In mid-August of 1997, I boarded a Delta Airlines flight to Anchorage for a vacation, following another very successful Esri User Conference. After checking in to the Regal Alaskan Hotel that evening, I took a long walk around Lake Hood and watched the seaplanes taking off and landing. Lake Hood is the world’s busiest seaplane base!
For dinner I had a superb, fresh pan-fried trout served with a tart lemon cream sauce over wild rice. A chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc complemented dinner very well. The next morning, I started the day with a delicious breakfast of Dungeness crab cakes and eggs, along with sourdough toast and huckleberry jam. Then it was time to return to the airport to board the Alaska Airlines flight to Deadhorse, the northernmost airport on the North Slope at Prudhoe Bay. The route of the flight took us directly over the summit of Mt McKinley, affording us absolutely spectacular views of the 20,320 foot high peak, as well as the surrounding 18,000 foot mountains of the mighty Alaska Range, extending over 300 miles southwest to the Aleutian Islands! The mountains were covered in a brilliant, thick white carpet of snow and ice, as well as numerous glaciers. The captain told us that we were very fortunate to see the mountains so clearly, since thick clouds normally obscure them over 75% of the year!
Upon arrival in Deadhorse, I checked in to the “Prudhoe Bay Hotel” – essentially a collection of modular “bunkhouses” with shared toilets and showers. It mainly houses oilfield workers and the few tourists who venture this far north. In years past, it was part of a larger complex of accommodations for workers employed in the construction of the “Trans-Alaska Oil Pipeline” that stretches 800 miles across the state from the Arctic Ocean in the north to Prince William Sound in the south.
While the hotel rooms were small and spartan, the “Dining Hall” served massive amounts of hearty, basic food 24 hours a day – all included with the room! The only downside was the lack of any beer or wine, since the entire North Slope, including all the native villages, is dry! Before sitting down to dinner, I joined a small tour of the massive Arco/BP oil field operations complex – a huge construction and operational challenge, where literally everything must be built on gravel pads 3 to 5 feet thick, so as to avoid thawing the underlying permafrost, which is only 1 to 2 feet below the surface. However, it can be over 1000 feet deep.
Not far from the “hotel” was Mile 0 of the oil pipeline and the beginning of the Dalton Highway, extending 445 miles south to Fairbanks. A few hundred yards to the north lay the Arctic Ocean, and as we approached the coast, the massive ice pack was visible about a mile offshore. Suddenly, while we stood on the “beach”, an Aussie in our group stripped down and dived into the icy water for a “quick dip” in the ocean! (No one else followed his lead however)
By this time the dinner bell sounded and we all headed to the dining hall for a huge meal of steak, BBQ ribs, shrimp, potatoes, and an array of salads, as well as numerous dessert options. No one left the dinner table hungry that night!
Early the next morning, after a hearty Alaskan breakfast, our tour group of six people and our driver/guide,” Andy”, piled into the 4WD van and began our two-day journey south on the Dalton Highway. (During the construction of the oil pipeline, it was simply known as “The Haul Road”, where every year hundreds of huge trucks hauled everything north, from heavy pipe and gravel, to everyday essentials like food, office supplies and even toilet paper!) On the North Slope, the highway is a 6 foot thick pad of gravel 18 feet wide that lays on top of the Arctic tundra for over 100 miles, from the Arctic Ocean to the foothills of the massive Brooks Range. Light rain was falling as we left Deadhorse, yet the snow covered peaks of the Brooks Range to the south shimmered in the distance.
As we travelled across the perfectly flat tundra, parallel to the oil pipeline, we began seeing lots of wildlife. Among the hundreds of birds, we saw snow geese, loons, and jaegers, as well as some marsh hawks and a great snowy owl – all of which were within the extent of the massive oil field! As far as animals were concerned, there were arctic fox, grizzly bears, and caribou, the dominant animal of the Arctic. As we approached Pump Station #1, it could be heard at least several miles away, as the huge Rolls Royce turbines powered the massive pumps that were necessary to move the vast volume of oil up the steep slope of the Brooks Range. Yet, despite the incredibly loud noise, we continued to see wildlife not far off the road, including two young grizzlies digging for lemmings and ground squirrels, with the oil pipeline in the background! Meanwhile, a couple of stupid tourists were “stalking” the bears ! (would “tourist” also be on the bear’s dinner menu tonight?)
Further on we spotted a beautiful lone caribou bull with a huge rack of antlers being stalked by a bow hunter. To be sure, it was tough stalking across the flat, treeless wet muskeg. It would be no understatement to say the odds greatly favored the caribou! Soon we encountered the foothills of the mighty Brooks Range and it was time to stop for lunch – a cold one of fried chicken, as we stood at the foot of the mountains, in sight of a lone glacier.
Back on the road, we began the long, slow climb up to Atigun Pass, among the rugged, barren mountains, the highest peaks being covered with fresh snow. Just as we began the ascent of the 4,700 foot high pass, we were instructed by radio to pull over and wait for a very wide (20 feet) load to descend down the steep grade. Meanwhile, there were lots of truckers chattering away on their CB radios. As the wide load passed us, Andy got on the radio and said “northbound lowboy, this is the tour van – how’s the weather to the south? Have safe trip”.
As we crossed over Atigun Pass and began the long descent down the south slope of the Brooks Range, we suddenly became aware of the tree line, marked by the “northernmost” spruce tree, on the edge of the road, along with a large sign marking its unique place in the world.
Atigun Pass marks the “other” Continental Divide which separates rivers flowing south to the Pacific Ocean from those flowing north to the Arctic Ocean. As we descended from the Brooks Range, we entered the broad Chandalar River valley, and as evening approached, we came to the tiny community of Coldfoot.
Although originally established in 1902 as a mining camp called Slate Creek, it got its present name when some gold prospectors coming up the Koyukuk River would get “cold feet” and turn around. At its height in 1912, Slate Creek (Coldfoot) had two roadhouses, two general stores, post office, seven saloons, and a gambling house. Much later, during the construction of the Dalton Highway and Trans-Alaska Oil Pipeline, Coldfoot became a huge truck stop, being the only services for 245 miles. So, it was pretty clear that this would be our overnight stop, along with a couple dozen truckers. A sign outside the one and only café/hotel read: “lowest recorded temperature – 82 degrees (with a picture of the thermometer) and highest recorded temperature +97 degrees (an amazing range of 179 degrees!) Our tour group checked into the only hotel, named the “Arctic Acres Inn” – a collection of typical “modular” units, the same as were used extensively on the North Slope during the pipeline construction.
The café/hotel also advertised itself as the “farthest north bar in North America”, but on this day it was closed for lack of beer! Rooms were very small for $125 a night, but there was no competition for at least 135 miles in any direction! After finding my room, a small 10ft by 10ft unit with a tiny 2ft by 4ft cubicle that was the toilet and shower combination, I walked around the area, taking photos of the gorgeous forest floor. It was covered with beautiful wild flowers, colorful mushrooms, and delicate lichens.
Meanwhile, dozens of idling big rigs were lined up in the muddy parking lot outside the café. Inside the café it was very busy, as the dinner hour approached. The food was basic but very good, and my order of baked halibut was excellent, despite the canned green beans alongside. For entertainment, there was a single TV set in the café, but judging by the blank screen, it appeared to be out of commission. So we were invited to the BLM/NPS/USFWS Visitor Center nearby to watch their new slide show about the national parks, preserves, and wildlife refuges on the North Slope and in the Brooks Range. It was essentially the only entertainment in town, but it turned out to be fascinating! I retired to my room for the night at 11pm, though it was still daylight outside.
Early the next morning, we began with a huge breakfast buffet that would last us all day. Then we piled into the van and drove back north for 13 miles to the tiny old mining town of Wiseman, population 22! It was in fact divided into North and South Wiseman by an old feud that everyone had long since forgotten.
The old abandoned post office was a log cabin that had sunk halfway into the permafrost. Inside, old books and official records still sat on the counter – as if time had stopped in 1956 when the Postal Service closed it. As we toured the old cabin, I spotted a telegram preserved from the early 1950’s that protested the “atrocious” mail delivery service from the village of Bettles. Leaving the old post office cabin, we paid a visit to a long time resident, George Lounsberry, who still mined for gold, together with his brother. (Well known author Bob Marshall once wrote a book about the town, titled Arctic Village, and gave each of the residents a share of the royalties, which ended up to be $18 each) Besides mining for gold, George managed a small “museum” in the town’s old saloon. He was especially anxious to show us some of the original bar credit tabs for regular customers, many of whom were prostitutes, whose names were recorded as “sports”. (Mamie Sport, Lucy Sport, Amy Sport, and so on!) George was a most interesting old fellow, but he refused to say how much gold he had found! Before we left George, he insisted upon showing us where he kept his beer, a small cellar dug into the permafrost beneath the floor of his cabin. On another historic note from George, the very first airplane to land north of the Arctic Circle was flown by Albert Wien, who later founded Wien Air Alaska, that eventually merged with Alaska Airlines. He landed the plane on a narrow gravel bar in the Koyukuk River near the town in 1928. Up until the late 1940’s when a permanent landing strip was built, all the food and supplies for the town had to be brought up the river. In summer, shallow draft boats were pulled by horses, and in the winter, tractors and sleds brought supplies over the ice. In 1979, the town was finally connected to the rest of the world by the Dalton Highway. As we left Wiseman and continued our journey south, I was able to photograph some Moose, not far off the road near the Kanuti River, with the ever-present oil pipeline in the background.
A short time later, we crossed the Arctic Circle and celebrated with a group photo beside the new sign marking its exact location! Then our driver/guide Andy brought out “tundra and perma-frosting” cake. (pieces of dark chocolate cake topped with Cool Whip!) Before we departed the Arctic Circle, Andy recited the complete classic Robert Service poem, “The Spell of the Yukon”, entirely from memory! (he also had a large collection of stories in memory, including a hilarious one about a “dancing Moose”)
Continuing south, we finally reached the half mile long Yukon River bridge that carries the highway and the oil pipeline across the mighty Yukon River. On the far shore we passed a large “fish wheel” and stopped at a small Athabascan fish camp where members of the local Koyukuk tribe were drying and smoking fresh caught salmon to feed their family and sled dogs over the long winter.
We were invited into their camp to watch them work, and while we were there, a cute little Athabascan girl showed us some of her art work. There were some really beautiful pieces, and I ended up buying a lovely “sun catcher” that she had made that morning. She was quite surprised when I said that I wanted to buy it. I found out that she spends the summer months with her family on the Yukon River, and the winter months at an Alaska native school in Fairbanks, almost 100 miles to the south. As we left the fish camp, the family resumed their activity of preparing for winter. Further south, we reached the junction with the Elliott Highway and mile 0 of the Dalton Highway. We stopped to take a photo of the sign “Dalton Highway mile 0 – Deadhorse 445 miles”.
A few miles further south, we pulled into a very small homestead called “Joy, Alaska”, where we found the “Wildwood General Store”, an old log building in a small forest clearing. The Carlsson family homesteaded the property in the mid-1950’s and adopted 24 children over the following 30 years!
It was a place of fascinating history, and one of the Carlsson children, who came to Alaska at the age of 4, took us on a short tour of the homestead. All of the buildings were constructed of logs from the surrounding forest. At one point, he stopped to point out a classic “permafrost refrigerator” – a 55 gallon oil barrel buried 24 inches below the surface. It maintained a constant, year-round temperature of 38 degrees, and included an ingenious pully system for access. As we were returning to the General Store, one of the Aussie ladies in our group insisted upon taking a photo of the outhouse, with her friend posing in it as the “model”! (Perhaps there are no outhouses in Australia?) Then it was time to continue our journey to Fairbanks, our final destination. Not far from the city, we spotted a couple of Moose, casually grazing in a meadow close to the road. Arriving in downtown Fairbanks, I bid farewell to my tour companions and checked in to the “Captain Bartlett Inn”, a classic Alaskan log structure. Within the hotel were two of Fairbanks’ historic places, the “Sled Dog Saloon” and “Slough Foot Sue’s Café”. Here is where I enjoyed an excellent, fresh King Salmon broiled in lemon garlic butter and served with wild rice. The cold pint of local Fairbanks Ale went very well with dinner. After dinner, as I sat at the bar in the Sled Dog Saloon, I noticed all the log walls were covered with dollar bills stapled to them, each having been signed with a unique name, such as “Buckeye”, “Pixie”, “Mixer”, and so on. In addition, there were several bras hanging from the ceiling, all of which were quite large and, also personally autographed!
The next morning, I rented a car for the one-way drive to Anchorage, via the spectacular Denali Highway. But that’s another story to be told.
As I reflected on the amazing journey to the North Slope and the long gravel road from the shore of the Arctic Ocean, across the Brooks Range to Alaska’s second largest city, I had to marvel at the incredible numbers and variety of the wildlife I had seen along the Dalton Highway – the northernmost road in North America! It was a trip of a lifetime and one that I will not forget!
In February of 2000, I made another “Around the World” business trip, which began with a non-stop flight to Tokyo on Delta Airlines in their new Business Elite cabin. As I relaxed in my seat on the MD-11 aircraft, I enjoyed a chilled glass of champagne before takeoff. In the meantime, many other flights were delayed, due to a massive snowstorm in the Midwest and Northeast. After takeoff, I put on the Japanese slippers provided by Delta and ordered a cold gin and tonic as the plane began the 10 hour flight across the North Pacific. Lunch soon followed, beginning with a selection of sushi, along with a plate of smoked salmon and a tortilla filled with creamed spinach. Next came a fresh garden salad and the main dish of Maryland backfin crab cakes. I finished lunch with a nice selection of cheeses, accompanied by a glass of Austrian Ice Wine – fabulous!
After lunch I watched a film titled “Flawless”, starring Robert DeNiro as an ex-cop who suffered a debilitating stroke and was befriended by a group of “drag queens” – very interesting story! After the film, sleep overtook me for several hours before landing at Narita Airport. I passed through Immigration and customs quickly, and then boarded a bus to downtown Tokyo.
I had booked a room for two nights at the luxurious 5 star “Palace Hotel”, situated across the street from the Imperial Palace. As the bus made its way into the city, we passed Tokyo Disneyland, with the world’s largest “indoor” ski area! As the bus approached the city center, I noticed several large signs along the highway displaying the current traffic conditions for different routes. (Yellow for moderate traffic and Red for heavy) As the traffic suddenly came to a slow crawl, a “red” condition, a very pleasant, sweet female pre-recorded voice announced, “there is a traffic jam ahead, so we are going to take a detour”. Finally, we arrived at the hotel, and after checking in to a beautiful room on the top floor, with a commanding view of the Imperial Palace Gardens, I headed to the “Summit Lounge” for a cold glass of Sapporo beer.
Meanwhile, at a table nearby, a group of Brits were talking about their trip to China the week before. The conversation centered on the topic of “exotic” Chinese food, especially monkey brains, as well as small live crabs that had to be smashed with a wooden hammer before they could be eaten – ie. they had to be killed first! Then I went to the hotel restaurant for a fabulous dinner that included lots of small dishes with fresh vegetables and varieties of seafood, all beautifully presented with small flowers and exotic garnishes.
The next day I bought a ticket on the famous “bullet train” (Shinkansen) to the ancient Japanese capital of Kyoto. As I entered the huge Tokyo main station, I saw that all the platforms had clearly marked “lanes” for passengers to queue for boarding each car of the train – very organized!
The train to Kyoto departed precisely on time, was exceptionally clean, and an extremely smooth ride at 175mph. We arrived in Kyoto less than 2 ½ hours later, after making only two short stops, Yokohama and Nagoya. Once we were out of the dense urban area of Tokyo and the massive industrial port of Yokohama, I began seeing extensive fields of rice, dark forests and distant mountains shrouded in mist – a lovely pastoral scene. Further south the heavy dark clouds gave way to occasional sunshine. As the train approached Nagoya, it climbed into the foothills of a high mountain range, and suddenly entered a landscape covered with a thick blanket of fresh snow! Beyond Nagoya the snow gradually gave way to rice fields and forested hills. Along the journey I made note of some unusual advertising signs that used common English words in a strange way, such as:
“Pocari Sweat” (a sports drink)
“Foot Up Shoes”
“Nice Day Cards”
And besides the interesting signs, we passed lots of golf driving ranges everywhere! Eventually we arrived in Kyoto, and as I left the main station, I consulted my small map of the city and headed north toward the famous “Ni-Jo Palace”.
It was the ruling seat of the first Shogun to unify Japan centuries ago. I found the ancient palace to be a fascinating glimpse of 17th century Japan, during the height of the Samurai period, a very violent warrior society. That period of Japanese history ended when a powerful Shogun united all the feudal lords who had ruled their lands for hundreds of years, like tribal chiefs. The huge palace was a collection of many old interconnected wooden buildings, amid several beautiful gardens and surrounded by a deep moat.
Most of the palace rooms were simply furnished, built from warm Japanese Cypress wood, delicate bamboo, and with rice paper walls that were elaborately painted with beautiful scenes of tigers, exotic birds, and colorful flowers. The paintings were more than 400 years old, yet as bright and colorful as the day they were painted – amazing!
Another fascinating feature of the palace was the “nightingale floor” – so named because it squeaked with the sound of the bird as one stepped on it, however so gently. It was designed that way to alert the Samurai guards of any intruders! Really clever, as well as having a beautiful, soothing sound.
Nearby was the “Higashi-Hoganji Temple”, one of the world’s largest wooden buildings, and a spectacular example of the very best in Japanese woodworking craft from the 17th century. Every joint in the massive structure was held in place solely by huge wooden pins and complex carved joinery.
Leaving my shoes at the base of the temple, I gently stepped into a huge room whose floor was covered by soft bamboo tatami mats and framed by walls of delicate rice paper wooden panels. The high ceiling was elaborately painted in gold relief – such a beautiful and peaceful place! As I left the main hall and stepped outside on to a massive wooden plank deck that surrounded the temple, I was almost overrun by a group of “pilgrims” rushing past me, chanting loudly and pushing white robes across the floor on their hands and knees! I speculated that it must have been some sort of religious ritual, and they seemed to be having a grand time “racing” each other!
As I left the temple, the sun played tag with the clouds, and walking along Karasuma-Dori St, I seemed to hit every traffic light “out of step” and had to wait for the walk signal. Each time as I waited, I observed that the Japanese strictly obeyed the signals, even on the one lane, one-way streets no more than 6 feet across, despite the absence of any oncoming traffic! By the time I returned to the main station in Kyoto, I had walked about 10 miles in 5 hours around the city. But now it was time in the evening to board the bullet train back to Tokyo.
The following day, I changed hotels to a “business man’s hotel” which had been arranged by Esri Japan so as to be close to their office, in preparation for the training class I would conduct over the next few days for their staff. “Hotel Suave” was a small place directly beside a huge overhead expressway! I was lucky enough to get a room on the opposite side, though it had only one small opaque window – but there would not have been much to see outside anyway. The room was incredibly tiny, with a single bed, small desk, tiny closet, a TV mounted on the wall, and a self-contained bathroom made of one single piece of molded plastic!
There was barely enough space in the shower to turn around. Outside the room, in the hallway, were a number of vending machines serving hot coffee, chilled sodas, cold beer, and small bottles of Japanese whiskey – probably the hotel’s “bar”. There was also a vending machine to dispense Pay-TV cards, which were required to watch the one and only English language channel, as well as a movie channel and two soft porn channels. Otherwise, the other 12 Japanese language channels were free to watch. So that evening I settled into the tiny room with a cold beer and a Pay-TV card!
During the next few days, I walked to the office along very narrow streets, passing small shops and traditional houses. On the first day I stopped at a local branch of Fuji Bank to change some money, and as soon as I stepped through the door, an old man came forward and assisted me with the whole transaction – he was the bank’s “concierge”. That evening, after class, I had dinner in the small hotel restaurant – a very nice meal of fresh scallops sautéed in marinara sauce, along with an ice-cold bottle of Kirin beer. The following evening, I joined three of the Esri Japan staff for dinner at a small, traditional noodle restaurant near the office, where we shared a huge bowl of rice noodles, spicy broth, fresh vegetables, onions, and thin sliced beef. It was hot and delicious on such a cold, windy night. As I walked back and forth every day between the hotel and the office, I noticed many people wearing surgical masks to protect themselves against the spread of germs. And during the class, I found out that most of the staff commuted at least 1 ½ hours each way by train, and judging by the staggering crowds at rush hour, it made me appreciate the leisurely 15 minute walk I had every day! And as for breakfast at the hotel, it was the same every morning – scrambled eggs, Vienna sausages, slices of boiled ham, and fresh sliced cucumber. Meanwhile, as I sat in the breakfast room, massive numbers of pedestrians and vehicles rushed by outside on the street. After class one evening, the staff invited me to join them for dinner at a very traditional Shabu-Shabu restaurant in the busy Shibuya district.
We had a great time sitting around the table, each of us cooking our thin slices of Wagu beef in the huge pot of boiling water, along with fresh vegetables and “Glass” rice noodles – delicious! Later, the hot broth was mixed with thin egg noodles to make a fantastic soup. And the entire meal was washed down with lots of cold draft beer and small cups of warm Sake – really a fun evening!
At last came the final day of the training class, and to celebrate the occasion, we all went to a very small restaurant that specialized in dishes prepared with eel. We shared a large plate of grilled eel, served with bowls of steamed rice, several small vegetable dishes, and lots of cold beer! I found the grilled eel to be surprisingly delicious – delicate and sweet. Meanwhile, on the TV in the corner of the restaurant, was a Japanese game show in which contestants had 60 seconds to build a 3 story house of cards! No one was a winner that evening, but all of us in the restaurant had a fun time watching them. The following day, I grabbed my camera, consulted my map of Tokyo, and headed to a large park northwest of Shibuya train station. Yoyogi park is the site of the “Menjji Shrine”, dedicated to the first Shogun who united Japan.
As I approached the enormous train station, a major junction of subway lines and the extensive Japan Railways Yamamote system, I encountered large crowds and huge neon signs, which are so typical of Tokyo. But once I was inside the park, the sights and sounds of the bustling city began to fade away. There were many food vendors with their carts surrounding the main entrance to the park, and surprisingly, I also saw a few elderly “bag people” (homeless) setting up their cardboard “houses” for the night. A broad path through huge old trees led me to the shrine, as the sun was beginning to set.
As I stepped over the wooden threshold and into the large courtyard that surrounded the temple, several young monks dressed in white robes, scurried around attending to whatever duties young monks do. Meanwhile, people entered the temple and clapped their hands 3 times before offering prayers. Off to the right of the alter was an enormous drum that was probably beaten during important ceremonies and rituals.
I felt the whole temple had a sacred and peaceful atmosphere, even as recorded announcements informed us of the park’s closing. As I exited the park on the opposite side, I walked through dense woods into the fading daylight, past large flocks of ravens who had arrived to roost for the night, squawking loudly. And at the same time, the endless, muffled roar of the trains could be heard in the distance. The air became chilly and a soft breeze made its way through the trees, signaling the approach of the night. Once outside the park and back on the crowded streets of Shibuya, I watched countless commuter trains pass by, literally “jammed” with people, anxious to head home for the weekend! (definitely not the time for a tourist to be on the train)
As I continued walking through Shibuya, I suddenly realized that I did not have enough cash for the taxi to the main train station or the bus to Narita airport in the morning! So it became necessary to try and use one of the multitude of cash dispensers (ATMs) on virtually every street corner. My first few attempts were totally unsuccessful – my credit card having been “spit out” with a nasty note stating that my transaction had not been accepted, despite the sign above the machine clearly indicating that Diners Club and American Express were “welcomed”! (as it turned out later, only the Japanese issued cards were accepted) Finally, at a “Cash Corner” machine, a kindly old gentleman on “guard duty” saw my dilemma and offered his help. He pointed to a small sign that showed the location of an ATM nearby that would accept my American Express credit card.
He proceeded to give my profuse, explicit directions, none of which I understood. But fortunately, there was a map beneath the sign. So luckily, I was able to find the Fuji Bank cash machine that would accept my American Express card. But without realizing it, on my first attempt to withdraw cash, I had mistakenly entered 500,000 Yen ($5000 USD) – thankfully it didn’t go through! Having successfully withdrawn my money on the second try, I continued on my way back to Hotel Suave, along a narrow street beside the railway. I discovered a very interesting collection of “tiny” eating establishments, some of which could only seat 2 or 3 people. The street was beautifully illuminated by old traditional Japanese lanterns.
Eventually hunger caught up with me and I began a search for a place to have dinner. As I rounded a corner, just off a busy street in Shibuya, I spotted the “German Farm Grill”. I was intrigued by the name of the place and decided to check it out. What I found was a fascinating little restaurant with a menu printed in Japanese and German, soothing background music, and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Luckily, I could read much of the German side of the menu. Just after I sat down at a small table beside the fireplace, a tall black man came up and said “welcome man”! After I ordered the bratwurst and a glass of German beer, I asked him about the restaurant. As the story went, he and two other black American soldiers stationed in Japan fell in love with the country and decided to stay after leaving the military. And having also served in the US Army in Germany, they chose to open one of the very few German restaurants in Shibuya. The food was delicious and authentic, the atmosphere relaxing, while the chaos of traffic rushed by outside.
A small group of young Japanese came into the restaurant to celebrate a birthday with several rounds of champagne. The young man being honored had two severely deformed arms, perhaps resulting from exposure to Thalidomide. It was obvious they were having a really fun time. It was such a unique and fascinating place – a wonderful “discovery”. When I left the restaurant, it was full, whereas there had only been two other people when I had first arrived.
The next morning, when I checked out of Hotel Suave, the young desk clerk hailed a taxi for me. When I told her I wanted to go to the City Air Terminal, she gave me a strange look and said it would be very expensive. (as if there was anything in Tokyo that was cheap!) When the taxi arrived, she asked me if I was going to terminal 1 or 2? At that point I realized she must have thought I had meant Narita airport, which would have cost $250 – $300! So I had to make it very clear that I wanted to go to the “City Air Terminal”, from which I could take a bus to the airport, the cost being around $25! Once I arrived at the City Air Terminal, the check-in for the Singapore Airlines flight was very efficient, so that I could board the bus without having to drag my luggage along. There was even a place to complete the customs and immigration formalities before arriving at Narita Airport. Once at the airport, I spent some time in the Singapore Airlines Silver Kris Lounge before boarding the flight to Singapore. The lounge overlooked a gorgeous tropical garden with huge, colorful Japanese Carp swimming in a clear pool amid beautiful flowers. It was very peaceful and tranquil, with lots of tall, deep green ferns – like a small jungle in the middle of a busy airport!
Shortly after takeoff, lunch began with a delicious assortment of satay and spicy peanut sauce, followed by a small plate of sashimi and a fresh garden salad. Then came the main dish of pan fried giant prawns on a bed of Japanese noodles, accompanied by a chilled glass of French Chardonnay. Lunch service finished with a selection of cheeses and a glass of port – superb food and service!
The 7 hour flight was very smooth and relaxing as I listened to some New Age music. We landed in Singapore on time and I breezed through immigration and customs. During the taxi ride to downtown, the Indian driver gave me several recommendations for famous “fish head restaurants” in the Indian Quarter near the port. The name of the company was “Comfort Taxi” and posted on the dashboard was a sign that read – Caring, Observant, Mindful, Friendly, Obliging, Responsible, Tactful. Meanwhile, a local radio station played music by Buena Vista Social Club! Upon arriving at the Le Meridien Hotel on Orchard Road, I was very fortunate to be upgraded to a room on the President’s Club Level for having checked in using my American Express Platinum card.
And I was just in time for the complimentary evening cocktails and appetizers in the club lounge. As I sat with a cold local Anchor beer, I watched the final match of the International Ping Pong Championship between China and Sweden – surprisingly won by Sweden!
The next morning, I grabbed my camera, slipped into my hiking boots, and headed to Fort Canning Park, an old British military site near the port. On the way, I passed the Presidential Palace, with its beautifully manicured tropical gardens and immaculately groomed deep green lawn – definitely off limits to tourists! I found that Fort Canning had a long history, dating from the 14th century, having been the royal residence of many Malay kings. Later in the 19th century, the British arrived and made their indelible mark on the fortress.
As I hiked up and down the hills, I passed several groups of people engaged in various cultural activities, such as the Chinese in a Tai Chi class, Indian dancers practicing for a wedding, and some Malay pilgrims paying homage to the ancient tomb of a Malay king. Further along, near the old post headquarters building, I heard a group of local musicians rehearsing for a performance – banging large gongs and drums in a rhythmic beat. It was a beautiful sound to listen to, but I was never able to see them. Meanwhile, by this time of the day, I was totally soaked in sweat, with the temperature in the upper 90’s and the humidity near 100%! As I exited the park, I came to the central business district, where I spotted a lovely old turn of the century building on a street corner, surrounded on three sides by tall, modern skyscrapers. I decided to venture in for a look and I was rewarded with views of the beautiful restoration, and cool air conditioning! The gorgeous dark tropical woodwork was highly polished and the pure white marble floors were sparkling.
One entire floor was devoted to the “Pennsylvania Country Store” – an outlet for traditional Early American furniture. Then I walked to the nearest Metro station and rode the subway to Jurong East to visit the Singapore Science Center. The subway was very modern, efficient, and exceptionally clean – especially since chewing gum was forbidden on the subway and punishable by a hefty fine! Despite the sold out showing of the new “Fantasia 2000” film in the IMAX theatre at the Science Center, there was a fascinating exhibit on the history of the making of the original film, alongside with details of the production of the new digital version of the film. The exhibit included the computerized scenes of the digital version of the musical instruments in the animated orchestra – absolutely fascinating! Returning to the Metro station, I decided to take the longer, scenic route back to downtown. Essentially, the route “circled” the entire island (aka country), and along the way we passed vast complexes of high rise apartment buildings. At one station, four US Navy sailors, dressed in shorts and carrying backpacks, boarded the train – looking very much like they were on a mission to see Singapore. When I got back to the hotel that afternoon, I packed my bags and got a taxi to the airport, just before a tropical downpour hit the city.
Country music was playing on the radio as the taxi driver sped along the expressway, ignoring the speed limit. It meant that I had to listen to a very annoying “Ding Dong” speed limit warning alarm bell for the entire 30 minute trip! It went something like this – “on the (DING) wings of a (DONG) snow white (DING) dove … (DONG)” Finally we reached the airport, just before I reached the limit of my tolerance! Once on board the new Singapore Airlines Boeing 777, I settled in to a comfortable Business Class seat and ordered a cold Gin and tonic before takeoff. As the plane reached its cruising altitude, a superb dinner was served, beginning with a smoked salmon and sashimi appetizer, along with a crisp garden salad. Next came a small bowl of soba noodles, followed by the main dish of grilled tiger prawns, fried okra, and steamed rice. The dinner service concluded with a selection of international cheeses, fresh fruit, and a glass of Port. Later in the flight, chocolates, coffee, and Drambuie were served.
During the long 6 hour flight to New Delhi, I watched the “World’s Strongest Man Competition” on my personal entertainment device. The competition was won by a hulking brute from Finland for the third year in a row. I also had time to catch the conclusion of the film titled “Stir of Echoes”, which I had first started watching on the flight to Tokyo a few days before. Around midnight we landed on time in New Delhi, and then began the incredibly frustrating ordeal of the Indian immigration and customs process, where even the simplest of tasks often takes forever! It was particularly annoying when some people were “escorted” (shoved) into the long queue ahead of me, supposedly being “diplomats”! And as for the “machine readable” queue that I was standing in, there was no sign of a machine anywhere. Finally, after 45 minutes, I was close enough to be able to slap down my passport in front of an agonizingly slow, stone faced Immigration Officer, who painstakingly pawed through my passport, page by page. Then at last, he stamped it and I was allowed to enter the country. But then came another frustration, no luggage trolleys to be seen anywhere, nor any porters. So I dragged my bags through the crowd waiting outside the customs area and headed to the “pre-paid” taxi counter, where I had to fight my way to the front of another long queue to secure a voucher, which I surrendered to a taxi driver in the shadows. By this time, it was well past 2am as the taxi began the journey, amid lots of noise and confusion, to the Park Royal Hotel near Nehru Place. As the taxi bounced along the rough road in the dark of night, dodging an amazing array of bicycles, Tuk-Tuks, trucks, buses, pedestrians and cows, I felt as if it could almost be a plot for a film noir – “The eternal hell of an Indian taxi ride through the dark streets of New Delhi”, with no beginning and no end! At last my ordeal came to an end as I checked into a lovely room at the beautiful 5 star luxury Park Royal Hotel, which had been arranged by Esri-India.
The next morning, or more like later in the day, Dinesh from the Esri-India office picked me up and drove through the crowded, chaotic traffic to the new training facility. It was located in an old farm estate that had once been outside the city but was now surrounded by it. Besides the new, well equipped classrooms, there were residences for students travelling from distant parts of the country. The small cafeteria served simple, but very tasty vegetarian dishes, some of which were quite spicy.
After class, I returned to the hotel, went down to the lobby bar, and ordered a large, cold Black Label Beer, a popular Indian beer brewed in Bangalore. As I sat in the bar, I finished transcribing the notes from my recent trip to Syria and Greece. Later in the evening, I went to the hotel coffee shop for a delicious dinner of chicken Tikka Masala, my favorite Indian dish. The following morning it was back to the training facility for another long day of lecturing and computer exercises for the Esri-India technical staff.
Many of the students were young women, dressed in beautiful saris made from brilliantly colored silk. Lunch with the students in the cafeteria featured a very nice spicy potato dish, along with cold fresh yogurt. That evening, back at the hotel, I had another ice-cold bottle of Black Label beer as I wrote notes in my journal. For dinner I had a luscious south Indian chicken curry served in a thick, richly spiced tomato sauce. As I enjoyed dinner, I watched a large table of two Indian families, where all the men sat on one side and the women on the opposite side. Later, a young man and young woman rose from the table and strolled off together. I speculated that they were on a “date” and the two families were there as “chaperones”! Meanwhile, another group bearing gifts and flowers celebrated a birthday that included several versions of “Happy Birthday”. And at the same time, a large tourist group of Scandinavians “attacked” the enormous dinner buffet! It was all very fascinating to watch, almost as if it had been “staged” for my entertainment that evening.
Another day of training followed the next morning, which began with the usual chaotic, “white knuckle” drive through the crowded streets of New Delhi. That same evening, back at the hotel, I received an invitation to join the General Manager for cocktails in the Club Room, a beautiful old English style library. The GM was a large man from Austria, and we had a lively, fascinating conversation about our various travel experiences around the world. We also talked about President Bill Clinton’s upcoming trip to India and all the preparations being made for him in the hotel. Meanwhile, the Sheikh of Dubai was staying in the Presidential Suite, along with his large delegation. They were in New Delhi for an International Shooting Competition, and the Sheikh was the team captain. The GM was also proud of the new nightclub he had just opened in the hotel, especially now that it was the most popular venue in the city. Later, I finished the evening watching a fascinating video about the world famous Indian luxury train “Palace on Wheels”. The following morning, I joined Dinesh for another hair-raising ride to the training facility, the car radio having been tuned to a morning show that gave up to the minute traffic reports.
The reports included the average speed of the traffic, the presence or absence of “diversions”, and the maximum “stopping time” at major traffic lights! In between the traffic reports, a young female DJ spun the very latest American pop music. At the end of every traffic report, she gave a “driving lesson of the day”. And as we negotiated our way through the chaos, it was obvious that her driving lessons were having no impact on the traffic, judging by what I could see around me – or perhaps, Dinesh and I were the only ones on the road tuned in to the radio station? For the second day in a row, a very large, vicious looking yellow wasp continued to wander around the classroom. No one seemed to be concerned, nor in any hurry to find a way to get it out of the room. But I kept my eye on it as best as I could while I was teaching. However, at one point, as I was helping a student with a computer exercise, another student suddenly “flicked” the hair on the side of my head, chasing away the giant yellow beast that had just landed there! Fortunately, I was not aware of its presence, but I was almost sure it would still be in class the next day. Later that afternoon, the ride back to the hotel with Dinesh was a bit scary, with him “babbling” away about something of no importance, while huge, battered buses came screaming up beside us on both sides. As I look out the car window, all that I could see was a large bald tire, a crumpled fender, and a bus driver who looked as if he was “barely” in control of the speeding vehicle! At that moment, I had no choice but to place my trust in God and Dinesh! All the while, the cows rested sublimely on the narrow median separating the lanes of insane traffic. They just gave us a very nonchalant, casual glance – they must know more than I know! At last we arrived at the hotel and I retired to the lobby bar for a cold bottle of Taj Mahal beer. The bar was decorated in rich, dark tropical wood paneling, gorgeous oriental carpets, a huge stone fireplace, crystal chandeliers, and paintings depicting 18th century English country scenes – very much a classic English gentlemen’s club. Afterwards, I had a superb dinner of delicately spiced lamb curry and rice in the hotel coffee shop.
At last it was the final day of the training class, and when Dinesh picked me up in the morning, I had my camera with me, in an “attempt” to capture something of the indescribable, chaotic, insane traffic. But I found it hard to record the scene of hundreds of people on bicycles, scooters, and motorcycles, all positioned at the head of a long line of traffic stopped for a traffic light at a major intersection. Well before the light changed, they all began “creeping” forward, with bicycles first. And then all of a sudden, they were in the middle of the intersection, fighting their way through the cross traffic still passing through the intersection. And when the light changed, the rest of the traffic ”bolted” forward, clashing with the “stragglers” in the cross traffic, as well as the bicycles that had gotten a bit of a “head start”. It could only be described as “anarchy on wheels”! The head start was necessary for the cyclists, otherwise they would have been mowed down by the multitude of buses, trucks, Tuk-Tuks, and cars behind them. For the uninitiated, it was an absolutely crazy, insane scene, as all manner, size, and mode of transportation jostled and jockeyed for position in the center of the intersection. And in the midst of all the insanity, pedestrians darted in and out, while the cows sat peacefully on the side of the road, observing it all! My impression was of a modern Indian version of the ancient Roman Gladiator games. Later in the morning, during a short break in the class, I sat outside in the delightful, warm winter weather and watched a pair of beautiful, but noisy green parrots in the trees above me. Then I joined the class for lunch in the cafeteria for the last time before concluding the class. Though it had been an exhausting five days, the students were very engaged and appreciative. Later in the afternoon, on the way back to the hotel, once again we encountered the monotonous sounds of the traffic – horns of various tones and volume, incredibly loud mufflers (or maybe none at all) on the trucks and buses, all of which spewed out massive clouds of black, choking diesel smoke! And most disturbing of all, the continuous, eerie screeching of brakes from the old, battered, overcrowded buses as they came to a sudden, agonizing stop! The sound was like a tribe of screaming “banshees”. Every time I heard that awful sound, I couldn’t help but envision a spectacular and gruesome accident about to happen, but the same scene seemed to play out every day I was in New Delhi. And yet, it must be noted that during my entire time in New Delhi, I never saw an accident, just hundreds of “near misses”! That evening, as I sat in the hotel bar, the staff greeted me with “good evening sir, a Black Label?” Later, Rajesh and Dinesh joined me for dinner in the hotel’s “Dehuli Indian Restaurant” for a wonderful meal of grilled jumbo prawns smothered in delicious, spicy mango chutney. It was a delightful time of conversation and shared experiences that brought my time in India to a very pleasant conclusion. And for all the uncomfortable and frustrating times, there were just as many or more memorable and unforgettable times. Such is the “unique” experience of India!
Early the next morning, at 4:00am, I boarded the SwissAir flight to Bombay and onward to Zurich. There was a light meal of chicken jhatka and fish cake served on the way to Bombay, and before landing in Zurich, we were served an Indian breakfast of pancakes filled with masala, along with scrambled eggs and chicken shashlik.
In Zurich airport I had enough time to take a shower and have coffee in the Business Class Lounge before boarding the SwissAir flight to Los Angeles. Shortly after takeoff, lunch was served, beginning with smoked marlin and trout with horseradish sauce and red beet salad. For the main course I chose the grilled scallops and jumbo shrimp in a delicious Pernod cream Sauce, along with spinach and fennel.
Nine hours and two movies later, we landed at LAX – twelve days after leaving home, I had travelled around the world again!
Having arrived from Little Rock the night before, I was eager to hit the road and explore the area around Bozeman. It was a beautiful, sunny morning with gorgeous views of the Bridger Range to the north of town.
I stopped in Livingston to pick up a breakfast sandwich at Hardee’s, and written on their menu board was the following, “California Raisins Murdered! Cereal Killer Suspected – Heard it on the Grapevine!” Downtown was the historic old Northern Pacific Railroad depot, which used to be the main departure station for passengers going to Yellowstone National Park. Heading north from Livingston I cruised along US highway 89 at 75 mph, the legal speed limit in Montana, toward White Sulphur Springs, passing vast expanses of golden grassland.
At times, the landscape remained unchanged for so many miles, that it almost felt like I was standing still! Amid the grasslands were some huge irrigation systems that turned parts of the dry brown landscape into lush green fields of clover and wheat. Beyond White Sulphur Springs and the Little Belt Mountains, was the small ranching community of Townsend, dominated by tall, massive grain elevators beside the Burlington Northern Railroad mainline. Turning southwest, I came to the historic town of Three Forks, so named for being located at the confluence of three rivers (Beaverhead, Jefferson, and Madison) that gather together to form the mighty Missouri River.
In the center of town was a monument honoring Sacajawea, the Indian guide who lead Lewis and Clark to eventually discover the headwaters of the Missouri. Across the street from the monument was the grand old “Sacajawea Inn”, a hotel built by the Milwaukee Road Railway (Chicago, Milwaukee & Pacific Railroad) in the late 1800’s. The railroad abandoned Three Forks decades before, but the old hotel lived on. Just outside of town, I spotted a lot of people floating down the Madison and Jefferson rivers on everything from large rafts to inner tubes, basking in the warm late summer sunshine.
Not far from Three Forks, I discovered a small state park that had preserved the “Parker Homestead”, a lovely old log cabin that had been settled in the mid-1800’s and occupied until the early 1920’s. The old cabin was surrounded by huge Cottonwood trees and golden grassland – a stunning landscape!
Eventually, when evening approached, I headed back to Bozeman. As I sat in the lounge at the Holiday Inn, drinking a cold pint of local “Bayern Trout Slayer Ale”, I watched a fascinating PBS TV program about King Henry VIII – anywhere else I’m sure we would have been watching some sports channel. (the beer was promoted as “a bigger tale with every ale”) Later, I had a delicious dinner of Asian grilled chicken and steamed broccoli alfredo pasta in the hotel restaurant.
I awoke the next morning to another beautiful clear, warm, sunny day. After a hearty breakfast, I checked out of the hotel and headed southwest to the historic mining town of Virginia City, which at one time was the Territorial Capitol of Montana. A great many of the old original buildings from the 1800’s had been beautifully restored. I walked down the old wooden boardwalk that followed Alder Gulch, to “Boot Hill Cemetery”, the final resting place of many “road agents” (aka bandits)! At least now, they had a spectacular view of the entire valley below.
From Virginia City, I continued up Alder Gulch to the old mining town of Nevada City, where there was an extensive collection of turn of the century locomotives and railroad cars from many historic railroads. They included The Great Northern, Montana Southern, Milwaukee Road, and the Florence & Cripple Creek, better known as “The Gold Beltline”. Many of the old passenger cars were open and still in their original condition – fascinating, like a walk through time. Nearby was a large display of old mining equipment, including a huge gold dredge that had mined gold from the local streams until well into the 1920’s. According to a historical monument, more than $80 million in gold was dredged in southwest Montana by 16 dredges, among them the largest in the world!
Leaving the fascinating mining history of Virginia City and Nevada City, I headed south to the small ranching town of Ennis to pay a visit to the Madison Ranger Station where I had spent the summer of 1968 working on the Beaverhead National Forest. As I walked down Front Street, the scene looked very much the same as I remembered from 1968,especially the “Longbranch Saloon”. On the night of July 4th, 1968, I partied with my Forest Service colleagues and the local cowboys until the wee hours of the morning. And as I was leaving the saloon to head back to the bunkhouse, I happened to find a full set of false teeth lying on the bright red carpet in the men’s room. Later I discovered that they belonged to a summer employee named Lonnie from Yazoo City, Mississippi, who had no idea they were missing until he woke up with a hangover the next morning. It’s a story never to be forgotten! From Ennis, I drove south, following the beautiful Madison River, spectacular mountains rising thousands of feet on either side of the valley. I made a short stop at the Madison River Workstation , where I had spent the summer of 1968 working on a timber survey in the Gravelly Mountains, before being drafted into the Army at the end of the summer.
From there, I drove over Targhee Pass to Henry’s Lake, Idaho, and then on to a rough gravel road up to the summit of the Centennial Mountains at Red Rock Pass, and back into Montana. The 70 mile long unpaved road took me through the heart of the spectacular Centennial Valley to the Red Rock Lakes National Wildlife Refuge.
The refuge was established in 1935, covering 76,000 acres of wetlands in the Centennial Valley to provide a breeding ground for wild birds and animals, in particular the endangered Trumpeter Swan. In 1932 there were fewer than 200 of the birds known to exist in North America. But due to the sustained efforts to save them from extinction, an estimated 3,000 swan were nesting on the refuge by 2002. It is the most remote of any refuge outside of Alaska, and has often been called the most beautiful in the country.
Historically, the Monida – Yellowstone stagecoach line passed through the Centennial Valley in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, transporting over 10,000 passengers between the Union Pacific Railroad station in Monida and West Yellowstone. The grand era of stagecoach travel to Yellowstone National Park ended in 1917 when motor cars replaced the stagecoaches. These days, the old unpaved road still exists, but it sees very little traffic, as new and faster routes of travel to Yellowstone were developed.
In the middle of the beautiful warm day, I was suddenly aware of a problem with the new Ford Excursion – a flat tire! And here I was, 30 miles from the nearest town and I hadn’t seen another vehicle on the road the entire time. So as the swans watched me, I began the task of changing the tire, in the middle of the road. (note: there was absolutely no danger from oncoming traffic!) Back on the road again, I drove to Dillon, the next town, and the county seat of Beaverhead County. (On a side note, Beaverhead County is larger than the states of Rhode Island and Connecticut combined, yet there are less than 9,000 people in the county – that’s less than 2 people per square mile!) The town was also home to the University of Montana Western, founded in 1893 as Montana State Normal College. I checked in to the new Guesthouse Suites Hotel on the edge of town and then dropped off my flat tire for repair at the nearby tire shop. By now it was time for dinner, so I walked downtown to the “Longhorn Saloon”, still very much an old cowboy bar where the steaks were legendary – as was the clientele! Later that evening, I sat on my balcony, as the fresh fragrance of sagebrush was carried on the cool evening breeze. The soft sound of crickets filled the air, as well as the distant howling of the Coyotes – a most pleasant night.
The next morning, I was up early, and the hotel’s breakfast of hot biscuits and sausage gravy prepared me well for the day. I picked up my tire at “Marv’s OK Tire Shop”, bought some provisions at the local Safeway, and then fueled up at the Exxon station. Before leaving Dillon, I took a look at the university campus, where many of the old Victorian era red brick buildings had been beautifully restored.
Then I headed northwest on state highway 278, up a long steep grade into the heart of the rugged Pioneer Mountains – a gorgeous landscape of lush green valleys, Ponderosa Pine forest, and old ranches, in the shadow of towering peaks. Along the way, I came to the historic “Elkhorn Hot Springs” at an elevation of 7500 feet, with a huge swimming pool fed by the hot springs.
Several miles north of the hot springs, I spotted a small sign pointing the way to the old ghost town of Coolidge, so I decided to investigate. After a long five mile drive on a rough, narrow, winding unpaved road, and another mile and a half on foot, I finally reached the old mining town. At one time, as late as the 1930’s, it had a population of several thousand, but these days, nothing remained except for a couple dozen old wooden buildings and log cabins, slowly crumbling under the weight of many winters’ snow.
In 1917, one of the world’s last narrow gauge railroads, the Montana Southern, was built from Coolidge, 40 miles down to the town of Divide, where it joined with a railhead of the Union Pacific Railroad. A post office was established in 1922, and later that year, construction of a new mill was completed at a cost of over $1 million, including a huge 65,000 volt power line from the town of Divide. The mill became the largest in Montana and had the capacity to process 750 tons of ore per day! However, by that time, silver prices plummeted as the nations’ economy took a downturn. As a result, mining operations were being shutdown, and the mill never approached its full capacity. Then in 1927, twelve miles of the railroad, including several bridges, were washed out by the failure of the Wise River Dam. The disaster spelled the doom of the mill, as well as the town. Since then, the old mill had collapsed, though the Forest Service apparently had plans to reconstruct is as a historical exhibit. There were several displays of historical information, and I was able to follow the old railroad roadbed for almost a half mile before it disappeared into the forest. Back on the main highway again, I drove down to the small town of Wise River, where there were several rafts of fly fishermen floating lazily down the Big Hole River, in their quest for legendary Golden Trout.
From Wise River, I drove up the Big Hole Valley to the town of Wisdom, which just happened to have had the nation’s lowest temperature the night before (36 degrees), but now, in the mid-afternoon, it was a comfortable 85 degrees! As I continued south up the Big Hole Valley, in the shadow of the rugged Bitterroot Range, I saw massive amounts of hay being harvested, much of it still being stored in traditional tall haystacks. Historically, the Big Hole Valley has been known as “The Valley of 10,000 Haystacks”! Further south, I came to the tiny community of Jackson, best known for the beautiful Jackson Hot Springs Lodge, and a popular center for winter sports. Then I turned southeast to Bannack State Historic Park, the location of Montana’s first Territorial Capitol. I spent some time exploring the old ghost town that had remained virtually unchanged since I first visited it the summer of 1966. Bannack was founded in 1862 and named for the local Bannock tribe. It was the site of a major gold discovery that same year, and served as the Territorial Capitol briefly in 1864, until the capitol was moved to Virginia City.
At the height of the mining activity, it had a population of nearly 10,000. Though it was very remote, connected to the rest of the world only by the primitive Montana Trail, there were three hotels, three bakeries, three blacksmith shops, two stables, two meat markets, a grocery store, restaurant, billiards hall, brewery, and of most importance to the locals, four saloons! The majority of the buildings were log structures, but a few of the more important buildings were built of red brick. As I walked down the unpaved main street, many of the old buildings were open, including the Masonic Hall and the schoolhouse, which was strangely eerie, as if the students had just left for summer vacation!
Another fascinating building that I hadn’t seen inside before was the elegant Hotel Meade, which had served as the State House when Bannack was the Territorial Capitol. As I entered the old hotel lobby, with its grand wooden staircase and magnificent wall safe, I experienced a very eerie feeling, as if the walls had many ghost stories to tell, if only I had the time to spend with them. I climbed the old staircase and looked into some of the hotel rooms, all of which had ceilings at least 18 – 20 feet high, but I failed to find a room that could be called a bathroom or toilet – perhaps that was another building out back!
All in all, Bannack was truly the most “authentic” ghost town I’ve ever encountered – the epitome of the “Old West”. Some of the most infamous Bannack history involved Henry Plummer, the town’s Sheriff in the early 1860’s. He was accused of secretly leading a ruthless gang of “road agents” (aka bandits), that people claimed was responsible for over a hundred robberies and murders throughout southwestern Montana. (Modern historians have called into question this account of Plummer’s gang) In January of 1864, Sheriff Plummer and his compatriots, both deputies, were hanged without a trial – typical of vigilante justice in the old west! Leaving Bannack, I drove south through the vast expanse of the “Cross Ranch”, passing beautiful golden wheat fields and deep green fields of hay. Then I came to the little town of Grant and the junction with the road from Clark Canyon Dam. As I passed through the little town, there were a few more buildings that I remembered from 1966, but it was still a sleepy “one horse” town, despite the one and only motel having been renamed the “Horse Prairie Hilton”! I head west from Grant 20 miles to the junction with the Forest Service road to Reservoir Lake Campground, a narrow, very rough, twisting dirt road. It was a very long 18 miles of rough road at 15 – 20 mph before I reached the campground, and as soon as it came into view, the surrounding landscape began to jog my memory of the summer of 1966.
The sight of the old split rail fence on the edge of the campground was an especially poignant memory of the long days I had spent “debarking” the Lodgepole Pine rails. As evening approached, I began looking for a nice spot to camp for the night. But before doing so, I decided to pay a visit to “Bloody Dick Guard Station” across the creek from the campground. As I approached the old cabin, deep in the forest, memories of my time living there came flooding back.
The old cabin looked very much the same as in 1966, except for a new roof over the small porch. I peeked in the windows and things looked just as if I had left them 37 years before, even the old army style bunkbeds, the old propane gas cookstove, and the kerosene lantern on the kitchen table. Even after almost four decades, electricity had still not found its way to the cabin! Just a few yards away was the spring where I used to fill my water bucket by dipping from the open wooden trough – carefully avoiding the frogs! After a sufficiently long period of reminiscing and some photos, I left the guard station and found a lovely grassy spot under the pine trees beside Bloody Dick Creek to camp for the night.
As evening descended on southwestern Montana, I sat on a log, sipped a cold “Old Faithful Ale” and enjoyed the quiet solitude of a cool summer night, not far from where Lewis and Clark probably camped the day before they crossed the Continental Divide over Lemhi Pass. From there they first discovered the “waters of the Pacific”. Slowly, the daylight faded, the air cooled, and the frogs and crickets began their nightly serenade. Then suddenly, a young mule deer buck jumped out from the brush and dashed into the forest, just a few yards from me. Later, I woke up around 2am and was amazed to see an absolutely spectacular black night sky, filled with billions upon billions of stars and the most beautiful view of the Milky Way Galaxy I had ever seen! (note: there was definitely no light pollution anywhere within a hundred miles) It was a night never to forget!
The next morning, I was up early in the chilly air (39 degrees), dressed quickly, and had a cinnamon oatmeal bar for breakfast. Then I headed back to the campground to find the trail leading to the summit of Selway Mountain and the old fire lookout tower where I had lived for eight weeks in the summer of 1966. After searching around the shore of the lake for a while, I finally found the trail, now just a faint “track” through the sagebrush. It wasn’t long before it turned into a very steep, unmaintained trail through the dense Lodgepole Pine forest – a lot steeper than I remembered, but I was surely in better shape 37 years ago! It was a long five and half miles, 3000 feet up the side of the mountain, and as I climbed along the ridge, the trees became shorter, until the landscape eventually became very rocky and pretty much just alpine tundra.
When I reached the 9,000 foot summit, many fond memories of my life on the old lookout tower flooded my mind. As I looked around, everything seemed just as I remembered it 37 years ago, except for one thing – my beloved old wooden tower was no longer there! It was in 1942 that the Forest Service built the 50 foot-high wooden tower on the 9,000 foot summit of Selway Mountain. It was staffed intermittently for 29 years, as needed during seasons of high fire danger. Finally, in 1976, it was demolished and burned, having been abandoned, along with a majority of the lookout towers , when the Forest Service began relying on aircraft for spotting fires.
Views from the summit extended 360 degrees, from the Pioneer Mountains 50 miles to the northeast, across the Big Hole Valley to the Anaconda-Pintler Range 70 miles to the north, the Bitteroot Range on the Montana-Idaho border, and 100 miles west to the jagged Lemhi Range in Idaho. Standing on the summit, it was easy to see why the Forest Service chose it for the site of a fire lookout tower – with wide vistas of southwest Montana.
All that remained of the tower were some charred pieces, and I scavenged a few “memoirs” – bits of glass, a small piece of the wooden door frame, and a steel latch bolt from the door. As I surveyed the scene, views of the distant mountains were once again familiar to me, but now, all that remained of the tower were memories that I will cherish forever. Living alone for eight weeks on top of the highest mountain around, in a 12 ft by 12 ft room, surrounded by large windows, with no electricity or running water, and only a wood cookstove, was one the best experiences of my life. Despite the basic facilities, I remembered the daily activities of chopping wood for the stove, hiking half a mile down the mountain to get water from a spring, listening to scores of radio stations throughout the country late in the evening, and reading a collection of old Life Magazines from the 1940’s that someone long before me had left in the tower. I had six visitors all summer, five of them on one day, but I was far from lonely. Another fond memory was the discovery of a copy of the “Lookout Cookbook” from 1954.
The recipes in the book were compiled by Forest Service wives and were designed to use primarily canned and dried foods, since few, if any Montana lookout towers in 1954 had any electricity or means of refrigeration. The variety of recipes was quite extensive and occupied over 60 pages. There were recipes for everything from breads, pies, and cakes to various meat dishes, soups, and sauces, as well as recipes for using leftovers. Included in the 75 page book were explanations of cooking terms, definitions of weights and measurements, guidelines for meal planning, and “helpful hints”. One of the most useful hints involved a technique for determining the oven temperature of a wood burning cook stove, without a thermometer. Instructions: set a flat pan sprinkled with flour in the oven for five minutes. If it becomes a delicate brown, the oven is “slow” [250 – 300]. If the flour turns a golden brown, the oven is “moderate” [350 – 400]. And a deep, dark brown means the oven is “hot” [400-450]. Of course, the next step was to try and “adjust” the temperature of the oven by adding or removing wood – easier said than done! Another helpful hint was “don’t put macaroni in cold water and allow to start cooking, because it will stick”. Then there was “tough meat may be made tender by pounding, slow cooking, or laying it in vinegar water”. And finally, this one was pretty important at times – “to get rid of ants, place lumps of camphor in their runways and near sweets infested with them”. Among the most unique and unusual dishes in the book was something known as “shipwreck”, a hearty stew of onions, potatoes, celery, canned meat, canned tomatoes, canned beans, and whatever spices and seasonings were on hand! Another popular dish was “scrapple”, a fried mixture of bacon, corn meal, onions, salt and pepper. The vast majority of recipes were for simple, traditional comfort food, and tailored to meals for one or two people. Since food supplies were delivered to the tower only every six weeks, one couldn’t just run down to the local grocery store if an ingredient was needed at the last minute!
After an appropriate time of remembrance on the summit, I began the long descent down the trail to the lake, and more adventures following in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark. From Reservoir Lake campground, I drove back down the rough gravel road and then west up to the summit of Lemhi Pass on the Continental Divide, where I found a beautiful, historic site that commemorated the discovery by Lewis and Clark of the “headwaters” of the Missouri River in the summer of 1805. But in reality, it was a small spring just a hundred yards below the pass, and barely wide enough to step across!
While it’s not the most distant source of the Missouri, it is certainly the westernmost. (The most distant source is a spring in the Centennial Valley below Red Rock Pass far to the east.) Upon reaching the summit of Lemhi Pass, I encountered a “living history” member of the National Park Service, dressed in clothing of the early 1800’s. He told me about the life and times of the Lewis and Clark expedition as they looked out to the west and discovered the waters that flowed to the Pacific Ocean – fascinating stories!
The 7,400 foot-high pass in the Beaverhead Mountains, part of the Bitterroot Range, gained importance in the 18th century when the local Shoshone tribe acquired horses and used the route to travel between the two main regions of their homeland, the present day states of Montana and Idaho. From the time of the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, until the Oregon Treaty with England in 1846, the pass marked the western boundary of the United States. When Lewis and Clark crossed the pass in August of 1805, they were the first white men to see present day Idaho. For many years it was known as “North Pass”, to distinguish it from “South Pass” in Wyoming. Its present name was derived from nearby Fort Lemhi, established by Mormon missionaries in 1855. During the mining era of the late 1800’s, the pass was used by stagecoaches, but the route was later abandoned in 1910 when the “Gilmore and Pittsburgh Railroad” laid track through nearby Bannock Pass to the south. However, the single-track dirt road across the pass still exists today, in much the same condition as in the past.
Meanwhile, modern heavy equipment worked nearby, maintaining the old road. Later, I descended the very steep mountain road to the tiny Native American village of Agency Creek, on the banks of the Lemhi River. Then I joined Idaho state highway 28 north to the small one store town of Tendoy, Idaho, near the historic site where Sacajawea was reunited with her brother, a chief of the local Shoshone tribe. (She had been captured by the Blackfeet nation several years earlier while on a buffalo hunt in Montana) As I continued north toward Salmon, Idaho, I stopped frequently to view the numerous historic exhibits recalling the experiences of Lewis and Clark, as well as the sad tale of the Nezperce tribe as they were forced from their homeland by the US Army in the late 1800’s. (Although they avoided capture for several years, they finally ended up being herded on to a reservation in Northeastern Washington state, far from their ancestral home.) All along the highway, I passed many large ranches harvesting immense fields of hay, in much the same manner as the ranchers in the Big Hole Valley on the other side of the rugged Bitterroot Mountains.
As I entered the town of Salmon, I discovered a really nice, new brewpub called “Bertrams”, which surprised me, being in such a small town, a hundred miles from the next largest town. I ordered a cold pint of their Pale Ale and a Monte Cristo sandwich (turkey, ham, and cheese on grilled egg battered bread) It was huge and came with a large garden salad of fresh greens and Huckleberry vinaigrette dressing – absolutely superb! As I pulled out of town and continued north, the temperature sign on the Idaho State Bank read a blistering 106 degrees – and yes, it felt hot! Further on, as I approached Lost Trail Pass, I encountered a Forest Service roadblock, due to several forest fires burning in the Bitterroot National Forest. It meant that all traffic had to follow a pilot car for more than 14 miles to the Idaho/Montana border. Once over the pass, the Bitterroot Valley was pretty much filled with smoke from the fires, and at times it blocked out the sun, almost turning day into night. At the small town of Granitesville, Montana I turned east on Forest Service road #38, up to Skahalko Pass, on my way to the copper capitol of Anaconda. Along the way, through lush pine forest of the Deerlodge National Forest, I suddenly came upon a couple of old bikers who were obviously in need of help. Their huge Harley and its trailer had slid off the road, most likely a result of the rough gravel. It was sitting at an awkward angle on the steep slope, and almost into the trees. The old grey bearded biker and his “mama” were unable to push the heavy bike up the slope and get it upright on the road again. So, I stopped to lend a hand, easier said than done – that bike was very heavy! (There was no way the two of them could have gotten it back on the road) Looking back on the situation, I was one of the very few vehicles on the road, so who knows how long they would have had to wait for help! Later in the afternoon, as I approached the old mining town of Anaconda, the landscape suddenly became treeless, a result of decades of disastrous effects from huge copper smelting operations. And strangely enough, several miles before entering the old town, the speed limit suddenly dropped from 75mph to 35mph, for no apparent reason, especially since I was almost alone on the highway! Once I got into the old town, I found it to be almost a “living” ghost town, with scores of empty, deserted buildings and houses. Yet evidence was everywhere that pointed to the importance of the town many decades earlier. Now it was only a lonely memory clinging to life – so sad to see. As I headed east out of town, I saw a gorgeous sunset behind me and the dark silhouette of the world’s tallest smokestack, clearly outlined against the deep orange glow of the sun! A short time later, I pulled into Butte and found a nice Red Lion Inn for the night.
The following morning, I visited the historic “Uptown District” of the city, where some of the beautiful old stone and red brick buildings were being faithfully restored. Basically, the whole town sat on a high hill, barren of any trees, and studded with the rusting remains of old, abandoned “headrigs” marking the site of dozens of old copper mine shafts. The city was also surrounded by massive open pit mines – needless to say, not a very scenic location. And yet, beautiful old Victorian houses from the 1800’s were scattered among crumbling old mining shacks – what a contrast! It had the appearance of an overgrown mining camp.
Among the most significant historic sites in Butte were three old railway stations that had been beautifully preserved from the era of elegant passenger rail travel. (Great Northern RR, Northern Pacific RR, Milwaukee Road RR) Another fascinating site of historical importance was the “World Museum of Mining”, an authentic re-creation of an old mining camp from the turn of the century, with lots of old mining equipment. It was located on the site of the recently closed “Orphan Girl Mine” – a real “gem” in Butte and well worth a visit.
Later, as I headed south out of town, I saw a huge roadside billboard promoting “Evil Knieval Daze”, a local festival honoring their hometown son. Then, I drove down to Dillon and made a short stop at the Dillon Ranger Station to enquire about the story behind the demolition of Selway Mountain Lookout. But there was no one now working at the station who was around at that time, so they had no information to share, sad to say. Several miles south of Dillon, I turned on to a narrow, winding gravel road leading up Medicine Lodge Creek and down Big Sheep Creek. It was a beautiful, but lonely drive, with spectacular views of the rugged Centennial Mountains.
Eventually the road lead me over Bannock Pass and the Continental Divide once again, to the small town of Dubois, Idaho – home of the National Sheep Research Station. East of Dubois was the lovely resort town of Island Park, on the shore of Henry’s Lake, in the shadow of the magnificent Teton Mountains. After a short stop for photos, I headed north over Targhee Pass (and the Continental Divide once more) toward West Yellowstone, Montana. The highway followed the shoreline of Hebgen Lake, which was formed over 50 years earlier as a result of an enormous earthquake that dammed the Madison River. A few miles from West Yellowstone, I saw a sign for cabins at the Bar N Ranch, so I decided to investigate lodging for the night. What I discovered was a huge, gorgeous log ranch house, along with a half dozen rustic log cabins along the shore of a small lake. An old cowboy showed me one of the cabins, beautifully furnished with Southwest Indian artwork – perfect for the night.
However, the ranch did not accept payment by credit card, so I had to drive 6 miles into West Yellowstone to get cash from an ATM. (But it was definitely worth it) The next day I went into Yellowstone National Park and hiked part of the North Rim Trail above the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone River. The views of Upper Yellowstone Falls were nothing less than spectacular!
Then, as I drove north to Mammoth Hot Springs, I saw an abundance of wildlife – Elk, Bison, Osprey, Eagle, Whooping Crane, Black Bear, and Marmot. The days were very warm (85 – 90 degrees), but nights were quite cool (38 – 40 degrees).
The sight of Mammoth Hot Springs was absolutely incredible, with the waters being every color of the rainbow! (“spectacular” hardly did them justice!) The site is actually a large complex of many hot springs that were created over thousands of years as the hot water cooled and deposited calcium carbonate, at a rate of two tons per day! The source of the hot water, several thousand feet below the surface, travels to the surface via a major fault line that runs through a massive layer of limestone. The superheated water emerges at a temperature of around 170 degrees. Along the edges of the hot pools, various species of algae flourish, tinting the water brilliant colors of brown, orange, red, blue, and green. Over millennia, as the thermal source of the springs slowly migrated north, the deposits of calcium carbonate formed travertine terraces, one of the most striking features of Mammoth Hot Springs! As evening approached, I headed back to my cabin at the Bar N Ranch, and sat outside on the patio overlooking the lake, with a cold glass of local Yellowstone Pale Ale. The night sky was filled with billions of stars and the Milky Way, as a beautiful “Harvest Moon” slowly rose above the Madison Mountains to the north.
As I sat quietly, the distant sound of Whooping Cranes reached my ear, and at the same time, I suddenly became aware of something “swooping” past me in the night. It wasn’t long before I realized that I was being surrounded by bats as they were feeding on flying insects around the lake! Later, I saw hundreds of swallows nesting in the eaves of the lodge – they also helped control the mosquito population around the lake. The next morning, I had a huge “cowboy breakfast” in the lodge before heading back to Bozeman airport for my return flight home. It was a lovely drive following the Gallatin River under bright, sunny skies and surrounded by rugged peaks of the Absaroka Mountains. There were lots of fly fishermen trying their luck to land a large Golden Trout, for which the rivers of Southwest Montana are justly famous. I had time to pay a short visit to the Missouri Headwaters State Park near Three Forks, Montana. In July of 1805, the Lewis and Clark expedition camped at the site on their historic journey to find the source of the Missouri River. They were very likely the first white men to enter the region.
Faced with the junction of three different rivers, they were uncertain as to which of the “forks” to follow. But after some discussion, they decided to explore the southwestern most branch, known to the Shoshone tribe as the “Beaverhead River”. Eventually it would lead them to a small spring near Lemhi Pass on the Continental Divide. Later, their decision not to name the Beaverhead River the Missouri, raised debate about which was the longest river in North America. Although the Missouri and Mississippi were almost identical in length, the Mississippi was a few miles longer. Had the Beaverhead River been named the Missouri, it would have won the debate! Ironically, Lewis and Clark thought they had discovered the ultimate source of the Missouri below Lemhi Pass, but they had only discovered the western most point. The most distant source was actually much further east at the headwaters of the Red Rock River, around 8,000 feet elevation in the Centennial Mountains of southwestern Montana.
From the state park, I drove to the Bozeman airport and checked in for the Delta flight to Salt Lake City and onward to Ontario airport. As I reclined in my First Class seat and sipped a chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I looked back on two weeks of fun and adventure in two very different and unique regions of America. I returned home with a wealth of fascinating travel stories and amazing photos to share with family and friends. Such is the lure and pleasure of travel that I enjoy so much! And I hope you have enjoyed the trip with me.
Following another successful User Conference in July of 2003, I embarked on my annual post-conference vacation. This year I decided to combine a visit to Arkansas, a state which I had only seen on the map, with a trip back to one of my favorite places in the country, southwestern Montana. My journey began with a 5:00 am limo ride to Ontario Airport for a 6:30 am flight to Salt Lake City. My driver, Keith, drove the almost empty freeway at 85 – 90 mph, and he was very proud of the fact that his 1998 Lincoln Town Car had over 533,000 miles on it, with no major breakdowns. Despite the fact, that I arrived at the airport over an hour before departure, the lines for baggage check and security were incredibly long and slow, due mainly to a large tour group traveling to Seattle to join an Alaskan cruise. I ended up getting to the gate with only five minutes to spare! From Salt Lake, I flew to Dallas and along the way, enjoyed a delicious cold plate lunch of grilled chicken, Portobello mushroom, eggplant, and pasta. I spent four hours in the Delta Airlines Crown Room at DFW before boarding the flight to Little Rock. As it turned out, the flight was seriously overbooked, so I volunteered to take an American Airlines flight an hour later for $200 in compensation. (Ironically, the American flight was also overbooked, but this time I did not volunteer!)
After arriving in Little Rock, I picked up a rental car and headed downtown to find the historic “Capitol Hotel”. After searching high and low along the full length of West Markham Street, I was surprised to discover that the street suddenly became 3rd Street for 2 blocks, before returning to West Markham Street a block further north! But when I finally arrived at the hotel, I found it to be a beautiful, old late 1800’s pink granite building – classic splendor!
By this time, dinner called and I went to the Capitol Bar and Grill, wonderfully preserved in the elegant style of 1880. My server highly recommended the grilled pork tenderloin au poivre, served with a brandy demi-glaze, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh steamed local vegetables. Dinner was absolutely excellent, along with a cold pint of local “Boulevard Pale Ale”!
I was up early the next morning to visit the Arkansas State Historical Museum, which included a guided tour of three original houses from the early 1800’s.
The first house had also been the first printing shop west of the Mississippi. As we entered the old house, we encountered a large, young black slave, bound in chains. He asked why we had come, since his master was not at home. Then he told us the story of his escape and subsequent capture, following the printing of a notice offering a $50 reward for his return. (He also read the notice to us!) In reality, he turned out to be a local actor who had just received an invitation to join the company of the musical “Chicago” – in Chicago! He was very excited – it was a role far removed from that of his “living history” role in the museum. Then he explained that in the old print shop, the “capitol” letters were stored in the upper wooden cases and the small letters were stored in the lower wooden cases – hence, the origin of “uppercase” and “lowercase” on our computers today! In the merchant’s house next door, our guide explained the origin of the traditional children’s game called “Pop goes the Weasel”. In the past, the task of rolling up a skein of wool on the spinning wheel was given to the children. It took 40 revolutions of the wheel to make one skein. But since the children often lost track of counting as the wheel spun, a wooden “counter” was installed that made a popping sound when the wheel had turned 40 times. And being that the spinning wheel was known as the “weasel”, the sound of the counter became “Pop goes the Weasel”! As we entered the third house, our guide pointed out a large mirror built into an old wooden coat rack in the hallway. The bottom of the mirror sat just 6 inches above the floor. Then she explained the purpose of the mirror, which enabled women to check their feet before leaving the house, to ensure that their petticoats were long enough to cover their ankles – hence the origin of the phrase “Mind your P’s and Q’s”! Later in the afternoon, I encountered the ban on sales of alcohol on Sundays in Arkansas, even though the supermarket shelves were fully stocked! And to make the issue even more strange, exceptions were made for restaurants and hotel room service, but not bars! That evening, I dined in the Capitol Hotel, and once again enjoyed a fantastic dinner. I began with a bowl of delicious “five onion soup” topped with melted Gouda cheese, followed by the “Asian Special” – thin strips of beef, grilled shrimp, and filet of Grouper in a light, flaky pastry shell, along with a savory Teriyaki ginger sauce, white rice, and steamed vegetables. It was fabulous, and not what I expected to find in Arkansas ! Back in my hotel room, as I watched the local TV channel, an advertisement aired for a furniture store in Fort Smith. The store owner came on the screen to promote his special deals and ended with the line “… and you’ll have more fun here than a fat man locked in a donut shop!” Doesn’t get much more “local” than that.
The next day I checked out of the hotel and drove southeast to Pine Bluff where I discovered the Arkansas State Railroad Museum and the “Gilford Wheel Services Company” that repaired and resurfaced railroad car wheels for many private railroad car owners across the country. The large museum occupied the former “Cotton Belt” railroad (St Louis & Southwestern Railroad) yard and maintenance shops, which had closed in 1992. The museum was most famous for having the last steam locomotive built by the “Cotton Belt” in 1943 and restored to operation in 1986. The old repair shops had preserved the massive overhead cranes and tools used for servicing heavy railroad cars and equipment, including a huge transfer table that was used to move the massive steam locomotives around the shops.
In addition to more than 50 vintage locomotives and railroad cars, there was a very interesting exhibit about the origin of the Cotton Belt Railroad. It had begun as a small short line railroad in Tyler, Texas in 1877, and eventually gobbled up over 17 other small railroads in eastern Texas, northern Arkansas and southern Missouri before being taken over by the Southern Pacific Railroad. From the railroad museum, I drove downtown and discovered a fascinating collection of 12 huge murals depicting the history of the town and the surrounding region. There were beautiful, colorful painted scenes of activity on the riverfront during the late 1800’s, a view of the Main Street from 1888, and a scene from the history of the timber industry. But the most unusual and fascinating mural was that of native son and filmmaker Freeman Owens, who changed the movie making industry forever when he perfected the process of putting sound on film for the Eastman Kodak company.
A historical monument near the Jefferson County Courthouse detailed the story of the old town when it was a thriving port on the Arkansas River, which saw large steamships transporting cotton and rice downriver to New Orleans. But today, those shipments go by rail and the old port is just a faded memory preserved by one of the large murals. From Pine Bluff, I headed north to Stuttgart, Augusta, and Batesville, passing huge fields of rice, corn, sorghum, and cotton. Along the way, I spotted quite a bit of wildlife, including black vultures, white egrets, coyote, and even a couple of Armadillo, who were unfortunately the victims of road kill! As I drove through many small towns along highway 79, I passed old, dilapidated downtowns that had long since died out as people had migrated to larger towns, and businesses had relocated to shopping malls outside of town. It was sad to see what surely had once been lively towns that are now just names on the map. Lovely old buildings stood vacant and decaying, awaiting the wrecking ball, or perhaps a new life someday. As the day approached late afternoon, heavy dark clouds began to appear, signaling the inevitable thunderstorms that characterize mid-summer weather in the South.
With them, the thunderstorms brought a temporary cooling relief from the oppressive heat and humidity of the day. So they were welcome, unless of course, a tornado or two should happen to join the storms! That evening I found a nice room at the “Dogwood Motel” on the edge of town. As I walked around the town, I discovered that it was the oldest town in Arkansas, having been the first territorial capital. It had also become an important port on the White River and a gateway to the Ozark Mountain region to the northwest.
The next morning, heavy thunderstorms lingered, before eventually yielding the day to sunshine. At least the weather was noticeably cooler, but still quite humid. Leaving Batesville, I made my way to the tiny town of Cave City, and as I entered the town, there was a huge sign on the side of the road that read “Home of the World’s Sweetest Watermelons”! Further down Main Street, I spotted a very strange and unique looking motel, the “Crystal River Cave Tourist Motor Lodge”, built of rock from the cave located near the center of town.
The cave, which was formed by the Crystal River, had served as a veritable “town refrigerator” where local people stored their milk, butter, and produce. Apparently, various attempts had been made to explore the cave to determine the origin of the Crystal River that flowed under the town. While no one has ever been able to show where the river begins and eventually ends, it’s said that the river rises and falls with the level of the Mississippi River, more than 150 miles away! These days, Cave City is most famous for the annual Watermelon Festival in July. Beyond Cave City was the old town of Newark, once the county seat, but now virtually deserted, except for a couple of old red brick buildings on Front Street, and a huge grain terminal alongside the tracks of the Union Pacific Railroad. The next community I came to on state highway 14 was the old village of Jacksonport, with its historic red brick county courthouse dating back to 1872. At that time, the town was an important steamboat stop and trading center at the confluence of the White River and Black River, until it was bypassed by the Iron Mountain and Southern Railroad in 1890. But the most memorable historic site in town was the old sternwheel steamboat named the “Mary Woods No.2”. She carried passengers and cargo up and down the river from 1831 well into the 1960’s, before being retired and opened as a museum in 1976.
Leaving Jacksonport, I followed state highway 14, parallel to the White River, through many small towns, with curious names like Oil Trough, Pleasant Valley, and Evening Shade. And along the way, I went from a dry county to a wet county and back to dry again! Just outside the small town of Mountain View, on my way to the Ozark Folk Center State Park, I spotted a large billboard on the side of the road that was quite a curiosity. On it was a picture of a bag of chewing tobacco named “Stench”, side by side with a pack of cigarettes named “Fool”. And in big bold letters above them was the title “Dumb and Dumber” – sponsored by the Stone County Health Department. Gradually I began the slow ascent into the Ozark Mountains of northern Arkansas and the Ozark – St Francis National Forest.
There I found the Ozark Folk Center State Park and the Dry Creek Lodge, a beautiful old log structure that looked like it had been built from the surrounding forest. Luckily I was able to book a room in the lodge, and then I grabbed my camera to take photos of the traditional mountain arts and crafts being demonstrated by local artisans in the adjacent village. It was fascinating to watch and listen as the artisans and craftsmen worked in the same way and with the same tools and materials as their ancestors had done 150 years earlier.
As evening approached, I headed to the “Iron Skillet Restaurant” in the lodge for a huge traditional southern dinner, that included two thick slabs of salt-cured ham, beans, mashed potatoes and white gravy. As I savored the delicious meal, I watched a host of wild critters outside the window – squirrels, chipmunks, hummingbirds, doves, cardinals, and one incredibly fat woodchuck! That evening, after dinner, I sat outside on my balcony in the warm summer night, listening to the crickets, and watching a skunk prowling around the edge of the forest in search of food. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of homemade biscuits and sausage gravy, a southern tradition, I headed north to Blanchard Springs Cavern. There I joined a small tour group, lead by a Ranger from the Ozark National Forest, and followed him into several huge underground rooms, whose ceilings were covered in beautiful “drapery” limestone formations.
Apparently, the cavern was only recently discovered, so much of it remained unexplored. Continuing west on state highway 14, I passed “Branscum’s Grocery Store” in the tiny village of “Fifty-Six, Arkansas”. It seems the town’s name originated from the number of its school district when the US Post Office was established there.
Further on there were very impressive views of the rocky bluffs rising several hundred feet above the White River near the old town of Calico Rock. The town was once a bustling steamboat landing and railroad junction in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. But those days had disappeared, leaving it a very quiet shadow of its former self.
As I continued west through the heart of the Ozark Mountains, I passed several small settlements with some odd names, like “Flippin”, “Yellville”, and “Blue Eye”, before coming to the spectacular Buffalo National River. It was over 150 miles long, with a steep gradient and fast water, bordered on both sides by 500 foot high sandstone bluffs, making it very challenging and exciting for white water enthusiasts.
The area, managed by the US Forest Service and the National Park Service, spanned four counties in northern Arkansas. Portions of the region had also been designated as wilderness area. It was the nation’s first National River and remains a true gem in the state, that almost became flooded by two proposed US Army Corps of Engineers dams in 1972. Northwest of the river I came to the fabled town of “Dogpatch, Arkansas”, where the post office had closed many years before, as had virtually everything else in town, including the crumbling remains of the “Dogpatch USA” theme park! (which at one time had grand dreams of being the Disneyland of the south!) As I looked around at what was left of Dogpatch, I remembered the time when I worked at the Republic Ranger District on the Colville National Forest in northeastern Washington State. While I was there, I had supervised some tree thinning projects being done by a family from Dogpatch. (I still have the letter from them with the postmark from Dogpatch!) So, yes, Dogpatch does/did exist. Later that afternoon, I drove to Petit Jean State Park and the beautiful Mather Lodge, situated on the edge of a thousand foot high escarpment, overlooking the spectacular Arkansas River.
The name of the state park originated from the legend of a young 18th century French woman who disguised herself as a boy in order to find a position as a cabin boy on a ship sailing to the Louisiana Territory. Once the ship’s crew had reached the upper portion of the Arkansas River, she became very ill, and on her deathbed she revealed her true identity to her fiancé whom she had tried unsuccessfully to join earlier on the voyage. By her last request, she was buried on the top of the bluff under the name she had been given on board ship, “Petit Jean”, meaning “Little John”. That evening I was able to book one of the rustic cabins near the lodge, which had been built of local river rock and stone in the 1930’s by the Civilian Conservation Corps. I spent a lovely, quiet evening sitting on the porch of the cabin, as the music of the crickets filled the air and the light of the fireflies illuminated the dark sky. The following morning, I hiked to the Cedar Falls Overlook for a beautiful view of the water tumbling over 120 feet into the river below. From there I drove to “Stout’s Point” on the top of the bluff, with sweeping views of the river and the entire valley over a thousand feet below.
Nearby was the gravesite of Petit Jean and views of Mount Magazine in the distance, Arkansas’s highest point at 2,753 feet. As I admired the spectacular view, I had to admit that I had not expected to see this kind of magnificent landscape in Arkansas. Later in the morning, I headed west into the foothills of the Ozark Mountains, where I discovered several old vineyards, some dating back to the mid-1800’s. Just outside the small town of Altus was the “Chateau Aux Arc Vineyard”, where a Swiss family had been making wine from the native “Cynthiana” grape for generations! It was here that I came to realize the origin of the name Ozark, which comes from the literal pronunciation of the French term “Aux Arc”, meaning “Big Bend” – the name the early French explorers gave to the distinctive bend in the Arkansas River. The French were among the first European explorers in Arkansas and Louisiana, which accounts for the abundance of French names of places in the state. Further to the southwest, on my way to Fort Smith, I traveled through a small portion of eastern Oklahoma and the Ouachita Mountains.
It was a lovely landscape of high rolling hills and dense deciduous forest, mixed with large expanses of beautiful meadows – all part of the Ouachita National Forest. Later in the afternoon, I crossed back into Arkansas and came to Mount Magazine State Park, the state’s highest point. There were some spectacular views of the river from the high bluffs, a popular site for hang gliders.
That evening I found a nice old hotel in Van Buren, across the river from Fort Smith, and as I searched for a place to have dinner in Fort Smith, I was pleasantly surprised to find a large number of tasty oriental restaurants. There was everything from Chinese and Japanese to Thai, Malaysian, and even an Indonesian restaurant.
The next morning, I walked around the historic downtown area of Van Buren along Main Street, from the old “Frisco” Railroad Depot (St Louis & San Francisco Railroad) down to the riverfront.
At one point, I came across the old “Anheuser-Busch Brewery” building, where the company name was still inscribed in the floor tile at the entrance. By this time, I was ready for breakfast, and as luck would have it, I was standing across the street from the “Cottage Café”. As I entered the small café, it was very obvious that it was a “local” favorite. Even before I sat down at the vintage counter, I was greeted by a mother and daughter waitressing team with “have a seat hon”. They were a couple of “brassy, bleached blondes”, who smoked constantly and called everyone “hon”, regardless of gender. It was a classic local diner, and the huge portions of country ham, eggs, homemade biscuits, red eye gravy, home fries, and coffee were delicious – and kept me going for the entire day! After a huge breakfast from the bleached blondes, I bought a ticket on the historic “Arkansas and Missouri Railroad” for a trip through part of western Arkansas and the Ozark National Forest to the small town of Winslow, a distance of 70 miles.
During the scenic journey, the onboard crew entertained us with many interesting stories and fascinating local history. The train made a short stop in Winslow at the Chester Railway Hotel, where our guide told us about a ghost in room number 4, who was a man locked out of his room late at night over 100 years ago, after having drunk too much at the saloon on a frigid winter night. Apparently, as a result, he froze to death that night, and it was rumored that if you booked room number 4, your blankets would often be pulled off in the middle of the night! On the return trip, I spotted a lot of deer grazing at the edge of the forest, and at one point, the train crossed three old wooden trestles, one of which was over 700 feet long and 125 feet high, before entering the ¾ mile long Winslow Tunnel. All in all, it was a very interesting and scenic journey on a historic old railroad. After returning to Van Buren, I drove south on US Highway 71 and state highway 270, through the beautiful Ouachita National Forest, to the tiny town of Pencil Bluff. According to historical accounts, the town started out as two small towns by the names of White City and Sock City before merging into the present-day community. Apparently, the origin of the name Sock City came from the fact that men often hid money in their socks when they went to play poker at the local saloon. The town sat at the foot of a high bluff overlooking the Ouachita River. Leaving town, I continued southeast on a narrow country road into the backwoods of Arkansas, near the town of Cherry Hill, and then on to Polk County Road 67, a gravel road that crossed over the Ouachita River. Suddenly, I came upon a large flock of Wild Turkeys beside the road, as well as an old dog lying smack in the middle of the road and totally ignoring me!
Eventually I made my way northeast, passing through the village of “Caddo Springs”, in the “Caddo River Valley”, the names of which derive from a misspelling of the French word “Caddeaux”, meaning gift. It was another of the many misspellings of French words in Arkansas, the pronunciation of which were very much French, despite the misspelling. (A fascinating historical aspect of my journey through the state of Arkansas)
Finally, I arrived in the historic tourist destination of “Hot Springs National Park”, a popular spot for both American and European visitors in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. I was able to book one of the last available rooms at the historic, grand old “Majestic Hotel”, not far from the famous “Bath House Row”. (on a sad note, the Majestic Hotel was destroyed by fire and demolished in 2016)
Although the National Park was established in 1921, one of the nation’s oldest, the region of Hot Springs had been used for therapeutic baths by the indigenous people for over 8,000 years. Geologically, the springs water originates from rainfall in the surrounding mountains, which seeps very slowly through sandstone at a rate of about one foot per year, to a depth of almost 7,500 feet below the surface, a trip that takes about 4,000 years! At that depth, the water encounters rock heated by the earth’s core. Then the heated water begins to rise along fault zones, as a result of artesian pressure, to emerge at the surface as hot (140 – 150 degrees) spring water containing a wide variety of dissolved minerals – a pleasant tasting solution, mildly alkaline composition of mostly Calcium Carbonate. Legend has it that the Spanish explorer Hernando De Soto received a gift of the healing water from the local Quapaw tribe in 1541.
Beginning in the mid-1800’s and into the early 1900’s, several large, elegant “bath houses” were built over the hot springs to offer treatments for a wide variety of diseases of the skin and blood, nervous affections, rheumatism, and “various diseases of women”! Later, during the height of popularity for “seeking the waters” in the 1930’s, many “modern” therapeutic treatments were introduced, often under the supervision of a physician. These new treatments included being placed in a steam box, a German “needle shower”, and something called a “Scotch Douche”. (a needle shower surrounds the body with a strong spray of water from dozens of very small nozzles, whereas the Scotch Douche involves strong jets of alternating hot and cold water) During my tour of the National Park Visitor Center Museum, some of the “equipment” used for these treatments bordered on resembling instruments of torture during the Spanish Inquisition!
Often, the “treatments” would take several weeks, consisting of daily baths and therapy. The bath houses remained racially segregated until the Civil Rights Movement of the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. Today, only two of the old, original bath houses are still operating – the Buckstaff and the Quapaw. The remaining bath houses have been renovated and repurposed as the Visitor Center/Museum, a Contemporary Art Museum, and even a craft brewery/restaurant. So Hot Springs has changed a great deal over the past century, but it remains active and a popular tourist destination. After a short walk down the “Grand Promenade”, I went back to the hotel for dinner in “Grady’s Bar and Grill”. The filet mignon, grilled rare and served in a wild mushroom ragout, was truly incredible, along with a glass of “Chateau Aux Arc Cabernet Sauvignon”. And the “Louisiana Bread Pudding” in Bourbon sauce was an outstanding finish to a wonderful dinner. But later that night, I was rudely awakened at 2:30am by the loud noise from a TV blaring at full volume in the room next door. After repeated knocking on the door and three phone calls to the room, there was no response! Finally, I went down to the front desk and requested the assistance of hotel security. They unlocked the room and found no one there – unbelievable! As I checked out in the morning, I hung the “Make Up My Room Early” sign on their door, silently bid them farewell, and wished them a lousy day! Then I took a long leisurely walk along the “Grand Promenade”, past many of the old hot spring bath houses, most of which had been closed for many years.
However, the National Park Service had restored the “Fourdyce Bath House”, one of the most classic and luxurious of all the old bath houses and developed it as a Visitor Center/Museum. I had arrived just in time to join a tour lead by one of the Park Rangers. During the tour, she explained the unique geological conditions that yield the constant flow of hot spring water that made the town a mecca for people from all over the world seeking to “take the waters”. The bath house was divided into separate areas for men and women, although both had the same equipment and services. She also pointed out some of the really weird “instruments” that were used for “therapy”. In the main rooms were beautiful stained-glass windows and skylights that illuminated the brilliant white marble floors and walls.
All too soon, it was time to leave Hot Springs and head to the Little Rock airport to catch my flight to Montana, and the beginning of the second leg of my journey. Along the way, I had time to briefly visit “Toltec Mounds State Park”, where huge earthen mounds were burial and ceremonial sites dating from 400BC. Several of the mounds were located so as to mark the dates of the summer and winter solstice. It was a short but fascinating look at Native American history and culture in Arkansas. Upon reaching the airport, it was a quick and easy check in for the flight to Dallas, so I had time for a cold glass of local “Diamond Bear Blonde Ale” in the Delta Airlines Crown Room before boarding was called. Arriving in Dallas, I waited in the Crown Room and watched TV as Lance Armstrong won his 5th straight Tour de France. As he was cycling through cold, pouring rain in France, it was very hot, muggy 100 degrees outside in Dallas! On the flight to Salt Lake City, my seatmate was a man from Montgomery, Alabama on his way to Edmonton, Alberta to oversee the installation of new carbon bearings in an oil rig. I had a short break in the Salt Lake airport Crown Room, before boarding my final flight to Bozeman, Montana, where I arrived just before midnight. I picked up my Hertz rental car just minutes before their office closed for the night! To my surprise, they handed me the keys to a brand new, bright red Ford Expedition – not exactly the “mid-size” SUV I had reserved. But it drove very well, though it “felt” huge! Then I checked into a nice room at the Holiday Inn and settled in for the rest of the night. Tomorrow I would begin the second week of my vacation in southwestern Montana. [Stay Tuned!]
[June 1985] My first trip was in June of 1985 at the conclusion of my first software training class for Esri in Washington, DC. Having spent two long, exhausting weeks conducting training for the US Geological Survey, I was really looking forward to a short vacation. Back in 1975, when Marion and I arrived in the States from England, we spent a few days in New York with her long-time family friends Rolf and Vickie. They had invited us to visit them at their summer home in Bermuda, and at last, I had the opportunity to accept their invitation, although it was ten years later. An invitation to stay with a resident of Bermuda is very special, since accommodations on the island are quite limited. The day after my training class ended, I was up early at 5am for the flight to Boston and on to Bermuda. That afternoon, I arrived in Bermuda to find hot, sunny, humid weather, typical for the island in the summer. After passing through Customs and Immigration, I was met outside the terminal by Rolf, dressed in a white linen suit and tropical pith helmet – looking very “official”! We drove to his home, at the island wide speed limit of 25mph, and arrived at “Fiddler’s Roost”, the name given to the estate by Rolf. It was a gorgeous white washed Spanish Colonial style house located near the summit of Knapton Hill overlooking the sea – with spectacular views! It had thick stone walls, marble floors, lots of French doors opening on to several terraces and patios, and high ceilings of beautiful Cedar beams. It surrounded a lovely pool and colorful tropical garden – such a marvelous, peaceful, and relaxed setting, almost idyllic!
Later in the day I joined Vickie as she took her daughter to the airport for the return flight to New York. On the way back to Fiddler’s Roost, we took a short tour of St. George’s, a classic English style village, established in 1609 as Bermuda’s first capitol. Most of the buildings in the old village were painted beautiful pastel colors, with white washed roofs, on narrow cobble stone streets having curious old English names, like “Auntie Peggy’s Lane” and “Needle and Thread Alley”. The town square had been restored to its original condition when whalers had visited the island in the 17th and 18th centuries. In addition, St. Catherine’s Fort and St. David’s Lighthouse were preserved from the same era. Touring the old village was like stepping back in time!
Then we picked up Rolf’s nephew Oliver and his Irish girlfriend “George” (Georgina) at the Club Med. As we drove back home, we passed countless mopeds and bicycles, but few cars, primarily because the number of cars allowed on the is strictly regulated. According to Vickie, it could take 2 – 3 years to obtain a permit for a car. Needless to say, there were no rental car companies on the island, but plenty of places to rent mopeds and bicycles. Along the way, we also passed a large US Naval Air Station – must be a pretty tough duty station! (Although locals refer to the “island”, Bermuda is actually a collection of several small ancient volcanic islands connected by causeways, enabling one to drive the entire “country”) Late in the afternoon, there were a few tropical showers, but by evening, the cool air from the ocean was perfect for a leisurely supper of cold meats, fresh fruit, and warm crusty French bread. As we sat on the terrace overlooking the sea, the sweet fragrance of Honeysuckle and Jasmine drifted around us on a gentle breeze. Such a peaceful, relaxed feeling surrounded us in the garden, under the light of a full moon. That night, I lay in bed listening to the soft chirping of the tree frogs and the rush of wind in the trees – a timeless moment!
The next morning, I awoke to a beautiful, sunny day and joined everyone for breakfast beside the pool. Later, Rolf drove me down to “Devil’s Hole Cycles” to rent a moped so I could explore the island on my own. Driving on the left was a bit scary for the first 20 minutes or so, but with everyone going only 25 mph, it soon became easy and enjoyable. In the afternoon, I drove into Hamilton, the main town of Bermuda, bustling with activity. There were hundreds of mopeds, and a lot of businessmen dressed in coat, tie and “Bermuda shorts” – so classic and very British. Moored in the harbor were two huge cruise ships, preparing to “unleash” their cargo of thousands of tourists upon the town. I did some shopping among the mostly British stores and stopped in a local pub for a cold Ginger beer. Then I boarded the ferry for a short trip across the bay to the small town of Somerset. The journey followed a scenic route through several small islands, on some of which were beautiful homes overlooking the bay. Once I arrived in Somerset village, I decided to have lunch at the “Country Squire”, a lovely outdoor café on the shore of the bay. Scores of multi-colored sailboats and yachts were anchored in the bay, shimmering in the warm mid-day sunshine, surrounded by clear, aquamarine water.
After lunch, I walked to Cambridge Beach, a gorgeous arc of pink sand and crystal clear blue water. Beautiful tropical flowers of red, purple, and yellow lined the edge of the beach.
Back in the village, I stopped at a small shop called “Trimingham’s” to purchase a gift for Rolf and Vickie, a replica of the “Sea Venture” – a ship that was bound for Jamestown, Virginia in 1609. However, it encountered a severe storm at sea and wrecked on the coast of St. George’s Island, and from this accident came the first European settlement of Bermuda. On my way back to Hamilton, I took the “back roads” for mopeds only. The route passed many beautiful bays and beaches along the south shore of the island, where waves of brilliant aquamarine water crashed upon soft pink sand beaches, in long, frothy white crests – some of the most beautiful beaches as I’ve seen anywhere! I stopped to visit “Gibb’s Hill Lighthouse”, located on the highest point of the island. I climbed the 189 steps of the old spiral staircase to the top, where I met the lighthouse keeper. As I walked around the narrow catwalk, the views of the entire island (aka country) were spectacular.
Upon returning to Knapton Estate, I joined Oliver and Georgina in the pool, to cool off in the hot, humid weather. Later, as evening approached, Rolf invited Oliver and me to join him in his study as he listened to the daily financial report on BBC World Service radio. The world’s metal prices were of particular interest to Rolf and Oliver, as they trade in concentrated ore futures. Afterwards, with cold drinks in hand, we all sat down to dinner, a local chicken and rice dish that was a specialty of Bermuda. Dinner was a special affair as we sat around the table, overlooking the ocean, sharing stories and adventures. With the sun slowly setting and a cool evening breeze softly brushing past us, it was a most relaxing dinner. And as the evening progressed, we all moved out to the terrace for coffee and dessert by candlelight. Looking upon the sea, the moonlight “shimmered” across the water, and the little tree frogs kept us company as we talked about many current topics – everything from world politics and the arms race to life’s most embarrassing moments. Finally, the gentle evening breeze from the moonlit sea, rocked me to sleep in my room.
The following morning, I awoke to sunshine streaming through the open bedroom window, along with a fresh ocean breeze. Breakfast was fresh papaya and lime beside the pool with Rolf and Vickie. As we basked in the warm tropical sun, little multi-colored lizards scampered among the plants in the garden. Finally, it came the time to pack my bags and reluctantly take a long, last look at the brilliant blue sea and the beautiful tropical flowers. I said my farewells to Oliver and Georgina , as they lay on their air mattresses in the pool.
Vickie drove me to the airport, past a stunning landscape of deep blue lagoons and bright pastel pink houses. All too soon, I was aboard a new Delta Airlines L1011 aircraft bound for Atlanta. As the huge jet lifted off and I gazed upon the islands, surrounded by the azure blue sea, I knew would return someday soon.
[May 1988] My second trip to Bermuda came in 1988 after a hectic business trip to Huntsville, Alabama. Early in the morning, after returning home from Huntsville the day before, I was aboard a Delta flight to Boston. Since I arrived after the only daily flight from Boston to Bermuda, I spent the night at the Logan Airport Hilton Hotel. The next morning, I boarded the Delta flight to Bermuda, not yet having heard from Rolf or Vickie. I suspected they were still at their home in Scarsdale, New York. When I arrived in Bermuda, I called their home and received the message that they indeed were in New York and not expected to be in Bermuda until the day after my departure from the island – unfortunately bad timing! So I checked with the “Accommodations Bureau” at the airport and was able to book a nice room at the “Serenity Guest House” in the village of Paget, on one of the south shore beaches. After a short taxi ride, I checked into the guest house and then grabbed my camera for a day of exploring the island. I soon discovered a beautiful, lonely trail that followed the path of the old, abandoned “Bermuda Railway”. It originally ran from one end of the country to the other, some 50 years ago. Hiking along the trail, I was able to see some of the more remote parts of the island that tourists rarely see.
At one point I left the trail and walked down to Warwick Long Bay Beach, the longest, and regarded by many, as the most beautiful beach. I took off my hiking boots and strolled along the beach, the warm sand and cool water making for a very pleasant experience. Later, as evening approached, I went for dinner at the “Sea Horse Grill” in the nearby “Elbow Beach Hotel”. The fresh grilled shrimp salad was delicious as I sat on the terrace overlooking the ocean and the beach below. The hotel was among the earliest to be built in Bermuda, and remains a stunning structure of old local limestone, atop the cliff above Elbow Beach. After dinner, I went to the “Sea Horse Pub” in the hotel for a cold gin tonic and listened to a very funny British performer singing “rude” songs that delighted the older folks in the audience. On the way back to the guest house, I picked a few flowers to freshen up my room.
The next morning, I arose rather late, most likely due to my biological clock being 4 hours behind the Atlantic time zone. I spent most of the day in Hamilton, exploring the shops and galleries. For lunch, I stopped at the “Cock and Feather Pub”, where I enjoyed a delicious local, spicy fish stew, as I sat at a table overlooking Hamilton’s main street.
Meanwhile, several colorfully decorated horse-drawn carriages passed by, carrying their tourist guests from the huge cruise ships docked in the harbor. Returning to the guest house that evening, I walked over to the Elbow Beach Hotel for another delicious dinner of fresh grilled fish, followed by a drink in the Sea Horse Bar. Early the next morning, I hiked another section of the Railway Trail to Hodson’s Ferry, by way of Tribe Road #4 and Chapel Road. Along the trail I passed through large expanses of gorgeous blue Morning Glory and bright red Oleander blossoms. In Many places, the trail became a narrow lane, framed on both sides by old rock walls – very quaint.
When I reached Hodson’s Ferry landing, I boarded the small ferry for a short journey to Hamilton town, by way of Salt Kettle. After some shopping in Hamilton, I took the number 11 bus to St. George’s, an hour’s ride along the north shore. At one of the bus stops, a small group of Rastafarians were gathered. As the bus pulled to a stop, a guy in the back of the bus leaned out of the window and yelled “Hey Bro – hit me with a lick”! He was handed a cold beer as the bus pulled away. All along the journey, passengers were constantly leaning out the window and shouting greetings to people on the street as the bus passed – the very epitome of a “local” bus! At one point, the bus made a stop at the American Naval Air Station, where the main gate was guarded by two young Marines – what a tough duty station they must have! At last we arrived in the old village of St. George’s, where two huge cruise ships were docked. The village center was crawling with thousands of pink pastel pants and flowered shirts (aka tourists). In an effort to escape the crowd, I spotted the historic “White Horse Tavern” on the waterfront, where I enjoyed a delicious lunch, while overlooking St. George’s harbor.
After lunch, as the crowd headed back to their ships, I explored the old town and passed many small, interesting shops, such a “Cow Molly” and “Mama Angie’s”. The narrow, quaint cobble stone streets had curious names, like “Shinbone Alley”, Printer’s Lane”, and “Old Maid’s Row”. On a small hill overlooking the village was an old abandoned church – walking among the ruins of the church was a bit of a strange feeling.
Nearby was old Fort William, also known as Fort Victoria, where the gunpowder magazine had once been used to store ammunition for the Americans during the Revolutionary War. Now it’s a trendy pub, deep under the massive rock walls. Later in the afternoon, I visited the “Confederate States Museum” housed in the historic Old Globe Hotel, an important headquarters for the Confederate States during the Civil War. From here, the Confederates managed the shipment of cotton to England and war materials to the South. It was a fascinating look at a part of little known American history, of which few Americans are aware.
I returned to the White Horse Tavern for a pint of traditional English bitters, before boarding the bus back to Hamilton and the ferry to Hodson’s. That evening I returned to the Elbow Beach Hotel for a superb dinner of fresh, local broiled grouper. Afterwards, I went to the bar and caught the “naughty” songs show again – still very funny! On my walk back to the Serenity Guest House, the tree frogs serenaded me under a dark sky filled with millions of bright stars.
The following morning, I did some last minute shopping in Hamilton to find a wedding gift for my sister. As I strolled around the town, I hated to leave Bermuda and such a beautiful relaxed pace, knowing that I would be returning to a hectic pace of life at work back home. However, as the Delta flight departed the island, I once again felt that I would return someday!
[July 1991] On my third trip to Bermuda, I was fortunate to be able to invite my dear friend Leslie to accompany me on a complimentary Delta Airlines First Class ticket. And this time we would be staying with Rolf and Vickie at “Fiddler’s Roost”. Our flight to Bermuda included a stopover in Boston again, where we stayed at the Logan Airport Hilton Hotel. As we were leaving the hotel the next morning, we encountered members of the heavy metal band “Poison” in the elevator. They had been hired to play for a large wedding the night before, and as we all stood in the elevator, the contrast in cultures was dramatically apparent – but everyone took it in stride! After having coffee and pastries in the Delta Airlines Crown Room, we boarded the L1011 aircraft for the flight to Bermuda. Rolf met us upon arrival, still looking “chipper” at age 79, dressed in his signature white linen suit and pith helmet. We chatted all the way home, and Vickie welcomed us with open arms. She showed us to the flat (apartment) downstairs, a lovely place where we could be alone to come and go as we pleased.
We spent the afternoon lying around the pool, catching up on reading and napping as a result of the 4 hour time change. The weather absolutely perfect, with lots of sunshine and a gentle ocean breeze. That evening, Vickie prepared a delicious dinner and we chatted on the terrace as we enjoyed the beautiful views of the ocean and gorgeous sunset.
The next morning, as we enjoyed breakfast beside the pool, Rolf reminded us of the need to conserve water, due to a severe shortage across the country. Bermuda depends almost entirely upon rainfall for its fresh water supply, and in fact, every house is designed so as to capture rain on a limestone roof and store it in cisterns beneath the house. We spent another leisurely day around the estate before joining Rolf and Vickie for another fantastic dinner on the terrace overlooking the ocean. The usual evening “routine” was to “freshen up”, have drinks, watch the BBC evening news, and then sit down for dinner by candlelight on the terrace, as a gentle evening breeze from the ocean surrounded us. Coffee, liqueurs, and stories rounded out the evening. Leslie and I usually stayed up late, sitting on our patio, watching the stars, listening to the surf crashing on the beach below, and enjoying the caress of a warm ocean breeze – pure bliss!
The following day, Rolf had arranged for a moped to be delivered for us, and I was given detailed operating instructions by Rolf. It was a two-seater model so that Leslie and I could “motor” around the island together. It took me a bit of time to get my “sea legs”, and Leslie was very patient about not being a “back seat driver”. In the afternoon, we drove to the Elbow Beach Hotel for a drink and then on to Horseshoe Bay Beach for a leisurely stroll in the surf along the gorgeous pink coral sand beach!
From there, we went via the ferry to Somerset Village and the Royal Navy Dockyards, at the far west of the island, to visit the Maritime Museum. It occupied a large portion of the old stone fort known as “The Keep”, and included the historic “Casemate Barracks”, once used as a prison in the 19th century. The “Citadel” still had old naval guns from the 19th century, mounted on massive ramparts to protect the harbor and docklands.
The interior of the museum preserved the huge gunpowder magazines, with their high arched red brick walls and ceilings, where ammunition had been stored. Today, fascinating historical displays and exhibits line their walls. We spent a couple of hours exploring the museum and just scratched the surface of Bermuda history. Originally, we had planned to take the 6:35pm ferry back to Hamilton, but since the museum closed at 5pm, we decided to take the 5:15pm ferry instead. And it was a good thing we did so, because it was the Queen’s birthday and the ferries were running on a holiday schedule. Had we waited until 6:35pm, we would have missed the last ferry of the day! That evening, we joined Rolf and Vickie for dinner on the terrace, as the sound of the surf played in the background, and a gentle breeze surrounded us. Leslie and I spent the rest of the evening chatting on our patio, serenaded by the tree frogs. The next morning began with a lovely breakfast beside the pool, after which, we packed our bags for the return to California. As Rolf drove us to the airport, we felt sad to leave the beautiful, private world of Bermuda. But we had many wonderful memories and lovely pictures to take home with us! (I’m sure another trip to Bermuda awaits us)
At the end of August in 2001, I boarded a flight to Salt Lake City and on to Anchorage, Alaska. Upon arriving in Anchorage, I picked up a rental car, and I was pleasantly surprised when Hertz handed me the keys to a new Mercury Mountaineer SUV. That night I checked into a beautiful corner suite in the Captain Cook Hotel downtown, my favorite place to stay in Anchorage.
The next morning, as skies were clearing, I enjoyed a huge seafood omelet at the Downtown Deli. (shrimp, crab, halibut, salmon) After breakfast, I headed north out of town on the Alaska Highway toward Glennallen. A few hours later, as I approached the town, there was fresh snow on the mountains and gorgeous, brilliant fall colors everywhere – yellow, red, and gold! On the edge of town, there was an historical monument honoring Colonel Allen, who first surveyed an overland route from the Copper River to the Yukon River, and eventually all the way down the river to the Bering Sea, a distance of over 2000 miles! North of Glennallen, I spotted several moose on the edge of a lake near Tok Junction. When I got to the small town, I stopped at “Fast Eddie’s” for a great halibut burger, and then fueled up at the old Tok Lodge for the 250 mile drive to the Yukon border. At Tetlin Junction, I turned off the Alaska Highway and on to the Taylor Highway for the journey to Dawson City.
A couple of hours later I came to the tiny isolated village of Chicken, Alaska, and I couldn’t pass up the chance to take a photo of beautiful, downtown Chicken – all three buildings! (Chicken Mercantile, Chicken Saloon, Chicken Café) Just as I was about to leave town, I spotted two chickens in a cage in front of the café. But the name of the village actually originates from the fact that the word “chicken” is the common name for the Alaskan Ptarmigan!
It wasn’t long before I came to the Yukon border and Canadian Customs Post. Shortly after passing through customs, I began the 100 mile drive on the “Top of the World Highway” that followed the summit of the Ogilvie Mountains, through great expanses of brilliantly colored alpine tundra for as far as the eye could see.
Just west of Dawson City, the highway descended steeply down to the mighty Yukon River. Here I crossed the river on a small ferry operated by the Yukon Territorial Government. By now the weather had changed considerably and a light rain had begun to fall. As I drove into the old gold rush town, I started noticing a lot of “No Vacancy” signs at all the hotels and motels – not a good sign! (especially since the next nearest town to Dawson City was Pelly Crossing, almost 200 miles south!) I stopped at several of the hotels and motels, and the story was always the same – the whole town was fully booked, being the last long weekend of the season, and the finals of the Territorial Softball Tournament! And to make matters worse, no one could recommend anywhere else to stay.
Suddenly I spotted a sign in the window of the Westminster Hotel Bar – “Rooms Available”! But as I walked into the lounge, it was most definitely a very seedy place. So I checked a couple other places in town, in vain, before reluctantly heading back to the Westminster Hotel, resigning myself to being given the last dirty room directly above the noisy bar where a local rock band was setting up for the night. I almost felt “relieved” when I was told there were no more rooms available, contrary to the sign in the bar window! But, before preparing myself to sleep in the SUV, I took another drive south of town and spotted the “Bonanza Gold Rush Motel and RV Park”. But of course, they had no rooms, having given away their last room 15 minutes before! The woman at the front desk felt sorry for me and called two more places in a last, desperate attempt. One was a youth hostel on the far side of the Yukon River that had one bed left in a dormitory – however, by this time, the ferry had already stopped service for the night! The only other option was a “rustic” cabin 30 km south of town, with no electricity or running water! (by this time, I was pretty much out of options and facing a long, cold night in the SUV) When I didn’t “jump” at either of those final options, she went quiet for a moment, and then called “John”. When John stepped into the office, she said “do you think we should put him in the back of the trailer?” (his parents lived in the front of the trailer) I counted my blessings when John said “yes”! As it turned out, the one room was small, but it had a bed and a shower. Cases of empty wine and liquor bottles were piled high outside the trailer, but at that point, I didn’t mind) As we entered the trailer, John handed me a towel, bar of soap, a roll of toilet paper and then said, “good night”. Having finally found accommodation for the night, I headed downtown for dinner and enjoyed a fabulous plate of fresh, pan fried Arctic Char at “Klondike Kate’s”, along with a couple of “Chilkoot Lagers” from the Yukon Brewing Company in Whitehorse. After dinner, as I retired for the night in my small trailer room, the rain was falling softly on the tin roof – very peaceful!
The next morning, I woke up to find steady light rain falling outside and a heavy, cold overcast sky. After taking a shower in the tiny bathroom, I decided to drive south of town to Dempster Junction, the beginning of the Dempster Highway, a gravel road that winds its way north through the arctic tundra to the small native village of Inuvik, on the coast of the Arctic Ocean – a distance of 735km (nearly 500 miles). I decided to drive about 30 km up the road, just to say I had driven the Dempster. By the time I returned to the Klondike Highway junction, the SUV was covered in a thick layer of yellow mud, that would become something of a “badge of honor” when I got back to Dawson City. By this time, the rain had turned the unpaved streets of town into muddy trails. Wooden boardwalks gave pedestrians a chance to avoid slogging their way through the mud, except when having to cross the street. As I walked around downtown Dawson City, in the mud and rain, I speculated that it must have been much the same for the thousands of gold seekers during the Klondike Gold Rush of 1898.
Around noon, the judging began for the “International Outhouse Race”, followed a short time later with the start of the race. Teams of five people from Canada, USA, and Sweden competed, pulling their outhouses on wheels through the muddy streets. Rules of the race required one person from each team to “ride” in the outhouse during the race. As part of the course, the teams had to stop at designated places along the route to search for specific items to collect in their outhouse – sort of like a scavenger hunt! By the end of the race, no one was recognizable, having been totally covered in thick, gray mud – but they all had a great time!
After the award ceremony, I walked over to the Dawson City Museum, which was the old Territorial Administration Building – Dawson was the capitol of the territory until 1950, when the capitol moved to Whitehorse. The museum had many interesting displays and exhibits, with lots of fascinating history from the gold rush era. There was also a great exhibit of three small steam locomotives that once operated on the old Klondyke Mining Railroad, which ran from Dawson City up Bonanza Creek to the mining community of Grand Forks.
At the height of the gold rush, Grand Forks had a population of more than 10,000 – now it’s a ghost town. The same was true for Sulphur Springs, now just a name on the map today. In the afternoon, the rain tapered off, so I drove up to “Midnight Dome”, a steep mountain rising a thousand feet above town. From the summit I had a spectacular view of the confluence of the Klondyke River and the mighty Yukon River. Far below, Dawson City lay perched on the only small patch of flat land for miles around.
Meanwhile, light showers played tag with the sunshine. To the east and south of Dawson, along the banks of the Klondyke River, lay huge ribbons of mine tailings that resembled giant caterpillars – the remnants of massive gold dredging operations, which continued until the early 1960’s! During the gold rush of ’98, and for many years after, millions of dollars of gold and silver were mined every year. Even today, there are still active mines throughout the region. Later, I drove up the old road along Bonanza Creek to see the site where gold was first discovered in 1897. The massive old gold dredge #4 was still sitting in the creek bed where it had last mined gold in the late 1950’s. It has now become a National Park Historic Site.
On the way back to town, I visited the historic cabins of the famous writers Robert Service (“The Cremation of Sam Magee”) and Jack London (“The Call of the Wild”). Both cabins are now National Park Historic Sites.
Back in Dawson City, I took a long walk atop the huge dike that now protects the town from flooding in the spring. Nearby was the historic old river sternwheeler “Keno”, now in permanent dry dock on the shore of the river. She operated on the Yukon River from 1922 until 1960, carrying both passengers and freight – one of the last sternwheelers on the river.
Downtown I discovered a monument to honor the memory of the 100 people from Dawson City who lost their lives in 1918, when the Canadian steamship “Princess Sophia” sank during a violent storm north of Juneau, Alaska. (no one aboard survived) Not far from the memorial, rather ironically, was the “Lowe’s Mortuary Museum”, in an old log building that served as a funeral parlor during the days of the gold rush, and well into the turn of the century. As I peered through the dusty windows, I saw a room filled with old implements and products used by morticians of the era – rather gory, gruesome and primitive! (an old empty casket sat in the back of the room, perhaps awaiting its next guest) A couple of blocks down the street was the “Downtown Hotel” and the “Jack London Grill”, where I had a superb dinner of fresh pan seared Arctic Char and fresh steamed vegetables – the Arctic Char is essentially a fresh water Salmon and a fabulous fish to eat. The cold glass of Chilkoot Lager went exceptionally well with dinner. My server insisted that I must finish dinner with a slice of fresh homemade pie, made with local bumbleberries and rhubarb, and it was exceptional! But the restaurant was out of ice cream, the main ingredient for over half of the desserts on the menu. After dinner, I walked next door to the “Sourdough Saloon” where a tour group was engaged in the ritual of doing “Sourtoe Cocktails” – some foul tasting liquor in a small glass, in which an old human toe was placed. The instructions from the bartender went like this: “you can drink it fast or you can drink it slow, but the toe must touch your lips”! (he also cautioned not to swallow it) Afterwards, everyone who was successful was awarded membership in the “club”, which certainly must be a prestigious award anywhere in the world! The Sourtoe Cocktails were very popular among the tourists – not so among the locals. Meanwhile, a song on the old jukebox caught my ear, “That wedding ring is as ugly to me as your husband is to you” – surely a top hit on the country charts. Not long after the last Sourtoe Cocktail had been downed, I walked outside, into the dark night and muddy streets of Dawson City, much like the old sourdoughs must have done a hundred years ago. And just before I headed for bed, I looked up to see a patch of clear sky, filled with the stars of the Big Dipper, shining brightly.
But the next morning, heavy low clouds, fog, and drizzle had returned to Dawson City. As I checked out of the Bonanza Gold Rush Motel, the manager couldn’t remember if she had told me a price for the first night in the back of the trailer, so she said “how about $50?”, and I said “that sounds good to me”. (especially being that it was only $35 USD) Then I filled up with gas, bought a large coffee, and headed to the ferry across the Yukon River. On the other side, I began a long, slow, steep climb up the mountainside to the “Top of the World Highway”. For the first half hour, I was driving through dense fog (aka heavy low clouds), but when I reached the summit of the mountains, 3000 feet above the river, I broke free of the fog/clouds and a beautiful vista of mountains lay before me, as far as the eye could see. The deep, narrow valleys below were filled with heavy, dark grey clouds – at that point, I was truly “above the clouds”!
For more than a hundred miles, the highway skipped along the high, rounded peaks of the Ogilvie Mountains, occasionally dipping into the narrow valleys filled with clouds. And all around me were the brilliant yellow, orange, and red fall colors of the alpine tundra, shining beautifully like a massive carpet across the Yukon Territory! About three hours later I came to the Alaskan Border Customs Station and a new time zone, but the landscape barely changed.
Further west the road began a slow, steady descent into the Fortymile River Basin, a land of extensive mining activity. In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, there were many small American mining towns that were actually located in the Yukon but lived by US laws. It remained the case until the 1920’s, which helps explain the close relationship between Alaska and the Yukon today. The highway rapidly deteriorated into a rough gravel road, with lots of hairpin turns as it meandered in and out of numerous deep valleys. The miles continued to pass by as I gazed upon the gorgeous autumn colors that unfolded before me, around every turn in the road.
Eventually I came to the metropolis of Chicken and then the junction with the road to Eagle, before coming to Tetlin Junction and the vast expanse of the Tanana River Basin. A few hours later I reached Tok Junction, a place where everyone driving into or out of Alaska “must” pass on their way, either east, west, north, or south! As I fueled up and grabbed a sandwich at the historic old Tok Lodge, the sun was finally breaking through the clouds in full force, brilliantly highlighting the lovely fall colors of the forest and tundra. On the way to Glennallen, I rarely passed another vehicle for over three hours – it almost felt as if I had the highway entirely to myself! West of Glennallen, on the highway to Anchorage, there were many incredible views of the rugged Chugach Range, the peaks covered in a coat of fresh snow. The massive Tazlina and Nelchina Glaciers were shining brilliantly under the sunshine.
There was a noticeable absence of Moose and Caribou in sight, it being the start of the hunting season! As evening fell upon the Matanuska Valley, I arrived in Anchorage and checked into a nice room at the “Millennium Hotel”, located on the shore of Lake Hood, the world’s busiest float plane base. That evening I sat in the “Fancy Moose Bar”, overlooking Lake Hood, with a cold pint of Alaskan Amber, and watched the float planes taking off and landing.
Later, as the sun was setting across the lake, I enjoyed a fabulous dinner of char-grilled fresh Halibut, topped with Mango chutney. And to finish off dinner, I had a huge piece of “Mary’s Bread Pudding”, filled with generous portions of dried wild cherries and pecans, and topped with Yukon Jack hard sauce! As I relaxed in the bar after dinner, I reflected upon the amazing experience of Dawson City and the Yukon Territory – historical, colorful, and definitely unique! A place I know I will return to someday, hopefully when there’s a vacancy!
In late December of 1997, I took advantage of an award ticket on Swissair to travel to the Canary Islands, a collection of small volcanic islands 100 miles off the coast of Africa. I was really looking forward to a vacation, having been out of the country on business trips for the entire month of November, missing the Thanksgiving holiday for the past three years! As I prepared to leave home early in the morning, I not only packed my bags, but also wrapped my Christmas gifts and posted all my Christmas cards. When the morning of my departure arrived, it felt more like the beginning of another business trip, rather than the start of a vacation! On the ride to the airport, there were gorgeous views of the snow-covered San Gabriel Mountains under clear blue skies. The flight to Atlanta was very comfortable in First Class, and the hot breakfast of Mexican scrambled eggs, peppers, potatoes, and sausage was most welcome. After landing in Atlanta, I spent some time enjoying the atmosphere and amenities of the new International Business Class Lounge before boarding the SwissAir 747 for the 9 hour flight to Zurich. Just after takeoff, I relaxed with a cold gin and tonic, along with a delicious appetizer of grilled shrimp, smoked fish, and very tender roast beef. For the main dinner course I chose a superb, very delicate, poached Norwegian salmon, served with new potatoes, steamed carrots and broccoli. The meal was very fresh and delicious, accompanied by a chilled glass of Swiss white wine from the Fendant du Valais region. After dinner, the dessert and cheese cart came by with a selection of Swiss cheeses, dried fruits and nuts. A cup of expresso soon followed, along with a glass of port. I finished the evening with a glass of Cointreau on ice, feeling very relaxed and well on my way to enjoying my vacation! Several hours later, I awoke to a beautiful sunrise over the French Alps, and soon we were landing in Zurich, where the entire countryside was covered in a blanket of fresh snow. As I walked out of the airport terminal, the freezing air made its presence felt immediately on my nose! It was a short ride on the shuttle bus to the Airport Hilton Hotel, a place I was already very familiar with from many past business trips. After checking in, I took a much needed nap for a couple of hours, before going downstairs to the Swiss Tavern Restaurant for an early dinner. The restaurant was a very authentic replica of a typical Swiss village tavern, and offered very traditional fondue, a uniquely Swiss dish. My server highly recommended the “Farmer’s Cheese and Ham Fondue”, and it arrived as a large boiling pot of melted cheese and chunks of ham, along with a huge basket of crusty bread. The taste was incredible, and by the time I reached the bottom of the pot, I was pleasantly stuffed! Seated next to me was a table of locals enjoying a special “Fondue Chinoise” (Chinese fondue). At the end of their dinner, all the men ordered large snifters of French brandy and Cuban cigars, selected from a large wooden chest. Nearby, at another table was a young American gay couple who had recently passed the dating stage and were now living together for the first time. One of them ordered the fondue, to which the other remarked, “are you going to make a meal of just bread and melted cheese?” His partner was a bit more worldly and replied that he had done this before, and it was very good. After a fabulous dinner, I went up to the lobby lounge for a Swiss beer and listened to some very nice, relaxing music by an Italian musician playing piano and synthesizer.
The next morning I was awake at 3:00am, but avoided getting up until 6:00am for the return trip to the airport. After checking in for the flight to Las Palmas on Gran Canaria Island, I had coffee and pastries in the SwissAir Business Class Lounge before boarding was called. The MD-80 aircraft was almost completely full, but I was lucky enough to have an empty seat beside me for the 4 ½ hour flight. Gran Canaria Island lies to the southwest of the European continent in the Atlantic Ocean, 100 miles from the coast of Western Sahara.
The first two hours were pretty bumpy, as we flew through the strong Jet Stream, and unfortunately that was also during the breakfast service! (coffee cups were spilling into the aisle) But at last, the pilots found smooth air over southern Spain, and it was a pleasant flight after that. The skies began to clear as we approached the Canary Islands, and we landed under brilliant sunshine and warm temperatures – dramatic contrast to the snow and cold of Switzerland! As I walked out of the terminal and looked for the hotel shuttle bus, which the guidebook said would be meeting arriving flights, it was no where to be seen. So I asked the airport welcome desk for the hotel’s phone number and received two different numbers. The first number I called turned out to be a private residence, but the man who answered was kind enough to give me the correct number, which turned out to be a “transposition” of two digits. He sounded as if he received calls for the hotel on a daily basis. Once I connected with the hotel front desk, I was told to take public bus #61. I made an attempt to find bus #61, but to no avail, so I finally ended up taking a taxi to the hotel.
After checking in to a lovely room overlooking the ocean, I took a long walk along the beach, before enjoying a wonderful dinner at the “El Senador Restaurant”. Dinner began with sumptuous grilled shrimp sizzling in butter and garlic, followed by the main course, grilled filet of Sea Bream, served in a luscious garlic and lemon sauce. Then I finished dinner with a fantastic burnt custard dessert and a cup of espresso. Back in my hotel room, I enjoyed a glass of Spanish wine and a gorgeous sunset, as I sat on my private veranda – a beautiful, relaxing end to the day!
The following morning, I began the day with a delicious breakfast buffet outside by the pool, under warm, sunny skies. Later, I joined a group of German tourists for a day long tour of the island. There were five mini-vans, filled with people mostly over 65, all of whom were very nice, but a very quiet group. I was very lucky to be able to sit in the front seat, next to the driver – perfect for taking photos. Our tour leader was Herman and our driver Carlos, a real “ladies man”, who was constantly whistling and singing to himself – mostly for his own entertainment! He was very nice, and very flamboyant, in contrast to the very staid German tourists. His favorite saying was “Mein God”! We drove high into the volcanic mountains on very steep, narrow roads, where vehicles had to reverse many times on tight switchbacks to ascend the mountain. We travelled from the dry, barren south side of the island, over the high summit, to the very wet, heavily forested north side – an incredibly dramatic change in a very short distance. It was almost as if we had suddenly crossed over to a totally different island!
Along the way, although the dominant language of our group was German, Spanish was the official language of the island. During our tour of the island, we passed through many small coastal towns and villages, built on steep cliffs overlooking the sea, the houses being a brilliant white with deep purple trim. In many of the steep, narrow canyons were large reservoirs called “Barancos”. At one point, we turned off the coastal road and headed up the “Grand Canyon of the Canarias”, on an incredibly steep and twisting road.
Near the top of the canyon, we stopped in a tiny village to visit a small church carved out of a cave. We were greeted by the mayor (Burgermeister), Don Juan Carlos, who had emigrated from Cuba many years before. After viewing the church, he invited us into his house, also partially in a cave, for fresh cactus fruit juice from his garden. Then we watched as he ground corn meal by hand on an old stone wheel. Meanwhile, a local program played on his old B&W TV inside the cave! Just outside his house was gorgeous, huge Poinsettia bush with spectacular deep scarlet blooms. Looking around, the whole mountainside was a collection of small fields laid out in a series of terraces that climbed up the steep slopes.
Further down the road, we stopped for lunch at a small hotel restaurant, situated in another steep, narrow valley on the north side of the island. The restaurant was well known for serving a unique dish consisting of thin slices of various meats and fresh vegetables that each of us could cook as we wished on our own “hot volcanic rock” in the center of the table. Along with the delicious meats and vegetables came lots of local red wine, and a fabulous thick cream pudding topped with cinnamon and sugar. The whole meal, including the wine, was very inexpensive, costing each of us only 1500 pesetas (roughly $5.00).
Leaving the restaurant, we drove down the narrow valley on another incredibly steep, one-lane road, past fields of bananas, papayas, cabbage, carrots, eggplant, corn, and avocados – a very lush, green landscape, in stark contrast to the south side of the island. Eventually we reached the coast again, and soon were driving through Las Palmas, the island’s largest city. As we drove past the heavily developed and industrial area, I was very glad to be staying in Maspalomas, a much more beautiful part of the island. As we arrived back at the hotel, we were rewarded with a spectacular sunset that silhouetted the mountains beautifully. For dinner that evening, I had a delicious dish of sizzling garlic shrimp at El Senador again. After which I had a beer at the “Piano Beach Bar”, where a local singer was performing classic lounge songs. He had a good voice, but he kept hitting off key notes on the keyboard – perhaps he was “tone deaf”? Meanwhile, I watched the waves pounding the rocks on the beach below, listening to their eternal rhythm – a beautiful evening! I finished the night in the hotel lobby bar, listening to an English band called “Sweet Home”. They played everything from Frank Sinatra and classic Viennese waltzes to 50’s Rock-n-Roll! And to top off the night, they played the current popular hit, “Macarena”, to the delight of the German tourists!
The next morning, I was awakened at 8:00am by a phone call from the local “Hertz” man, who wanted me to come down to his office to pick up the rental car I had booked for 12 noon! He claimed it was not possible to wait until noon, so we settled on an 11:00am pickup. Following another wonderful breakfast buffet by the pool, I grabbed my camera, water bottle, sunscreen, and headed into an extensive expanse of sand dunes not far from the hotel. Along the way, I passed a corral where camels were kept for “rides through the desert”. The northern edge of the area had several, large stable dunes covered with a thick forest of Juniper brush. But as I walked south toward the sea, the vegetation quickly became sparse as the dunes became more unstable.
Soon I came to some very high dunes, and as I reached the crest, I suddenly found myself overlooking a large group of nude men sunbathing and “parading” among the dunes! I managed to seek an alternate route toward the coast. On the way I spotted lots of tracks in the sand from lizards, snakes, and small animals, but during the entire time, I saw only one lizard. (so I suspected they were all nocturnal) Just before I reached the coast, I had to climb one of the highest dunes, but my struggle up the steep soft sand was rewarded with a spectacular view – craggy, volcanic mountains to the north and golden rolling sand dunes to the south. And on the eastern edge of the dunes was the “Palace Hotel”, a massive, pure white structure, gleaming in the bright sunshine! To the west was an old lighthouse, standing tall against the deep blue sky. From the coast, I trekked further west, up and down what seemed liked endless dunes, under the brilliant mid-day sun, before finally reaching a long stretch of beautiful white sand beach and pounding surf!
As I sat on the edge of the dunes, a constant stream of people strolled along the beach – all manner of bodies passed by, beautiful and otherwise. I couldn’t help but notice quite a few women going topless, though in all honesty, most would have looked better had they kept their tops on! I took off my hiking boots and walked along the beach, my bare feet playing “tag” with the surf. It was a lovely feeling every time the water flooded over my feet, amid the warm sunshine – very peaceful and relaxing. As I continued walking west toward the lighthouse, many young families frolicked nude in the surf – so many that I soon wondered if I had inadvertently walked into a nudist camp! But everyone seemed to take my presence in stride, so I didn’t feel at all uncomfortable. But at one point, I passed a couple of little old English ladies, who must have been more than a bit shocked, as several men strolled by them with everything “flying in the wind”! It was a long but enjoyable walk along the beach back to the hotel, and a wonderful way to enjoy the beautiful sunshine, the roar of the ocean, and the spectacular scenery.
When I reached the far end of the beach, I found a perfect place to stop for a cold beer – the “Café Bachstueben”. It had the original Budweiser beer from Budvar, Czechoslovakia. As I sat on the terrace, overlooking the beach, it didn’t take long to realize, with so many people nude, just how few are really attractive! But it’s great to see that they feel OK to “let it all hang out”, whatever it is and whatever it looks like. Back at the hotel, I relaxed on my veranda with a glass of wine and watched a gorgeous sunset. Later, I strolled through the small town of Maspalomas and stopped at “La Bodega Terraza” for a fantastic dinner of fresh grilled fish and vegetables, along with a cold pint of German beer. Meanwhile, a young guitarist played old rock and classic jazz tunes, sometimes very good, but all the time competing with a couple of Spanish guitarists at the restaurant next door!
The next morning, after another incredible breakfast buffet on the terrace, under clear blue skies, I savored my last day in the Canary Islands. I packed my bags and loaded them into the Hertz rental car – a very little red car, with just enough space behind the seat for my bag. Then I got directions from the hotel concierge about how to get to the road that would lead to the small villages of San Bartolome and Santa Lucia, high up the steep mountains in the center of the island. As I drove up the steep, narrow, twisting road, I found the little red car was perfect for driving in the mountains. There were times when it was a bit scary though, even with guard rails on the edge of the road, especially when approaching oncoming traffic. Soon I reached the summit of a high ridge, where I was rewarded with a spectacular view of a massive rock headwall, looming high above the deep valley below. In the distance, clinging to the incredibly steep slope, at the base of the thousand foot high headwall, were the two small villages. Brilliant white washed houses clung to the mountainside, neatly stacked one on another – a gorgeous scene under the clear blue skies and radiant sunshine.
As I followed the narrow, sinuous road, it dropped sharply into the deep valley of the “Barranco de Tiranja”. When I finally reached the valley floor, I came to the tiny village of “Fataga”, where there was a large oasis and a small herd of camels. (the village was famous for “camel safaris”) As with so many other traditional villages on the island, all the houses were white washed and topped with roofs of red clay tile that gleamed in the mid-day sun.
All too soon, I had to make my way to the airport for my return flight to Zurich. The 5 hour flight was very pleasant, with a delicious dinner of pork tenderloin in a wild Morel mushroom sauce, along with a chilled glass of Swiss white wine. I reflected on the trip to a beautiful place that I would remember for a long time, and that in two days time I would be sharing Christmas with my sister Lynn, Nils, and Leslie – by way of Zurich, Cincinnati, Salt Lake City, and Boise. From warm, sunny beaches to snow covered mountains – such is the pleasure of travel!