0R3yOWK35l7p8oScsUoYOI4yCVCtYjFKIUgAwVt0OZ_LYdllf3hCpWfeW2lemL9fXowO9mN/s1600/DSC_1539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM0_8IcFzg8GO4dZQNd5BTEVbDFA9lZikDvCyalmYsI_lxlP1ewvpzDebqQIfoYdm0BQ4od0R3yOWK35l7p8oScsUoYOI4yCVCtYjFKIUgAwVt0OZ_LYdllf3hCpWfeW2lemL9fXowO9mN/s640/DSC_1539.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What ARE these?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghC-q5iN9HD8xrzqv77EDuwBxoYnancKtEhl_S7BZiWfJ6nObB6Au0VWbgA2MvhQRXmO7ek8ikp1I4I3QY39bjG9JTdtlWoFuXqMP7iNyA3jyuhIZ1oQ5cB3qknoXCmRkhIgd-coHKcgGk/s1600/DSC_1543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghC-q5iN9HD8xrzqv77EDuwBxoYnancKtEhl_S7BZiWfJ6nObB6Au0VWbgA2MvhQRXmO7ek8ikp1I4I3QY39bjG9JTdtlWoFuXqMP7iNyA3jyuhIZ1oQ5cB3qknoXCmRkhIgd-coHKcgGk/s400/DSC_1543.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More yellow</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-2571463244160265592016-06-12T16:04:00.000-04:002016-06-12T16:43:19.023-04:00Cape May's Secret Garden Tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmnM9fYsUcjmvIZdnOjxgluHXCQaJeD4-3zsGILjHyY76KVD-sthunomxXyjEnzY7VPJ2Z1GSJ2nTuby6D_sPaCGOOKRYFrrBTEcPB-DZWyZCrz0t5haNcLX7Kwje_3s2Gw_Bs09EPTok/s1600/DSC_0417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmnM9fYsUcjmvIZdnOjxgluHXCQaJeD4-3zsGILjHyY76KVD-sthunomxXyjEnzY7VPJ2Z1GSJ2nTuby6D_sPaCGOOKRYFrrBTEcPB-DZWyZCrz0t5haNcLX7Kwje_3s2Gw_Bs09EPTok/s400/DSC_0417.JPG" width="280" /></a></div>
My usual sidekick couldn't make it to the garden tour because of an illness in her family. Pneumonia scares me, so I actually encouraged her to stay home even though this would mean I'd have to navigate the tour and the lunch following at the Chalfont Hotel by myself.<br />
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Or would I? I stopped at the Washington Street Information Booth to pick up my tour packet and I was aware of a name-tagged garden tour official giving a big welcome to a pair of women who had arrived just after me. Before I claimed my tickets and packet, I realized that one of the women was <a href="http://www.janicewilsonstridick.com/about-janice/" target="_blank">Janice Wilson Stridick</a>, who is a second-generation celebrity in Cape May. She wrote a stunning book called <i>Light, Particularly</i> about her mother, painter <a href="http://www.alicesteerwilson.com/" target="_blank">Alice Steer Wilson</a>, and Alice's watercolors of Cape May. If you love Cape May, gardens, or watercolor paintings, you should probably have this book. If you love all three, you should definitely have it.<br />
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Janice and I run into each other periodically in Cape May. I offered her my extra ticket and we were off to visit the ten gardens with Janice's niece, Kim. The houses were in parts of Cape May that I don't frequent often--outside of the touristy beach and historic areas. I'd seen some of the homes from the front and admired their public, front-facing gardens, but being allowed in the private back gardens was a treat. These are the outside places where residents enjoy their homes in privacy.<br />
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All ten gardens were gorgeous: "One more beautiful than the next," as my mother would have said. There were begonias, ferns, magnolias (I bragged about the giant magnolia my father planted here), geraniums, and hydrangeas, all of which love the Cape May climate and sandy soil. I learned from Janice about <span class="_5yl5">lobelia</span>, a plant featuring small blue flowers that grows very well in Cape May and looks great in blower boxes and planters. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ovytiq6DR33oMMUwQGkR3RN0Pjjq8-FcBOybJCyum5Xu01PLmHaL_2X5RIJNobLtE-y-xoGZ-w_uf4t7-Vk8YHoAVHmqWlHltRdynZ2JuiK5Oh_2LaqYd0i5RdGXurJRRUHZo_DXU9MJ/s1600/DSC_0413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ovytiq6DR33oMMUwQGkR3RN0Pjjq8-FcBOybJCyum5Xu01PLmHaL_2X5RIJNobLtE-y-xoGZ-w_uf4t7-Vk8YHoAVHmqWlHltRdynZ2JuiK5Oh_2LaqYd0i5RdGXurJRRUHZo_DXU9MJ/s400/DSC_0413.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="_5yl5">lobelia</span></td></tr>
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Janice also pointed out the Japanese ferns and mentioned that they are quite hardy. At the Aurorean Cottage on Corgie Street, we learned about the pair of Harry Lauder Walking Stick trees in the front. The branches of these trees are twisty as you can see from the picture.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harry Lauder Walking Stick Tree</td></tr>
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In-between gardens, Janice and I caught up. I met her when she was teaching English Composition at Bucks County Community College because being a librarian there, I work with that faculty often. She's not teaching college courses anymore but filled me in on what she is doing, besides touring for the book about her mother. Click on her name in the first paragraph to see what she's cooking up. Kim and Janice were both very interested in Cape May's Sherlock Holmes Weekend which I have participated in a few times. No, I assured them, you do not have to wear a costume. I blogged about <a href="http://margaretmontet.blogspot.com/2008/11/sherlock-holmes-weekend.html" target="_blank">that experience here</a>.<br />
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Many of the gardens included on this tour featured garden "rooms." Under an arbor covered with old, hardy wisteria might be a lounge chair and end table for reading,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXEdnMnJ8a-bA50PLgOmdW8msyNaghyphenhyphenw0MCcqxvv2FwebQskW8j6N6S99yL6S0U6O8-Uj_i5g9UF1KXHA5Jtkg04uwFfCJ7g7v9DcslCSEX9lT3Gg_58iWfhLmefY9VxeifbgF7agbCD3/s1600/DSC_0428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXEdnMnJ8a-bA50PLgOmdW8msyNaghyphenhyphenw0MCcqxvv2FwebQskW8j6N6S99yL6S0U6O8-Uj_i5g9UF1KXHA5Jtkg04uwFfCJ7g7v9DcslCSEX9lT3Gg_58iWfhLmefY9VxeifbgF7agbCD3/s400/DSC_0428.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's some 'established' wisteria!</td></tr>
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but tucked away in a corner might be a sunnier bistro area. If you keep looking you might find a hammock among the ferns, hosta, and elephant ears. One garden featured a waist-high raised bed which seemed to be growing all of the ingredients for salad.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCFtifGHoBSsCyvVk28yzYBhtbRgDnuWFI8EBcst3QXEquZi-3ANScanQN95dLTs3RocY1pcU_9qwOzJsyevsBxSZx-aw9df532S8KKGITXcMQ_hq3Ys2gCyMsDB5dd0P_UgOGtjw9pTa/s1600/DSC_0436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhCFtifGHoBSsCyvVk28yzYBhtbRgDnuWFI8EBcst3QXEquZi-3ANScanQN95dLTs3RocY1pcU_9qwOzJsyevsBxSZx-aw9df532S8KKGITXcMQ_hq3Ys2gCyMsDB5dd0P_UgOGtjw9pTa/s400/DSC_0436.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Really raised bed</td></tr>
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The ornaments! Gardeners seem to love whimsy judging by how they decorate their gardens. I saw frogs, a frog fountain, a patchwork pig, mesmerizing artistic whirligigs catching the sea breezes, and antique statuary. There were gazing balls and stepping stones. Did I mention there were flowers everywhere?<br />
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Each garden also boasted a painting of the garden in which it was displayed by a local artist. These paintings were being silent-auctioned off. These were marvelous and showed how much thought and planning went into this day! Most of the artists were around to greet admirers, and how lucky am I: Janice knew almost all of them and the garden hosts, too!<br />
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After we visited the ten secret gardens, we were to report to the Chalfont Hotel for lunch. I was looking forwardto seeing the inside of the Chalfont Hotel, <br />
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and I did, sort of. The luncheon in the Magnolia Room was mobbed. On the one hand, this shows how popular the Garden Tour was, and it was good to see how many people turned up for it. Proceeds were to benefit a good cause--the Cape May Forum--and it is satisfying to see cultural Cape May celebrating itself. On the other hand, I was wondering how I was still standing after all that walking in increasingly sweltering heat when I hadn't been properly hydrating. I didn't want to be impolite, but it was going to be a while before we got to the buffet table...so I said good bye to Janice...and ghosted out...<br />
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As luck would have it, right near the stitchery store (where I picked up some DMC 3345 for a current project), I discovered Cione Gelato. According to the woman who scooped my Stracciatella and Chocolate, they have been there eight years. HOW have I not noticed that shop before, especially when it is sandwiched between the stitchery store and the gourmet shop which makes its own fresh pasta? Maybe it was a mirage, but I'm pretty sure that gelato (or the idea of it) saved my life!<br />
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So here's a round-up of Saturday's discoveries:<br />
<ul>
<li><span class="_5yl5">LOBELIA</span></li>
<li>JAPANESE FERNS are hardy</li>
<li> HARRY LAUDER WALKING STICK TREES</li>
<li>GARDEN "ROOMS"</li>
<li>WAIST-HIGH RAISED BEDS</li>
<li>CIONE GELATO </li>
<li>STRACCIATELLA means chocolate chip</li>
</ul>
I'm inspired! <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-37825399914813008432016-05-28T21:54:00.002-04:002016-05-28T21:54:27.304-04:00Dead Writers of Concord<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-k40RqHxJ3C9Zor6eXuZjHRjYhSQNCjEEXT9am8evWCH4lXhRQoACEvd7Y2v2_1C4EtQ7F-LMCq8A3-mc-JDI9Z8JY8EK_pUILMY3T6AiRk-7hO4mFcZWWtqI89rg1GEyG-d-07AZU1zn/s1600/Concord+1+100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-k40RqHxJ3C9Zor6eXuZjHRjYhSQNCjEEXT9am8evWCH4lXhRQoACEvd7Y2v2_1C4EtQ7F-LMCq8A3-mc-JDI9Z8JY8EK_pUILMY3T6AiRk-7hO4mFcZWWtqI89rg1GEyG-d-07AZU1zn/s400/Concord+1+100.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orchard House, Concord</td></tr>
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Oh how I enjoyed our three days in Concord! We were excited to see Louisa May Alcott's Concord House. Her classic novel Little Women was set in this house and the sisters in the novel were based on her own sisters. The tour was delightful, and we learned about Louisa May--she was very much like the fictional Jo, but not completely. The house felt welcoming, even after all these years, and it was more than a little thrilling to be in this famous house. Later, we visited Sleepy Hollow Cemetery which may sound morbid, but consider this: on a hill overlooking the park-like graveyard, Louisa May Alcott, Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Ralph Waldo Emerson are buried. If you go, and would like to leave something to honor them, bring some pens and pencils.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Louisa May Alcott's collection of pens and pencils</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pVMnNp779Mb_ohmHDkUd6D-ldSjHutgx01OBH6RF2fgZul_vBgGw_aWgprhJPeSDA12mpHQQz_rW28iY2Ua_3485ZvFLSRUvzftZ2ZFnxwPiWPAjW0R-pTfROURKehMuPtRDls2zMzv9/s1600/Concord+3+125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1pVMnNp779Mb_ohmHDkUd6D-ldSjHutgx01OBH6RF2fgZul_vBgGw_aWgprhJPeSDA12mpHQQz_rW28iY2Ua_3485ZvFLSRUvzftZ2ZFnxwPiWPAjW0R-pTfROURKehMuPtRDls2zMzv9/s640/Concord+3+125.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Alcott family monument</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You remember Henry David Thoreau from Walden Pond, yes?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ftxirthyphenhyphenjNKoxan2OU1UCIb6H6Dh42SZrdJB-rIVnb7DoYEPQLIU-jsrle90YyL2T2r0RFF6FcxQSItpjLVLQLNJDCuEmjNFjKb0U0xLZdawD67OcXJuLHlMTh68D-E_jVU-Bwzbr6uZ/s1600/DSC_0153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ftxirthyphenhyphenjNKoxan2OU1UCIb6H6Dh42SZrdJB-rIVnb7DoYEPQLIU-jsrle90YyL2T2r0RFF6FcxQSItpjLVLQLNJDCuEmjNFjKb0U0xLZdawD67OcXJuLHlMTh68D-E_jVU-Bwzbr6uZ/s400/DSC_0153.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(That's not him, but that is Walden Pond)</td></tr>
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The Thoreau family is buried next to the Alcotts.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XLpIuBXrTW6id8eD74DETEY31JxElACDfDc8-q_7bV9qCB6XRRpWxF_gKn-VmtJWz1WWJYwc_7idvYE_2FreQ-OUip0njHP7XAq_Md-DcCYPYv-J3afvcExrZyvuK4P2VNfSPv6MDXES/s1600/Concord+3+107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XLpIuBXrTW6id8eD74DETEY31JxElACDfDc8-q_7bV9qCB6XRRpWxF_gKn-VmtJWz1WWJYwc_7idvYE_2FreQ-OUip0njHP7XAq_Md-DcCYPYv-J3afvcExrZyvuK4P2VNfSPv6MDXES/s640/Concord+3+107.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Thoreau family monument</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Henry David Thoreau the naturalist has a nice collection of natural items along with his pencils and pens.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZKjn5RH2xC2RmTdCk29F31IE90cU3HDTYME6-FwDbzFFiiUy5H0QKz7sg1lz4QcxTQIsqh4g1JJAqXweVtUnKFVNFJQtbpAOu79r-cmiVC0bE9fYY0AiVCDYXtE_amus9xvRo110yVCD/s1600/Concord+3+110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZKjn5RH2xC2RmTdCk29F31IE90cU3HDTYME6-FwDbzFFiiUy5H0QKz7sg1lz4QcxTQIsqh4g1JJAqXweVtUnKFVNFJQtbpAOu79r-cmiVC0bE9fYY0AiVCDYXtE_amus9xvRo110yVCD/s640/Concord+3+110.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Nearby, we found Ralph Waldo Emerson's grave in a sea of other Emersons.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7We5dDmh_5bozQzkendb5QM_TKYPyYmw6n7ajoXvEZrlR7B1tbWvqL2JSr8-is_iBpWpZO-Flxhqe8z55s9NjL336qBuOoRR5lMvwWUJOnZNsRVOWGqh962Tgp0-H8yd4GxQwnd7qg0vz/s1600/Concord+3+135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7We5dDmh_5bozQzkendb5QM_TKYPyYmw6n7ajoXvEZrlR7B1tbWvqL2JSr8-is_iBpWpZO-Flxhqe8z55s9NjL336qBuOoRR5lMvwWUJOnZNsRVOWGqh962Tgp0-H8yd4GxQwnd7qg0vz/s640/Concord+3+135.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ralph Waldo Emerson has a distinctive grave marker, yes?</td></tr>
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The Emersons were a big Concord family and there are Emerson artifacts all over town. RW's study has been reconstructed in the Concord Museum, and his house, just down the street from Orchard House, is a museum in its own right...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVV2Xl-ykkeF4MoZEUdDrPYmRkppT231izY-zDeF79axG9erSmg07NBffPrRHME8bvn-ERJ5I5GPpTrylRNjHILxU9jsFBAmyy27rpcEPG96PXmTH6zzeTWea03fY2Vi7o88eiwQZ7kQ4/s1600/Concord+3+176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVV2Xl-ykkeF4MoZEUdDrPYmRkppT231izY-zDeF79axG9erSmg07NBffPrRHME8bvn-ERJ5I5GPpTrylRNjHILxU9jsFBAmyy27rpcEPG96PXmTH6zzeTWea03fY2Vi7o88eiwQZ7kQ4/s640/Concord+3+176.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ralph Waldo Emerson's house</td></tr>
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...and Emerson's grandfather, Rev. William Emerson, was an important minister in Concord whose house is also a museum:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0KHfYf0_vZ23UEFJ1v9h9xjR-lZ20XIrhNz2VqYR6KeZbPaZom7b1lwivS0FfZCGc08a7bxcTfQzvW839RAmh6Yr63ufWB20xZcO4LLVvDL3xr5V7j4qM57ohIG5TYt4vbEke8LsrVoL/s1600/Concord+3+054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz0KHfYf0_vZ23UEFJ1v9h9xjR-lZ20XIrhNz2VqYR6KeZbPaZom7b1lwivS0FfZCGc08a7bxcTfQzvW839RAmh6Yr63ufWB20xZcO4LLVvDL3xr5V7j4qM57ohIG5TYt4vbEke8LsrVoL/s640/Concord+3+054.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rev. William Emerson's Old Manse</td></tr>
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The Old Manse is important because Ralph Waldo Emerson lived there for a time during which he wrote "Nature," and Nathaniel Hawthorne and his wife "rented" the place for a few years although they never paid any rent. They were very romantic and etched notes to each other in the window glass with her diamond ring:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6BW1D-j4cFXxauSACYUOKfdSVIkDb0xvHpGSpM4Md3s-1KguBXcykqFGcc6pBhNLiwePlIB9zqakd0e5VUBFuWFHsPEHgqL1KazR-QayTwlbhTB4LpZWsP1YY3df_lpmPKPFunTJdggj/s1600/Concord+3+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ6BW1D-j4cFXxauSACYUOKfdSVIkDb0xvHpGSpM4Md3s-1KguBXcykqFGcc6pBhNLiwePlIB9zqakd0e5VUBFuWFHsPEHgqL1KazR-QayTwlbhTB4LpZWsP1YY3df_lpmPKPFunTJdggj/s400/Concord+3+062.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the Hawthornes' etchings in the glass?</td></tr>
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Outside another window we could see the bridge from which The Shot Heard 'Round the World was fired--this started the American Revolution, right here in Concord!<br />
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Hawthorne's grave is on Author's Ridge in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, too. His wife and daughter Una died in England and were buried there in 1871 and 1877, but were moved home to Concord in 2006 to be with Nathaniel.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OmQMCHOaUGIda9iLKS49app3Zt9RXQCsEW9f3uC4p_9wDxkcJCpPfd2S0iaPqSyYKwBiQ4v7RFw1vcgnJeIIJ1qVL1j5S1ciVQZ9Nht7MvSQX20_dAesQjMUfiOn7JhjHwNFWQpLw7nU/s1600/Concord+3+114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6OmQMCHOaUGIda9iLKS49app3Zt9RXQCsEW9f3uC4p_9wDxkcJCpPfd2S0iaPqSyYKwBiQ4v7RFw1vcgnJeIIJ1qVL1j5S1ciVQZ9Nht7MvSQX20_dAesQjMUfiOn7JhjHwNFWQpLw7nU/s640/Concord+3+114.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="426" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrVGaybRlVc7coLzM9I5FqdouSruEK8OBolJcnXoncXFpG7LMVex_elT_Ik25SQ6oiiQu6_8Zw3LkSNjzhV32-C8UIsq8NtcE0slOi-GnehS33ochseZ9yyNudTY1Rl329OmuWybJM0_-/s1600/Concord+3+117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxrVGaybRlVc7coLzM9I5FqdouSruEK8OBolJcnXoncXFpG7LMVex_elT_Ik25SQ6oiiQu6_8Zw3LkSNjzhV32-C8UIsq8NtcE0slOi-GnehS33ochseZ9yyNudTY1Rl329OmuWybJM0_-/s400/Concord+3+117.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hawthorne's daughter Una was born in the Old Manse!</td></tr>
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I came home with many photographs and a car full of books from this interesting, historic town, birthplace of Transcendentalism. But most importantly, I'll have the memories, thrilling memories, of standing in these authors' houses, gardens, and favorite haunts, and paying respects at their graves. It was a different kind of vacation, and a transformative one.<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-5477802750738782942016-04-07T20:38:00.003-04:002016-04-07T20:38:35.692-04:00The Monks' Mandala<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcGoTYDCN-NZmRdvYHOnkChauiWmDjPo4tBGn4JQ-DjqMXeOscBjv17mc_ZQH1O7AgZPDzHzyriUODgG-KT7NNojvNOXPQDhJIk235zvDxM0n8x45i5_z9WnUT8rKn8B7QLoVZHTV9VOm/s1600/Mandala+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcGoTYDCN-NZmRdvYHOnkChauiWmDjPo4tBGn4JQ-DjqMXeOscBjv17mc_ZQH1O7AgZPDzHzyriUODgG-KT7NNojvNOXPQDhJIk235zvDxM0n8x45i5_z9WnUT8rKn8B7QLoVZHTV9VOm/s400/Mandala+2.JPG" width="342" /></a></div>
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You'll never guess what I did at work today! After lunch, Brian and I walked down to see the Tibetan Monks from the <a href="http://drepunggomang.org/" target="_blank">Drepung Gomang Monastery</a> who are spending this week "in residence" at Bucks County Community College. They are making a mandala out of dyed sand on the floor of the Solarium. This thing is so intricate and colorful that I doubt my iPhone photos will do it justice.<br />
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When we arrived at the Solarium, the monks were taking a lunch break, but there were many visitors and Bucks-affiliated people gawking at this fantastic work-in-progress. If you look closely at the photo above, you can see the design sketched out on the blue base. Sometime tomorrow (approximately 12:30pm), that blue section will be finished and the mandala sand will be swept up in a ceremony and brought to the park where it will be dropped in the creek. Some of the sand will be distributed to the audience as a blessing.<br />
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After a few minutes, the monks finished their lunch and returned, one-by-one, to their work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ps51mP9qPMpxSJLTWtNeA4jGdf94lr2_DgZoiLbzYH9kXdTEleV6GPfJxTOz4fLQMS80SQGjUEW0DIw8xTW2wOEhucRBb1tzWHrq5WT24EhPMnGUw8kIPbSpNmShryR5Xe5RUnZhIP8q/s1600/Monk+Mandala.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ps51mP9qPMpxSJLTWtNeA4jGdf94lr2_DgZoiLbzYH9kXdTEleV6GPfJxTOz4fLQMS80SQGjUEW0DIw8xTW2wOEhucRBb1tzWHrq5WT24EhPMnGUw8kIPbSpNmShryR5Xe5RUnZhIP8q/s400/Monk+Mandala.JPG" width="337" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One monk...</td></tr>
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They hold two long, thin funnels made of metal. One funnel holds the colored sand, and the other is used to tap the sand-holding funnel controlling how fast the sand comes out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWep0pFxEBtu8Uqje0bclFInjPfLkfnbB1Uv_74M_EzKGzw8CJjMVrMhuM5FHRT8Q3Q4W7J95-TpU-qz4KkUaxMrBEwli0e41hgOfIPRWEgEz6Yxd0l8Y7apIeawUWQ9_7wGlIS_0fro1h/s1600/Mandala+Monks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWep0pFxEBtu8Uqje0bclFInjPfLkfnbB1Uv_74M_EzKGzw8CJjMVrMhuM5FHRT8Q3Q4W7J95-TpU-qz4KkUaxMrBEwli0e41hgOfIPRWEgEz6Yxd0l8Y7apIeawUWQ9_7wGlIS_0fro1h/s400/Mandala+Monks.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...two monks...</td></tr>
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If I were to say that these mandalas are created one grain of sand at a time, I would not be exaggerating. Nevertheless, these expert sand artists covered quite a bit of the mandala while we watched.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFjZZuiE81z5j43FOxFXR9j3O5V2T-Az1FAxSHDFdbiYhWBfZGA_l3s2h1Rpcp1jgZwwvOx6oszJmBOue2xb9vpg5LnW2BwDxYKNcVGWenxFSi-q6obR4lLxndf3qd7WhL6FpOUDuOVYxA/s1600/Monks+Mandala.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFjZZuiE81z5j43FOxFXR9j3O5V2T-Az1FAxSHDFdbiYhWBfZGA_l3s2h1Rpcp1jgZwwvOx6oszJmBOue2xb9vpg5LnW2BwDxYKNcVGWenxFSi-q6obR4lLxndf3qd7WhL6FpOUDuOVYxA/s400/Monks+Mandala.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...four monks and a basket of tools.</td></tr>
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These "sand-painted" mandalas are considered tools for consecrating the earth and people. They represent the universe and its inner and outer meanings. I am no expert on their symbolism, but these monks were kind enough to furnish us with thorough background information on this tradition which is hundreds of years old. All who view the mandala are supposed to experience "profound peace and great joy." This was a welcome inspiring experience in the middle of a mundane work day, and thus did give us peace and joy. ;-)<br />
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But wait there's more... everyday this week when I walked past the Solarium on my way to the cafeteria I heard the singing bowls. It's a beautiful, hollow, metal sound and has a pleasing quality. Well, the monks had a table set up with jewelry and prayer flags for sale...and...bowls. Reader, I bought one.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBb74c2iCIbsQHm08_A5XHpt206ItV7k6uNOBYY6hfynT8vOmB4D9DWtlc-IYK6ehReHZYWGkxXb1udIU0awS2kF1zOdFb7xSkWGdqfjbBaqwrpMGSeUWtEr0_NJQRH9gCuYWIjGC9Cl8g/s1600/Singing+Bowl.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBb74c2iCIbsQHm08_A5XHpt206ItV7k6uNOBYY6hfynT8vOmB4D9DWtlc-IYK6ehReHZYWGkxXb1udIU0awS2kF1zOdFb7xSkWGdqfjbBaqwrpMGSeUWtEr0_NJQRH9gCuYWIjGC9Cl8g/s640/Singing+Bowl.JPG" width="516" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My singing bowl on my desk.</td></tr>
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I will now try to make it sing for you.<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/zzO39d3hHAw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zzO39d3hHAw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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My video isn't great, so chill out with this guy who has many singing bowls, gongs, and crystals:<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-37836601633388931082016-03-09T20:29:00.002-05:002016-03-09T20:29:40.343-05:00The Unexpected Vienna<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Statue of Johann Strauss II in Vienna's Stadtpark</td></tr>
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It has been eight months since I visited Vienna, and in those months I have been writing and thinking about the city and my own experience there. I wrote a pretty good literary essay about why the city was a European nucleus of musical activity (largely support from the Hapsburg monarchy, it turns out), and another essay about Viennese affection for the Waltz King, Johann Strauss II. I winnowed my collection of photos to just a few hundred. All the while I was reflecting on what little piece of that transformative two weeks would be appropriate and interesting to share on this blog. And then it hit me: why not tell my readers about the unexpected Vienna, the stuff that surprised me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of my companions approach the Reisenrad</td></tr>
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There's a Ferris wheel in Vienna. That wasn't a surprise by itself--London and Paris have wheels. The Vienna wheel, the Riesenrad, is in the amusement park called the Prater, is one of the oldest wheels in the world. It was built in 1897, so it's possible Sigmund Freud, Johann Strauss II, and even Johannes Brahms rode it. Gustav Mahler could have, too, but I'm not sure he was living in Vienna that year.<br />
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The gondolas are big and hold at least twelve people who are permitted to walk around the car to see the views on each side. The ride moves slowly, so although you get only one rotation, you have plenty of time at the top to gaze down on the city.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the top of the Reisenrad: that's a wax museum over there.</td></tr>
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Some of the gondolas are outfitted with dining apparatus, at least one formal and one informal, and for an extra cost riders can enjoy a multi-course meal. Each course is delivered when the gondola reaches the bottom point.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views of the Riesenrad</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vienna view from the Riesenrad</td></tr>
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I toured the famous Vienna Opera House and learned that Gustav Mahler is one of the most-esteemed conductors in the opera house's history. I think of him as a composer of symphonic works, but unbeknownst to me, he was a sought-after conductor in his time specializing in opera. Vienna recruited him from the Budapest Opera. He made big changes during his time in Vienna including forbidding audience members to enter the auditorium once the opera had started and from cheering on their favorite singers. There were tributes to him all over that place including a bust by non other than Auguste Rodin. Way to go, GM!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Vienna Opera at night</td></tr>
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Just across the street from the Opera House is the Sacher Hotel, where the famous Sacher Torte is served. I can't say I was unaware of this famous pastry since my sister recommended I go there to try it, but I was delighted at how yummy it is. It's made from a secret recipe that bakers have attempted to duplicate, but there's nothing like the original at the original place. That fruity taste in there is apricot if you didn't know.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original Sacher Torte at the Sacher Hotel</td></tr>
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Johann Strauss II's Local Hero status did not surprise me even though he and his waltzes, polkas, and operettas were not mentioned in my American Music History training. Really: we music majors were warned not to get involved with "light" music of any kind, and this included John Philip Sousa marches, folk music, and American Musical Theater. I had no idea there was a whole family of musical Strausses until I was inspired to write an essay about how defensive I became when I overheard a young American man slandering JS II's music after a Vienna concert. That's what surprised me, that I was inspired to defend this composer, research his life and career, and go in search of the famous Stadtpark statue and his apartment on the Praterstrasse which is now a museum.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johann Strauss II's apartment is up there</td></tr>
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I learned about his three (consecutive) wives, his musical father and two brothers, and became familiar with his waltzes, polkas, and operettas. I noticed his music meant as background being played in the hotel breakfast room, gift shops, my Austrian Airlines flight, and back home on my CD alarm clock. Once I noticed the music in these places, it took on a surreal quality as if it was inappropriate for the surroundings. It's good stuff, though, and I enjoyed including it along with Mozart's, Beethoven's, and Mahler's in the Music of Vienna course that I taught in the fall. When New Year's Day came along, you bet I was in front of the television watching the concert broadcast from Vienna. It looked similar to this:<br />
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This "Radetsky March," by the way, was played over and over in our hotel breakfast room. Did anyone else notice it, I wonder?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-83503748518316550552016-01-09T10:36:00.001-05:002016-01-09T10:36:09.537-05:00Mallards & Buffleheads & Goldeneyes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lake trail (with some other guy and his sweatered bulldog up ahead)</td></tr>
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Good Morning, Readers. Fred and Gladys and I have been walking in the Hamilton-Trenton Marsh lately, not as a formal New Year's exercise resolution, but just 'because'. One of these days I will remember to set the pedometer app to measure the walk, but I estimate that it is about two miles: from the house, around the corner, down the hill, around the lake, up the hill, and back home. This post is more pictorial than literary, and I hope you will have the sensation that you came along with us but without the ever-so-slight ache in your calves. BTW, this area is also known as John Roebling Park, Spring Lake, and most recently, Abbott Marshlands.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaver architecture, ca. 2016</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Spring Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Action shot: Gladys loves the Marsh!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree down! This tree always dreamed of being a dock.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water Snakes: usually I don't see these.</td></tr>
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<h3>
ROOTS...</h3>
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<h3>
AND BERRIES...</h3>
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<h3>
and BIRDS:</h3>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XeP_Z6dNUm-plVHtwxvARSnyRwNdaaINiyFFDVNAA64DJlr_wBS044_ybI-6s1xz63JTWiZbpjqMzdjfgVlRUTFfEPhipGOduWa6myS6UB_1r2O8hvHqArktJpqs5EnOpVX0WeS_VtI6/s1600/DSC_0426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-XeP_Z6dNUm-plVHtwxvARSnyRwNdaaINiyFFDVNAA64DJlr_wBS044_ybI-6s1xz63JTWiZbpjqMzdjfgVlRUTFfEPhipGOduWa6myS6UB_1r2O8hvHqArktJpqs5EnOpVX0WeS_VtI6/s640/DSC_0426.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look between the Phragmites to see the Mallard</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUtXu9xoPq4V66MFK8K2TA92wMeLVFHUqG0UpVqhXN7DWU1l7yntlSXKo6_dd_5cGC6qdoXhYifbJrL_1eli-HnCgTXu-8mM_AEiQTPh3iDKUeaXrTKHQX6womwbWn1GUSCBdtK6RU78_/s1600/DSC_0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUtXu9xoPq4V66MFK8K2TA92wMeLVFHUqG0UpVqhXN7DWU1l7yntlSXKo6_dd_5cGC6qdoXhYifbJrL_1eli-HnCgTXu-8mM_AEiQTPh3iDKUeaXrTKHQX6womwbWn1GUSCBdtK6RU78_/s640/DSC_0427.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goldeneyes? Buffleheads? I think I saw some of each, but I walked away without good evidence.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjYzSinKQt_baaYkWXyCyMaiQEHbfk7UdJHGoCZjxrGxBLMiX3UxKBoKoxWLTSXH29kgOC0t0tJJryPXv39VNLlPdEBUg0cWde86ZTVg0emqsmQc72DQ_UsdaSle-zmPCQBDTQasKRBJP/s1600/DSC_0466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjYzSinKQt_baaYkWXyCyMaiQEHbfk7UdJHGoCZjxrGxBLMiX3UxKBoKoxWLTSXH29kgOC0t0tJJryPXv39VNLlPdEBUg0cWde86ZTVg0emqsmQc72DQ_UsdaSle-zmPCQBDTQasKRBJP/s640/DSC_0466.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The soundtrack of our walk was provided by these noisy Canada Geese.</td></tr>
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As you can see by our walk, there's plenty of life being lived in the winter marsh. I'm not 100% sure that my bird identifications are 100% correct, but I did my best post-walk research with my Peterson and Kaufman bird guides. It is a truth universally acknowledged by birders that birds in the wild do not stand still to pose for photographers or amateur birders. What fun would it be if they did?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-65485064845552636592015-12-13T14:43:00.003-05:002015-12-13T14:54:21.004-05:00Salzburg<br />
I've realized that I haven't finished telling you about the destinations we visited on the Danube river cruise. I've been distracted by some very big and very wonderful projects of the writing, teaching, and learning variety. There will be more to come on these endeavors, but for now, I thought you'd like to take a trip with me to Salzburg. This is the city of W.A. Mozart's birth, and it is where "The Sound of Music" takes place. Both of these are evident all over town, but Salzburg has some other distinctions, too.<br />
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If you're thinking that Salzburg is not actually on the Danube River, so Margaret must be confused about where she went on her trip, you would be partially correct. Our ship docked in Linz (home of the flannel nightgowns, truffles, and more cathedrals), and we took a bus to Salzburg. On the way we passed Mondsee, a lovely, picturesque town where Maria von Trapp's actual wedding church is. (I caught a glimpse of the church's exterior from the bus, but not a photo.) The centerpiece of town is actually the serene lake, seen below, shot from a rest stop...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKuHbQhKy-vD3Cu8wNmRJxr5UpXU3ZqwWFTeuw8EB4Knz8a2eMxWKxepKE9iQyy5TvsGZz4f6A2sHphjmQBJ6bCNgRn3jAkliI_Pv8vLawlIehNsHymgNfr5Dsnvu32hK9qtpxAg0_Ft0g/s1600/Danube+River+642.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKuHbQhKy-vD3Cu8wNmRJxr5UpXU3ZqwWFTeuw8EB4Knz8a2eMxWKxepKE9iQyy5TvsGZz4f6A2sHphjmQBJ6bCNgRn3jAkliI_Pv8vLawlIehNsHymgNfr5Dsnvu32hK9qtpxAg0_Ft0g/s400/Danube+River+642.JPG" /></a> <br />
Mondsee <br />
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Our tour through crowded Salzburg (possibly the most crowded city on our itinerary) combined some Sound-of-Music sites, some Mozart sites, the cathedral because there's always a cathedral and this one starred in a movie, and some notable shopping spots.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyebba5opz4bHK3aPT54u6hMdC85oExWqNr6tbBt5bNEuzcJ3MfC7M74hV05y86sCWfmGD6h8ZDDifSudpvd25hGVmfR89vVMLoXiGu7guSwXZUJ05OIOcmrqt5C1-ZCxSgoohDvYeynIz/s1600/Danube+River+695.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyebba5opz4bHK3aPT54u6hMdC85oExWqNr6tbBt5bNEuzcJ3MfC7M74hV05y86sCWfmGD6h8ZDDifSudpvd25hGVmfR89vVMLoXiGu7guSwXZUJ05OIOcmrqt5C1-ZCxSgoohDvYeynIz/s320/Danube+River+695.JPG" /></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUw1uNhaSfFqUTQNe7eKuGeOt2ntc2fFGJknVdFEB-eQPc2lpps4ongcolIXGV5wQCRMNIuX7o1r6ugSFrqRLVURd-tAIMR8V74Yz9B3KMzhMG9jzSA8qPywfgH8Y9IYlHknitBXdwyxO/s1600/Danube+River+696.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitUw1uNhaSfFqUTQNe7eKuGeOt2ntc2fFGJknVdFEB-eQPc2lpps4ongcolIXGV5wQCRMNIuX7o1r6ugSFrqRLVURd-tAIMR8V74Yz9B3KMzhMG9jzSA8qPywfgH8Y9IYlHknitBXdwyxO/s320/Danube+River+696.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signs</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kZNTc2kf6oMHwwxJd2bqeRcJ8wcvw-BKOYSaWTAn-CEMvTagGs5FvwdKRndo6eFxX6GXXnGtTUoO_V_HjcXYViC_6OkzE2EEKGeMxQx7ZwHyp2D5Te8GtV7krQDTu5-2x-NHMm852s5A/s1600/Danube+River+774.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5kZNTc2kf6oMHwwxJd2bqeRcJ8wcvw-BKOYSaWTAn-CEMvTagGs5FvwdKRndo6eFxX6GXXnGtTUoO_V_HjcXYViC_6OkzE2EEKGeMxQx7ZwHyp2D5Te8GtV7krQDTu5-2x-NHMm852s5A/s320/Danube+River+774.JPG" /></a> <br />
Pretzels <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5p5tXvIQEa5s0dGNo9Fnad5od84RumqLcoCS4MWxBkK_FbWuAMM2lSBUv2gJDrgsQUSdYfRSfTKAffcvgguhFZ3UADp3Gw_26reN8zbxbme_0sKZDNZ6OiQMKO__XpC3YzZ1ZPevnhUCm/s1600/Danube+River+770.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5p5tXvIQEa5s0dGNo9Fnad5od84RumqLcoCS4MWxBkK_FbWuAMM2lSBUv2gJDrgsQUSdYfRSfTKAffcvgguhFZ3UADp3Gw_26reN8zbxbme_0sKZDNZ6OiQMKO__XpC3YzZ1ZPevnhUCm/s320/Danube+River+770.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flower Market</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2Bv-ze_La72D9N62QEtt0qYQEA5RlVGYQUT11cSPg40ei4ePgC2sxFn887A0_LukRYsyF57_nc_hw-tT3BDT_ZOgVuONXDMvXowspith7pTM0meMRoOepfDevNZBtZq_mjMlmKGTDUJO/s1600/Danube+River+771.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2Bv-ze_La72D9N62QEtt0qYQEA5RlVGYQUT11cSPg40ei4ePgC2sxFn887A0_LukRYsyF57_nc_hw-tT3BDT_ZOgVuONXDMvXowspith7pTM0meMRoOepfDevNZBtZq_mjMlmKGTDUJO/s320/Danube+River+771.JPG" /></a> <br />
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Fruit Stand <br />
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SALZBURG CATHEDRAL<br />
Our tour guide made the obligatory Central European cathedral more interesting by telling us that if we found the right spot just outside the gate, it looks like those two angels up there are placing a gold crown on the Blessed Mother's head. I took that as a photo challenge and found the spot:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYp3WMomdxyuyhLmORCwlc8djKO7M2Wh5LOsM6BowB_GseFVzP8p97zU5Lcnjkjb_BpcKyJZrlbuwv_3csNKYW5dWDyOnycR9YRvmkFZjEBPW2OvEePmQeKFgf-71BsBS078I3jG9iavUt/s1600/Danube+River+725.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYp3WMomdxyuyhLmORCwlc8djKO7M2Wh5LOsM6BowB_GseFVzP8p97zU5Lcnjkjb_BpcKyJZrlbuwv_3csNKYW5dWDyOnycR9YRvmkFZjEBPW2OvEePmQeKFgf-71BsBS078I3jG9iavUt/s640/Danube+River+725.JPG" /></a> <br />
Salzburg Cathedral <br />
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Just around the corner from the cathedral is an enormous golden ball with a man standing on top. Is the man taking in Salzburg scenery? Not sure what he's doing up there.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPyWk4srzSf9QFQgUAADdqnQNkq_fdTS2EqX_LsYc6Uam7US2crrldY3dIKYprEDgvsAKurLeAMAzLt9lEa5pXtCTcQLhC8JIpOfB7TelfNgH7z26Otl8mevQJx77OtR5281nEdGB4VZB/s1600/Danube+River+718.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizPyWk4srzSf9QFQgUAADdqnQNkq_fdTS2EqX_LsYc6Uam7US2crrldY3dIKYprEDgvsAKurLeAMAzLt9lEa5pXtCTcQLhC8JIpOfB7TelfNgH7z26Otl8mevQJx77OtR5281nEdGB4VZB/s640/Danube+River+718.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We'll see this golden sphere again. </td></tr>
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MOZART'S HOMETOWN<br />
Speaking of spheres, Salzburg is the home of those little candies with Mozart's picture on them, ubiquitous in Central Europe. Mozartkugel is the official name, but they are known as Mozart balls in the vernacular. These were first made in Salzburg in 1890 by the candymaker Paul Fürst. He covered marzipan and nougat in chocolate and added a silver wrapper with Mozart's picture. These are the originals and they are still available in Salzburg, but there is also a copy in a red wrapper available all over Europe and even the USA. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRH46Rn5LKuJBAmUkvH6YsXX8Pd8nJOBwNelBg3Mj8wyVFAJudY9a_hIMX66cvUamSSzWSkBLIaLfKuWj9h8fPJI6WzOmMcg4SdITIHorGfyRp1mZldbmoMNtcwMvzNw6argUqCWaOCwZg/s1600/Danube+River+768.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRH46Rn5LKuJBAmUkvH6YsXX8Pd8nJOBwNelBg3Mj8wyVFAJudY9a_hIMX66cvUamSSzWSkBLIaLfKuWj9h8fPJI6WzOmMcg4SdITIHorGfyRp1mZldbmoMNtcwMvzNw6argUqCWaOCwZg/s640/Danube+River+768.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mozart Ball Shop</td></tr>
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We had free time after the tour: quick! Decide what would be the most interesting thing! Use your free time wisely! Most people who know me and read me would probably predict that I would choose Mozart's birthplace. It is now a museum and located conveniently in the center of town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rfTUZWSLGAKzulW2hozIHl3-Yq675a_SLfxtpZbYt8tRm3lh_8P4PETIvhmCVHMevltWLXRaGh6mWgeFwlbP9SUovEyC2WWQF1kkxLKnBIYJlBbqdutHWi3yXyW_lsr1qDNUaUmGOb27/s1600/Danube+River+697.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rfTUZWSLGAKzulW2hozIHl3-Yq675a_SLfxtpZbYt8tRm3lh_8P4PETIvhmCVHMevltWLXRaGh6mWgeFwlbP9SUovEyC2WWQF1kkxLKnBIYJlBbqdutHWi3yXyW_lsr1qDNUaUmGOb27/s400/Danube+River+697.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mozart's birthplace</td></tr>
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HOHENSALZBURG<br />
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Of course I would have liked to visit this house, but I was more intrigued by the huge medieval structure on the top of the hill known as Hohensalzburg.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosM6cZr8isTKog0Q7xAjjXUMyTqklNOMX0JcQiFwVER1_G24L_8nWoJjDhBFbHgCQuAJgiFr_6vba52_eTDeMA16vA5ZISTboA64GGYhGxey6rzDHGqm6vVcE9IuZn9_50EC4hk9mkhKx/s1600/Danube+River+662.JPG"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiosM6cZr8isTKog0Q7xAjjXUMyTqklNOMX0JcQiFwVER1_G24L_8nWoJjDhBFbHgCQuAJgiFr_6vba52_eTDeMA16vA5ZISTboA64GGYhGxey6rzDHGqm6vVcE9IuZn9_50EC4hk9mkhKx/s640/Danube+River+662.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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Here, Hohensalzburg looms over the Mirabell Gardens where Maria and the von Trapp kids sang "Do Re Mi." Hohensalzburg is a 900+ year-old fortress and castle which sits on a plateau and supplies some astonishing views of the city. I wonder how different the view from up there looked in 1077, when construction began on the first building. Those medieval folks would have had to climb up to the fortress on foot, but today visitors can ride up on the Funicular which has been in place since 1892. I'll admit that was part of the attraction of this attraction for me. The fortress has been open to curious tourists since 1861 when Emperor Franz Josef realized it was no longer needed as a military fortress.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steep Funicular tracks </td></tr>
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Once up there on the fortress's plateau, I enjoyed a lovely cafe lunch of Turkey Schnitzel (Austrians put all kinds of stuff inside schnitzel!) and a refreshing Diet Coke. It was rather warm that day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's the cafe atop Hohensalzburg. </td></tr>
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The views from Hohensalzburg were almost enough to distract me from the edifice I was visiting. There's the center of town and there's the salty Salz River from which the city gets its name. (I brought some Salzburg salt home for some people who can never seem to get enough salt.)<br />
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Salzburg's Old Town: Cathedral, golden ball, Chapter Square<br />
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Salzburg: St. Peter's Abbey and the Salz River<br />
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It was Archbishop Gebhardt von Helffenstein who began construction on Hohensalzburg in 1077, but Prince-Archbishop Leonhard von Keutschach (1495-1519) who made the place comfy in a luxurious kind of way. The state apartments here were his oasis from the people of Salzburg who mocked his love of books over farming. (Yes, the state apartments included a library.) Salzburg citizens disliked Keutschach so much they threw turnips at him. He had the last laugh, because he included a turnip in his coat of arms.<br />
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I'll end with some shots from Hohensalzburg because I have to go catch the big bus back to the ship! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidU3xtChQh-qs4CO6wBvqGWoBlJh-GiXK8O4gZOisMa3Pbh7dWh9pRREl0Huo6nme-hiH0KksR1m8Msey_eVsUOdPwj1JZnZ4nSev5HgQvgAeG0PIN6ySvwb9tofMnfwPBktbIQzRnLY0R/s1600/Danube+River+744.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidU3xtChQh-qs4CO6wBvqGWoBlJh-GiXK8O4gZOisMa3Pbh7dWh9pRREl0Huo6nme-hiH0KksR1m8Msey_eVsUOdPwj1JZnZ4nSev5HgQvgAeG0PIN6ySvwb9tofMnfwPBktbIQzRnLY0R/s640/Danube+River+744.JPG" /></a><br />
It's a steep climb to see inside.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I take a selfie.</td></tr>
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I'm pretty sure that's the Trumpeter's Tower.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-57635486256945328352015-07-27T13:52:00.003-04:002015-07-27T13:52:47.551-04:00Germany's Three-Rivers City: PASSAU<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the ship, across the green Danube in Passau, Germany</td></tr>
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Passau was the final stop on our whirlwind "Danube Waltz" river cruise, and frankly, since I'd never heard of it I figured it was just a convenient spot to disembark and head the the airport or jump on a bus to Prague. I was WRONG. Passau was a lovely town with a long history and beautiful Baroque buildings. I took many photos on our walking tour, starting with this one to show how close the ship pulls up to the town:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken from the ship--we're almost downtown!</td></tr>
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Passau's location at the confluence of three rivers makes it unique among Danube River cities and towns, and also put it on the map before there were maps. I took this shot of a postcard I bought showing Passau and it's three rivers, the Danube, the Ilz, and the Inn.<br />
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The centerpiece of town is yet another St. Stephen's Cathedral. Of course it is gorgeous, but it has a musical significance: the largest cathedral organ in the world! Actually, it is made up of five separate organs which can be combined from either of two consoles, one with five manuals (keyboards) or one with four. Each of these organs has a distinctive sound: the "Gospel" organ has a French organ sound, the "Epistle" organ has a South Italian Baroque sound, the choir organ sounds North German, and the Fernwerk organ sounds like an echo because the sound comes to the congregants through grates in the ceiling commonly known as "Holy Spirit Holes." Ha. The fifth organ is the main one which can sound any way it wants to because it is connected to the others through cables. We were able to attend a 30-minute concert, and I'm here to tell you that was a memorable experience! The organist, Bastian Fuchs, displayed the colors and timbres of that instrument by playing works of John Stanley, JS Bach, Percy Whitlock, Alexandre Guilmant, and Charles Marie Widor, roughly in chronological order. They could probably hear the concert over in Prague without any amplification.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here are some of the 17,000 pipes.</td></tr>
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And in case you are curious, and can't get there at noon in the summertime for a 30-minute concert, here are some Reger tunes for you:<br />
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The church is one of the most beautiful we'd seen in the cities and towns on the Danube. I know you are wondering why the cathedral looks Italian Baroque, and I've already mentioned that Passau has a long history stretching back beyond the Middle Ages. This is because there was a huge fire in 1662 which burned the whole town. When the people rebuilt the town, they followed the prevailing style which was Italian Baroque, and if I'm not mistaken, I think I read somewhere that they hired some Italian architects and builders to help out.<br />
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More views of St. Stephen's:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The front of St. Stephen's Cathedral</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gilt pulpit dates from 1720</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An unusual sundial in the courtyard--can you figure out how it works? (Hint: look at the window above the painted braid.)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuxaNE6rD6G6t8zlsmKyadl_MczfTLPBTfDlGPqQkOOb5N8XUctJiVkbKOJQ03BtvM5lrsHS4kb6EyZ9fl4R9Tuo9ENnaUOVf2TRzKTu-E99ajuMNJKPbSgz3_okMgbtkYvKrH2yjkYoa/s1600/Danube+River+829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuxaNE6rD6G6t8zlsmKyadl_MczfTLPBTfDlGPqQkOOb5N8XUctJiVkbKOJQ03BtvM5lrsHS4kb6EyZ9fl4R9Tuo9ENnaUOVf2TRzKTu-E99ajuMNJKPbSgz3_okMgbtkYvKrH2yjkYoa/s640/Danube+River+829.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Facing the sundial in the courtyard is a display of grave markers. After your descendants aren't around to pay for the upkeep of your grave or tomb, your bones are moved elsewhere and your marker, if distinctive, is kept on display. This makes room for new arrivals in the crypt.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrR0wUqmT8XotPErS5EZqAXCec6gobn0z7RogD3bJMiwcqCfSREzd1hyphenhyphenaGH6RyxanRK2OVXYfShsIZb4RWhTHHgym3Wl5e1jAs8nRsx5GtNDIfqJpJNnnXG6qFOY5OTYgxgrlm9l_Yz8P/s1600/Danube+River+831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQrR0wUqmT8XotPErS5EZqAXCec6gobn0z7RogD3bJMiwcqCfSREzd1hyphenhyphenaGH6RyxanRK2OVXYfShsIZb4RWhTHHgym3Wl5e1jAs8nRsx5GtNDIfqJpJNnnXG6qFOY5OTYgxgrlm9l_Yz8P/s640/Danube+River+831.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An ancestor of Captain Georg von Trapp had a marker made to look like a locket.</td></tr>
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I have to admit that when I was there, I missed what the tour guide said this next building was. We wore earpieces for every tour where we'd hear our own guide talking about the sites, but if we strayed to far, we'd lose contact. Chances are I paused to snap a few photos and didn't hear her say that this lovely building is the Neue Residenz, or the New Residence for the prince bishops since 1730. (This why I purchase a little booklet of each city's sites while I'm there: "OH! That's what I saw!!")<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-a97DDUehBIrXKcnz955Th78j3P8R2Jq8ftrPz3wG5raSldUj1xlUopOO3-you3u0qkLlU_FkPWdeTYN6JOKpbTAaTeWH1Sv5wHPXUV_idm_WeDp-ATfEEmCrz5gejvPak_LpE5rR3w1/s1600/Danube+River+836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1-a97DDUehBIrXKcnz955Th78j3P8R2Jq8ftrPz3wG5raSldUj1xlUopOO3-you3u0qkLlU_FkPWdeTYN6JOKpbTAaTeWH1Sv5wHPXUV_idm_WeDp-ATfEEmCrz5gejvPak_LpE5rR3w1/s640/Danube+River+836.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Neue Residenz, 1730</td></tr>
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The Baroque staircase in this building was to-die-for elegant, but not easy to photograph.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTWAxir6o5ZDq91D1VEPCohLzqyEnvtYKMmBhPfb_Gd2XS4zNxD4yZm1_TtJB5XnawqXxFFQsSSeIQuEwUQkw5WUszsN9hriSJ_v3mNv80GYJHYLufImKpCtt5DKSJ3H68cYh0Svl2cbd8/s1600/Danube+River+839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTWAxir6o5ZDq91D1VEPCohLzqyEnvtYKMmBhPfb_Gd2XS4zNxD4yZm1_TtJB5XnawqXxFFQsSSeIQuEwUQkw5WUszsN9hriSJ_v3mNv80GYJHYLufImKpCtt5DKSJ3H68cYh0Svl2cbd8/s640/Danube+River+839.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous Baroque staircase in the Neue Residenz</td></tr>
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I didn't get any photos of the Rathaus, or Old Town Hall, because I was too close to it and never caught sight of it from a distance. (Does that make sense?) But we did see a bride and groom coming out of it (in Germany the real marriage takes place in the Rathaus in regular clothes, sometimes during the week, and the big celebration with white dresses, etc. happens later.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXMEXMG2bn-7ewEIcC7UX2eMsaiRz4dRWlF_6dIbJE9h8IlLcBftp1xgTLfLaJMxGIBKeclooXDO7x5C-XeDk39LtobptWwYKPYTemRR11bPgW-ODeHRwHI67S6tQU01B9BumsGCWZnvd/s1600/Danube+River+845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXMEXMG2bn-7ewEIcC7UX2eMsaiRz4dRWlF_6dIbJE9h8IlLcBftp1xgTLfLaJMxGIBKeclooXDO7x5C-XeDk39LtobptWwYKPYTemRR11bPgW-ODeHRwHI67S6tQU01B9BumsGCWZnvd/s640/Danube+River+845.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A newly-married couple attracting attention at the Rathaus</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8UObjcDTp7YwwZwNzMR6AVQdvWWwUnsVcpds97lMSs1DX9T4p-xmL02ZOX1lOQiFcpAa9HRbMXjtTBRM0GX-3JbBReoe6_084hJSEq_OBsbn5FRPuyaPD5FFxuHC37ZKofqATOQbCsI8/s1600/Danube+River+846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8UObjcDTp7YwwZwNzMR6AVQdvWWwUnsVcpds97lMSs1DX9T4p-xmL02ZOX1lOQiFcpAa9HRbMXjtTBRM0GX-3JbBReoe6_084hJSEq_OBsbn5FRPuyaPD5FFxuHC37ZKofqATOQbCsI8/s640/Danube+River+846.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just above where the bride was standing is the town's flood record (i.e. water levels)</td></tr>
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Passau's second most-photographed building is probably the "Veste Oberhaus," a fortress or citadel which sits at the confluence of the Ilz and Danube rivers. It was begun in 1499, or at least that is the visible date on the outside (the fish standing on its tail is a 4), but it was a work-in-progress for centuries. Today, it houses a youth hostel, museum, and popular tourist vantage point.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-xeNN3q-bBRhu05EfwImHDSHGnAL2dhZ1WdcNF73C-EdsI0hFuzKRafLNo_dAbFksVzvsv54ImXP2WwMCMUy_GV2QZrGqaW-yqLqtxWxJwZ88I2RzIx0tpZJa89oIJ1BOTnn2Mxwp0Rx/s1600/Danube+River+851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-xeNN3q-bBRhu05EfwImHDSHGnAL2dhZ1WdcNF73C-EdsI0hFuzKRafLNo_dAbFksVzvsv54ImXP2WwMCMUy_GV2QZrGqaW-yqLqtxWxJwZ88I2RzIx0tpZJa89oIJ1BOTnn2Mxwp0Rx/s640/Danube+River+851.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Veste Oberhaus from across the Danube</td></tr>
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The artists of Passau and I don't want you to think that everything is old. There is an active art scene here, centered at Artists' Alley. This is one of those narrow, cobble-stoned, medieval alleys you find sometimes in really old European cities. But look up! Are those umbrellas hanging there? A tough of 21st-century whimsy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgvC3VDLNM6xILBPZTYLDjSOk9QQ0umS_060l6t7Xypv_LRpWIehAzPMQ78194y2WQVnJeknT2RuOypAs_ZB18WQ9zWI7h1UAGzy_a_JiV6djVK3qmo30fNGSAShouW-DyIsOhgfH7ohJX/s1600/Danube+River+861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgvC3VDLNM6xILBPZTYLDjSOk9QQ0umS_060l6t7Xypv_LRpWIehAzPMQ78194y2WQVnJeknT2RuOypAs_ZB18WQ9zWI7h1UAGzy_a_JiV6djVK3qmo30fNGSAShouW-DyIsOhgfH7ohJX/s640/Danube+River+861.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Art Alley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspPUirydlsAhL-TE6_AU-rtq74UCcfGSY8mIeSdy5JZDLclOf0IEI_x3uoVgBdC5R8yMg4lxyw5J8E9RNkaVXXiBQx_ng0nfSq96zI8Z1BCjmakCKPYdjPrwq-BiczGUZgOd3f5xArgML/s1600/Danube+River+857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspPUirydlsAhL-TE6_AU-rtq74UCcfGSY8mIeSdy5JZDLclOf0IEI_x3uoVgBdC5R8yMg4lxyw5J8E9RNkaVXXiBQx_ng0nfSq96zI8Z1BCjmakCKPYdjPrwq-BiczGUZgOd3f5xArgML/s640/Danube+River+857.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More of Art Alley with red and white cobblestones marking your path</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFCmTowePJkp1-DUHhX2LEn3a3_UGEeNUqc7aLg1VSRFbDY_VIxc-pAHBHcPN7gNk1dIDHp-V82CXk8BhmjlYaIkzK5VqLTEBh0miYPolPSHalnqTN0gRTVe8qKUARK8MO7AoVsC86w7A/s1600/Danube+River+859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFCmTowePJkp1-DUHhX2LEn3a3_UGEeNUqc7aLg1VSRFbDY_VIxc-pAHBHcPN7gNk1dIDHp-V82CXk8BhmjlYaIkzK5VqLTEBh0miYPolPSHalnqTN0gRTVe8qKUARK8MO7AoVsC86w7A/s640/Danube+River+859.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of Art Alley's cool umbrellas</td></tr>
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Passau is an old town and contains many narrow alleys and streets. These add to the town's charm...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqKFBkg1v01tLIt9AB3t7FQ5h-7LHFMNGO3Ken9v6QpxGI8GW54Ms79BIlKxrXfOhFMAjl9tHfOhXgOmnXRR61RHdKYq94r7eAHCjccRGR8wS-mplEzqdPEL6QQxPk2OakeBi_ruwYu5N/s1600/Danube+River+798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqKFBkg1v01tLIt9AB3t7FQ5h-7LHFMNGO3Ken9v6QpxGI8GW54Ms79BIlKxrXfOhFMAjl9tHfOhXgOmnXRR61RHdKYq94r7eAHCjccRGR8wS-mplEzqdPEL6QQxPk2OakeBi_ruwYu5N/s400/Danube+River+798.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...and the downhill alleys (which I don't want to even imagine in winter) lead us back to the Danube and our ship...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1Yrgle3TJeRoRmfFE9qacoTt4XTw6nu7MZNIRve_JQb4mW-L1S5fOMt5rp8KKZ4OkCjuj6wNF4UL6DQXnYIKx3-mTrj6D9PybZFYKEmrqwM9E6dNx-DleS5cCqGhm-2dOAoD0PY4giwu/s1600/Danube+River+865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS1Yrgle3TJeRoRmfFE9qacoTt4XTw6nu7MZNIRve_JQb4mW-L1S5fOMt5rp8KKZ4OkCjuj6wNF4UL6DQXnYIKx3-mTrj6D9PybZFYKEmrqwM9E6dNx-DleS5cCqGhm-2dOAoD0PY4giwu/s640/Danube+River+865.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(That's not us. Those are models.)</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8521383795859501252.post-11220289692787357232015-07-18T11:36:00.000-04:002015-07-18T11:36:41.701-04:00I went to Bratislava twice this summer<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9P5cYZOnqiCX4Mtmusw0HaMpvL-Hi9FFB8K0X0aasvi_radJF4n1OgqaqPbkSscQ3MJdBmK6H60EEpCfYoIy6Y2P9bwYwgWkWqjQbETa1sj8v41ffN_sHXw1qBz06MnR0Hv9kQ8tmrnsw/s1600/Vienna+Residency+155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9P5cYZOnqiCX4Mtmusw0HaMpvL-Hi9FFB8K0X0aasvi_radJF4n1OgqaqPbkSscQ3MJdBmK6H60EEpCfYoIy6Y2P9bwYwgWkWqjQbETa1sj8v41ffN_sHXw1qBz06MnR0Hv9kQ8tmrnsw/s400/Vienna+Residency+155.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Man at Work" sculpture in Bratislava</td></tr>
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<h4>
Bratislava in May</h4>
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Bratislava was the second stop on the Danube River cruise my sister and I enjoyed. On May 29, we cruised from Budapest in the morning and arrived at Bratislava ready to jump on a small bus. The bus took ten of us to something called a Home Hosted Visit in the Slovakian region called Modra, famous for its Slovakian pottery. Anna and her sister Maria showed us around Anna's home where she had her egg decorating tools set up. These decorated eggs are a Slovakian folk art. The designs are painted on dyed eggs with melted wax using a skinny paintbrush.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrN1vydURTT8TO4XBAmethvKD_CBfsAUg1lAxY222YV1YLU2qoezPqQ0fdgnZrub48Oa0JU08ChWzu6tjzaWfOytsQ8domLZlYX99SsdpnjE4tLuu3nckvJa3pA-dbWF1AeZhmICtvKHD/s1600/Bratislava.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrN1vydURTT8TO4XBAmethvKD_CBfsAUg1lAxY222YV1YLU2qoezPqQ0fdgnZrub48Oa0JU08ChWzu6tjzaWfOytsQ8domLZlYX99SsdpnjE4tLuu3nckvJa3pA-dbWF1AeZhmICtvKHD/s400/Bratislava.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna decorating eggs</td></tr>
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Here's a shot of some finished eggs. Notice there are different sized eggs from different sized birds. Each is emptied of its contents, cleaned, dyed, and finally decorated.<br />
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We were invited into Anna's living room where we were served cold lemon water and cake, and encouraged to ask questions about Slovakian life and culture. Our guide Zuzana translated for us, and the conversation went from Anna's family and their occupations (mostly automobile manufacturing) and education, industry in Modra, the transition from communism to the present. Anna showed us her extensive garden which came in handy during the transition from communism because there just wasn't anything to buy even if one had money. We ended up in her pottery studio which was part exhibit and part work area:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbw2u4EZVcQxEy3ydtqHQ3OJThMrttdd4RzDaZMjqgDztcISiJ6yPbXMkw6Bw9B2j-HfLEEgaQ6UGlfAl6LNGVBXKiM7yyjiCNfk46L2SmDcCvwk2uj2KLeHQ5vyjC4x8i1WRi_IOXK0Wz/s1600/pottery+visitors.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbw2u4EZVcQxEy3ydtqHQ3OJThMrttdd4RzDaZMjqgDztcISiJ6yPbXMkw6Bw9B2j-HfLEEgaQ6UGlfAl6LNGVBXKiM7yyjiCNfk46L2SmDcCvwk2uj2KLeHQ5vyjC4x8i1WRi_IOXK0Wz/s640/pottery+visitors.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I have to admit that when we first arrived, I wondered how this visit would play out. My sister and I are introverts and not the best conversationalists--would we be expected to come up with questions?! Oh no! My fears were for naught. This turned out to be an illuminating and enriching experience, and we loved telling our fellow cruisers about it back on the ship.<br />
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<h4>
Bratislava in July</h4>
In order to participate in that Home Hosted Visit during the river cruise, we forfeited the standard, included, City Tour. I was intrigued by that cool castle at the top of the hill, but a visit would have to wait until my next visit to the Danube in July when Bratislava was scheduled as an excursion. This turned out to be a 100-degree July Fourth Saturday, when approximately twenty writing students and their leaders rode a big red bus from Vienna to Bratislava's hilltop castle. Our guide, Miro, showed us around the castle which looks like an upside-down table with a courtyard in the middle.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bratislava's Gothic Castle</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQDsb4VRt0LfqW9kFT_iAbEhyZz2rLW_jpP53rYIS-W9HuIULFECd08FASuEKt4rR3H_LaT26W-rZQDJzx-V-xHSDE4mCudnQgS8Wbcj0ZN6xJP5nOb5aFp1f-G-z1hoUWL26QqkcZVkQ/s1600/Vienna+Residency+100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQDsb4VRt0LfqW9kFT_iAbEhyZz2rLW_jpP53rYIS-W9HuIULFECd08FASuEKt4rR3H_LaT26W-rZQDJzx-V-xHSDE4mCudnQgS8Wbcj0ZN6xJP5nOb5aFp1f-G-z1hoUWL26QqkcZVkQ/s400/Vienna+Residency+100.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The castle's well (in the courtyard)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bird's-eye View (conveniently posted on a barrier)</td></tr>
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Bratislava is a very old city. There's evidence of civilization there
back to the Stone Age and continuously through the centuries to now. The
name might not be familiar to you, but if I told you it's the capital
of Slovakia, situated on the Danube River, the Germans call Bratislava
Pressburg, and the Hungarians traditionally called it Pozsony, you might
recognize a name or the location. Slovakia has been part of the
Austrian Empire, and more recently part of Czechoslovakia. The Czech
Republic and Slovakia split apart in 1993, with Prague and Bratislava
emerging as the capitals of the two. <br />
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Next we toured Bratislava's <i>Staré Mesto</i> or Old Town where we found Saint Martin's Cathedral. Eleven kings and 8 queens were crowned here.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheIqYI33hLx3cql_zcrvz0bwXcSr4Camqw_pmNavAZrAVqAVwAf5VjhlONkFS9PvWCvhaGdOtMoWc4FCJx1GFbH9nJSW8KIBQqQbs755rH1czpPgGMMMassFxNcDuOU_KDQmRBpkNIAfTc/s1600/Vienna+Residency+146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheIqYI33hLx3cql_zcrvz0bwXcSr4Camqw_pmNavAZrAVqAVwAf5VjhlONkFS9PvWCvhaGdOtMoWc4FCJx1GFbH9nJSW8KIBQqQbs755rH1czpPgGMMMassFxNcDuOU_KDQmRBpkNIAfTc/s640/Vienna+Residency+146.JPG" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Part of St. Martin's Cathedral, cleverly shot through neighboring buildings</td></tr>
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We saw another church connected to the Convent of the Clare Nuns where composer Béla Bartók (1881-1945) took classes as a boy. He lived here from 1893-1899. His mother was Slovakian and his father Hungarian.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Church and Convent of the Clare Nuns with the castle in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Later, Béla Bartók would move to Hungary and would be forever identified as a Hungarian composer. This video of a performance of his Six Slovakian Folk Songs by a multi-national choir was recorded in Hungary.<br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/adpE0xGwRSc/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/adpE0xGwRSc?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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We walked through St. Michael's Gate, the last of the old town gates...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesRvTW-i5VtgvYAuT-BXWswc0RiUU2t5AD8OTr1ZGtPMwBRq1Qpg7v6-PReRTfAx552MFNEgN5Tz9ruhuuZC7NCU6tnt7yoOJNEHrv43y6fQadrJM3aprY70hjPSiNdzAZ8tTiYdUQqZM/s1600/St+Michaels+Gate.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhesRvTW-i5VtgvYAuT-BXWswc0RiUU2t5AD8OTr1ZGtPMwBRq1Qpg7v6-PReRTfAx552MFNEgN5Tz9ruhuuZC7NCU6tnt7yoOJNEHrv43y6fQadrJM3aprY70hjPSiNdzAZ8tTiYdUQqZM/s640/St+Michaels+Gate.JPG" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Michael's Gate--see the archway at the bottom of the tower?</td></tr>
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And the Red Prawn, a pharmacy on Michalská Street which houses a pharmacy museum.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhkWE_ZsHghrlm6lH5XwQCqum8L7Bn5-mNWR9HM5GvDFBA9yhvxkDaPite2XiT8_L13Wdxb33QIH91HM3E6xKTsRbtAcc7rYiDLPp1MSN3mjWIQToO5terwj4lHt8QntPrcKCWgu0Q7xj/s1600/Red+Prawn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhkWE_ZsHghrlm6lH5XwQCqum8L7Bn5-mNWR9HM5GvDFBA9yhvxkDaPite2XiT8_L13Wdxb33QIH91HM3E6xKTsRbtAcc7rYiDLPp1MSN3mjWIQToO5terwj4lHt8QntPrcKCWgu0Q7xj/s400/Red+Prawn.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Red Prawn Pharmacy--see the prawn in the middle of the sign?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNHHv1tePhFMfgEKcDyRB7u-9hjE8ZrZxu0jphzRUDLVdipWH31swnTZMCwRct8qeLAz9rjnM9rjX6bUV4OSN1uhZu0CRgEdi8jOtdjmXnYET0ZeSMvB2SCik1Feasgc2Y2japJYo82e7/s1600/Poppyseed+strudel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHNHHv1tePhFMfgEKcDyRB7u-9hjE8ZrZxu0jphzRUDLVdipWH31swnTZMCwRct8qeLAz9rjnM9rjX6bUV4OSN1uhZu0CRgEdi8jOtdjmXnYET0ZeSMvB2SCik1Feasgc2Y2japJYo82e7/s200/Poppyseed+strudel.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poppy seed strudel</td></tr>
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After lots of walking in super-hot heat, we found our group's restaurant destination, the Bratíslavskå reštaurácía or Bratislava</div>
<a href="http://bratislavskarestauracia.sk/" target="_blank">Flagship</a>, a huge pub with dark wood paneling, tables, and chairs. Most in our party did not care for their meals, but my theory is that on a cooler day this heavy food would have been more welcome. After an <i>amuse-bouche</i> of HOT chicken noodle SOUP, we had our choice between pork, beef soaked in a dill sauce, or a vegetarian entree which turned out to be dumplings in a cream sauce (not beloved by our vegan writer). The pork people were the happiest because theirs turned out to be schnitzel-style with vegetables. Dessert was poppy-seed strudel with vanilla sauce, and most did not eat theirs. I had gotten used to this particular pastry on the cruise in May, but was secretly wishing that poppy filling was chocolate.<br />
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After lunch a group of us searched for the gelato place that Miro had recommended. One scoop of chocolate gelato cleansed my palate and prepared me for a couple of hours of free time in Bratislava's shops.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieB6HKpYTHlqp01hLtkwqurZqg8xrDtZhEOFSawEgEXoG2rhdLFIIrqDLkdqa8o1OqtsqnhONQdPcCuu2UEwD8O-LodazeGRGucnUt8QYVKDaXQCA_QwEPr3FG1LNKXfFD1i8nRwuigCzS/s1600/Bratislava+stands.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieB6HKpYTHlqp01hLtkwqurZqg8xrDtZhEOFSawEgEXoG2rhdLFIIrqDLkdqa8o1OqtsqnhONQdPcCuu2UEwD8O-LodazeGRGucnUt8QYVKDaXQCA_QwEPr3FG1LNKXfFD1i8nRwuigCzS/s400/Bratislava+stands.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Authentic Slovakian embroidered linens and crafts in the <i style="text-align: start;">Staré Mesto</i></span></td></tr>
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To help us find the big red bus at the end of our Bratislava free time, Miro told us to look for the UFO Bridge and the bus would be parked nearby.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijyiNtaYn_ZAKfCaOdF8Uhv887Xa1bp77ys70Igbj4j_OjwVS041SRh1iA8NXfxS5U7mG8ISy102qEMdh3X9Xpynbx2y8yHfiqELNNO0j3UvnPA8uF2QQjCndOHpXvRmmPr-mumX7yGxDz/s1600/UFO+Bridge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijyiNtaYn_ZAKfCaOdF8Uhv887Xa1bp77ys70Igbj4j_OjwVS041SRh1iA8NXfxS5U7mG8ISy102qEMdh3X9Xpynbx2y8yHfiqELNNO0j3UvnPA8uF2QQjCndOHpXvRmmPr-mumX7yGxDz/s640/UFO+Bridge.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "UFO" Bridge--there's a restaurant in the round part of that tower. </td></tr>
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I don't remember much of that bus ride--I slept soundly all the way back to Vienna!<br />
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The writers I talked to enjoyed Bratislava in spite of the oppressive heat, and one even said she'd like to make Bratislava her secret writer's getaway. Although we were there on a sunny summer Saturday, it was not crowded and there were many restaurants, cafes, and gelato establishments to encourage a writer's creativity.<br />
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