tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10633188775703579052024-03-05T21:49:28.027-07:00TANZANIA 5.0This is a blog about my fifth trip to Tanzania, scheduled for March 2 through June 1. That's June 1, 2010. I actually stayed on into June, 2011. But I've been back in the U.S. for months, so this is now a blog about other stuff. If you'd like to read about Tanzania, check out the archives for February, 2010 through July, 2011. If you'd like to read about what I'm doing now, dive right in...Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.comBlogger98125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-59547174329983482562013-04-12T19:21:00.001-06:002013-04-12T19:21:41.668-06:00Real Estate WarsYay! I sold my house! I loved that house up north in Utah. I bought it after I got divorced. It was the first house I'd ever bought on my own, with no husband involved. When I moved in, I felt as if it were temporary. I felt uneasy moving in alone. I hung a Spanish sign over the doorway. "<i>In mi casa, soy la reina." </i>It means, "In my house, I am the queen." It was like whistling through the cemetery, staving off the fear by talking big. But it was not temporary, after all. I owned that house for eight years. Once I got used to being alone, I loved that house. I started a new life in it, and grew from scared-and-alone to thrilled-with-my-new-life.<br />
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So thrilled with my new life, in fact, that over the last four years, I've been wandering around away from Utah and have left the house intermittently empty for over two of those years. It was time to move on. Six months ago, I listed the house for sale and came to Tucson. Three weeks ago, I loaded two-thirds of my worldly goods into a storage pod, gave away the other third, went to Hawaii for a week, finalized the sale of the house, blocked the new owner from taking possession until her loan came through, slept at a neighbors' house for two nights, then headed back to Tucson.<br />
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When I lived in Tanzania, I had several bizarre house hunting experiences. You can read about those <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/03/house-hunting-again.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/05/hannah-my-sister-i-feel-your-pain.html" target="_blank">here</a>. You can read about the bad results and all kinds of drama around the last house I lived in there by clicking <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/07/news-on-new-house.html" target="_blank">here.</a> But it struck me last week, as I was driving back to Tucson all exhausted and trying to shrug off all the stress, that this recent house sale in America was just as dramatic.<br />
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It started getting weird within a couple of days of the listing.<br />
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I chose a husband-and-wife realtor team who had been selling houses in the neighborhood for over 15 years. They even remembered decorating my house and setting up their sales office in it. It was the model home for awhile when the developer first started building. I figured people who wanted to buy in the neighborhood would seek out these realtors.<br />
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Meanwhile, a neighbor--let's call her Susie --found herself alone in her parents' house, after her father's death. I stopped over to offer my condolences one evening when she and her sisters were out on the back deck. Susie told me she'd just lost her job, and planned to get a realtor's license so she could control her own professional destiny. I asked if they'd be selling their house. They said yes, but not for awhile. Susie would continue to live in the house, get her license, and then sell the house. I said I was going to sell my house, too, and move to Tucson. I encouraged her to get that realtor's license. She said she'd sell both of our houses! Her first sales after she got the license! I didn't say much to that.<br />
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I listed my house a few days later, just before I left for Tucson. I hoped to capitalize on the last few weeks of summer because buyers are not as busy shopping during the winter up there.<br />
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When I told Susie, she said, "But you're supposed to list it with me." Uh-huh. I pointed out that she didn't have her license yet. She said it would only take a few weeks. I explained politely that I did not want to miss the last few weeks of summer, and that I wanted to use the realtor who was associated with the neighborhood. She was miffed, but I was leaving. What did I care?</div>
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Two days after I left, word came through the neighbors that Susie had posted a "For Sale by Owner" sign in her yard. And then she sold the house in only two days. Then she sent me Facebook messages designed to goad me into asking her, "What big life changes?" "Oh, did you sell your house?" </div>
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Then word came through another neighbor that she had spotted Susie with a handful of keys trying to open my front door! Susie said that I'd given her a key so she could let herself in to retrieve some of her things that she was storing in my house. None of which was true. She fumbled at the door a bit more, then said she must not have brought the right key and would have to come back, then headed back to her house. I called from Tucson and left a message asking her what the hell? She called back, drunk, and shouted a message saying she hadn't been near my house all day. Then she called back, still drunk, and shouted out a second message saying she had every right to sell her house whenever she wanted to (true) because it's a free market (true) and that she'd offered to sell my house by owner for free, too (not true--she was going for the commission)! Hmmm...I guess she was more miffed than I realized. It all made me nervous about my vacant house, but nobody saw any more attempted break-ins and my house was fine when I got back to it.</div>
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Time passed. Winter arrived. It snowed one inch in Tucson and everybody got all excited.</div>
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Snow on palms photo by my cousin Chris.</div>
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I'm going to like living in a place where snow is a novelty and it melts before you can find the shovel.</div>
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More time passed. Tucson's winter wound down after a few days. Utah's winter persisted. The realtor sent me occasional e-mails letting me know that someone had looked at my house but didn't want to buy it. At least I wasn't living in the house. I hate when you have to keep the house spotless every day because you never know when a potential buyer will want to see it. I put the house out of my mind and scheduled numerous activities stretching through spring. </div>
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The realtor phoned to tell me we'd received an offer! But it was a full twenty thousand below my asking price.We countered. The buyer's realtor sent us an e-mail saying, "My client feels that her offer was reasonable. If your client changes her mind, let us know. Otherwise, we will continue our search." Her e-mail signature block included a glamour photo with big hair, big makeup, and stretchy, low-cut shirt. This photo made me attribute the snarky tone of the email to the realtor, not the client. Over the next few weeks, I realized all snarkiness lay with the client. </div>
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Twenty-four hours later, they made a reasonable offer. We countered back and forth a few times, then reached an agreement. </div>
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Reading the contract, I realized that I'd have to move out of my house just six days after returning from a pre-paid package vacation on Kauai. Yikes! I jumped in my car and drove two days to Utah. I bought a whole bunch of boxes (thank you very much, helpful manager lady at the U-Haul store) and feverishly started packing. </div>
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The buyer--let's call her Sadie-- kept sending messages from realtor to realtor. First, she asked for a new water heater and hand rails on the back steps and snow melters on the roof. Then, she pressured me to vacate the house sooner and sooner, although her loan paperwork was extending out later and later. Every demand was accompanied by the statement that she was an old woman in weak condition and was very stressed. The first time I thought, well, ok, I don't want to stress out any old ladies. The second time I thought, great, thanks for spreading the stress around. After that, I just started thinking of it as "playing the old lady card."</div>
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I packed my grandmother's china into dish pack boxes, then flew to Kauai.</div>
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For the first three nights in Kauai, I dreamed about packing boxes. Eventually, I stopped thinking about the house. Then I dreamed that a woman followed me through the breakfast buffet and scolded me about my food choices. So apparently, I hadn't actually relaxed.</div>
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But Kauai is lovely, even if you can't relax. And even if it rains a bit. I had a really nice week at a really nice resort with one of my favorite traveling friends, Marian.</div>
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Local arts and crafts fair. </div>
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Rainy day at Waimea Canyon.</div>
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Chickens everywhere!</div>
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Even at Wal-Mart, where we bought beach mats and aloha wear. (Between trips to Hawaii, I always forget how much I hate to iron rayon.)</div>
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Night Heron.</div>
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Seriously? I could never afford to live here.</div>
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Hawaiian shave ice from the food trucks.</div>
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Puka Dog menu. Basically a Polish sausage in a bun that's not sliced open, but has a hole punched in it, then fruit-flavored syrup (aka tropical relish) is squirted in. I hope this makes the breakfast buffet lady happier!</div>
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Good-bye meal at the airport--a local breakfast favorite, Loco Moco. It's two scoops of rice topped with a hamburger patty topped with a fried egg, all smothered in gravy. It's not as bad as it looks. I would have liked it better without the gravy.</div>
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Okay. That's enough relaxing. I flew back to Utah, got some more boxes, and feverishly continued packing. <br />
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Sadie continued to demand that I move out earlier and earlier and played the old lady card several times. In the meantime, her lender demanded more and more documentation and delayed the closing four times. </div>
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After I signed the second contract addendum pushing the closing a second day later, I thought why the hell am I rushing around like crazy packing so fast. I called the storage pod company and the movers and rescheduled them both for a day later. I told my realtor I'd be out of the house Friday morning, and the Pod people would collect the pod by noon Saturday. I said tell Sadie and her realtor I'll vacate the house Saturday by noon. Which would have been a full 48 hours earlier than required by our contract.<br />
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Sadie told her realtor that as an old lady under incredible stress, she would cancel the whole deal if I didn't vacate by Friday and asked her realtor to start finding her a house to rent for six months. That sounded pretty good to me by this point. But I said I could vacate the house by Friday at 1:00, just not the driveway. The pod would stay until Saturday. Sadie's realtor said that I was an angel. Gee, thanks.<br />
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I continued with my feverish packing. (Literally feverish. I'd picked up a virus on the plane coming back from Kauai. Because if you're stressed and exhausted and riding on a plane, you will always get sick a few days later.) A few friends stopped by and helped (thanks Marsha, Carol, and Hannah!). The two movers I hired showed up right on time and packed everything into the pod. They were incredible--worked fast and efficiently and were geniuses at the three-dimensional puzzle of cramming all my stuff into the pod. They were from <a href="http://www.hireahelper.com/movers/salt-lake-city_ut/smart-move-salt-lake-city/" target="_blank">Smart Move in Salt Lake City.</a><br />
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I signed closing papers. My realtor explained to me that the money from Sadie's loan, once her lender funded the loan, would go first to her title company, then to my title company, and then into my bank account.<br />
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Sadie signed closing papers.<br />
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The next morning my door bell rang at 8:30. I opened the door and there she stood in all her glory. No, not Sadie. Sadie's realtor--let's call her Sybil. She was a plump forty-year-old with a buoyant mass of blonde hair falling past her shoulders. She was encased in black spandex tights and scoop neck t-shirt, accessorized with knee-high leather boots and leather vest. "I hope I didn't wake you," she said. "I'm Sybil, your buyer's agent."<br />
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"Yes, of course," I said. "I recognized you from your photo." She wanted a key. My realtor had put it in a key box in the bushes so that she could meet her client at the house--after the loan was funded--and get the key out of the key box. She preferred to take it with her so she could pass it to her client at the appropriate time without returning to the house. I showed her the key box.<br />
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A few minutes later, my realtor called. "So you had a visitor this morning," he said. He knew who it was because the owner of the key box sees a record of who opens it with their code.<br />
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"Yes," I said. "I opened the door and there was Sybil in the flesh. And she was showing a lot of it." He put me on speaker phone and made me repeat that so his wife could hear it, too. <br />
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Friday morning I was cleaning the house with help from a neighbor. I had a pile of things in the garage that I needed to load into my car. I drove out to the U-Haul store to return unused boxes for a refund. $40.55! As I returned to the house, I realized I hadn't heard anything from my realtor. I called and asked him if the loan was funded. He said it would be at least another 90 minutes, maybe two hours. This meant that, although I had agreed to vacate the house by 1:00, Sadie would not own the house until about 3:00. He assured me that Sybil would not give the key to the buyer until the loan was finalized. Ha!<br />
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At 12:55, a moving truck pulled into the cul-de-sac, circled around, and parked in front of my house. Three young men hopped out and opened the back. I ran outside and told them it would be two hours until they could unload that truck into the house. They tried to be polite, but they laughed a little bit.<br />
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At 1:00, a car pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked across the street. Sadie's daughter and son-in-law were ready to help their mom move in. I explained that this was not the legally appropriate moment for them to take possession of the house because the loan had not yet been funded. At 1:02 another car pulled into the cul-de-sac. Here was the stressed-out feeble old lady herself. And she already had the key to my house! I explained to her that she did not yet own the house. She explained to me that she was paying the movers $100/hour so she didn't want to wait two hours. She was incredibly polite--let's call her obsequious-- and kept calling me by name and looking sincere.<br />
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I flounced away across the lawn and called my realtor again. He said Fed Ex had messed up a delivery of papers and the first title company was still waiting. If things extended much longer, the money wouldn't reach the second title company by close of business. And it was Friday afternoon, so the loan wouldn't fund until Monday!<br />
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Sadie followed me after a moment. Still very polite, she called me by name again and held out the key. "Here," she said, "I'll give you back the key, Barbara. That would make me feel better, Barbara. I think it'll make you feel better, too, Barbara." I think she wanted me to refuse the key and say it wasn't necessary to return it. I held out my hand and said, "Yes, that would make me feel better."<br />
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After consulting with my realtor, I agreed to let Sadie's movers unload the truck into the garage, because she said they needed to get another load at her old house, which they could be working on while we waited on the loan. Sadie and family left to go to lunch. I got the movers' advice on how to place some ceramic lamps in the back of my car. They began unloading the truck, and mentioned that just as she left, Sadie told them not to go get the second load because she didn't want to pay for anymore of their time. I locked all the doors leading into the house. The movers said they wouldn't be surprised if Sadie had made a copy of the key already. And that she'd been yelling at them for two hours that morning, demanding that they keep loading the truck even after it was full. I told one of the movers he couldn't use the bathroom until the loan funded. Ha ha! Then I let him inside.<br />
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I hid the key in the end of a downspout. My realtor said he'd tell Sadie's realtor where it was when the loan was finalized. I went up the street and out of sight to a neighbor's house. Forty minutes later, my realtor called to say the money was at the first title company, and that it was safe to let Sadie into the house.<br />
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I said, "I'm mad now. Let's wait until it hits the second title company. And then I have another 48 hours under the terms of our contract."<br />
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My realtor said, "Now, Barbara. We don't want to do that." He has a very soothing voice when his clients start going over the edge.<br />
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As soon as we hung up, I realized I still had the garage door opener. I sprinted to my car and drove fast back to my house. My plan was to slip the door opener into the downspout next to the key so I wouldn't have to talk to Sadie again. But, although it took me about 90 seconds to reach my house, Sadie and family were already there. Either she got the call first, or she really had made a copy of the key! All the doors were open. Sadie was enthroned on a chair by the fireplace, directing her daughter and son-in-law and the movers as they carried things in from the garage.<br />
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"Barbara!" she said, as I came up the front steps. "Barbara!" Again, the extreme politeness. It was in such sharp contrast to the way she'd treated me over the last few weeks that it just felt manipulative. Her daughter complimented me on some of the decor she'd noticed in the house before I moved out. She was being nice to compensate for her mother's behavior. I gave her the garage door opener. I managed to say, "I loved living in this house. I hope you'll enjoy it, too." Then I wished I hadn't gone to the trouble the day before of hauling out my giant ladder and changing all the smoke detector batteries that are up in the 14-foot high peak of the ceiling. Which I had done because a feeble old lady was moving in and it would be hard for her to handle it. Ha! <br />
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I slept at a favorite neighbor's house that night. I intended to make an early start the next morning driving back to Tucson, but I woke up still exhausted. And then my neighbor cooked bacon. And I ended up sitting and talking with her for a couple of hours because we are going to miss each other and it was hard to say good-bye. Lucky she's Mormon and doesn't drink coffee. I was drinking some no-caffeine instant-imitation-coffee beverage with my bacon, so that drove me out eventually. Then I stopped for a couple of hours on the way out of town to visit with a couple I will also sorely miss.<br />
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I only made it as far as Cedar City, Utah the first night. I like the Holiday Inn Express just off the freeway by the south exit there, so I checked in. It's on the edge of town, right next to the Springhill Suites, with nothing else nearby. I put my bag in my room, combed my hair, and went out for dinner. Man, I was tired! But there's a Mexican restaurant in that part of Cedar City that I love--<a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/lupitas-mexican-restaurant-cedar-city" target="_blank">Lupita's.</a> I thought I felt recharged after eating a plate of chicken mole.<br />
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I drove back to the hotel, rode the elevator up to the third floor, realized I'd forgotten a map in the car, rode the elevator back down, got the map, rode the elevator back up, went to room 328. It seemed like the room was on the wrong side of the hall. I tried the key card a few times and it wouldn't work. I went back down to the lobby and showed the girl at reception my key and said, "I thought I was in Room 328, but the key won't work. Can you check my room number for me?"<br />
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She smiled gently and said, "You're in the Holiday Inn next door. This is Springhill Suites."<br />
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So...I was still stressed and exhausted and it was really a good thing I had stopped driving already.<br />
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But I did eventually make it back to Tucson. Aah! Feel that warm sun!</div>
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I only saw a few of my Utah friends while I was there. I was so frantic trying to get everything packed in just a few days. And I didn't stay longer because I had scheduled a 4-day hiking excursion with some Tucson friends to Havasupai, so I needed to get back in time for that. Which I did, but then I had to cancel because I was still in the grips of the airplane virus. When I saw pictures from the hike, I almost cried because they had so much fun and I missed it. I am really hoping they go again next year. And to my Utah friends that I didn't get to visit, I'm sorry, and I'll come back soon to see everyone....</div>
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And one final note on the new dynamic in the Utah neighborhood. Susie is still living in her parents' house. She's either renting it until summer, or renting it permanently, or bought it back from the new owners--just depending on what she says to different neighbors on different days. She's still planning to get her realtor's license, which will only take a few weeks. Susie and Sadie are both strong personalities with strong ideas about what they want and now they live next to each other. Really, it's only a matter of time until a conflict arises. Good luck, ladies! May the best neighbor win!</div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-84237507248565110622013-03-02T21:52:00.003-07:002013-03-02T21:52:41.145-07:00Three Ladies Walk Into a Bar--Version 2Why Version 2? Because another blogger has already blogged about this event. You can read Version 1 at <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/" target="_blank">"My Life a Bit South of Normal."</a> That's Ann Currie Williams' blog about life in the south. She's funny! I've been following her blog and laughing at her take on things for a couple of years now, so I feel like I know her--kind of--in an online sort of way. But not bad, like from a dating website or anything.<br />
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Ann has encouraged me over the past year, as my blog has limped along as I try to settle on a post-Tanzania theme. Every time I lapse for a couple of months, she comments on the next post and welcomes me back online and says that she missed me. When I posted about <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2012/11/tucsons-day-of-dead.html" target="_blank">Tucson's Day of the Dead festivities</a>, Ann commented that she sometimes travels to Phoenix for work, and we started emailing back and forth, plotting a get-together in Arizona.<br />
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Linda Medrano, who blogs at <a href="http://thegoodthebadtheworse.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">"The Good, The Bad, The Worse"</a>, also comments and says she missed me when I come back after writing nothing for a couple of months. I don't comment on every one of Linda's posts, because she has about a million followers, and at least 100 of them comment every time she posts. But I do comment sometimes, because she's so outrageous and funny that sometimes I just have to say something! After awhile, I friended her on Facebook, and then I liked her even more. Because every time I post a picture of myself, she compliments my smile. Recently I've noticed that Linda and I often comment together on Ann's posts. It's like we're all linked by our blogs and we're all friends even even though we never met.<br />
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So...this past week, Ann made a trip to Phoenix for a week. I drove up from Tucson, only a couple of hours. And when we suggested to Linda that she should fly to Phoenix and meet us for dinner, since we'd both be in the same place for the first time, she immediately agreed. Then she changed her mind and said she'd drive instead of fly. And her husband, Alex would come, too, and they'd bring their dogs. And after 11 hours of driving and an overnight in Indio, there she was in Phoenix.<br />
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That's me, Linda, and Ann after we walked into a bar and found each other. It was easy--we'd all seen pictures of each other online.</div>
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And no, neither Linda nor I turned out to be dangerous, contrary to what Ann's family and friends said to her! You can see from the picture above that I am harmless and sweet. You might think Linda looks harmless in that picture, too, but...</div>
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...look at her here! No, it was still okay. She was giving Zoe her "crazy eyes," which lets Zoe know who is the alpha female so she'll behave.</div>
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And it worked. Zoe calmed right down and snuggled up with me and Ann.</div>
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Harry was already calm and didn't need the crazy eyes.</div>
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When the three of us sat down together, we all knew some things about each other, from two or more years of reading each others' online thoughts and seeing each others' photos. We chatted about the upcoming wedding of Ann's daughter. I tried to get Linda to fix me up with the hot guy that hangs her Christmas lights. (She said she would, but I guess I'll have to wait until December when he shows up again.) And I regaled them both with stories about Tanzania--most of which they'd already read in my blog. I felt like I was sitting down with old friends rather than a first meeting with somebody I met on the internet.</div>
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As the evening progressed, Linda's dangerous side came out more. </div>
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She noticed Ann's "porcelain white silky smooth" ankles and just had to touch them.</div>
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And after that, we all agreed to get together for dinner again the next day. Alex joined us. Linda writes about him often in her blog. She makes him sound very nice. And in person, he is just as nice as in the blog. Thanks, Linda and Alex, for the nice steak dinner!</div>
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Ann played it safe and covered her ankles with these fabulous boots. </div>
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But it didn't work, because Linda has a thing for red cowboy boots. Which should have been predictable, based on how often Linda blogs about getting new designer shoes. </div>
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Alex and Linda went to a spring training baseball game the next day. I accompanied my cousin to visit my aunt, who now lives in Phoenix. When she first sees me, I can see it across her face that she is remembering my mother. I love that. And Ann flew home, safe and happy after meeting up with two strangers from the internet! </div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-13524683969821872502013-02-25T21:40:00.000-07:002013-02-25T21:40:03.611-07:00Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be BirdwatchersI love wandering aimlessly, especially in a place I haven't seen before. Wandering with a specific aim can be good, too, especially if you're open to getting sidetracked.<br />
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A few weeks ago, I missed what sounds like an amazing festival, <a href="http://www.wingsoverwillcox.com/" target="_blank">Wings over Willcox,</a> which celebrates the huge flocks of <a href="http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/birds/sandhill-crane/" target="_blank">sandhill cranes</a> that spend the winter near the little town of Willcox, Arizona. I love sandhill cranes. I used to see them every summer when I lived in Logan, Utah. I've migrated to southern Arizona to escape the cold weather, just like the cranes. We're like kindred spirits, so of course I wanted to see them here in their winter habitat.<br />
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My friends Alice and Alice and Sue and I headed southeast from Tucson in late January to seek out the cranes. Alice B., who grew up in Tucson and has an encyclopedic knowledge of fun outdoor activities in the area, suggested we go to to <a href="http://www.azgfd.gov/outdoor_recreation/wildlife_area_whitewater.shtml" target="_blank">Whitewater Draw</a>, a state wildlife area, because we might be able to get closer to the birds than at Willcox. Our route would pass through Benson and Bisbee and a whole lot of desolate tan desert.<br />
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As we cruised into the town of Benson, Alice R. said, "There's an awesome used book store in Benson." (I met her at a book club.) I said, "I need to find a bathroom." To which Alice R. replied, "There's a bathroom in the book store." So we pulled over and took a break to shop for books.<br />
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<a href="http://www.abebooks.com/paperback-recycler-benson-az-u.s.a/50459/sf" target="_blank">Paperback Recycler Used Book Store </a></div>
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Alice was right--it was awesome! We all bought a few books. Supporting small business...</div>
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You can tell you're in Southern Arizona by the murals of Sonoran desert vegetation!</div>
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On to <a href="http://www.discoverbisbee.com/index.htm" target="_blank">Bisbee</a>! Bisbee's an old mining town turned funky Old West tourist attraction. We immediately got distracted by a guy selling gourmet fair trade coffee at a sidewalk booth-not because of the coffee, but because he had the cutest puppy with him! But we bought some coffee, too.</div>
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Then it was just a few more steps into a funky little vegan cafe. I was hungry from buying books, and convinced Sue and the Alices we should eat before hiking.</div>
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Sue remembered a trail up a hill to visit the large cross visible from parts of town. We wandered the streets, asking a few of the funky friendly locals where to find the trail. At the uphill edge of town, the street narrowed and steepened. I marveled at the courage of the locals who owned these little houses tucked into the steep hillsides, held up by concrete and rock retaining walls, seemingly ready to slide, but all looking as if they'd been there for a hundred years.</div>
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A foot trail took us up a hill covered in dry golden grass. </div>
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We were tracing the history of religion, in a way, because before we got
to the cross, we entered this little Buddhist shrine off to the side of
the trail. And maybe that cow on the left makes it a Hindu shrine, too?</div>
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At the top of the hill--this must be the cross we saw from town...</div>
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...part of a Catholic shrine, with a Mexican flavor. It was built around 1980 by a local family, from bricks, stones, and cement.</div>
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Below the cross, petroglyph-style designs in paint. Different people leaving different messages and intentions.</div>
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Historic Bisbee down below.</div>
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One last funky Bisbee attraction--a Bisbee Art Car. Sue says it's somewhat of a tradition around Bisbee.</div>
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Contrary to what you read in the news, there must be some liberals here in Arizona!</div>
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This was so weird, I Googled it to see if it really is a "thing," and it is. You can click <a href="http://bisbeeblog27.blogspot.com/2010/11/bisbee-art-cars.html" target="_blank">here</a> to see pictures of several Bisbee Art Cars in the "Bisbee Blog."</div>
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From the ridiculous to the sublime....it was late afternoon by now, and time for the sandhill cranes to fly in from the fields where they feed to congregate in the marshes of the <a href="http://www.azgfd.gov/outdoor_recreation/wildlife_area_whitewater.shtml" target="_blank">Whitewater Draw Wildlife Area.</a> The two Alices sat in front and navigated us through a network of narrow roads, looking for that elusive desert marsh (maintained by the Arizona Game and Fish Department through a series of ditches). Sue and I were in the back. She made the mistake of telling us she'd once dated a man who lived in this area. So, while the Alices looked for the correct turn, I looked for the worst-looking shacks and mobile homes in the desert and asked Sue, "Is that his house? Is that his house?" After awhile, Alice R. got distracted from the map and started saying, "What about that one? Is that his house?" Lucky for Sue, it didn't take long to find the birds...</div>
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...and we were captivated. No attention left for teasing Sue!</div>
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Thousands of cranes waded in the shallow water, flapped their wings and jockeyed for position, flew in from somewhere and passed over our heads in pairs and threes and v's. And made a lot of noise! They have a loud, ratcheting bugle of a call which wove in and out and around the marsh. We stayed there with the birds for a couple of hours, in the cold air (but not that cold for January!) and yellow afternoon light. Beautiful beautiful beautiful!<br />
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We met two older men camped out on the boardwalk with lawn chairs and spotting scopes on tripods. They pointed out to us a coyote in an adjacent meadow. It was hunting rodents, jumping straight up into the air, and landing on front paws, ensnaring dinner. (Sorry, no photo of that! Too much tall grass and dim light.)<br />
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They told us they'd been there for five hours, watching the cranes. Then one of their wives walked up and asked how much longer. "Two hours, at least until dark," was the answer. She got the truck keys, so that she and the other guy's wife could sit inside the truck, out of the cold wind.<br />
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Other birds we saw (but did not love quite as much as we loved the cranes) included...<br />
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...this Northern Harrier hawk cruising around looking for dinner...</div>
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...perhaps a nice Northern Shoveler duck rendered defenseless by its comic feeding posture...</div>
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American Bittern.</div>
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But, twilight approached, and it was time to head home.</div>
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Back at the parking lot, we saw the two wives sitting in the truck. It was a brand new really nice truck, but still. We all made some comments (not to them--the windows were rolled up against the wind) asking why do women spend time watching their men pursue their sports and hobbies, but it never goes the other way--no bored men on the sidelines watching their wives ice skate or tie quilts. We all thought once the ladies got the truck keys, they should have headed for Bisbee and had cocktails inside a warm bar and come back to pick up the husbands later.</div>
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And we headed back to Tucson, through a Border Patrol checkpoint where the agents were in a good mood and told us a couple of jokes and sent us on our way north.</div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-28693813269055612432012-12-28T18:25:00.000-07:002012-12-28T18:25:20.162-07:00Parental Fingers Crossed for "Parental Guidance"My wonderful friend Sue, who frequently entertains me here in Tucson with everything from hiking to flamenco dancing, is the proud mother and mother-in-law of the couple who wrote the movie "Parental Guidance," which opened Christmas Day. She's had her fingers crossed for a couple of months, hoping for a big opening. She's been nagging me to be sure to see it. I just saw it this afternoon, and I loved it! And I'm not saying that just because Sue is my friend!<br />
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I haven't done movie reviews here before (although I've reviewed books several times: <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/01/different-kind-of-southern-africa.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/02/well-ill-be-jiggered.html" target="_blank">here </a>and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/03/another-book-set-in-africa-that-i-liked.html" target="_blank">here </a>and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/12/another-short-post-another-couple-of.html" target="_blank">here</a>). But my fellow blogger Ann Currie, over at <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/" target="_blank">"My Life a Bit South of Normal"</a> recently reviewed several movies. It seemed like maybe she had a rare week with some days off from all the goings on and traveling she usually writes about, so she went to the movies. Click on the following links to read her thoughts on the recent movies <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/2012/12/movie-review-hitchcock.html" target="_blank">"Hitchcock"</a>, <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/2012/12/movie-review-flight.html" target="_blank">"Flight"</a>, <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/2012/12/movie-review-anna-karenina.html" target="_blank">"Anna Karenina"</a>, and <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/2012/12/movie-review-7-psychopaths.html" target="_blank">"7 Psychopaths"</a>. And bonus, because I'm so slow on the draw, these are probably all at the discount theater now, so you can get a bargain.<br />
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But, as Ann often says, I digress. I want to throw in a movie review, too. So here are my thoughts on "Parental Guidance."<br />
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The movie is very funny. I was predisposed to think it's funny because I really like Billy Crystal and I love Bette Midler. And they're in fine form here. The movie is very sweet. We have Billy and Bette as the grandparents from the opposite coast who haven't spent much time with their three grandchildren. We have Marisa Tomei as the adult daughter who feels some emotional strain with her dad and who parents in the totally modern over-achieving, high self-esteem, no-competition style. We have the three children, all funny and appealing. The youngest, the problem child with bright red hair, is especially funny. And we have the expected feel-good happy ending. Which really did make me feel good!<br />
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I saw it at a mall in Tucson on a Friday afternoon. The theater was quite full, with lots of children in the audience. Everybody laughed all the way through the movie. The kids laughed, too, and seemed to really like the jokes and any misbehavior by the red-headed youngest grandchild and by Billy Crystal. Towards the end of the movie, when we got to the scenes where each plot line had a happy ending, the whole audience said, "Awww" multiple times. And at the end, the audience stayed seated through most of the credits, and laughed and said, "Oh, how cute" about the family pictures included with the credits. It was as if we all didn't want to get up and rush out, because we'd enjoyed the movie so much and wanted to extend the feel good-ness of it for a few more minutes.<br />
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Don't be mad at me for revealing that there's a happy ending. It was predictable, and you would have known a happy ending was coming right from the start even if I didn't tell you!<br />
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So, if you want to prolong the happy glow of a pleasant visit with your family at Christmas, take them all with you and go see this movie. Or, conversely, if you're feeling stressed by a dysfunctional visit with your family at Christmas, take them all with you and go see this movie and laugh at the generational and in-law jokes and de-stress yourselves.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-75432605404539921002012-12-24T21:53:00.001-07:002012-12-27T14:31:00.959-07:00A Week at the Beach--Cabo San LucasSo did "K" and I make it to Cabo San Lucas for our Mexican beach vacation? Yes! Yes, we did. And who is this mysterious "K", really? Tami! "K" is my long time friend, Tami, and now her mother knows she's been to Mexico and come home safe, so no more need for fake initials.<br />
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If you have no idea what I'm going on about, you can <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2012/10/mujeres-con-huevos-going-to-cabo.html" target="_blank">click here</a> to read about our misadventures in planning this vacation. A series of events (sketchy timeshare sales company, too-short flight layovers in Dallas, break-away seats in American Airlines planes, threatened pilots' strike, monster-from-the-deep oarfish, and Hurricane Paul) conspired to make us ask the question, "Is this vacation doomed?" <br />
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Not doomed! We had a great time!<br />
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Our travel on American Airlines was smooth. The seats stayed firmly bolted to the floor. We survived the gauntlet of time share salesmen in the San Jose del Cabo airport trying to sell us discounted shuttle rides to the hotel, if only we would attend a sales presentation the next day. </div>
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Just one little glitch at Mexican immigration.... The young agent who checked my passport kept looking back and forth from my passport to his computer screen. Meantime, Tami had breezed through at the next counter and was waiting for me. The agent asked me if it was my first time "here." I told him I'd been in Cabo in 1996. He just kept looking at the computer and at me and at my passport. Tami was still waiting, and looking a little nervous. So then I thought maybe "here" was the bigger "here" of all of Mexico. So I told him I'd been in Vera Cruz in 2009. And Oaxaca in 2004. Or maybe it was 2005? And LaPaz, and Puerto Vallarta, and Mexico City. Oh, and I was in Nogales for one day a few weeks ago. Finally, I asked, "Is something wrong?" He said the computer was calling for a "second review," and walked away with my passport. He returned with a supervisor, who beckoned me into an office away from the line. Tami followed us over. Thanks, Tami! If I got arrested, at least someone would know about it. And she could get right on it after her week at the beach! The supervisor spoke perfect English and was very polite to me. He sat me down next to his desk and looked at the computer and at my passport and at me. He asked me if this was my first time "here." But after only a few minutes, he decided that they were looking for someone else with a similar name and let me through. Ay yi yi!</div>
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We loaded ourselves into one of the 8-passenger taxi vans and settled in for the 45-minute ride. As we approached Cabo San Lucas, an American man sitting behind me started a long cell phone call, in which he and another group of tourists were trying to find each other based on proximity to landmarks such as Costco and Walmart. "No, we already passed Costco. Where are you? No, we already passed Walmart. No, I don't know where the Holiday Inn is." Just before we reached the road to our resort, traffic slowed to a crawl. No problem for our driver...</div>
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...He turned off into this dry wash and took us four-wheeling in the 8-passenger van!</div>
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After only a couple of minutes, we saw the resort ahead of us. The man behind me said into the cell phone, "Oh, there's a hotel. Heh-heh, I thought we were being kidnaped for a minute there. Heh-heh." Ay yi yi! </div>
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We stayed at <a href="http://www.pueblobonito-loscabos.com/" target="_blank">Pueblo Bonito Blanco</a> in Cabo San Lucas. It's a time share resort, so time share salespeople approached us. But they always let us go easily. My guess is they calculate that two single women will each have half of the money that one married couple has. (Or maybe 38.5%, which is one half of the 77% of men's earnings that women earn back in the U.S.) Whatever the calculation, it worked in our favor and we did not attend any "presentation" during our week of vacation.<br />
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The salesmen promise a big prize for attending only a 90-minute presentation. From past experience, and talk around the pool, I know that most of the "90-minute presentations" run about 4 hours, and you have to fight through multiple levels of sales people and their supervisors to get out of the room.<br />
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One guy offered $300 worth of free spa services. The spa was pretty expensive. Maybe if they'd made the presentation while I was actually in the spa getting a free facial, I'd have gone for it.</div>
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The beautiful Pueblo Bonito Blanco.<br />
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I might go to the sales presentation next time if they trade me a week in that room on the left with the big shaded balcony facing the ocean!</div>
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But our "junior executive suite" was very nice. Tami was excited to find herself in paradise when she woke up the next morning.<br />
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We spent our first day wandering the resort, and the resort next door, which is <a href="http://www.pueblobonito-rose.com/" target="_blank">Pueblo Bonito Rose</a>. It's newer and bigger (but not as charming). Rose and Blanco (and about a dozen other Pueblo Bonitos scattered all around the Cabo region) are sister resorts, so as guests of one, we could hang out in any of them. Some of the resort features that caught our attention...</div>
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...the sweet little koi/ turtle pond...<br />
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...the sweet little swans made of folded towels...<br />
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..and this huge statue of Neptune...<br />
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...which had only a sweet little...<br />
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Anyway, the resort was beautiful. </div>
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It's right on Medano Beach, the biggest stretch of beach in Cabo, and the safest for swimming.<br />
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Plenty of vendors selling hats, jewelry, sarongs, ceramics, time share weeks...<br />
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Several nights while we were there, the resort staged special dinner events around the pool, like this Mexican fiesta, complete with folk dances and mariachi music. But every event was priced at $55 per person. Ay-yi-yi!</div>
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Luxury does not come cheap at Pueblo Bonito. But the junior executive suite does come with a kitchenette tucked in behind the front door. So we headed to Walmart to stock up on coffee and oatmeal and fruit so we could eat cheap for breakfast.</div>
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Always Low Prices.<br />
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I know what you're thinking. "Walmart? Really?" I know! I always swore I'd never go into a Mexican Walmart. But when we asked Yair, our favorite reception clerk, where we could buy some groceries, he said Walmart. Tami was ready to go. I wanted to argue first. I pleaded for a local <i>super mercado.</i> I remembered one from that previous visit back in....1996. Apparently, it's gone. I asked Yair where the locals shop for groceries. He told me, "Mexicans need low prices, too." Actually, it was an interesting shopping experience. And the store was full of middle class Mexican shoppers.</div>
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They had a wonderful Mexican bakery, where we bought our favorite pig cookies, and a bunch of other pastries. </div>
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It was six days of delightful breakfasts, paired with coffee from Chiapas, and the local brand of yogurt, all consumed in the early morning sunshine out on our balcony. Delightful, and cheap!</div>
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Lunch and dinner were expensive inside the resort, too, so we made an effort to eat as many meals as possible in town, a 15-minute walk or an eight-dollar taxi ride away. We never did take a taxi--it would have cut into the savings on the meal. But on the third day, as we walked down the hill feeling really tired, a bicycle taxi was waiting for us. Actually, the driver was looping around the intersection waiting to nab the next tourist that walked by. It was cheaper than a taxi, after I bartered a bit in my horrible, but serviceable, Spanish. Tami briefly made some objection about feeling guilty about the driver working so hard to pull us into town. I quickly countered with support for small business opportunities in the local economy to make up for shopping in Walmart.</div>
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And we were off! This night, and several other times, too.</div>
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We found several restaurants we liked, and a couple that we returned to multiple times. There was a little place selling fish tacos for $4.00 apiece. Of course by the time we ordered two tacos and a drink and some chips and guacamole, it went higher, but still not as high as Pueblo Bonito! </div>
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We ate at the Crazy Lobster, where they have a time share salesman with a desk right inside the door, and a funny bartender roams the tables trying to convince you to down tequila shots. We didn't sign up for a sales presentation, nor did we do any shots. But when Tami looked up to see the waiter standing behind her shoulder, she jumped, then looked away, then looked back, and her eyes got big. After we ordered our food and the waiter left, Tami said, "He looks exactly like my ex-husband when he was 23 and I first met him." Ay-yi-yi! The waiter's name was Alejandro, but after that we referred to him as Young Mexican Bill. We weren't thinking clearly, and we left the Crazy Lobster without asking Alejandro to pose for a photo with Tami.</div>
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Across the street from the Crazy Lobster is our all-time favorite Cabo restaurant--La Mesa Poblano. </div>
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The owner has placed Spanish Bible verses on the tables and on the waiters' shirts. I wondered if our waiter, Mauro, might preach to us while we ate, but that never happened. The owner, who is from Puebla, stopped by our table on two different nights and chatted with us about his family and business. They serve incredible food from different regions of Mexico.</div>
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The mole poblano is to die for. I asked Mauro for extra tortillas so I could mop every molecule off my plate...<br />
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...and off the blade of my knife. (I don't know how to make the accent mark over the 'e', but please understand I was eating a rich chocolate and chile-based sauce, not a tunneling rodent!)</div>
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We came back a second night, because I had to have more mole, and because Tami had made the mistake of not ordering mole the first time. Which she knew was a mistake because I let her taste a bite of my dinner. When we pulled up outside the open front of the restaurant in the bicycle taxi, Mauro was eating dinner with several other staff just inside. When he saw us, he raised his arms into the air and shouted out, "<i>Amigas!" </i></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-63cQXarYdZQ/UKrt3gaR_aI/AAAAAAAAQD4/Eszl5S3tmbE/s1600/IMG_0467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-63cQXarYdZQ/UKrt3gaR_aI/AAAAAAAAQD4/Eszl5S3tmbE/s400/IMG_0467.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
That's Mauro in bright pink.<br />
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Although he wasn't working that evening, we sent the other waiter to ask Mauro to pose for a photo with us. Everybody else at the staff table erupted into jokes in Spanish and loud laughter. I don't know the Spanish for "cougar," but I think that's what they were saying to him. I should have called out, "<i>Somos las tias!"</i> I think that would have meant we are his aunties. But I didn't think of it at the time. And Mauro was pleased to pose with us.</div>
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We came back a third night. I kind of wanted to eat mole again. But there were so many other interesting choices. I had Yucatan-style tamales steamed in banana leaves. Also totally to die for. If you are ever in Cabo, you have to eat La Mesa Poblano. </div>
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That night, Mauro waited on us again. Things were slow, so we spent some time chatting with him, with me translating between English and Spanish so Mauro and Tami could talk, too. That limited us to a pretty simple conversation. Mauro asked if either of us were married. We said <i>divorciados.</i> Then he asked if either of us had children. Neither of us do, and he looked so sad for us! He is 18, and is from Acapulco. He moved to Cabo looking for work, and to escape the drug cartel violence in Acapulco. We looked sad for him. Mauro was one of three young men we spoke with during the week who had moved away from their homes in Acapulco and in the state of Michoacan in order to escape the horrible violence. Two of them had their whole familes with them. Mauro's family was still in Acapulco, but his aunt had accompanied him.<br />
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It was also slow across the street at the Crazy Lobster. I could see they had no customers at all. So, as we finished our dinner, I said to Tami, "I dare you to ask Young Mexican Bill to pose for a picture with you."<br />
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"You dare me?" Tami said, looking across the street to the very quiet Crazy Lobster. "Won't that be weird? It's four days since we were in there." But Tami is not one to refuse a dare. And she really wanted the picture.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtX1K4W5GgFfeZK2wcXfVBmKnfy28qGmQVfhF7ISG1tfws1zQFV4lf-l_1OdAGLxH2aj9GYbr8qCGkuOBlW2dU4x0IlTnS50C_gtyr71e0pN03zzhZak01Zmw991XK1aEchW_NGzK7h-1/s1600/DSCN8176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtX1K4W5GgFfeZK2wcXfVBmKnfy28qGmQVfhF7ISG1tfws1zQFV4lf-l_1OdAGLxH2aj9GYbr8qCGkuOBlW2dU4x0IlTnS50C_gtyr71e0pN03zzhZak01Zmw991XK1aEchW_NGzK7h-1/s400/DSCN8176.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Hey! Is it too late to print Christmas cards? That would confuse the family and friends! Ho ho ho! Ay yi yi!</div>
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Alejandro (Young Mexican Bill) was a good sport, even though the bartender called him from the back of the restaurant by saying, "She's only seen you once and she already wants you!" The timeshare salesman stationed at his desk inside the entrance (who spoke excellent English as his main job skill) explained the whole ex-husband doppelganger thing to Alejandro, so I'm sure he knew he was in no danger. As we left, the timeshare salesman said, "I'll let you have him for a week if you attend a presentation tomorrow." As we hastily retreated amid much laughter at Alejandro's expense, I again heard the Spanish word for "cougar." Which I don't know. But I'm pretty sure that's what they were saying. <i>Somos las tias! </i>I promise!</div>
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And as if we needed more entertainment in those downtown restaurants, we met many, many roving musicians. They stroll up to the table and ask if you would like a song. If you say yes, you have to tip them.<br />
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If they ask you what song you'd like to hear, and you can't think of any Mexican songs, they'll sing "<i>Cielito Lindo."</i> The old <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frito_Bandito" target="_blank">Frito Bandito commercial </a> used the tune of this song, so I guess the musicians figure Americans will recognize it. Or at least those of us over 40! Of course we remember it, but then some of us feel a little embarrassed, because those commercials became emblematic of negative stereotypes of Mexicans. Ay yi yi! </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-36O-DAiZBJw/UKrvWeG2-RI/AAAAAAAAQPA/QbrN6C-J9yE/s1600/DSCN8027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-36O-DAiZBJw/UKrvWeG2-RI/AAAAAAAAQPA/QbrN6C-J9yE/s400/DSCN8027.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i> </i>This gentleman played <i>"Cielito Lindo"</i> for us. </div>
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I tipped him 20 pesos. All the other musicians before that had accepted 20. He told me the price of a song was 50 pesos! We were speaking Spanish with each other. After I upped the tip to 50 pesos, he then asked me how to say 50 in English! So again, I was supporting small business opportunities in the local economy. And even providing some training!</div>
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I loved these guys, but Tami didn't. I accused her of being too cheap to pay, but she said it was more that it felt intrusive for strangers to interrupt your meal. Which led us to comparing all the friendly activity we've observed and participated in between restaurant tables in Mexico and all of the private, reserved, not-talking-to-anybody-but-the-waiter non-activity at restaurant tables in the U.S. It does seem like a strong cultural difference. But Tami was willing to humor me. After the first few days, I started looking for the groups with something to set them apart.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4sot-H9Gym4/UKrufptAf8I/AAAAAAAAQI4/T-tCUS3M8-k/s1600/DSCN8119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4sot-H9Gym4/UKrufptAf8I/AAAAAAAAQI4/T-tCUS3M8-k/s400/DSCN8119.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
These guys had an accordion!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BU3cWQoiAjM/UKrue-qD7tI/AAAAAAAAQIw/sODgDdb5N2g/s1600/DSCN8120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BU3cWQoiAjM/UKrue-qD7tI/AAAAAAAAQIw/sODgDdb5N2g/s400/DSCN8120.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Tami didn't care about the accordion. She was more interested in the guacamole.</div>
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But then, a few minutes later, another group sang at the table next to us. As the musicians stood with their backs to us, Tami suddenly was enjoying the music. At every chorus, the singer did that high-pitched, loud rolling "rrrr" sound. Who knew? Tami can make that noise like a native mariachi singer. And she was so into this song that she started throwing in her own yipping noises and "rrrr's". The guitar player looked over his shoulder each time, and saw me! The third time he gave me a big smile, but I pointed at Tami, who was quietly eating guacamole and pretending to be uninterested. Ay-yi-yi!</div>
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Next up for entertainment... </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GR86DQIgUOM/UKrvFEGseeI/AAAAAAAAQM4/mUAnH7tFQP8/s1600/DSCN8049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GR86DQIgUOM/UKrvFEGseeI/AAAAAAAAQM4/mUAnH7tFQP8/s400/DSCN8049.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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...scuba diving!</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Sb6rQyLaMg/UKrvN3oe_TI/AAAAAAAAQN4/_G5OetqA4XA/s1600/DSCN8040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9Sb6rQyLaMg/UKrvN3oe_TI/AAAAAAAAQN4/_G5OetqA4XA/s400/DSCN8040.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Well, Tami dived.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_GlKVBYAvmM/UKrvGs1cXJI/AAAAAAAAQNA/bMwi-4Q6kSw/s1600/DSCN8048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_GlKVBYAvmM/UKrvGs1cXJI/AAAAAAAAQNA/bMwi-4Q6kSw/s400/DSCN8048.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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A perfect scissor step off the side of the boat.</div>
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I only snorkeled. And hung out on the boat in the sunshine. And relaxed while all the nervous divers getting their open water certification sweated inside their wet suits while they waited their turns to do the giant scissor step. Tami's already certified, but she seemed a little nervous, too.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DrP7KymOp5A/UKrvD4Bd4gI/AAAAAAAAQMw/dYFv4ZzzKok/s1600/DSCN8050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DrP7KymOp5A/UKrvD4Bd4gI/AAAAAAAAQMw/dYFv4ZzzKok/s400/DSCN8050.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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We boated out to the iconic el Arco and on out through the rocks to Lands End.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0-l-6PRv7Rc/UKrvUu9M4eI/AAAAAAAAQOw/dk_LlJ2LM9Y/s1600/DSCN8030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0-l-6PRv7Rc/UKrvUu9M4eI/AAAAAAAAQOw/dk_LlJ2LM9Y/s400/DSCN8030.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Really beautiful...<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ITbU9Z_oktY/UKruuYBsOFI/AAAAAAAAQKQ/aLxue78_G5A/s1600/DSCN8102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ITbU9Z_oktY/UKruuYBsOFI/AAAAAAAAQKQ/aLxue78_G5A/s400/DSCN8102.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
...and really busy. Cruise ships, dive boats, water taxis, pelicans...<br />
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Ay yi yi!</div>
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After the dive, Tami told me she was very nervous, because it'd been a few years since she last dove. But Dive Master Julian had such a calming aura that Tami relaxed once she was in the water and really enjoyed the two dives. She highly recommends <a href="http://www.divecabo.com/sunshinedivecharter_location.html" target="_blank">Sunshine Dive Charters</a>. Their office is inside the old lobby of the Wyndham Hotel right at the marina.</div>
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Walking away from the dive office...</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zLMYQLfEHQQ/UKrvv40aZZI/AAAAAAAAQSQ/be-Bnj8VPO4/s1600/DSCN7991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zLMYQLfEHQQ/UKrvv40aZZI/AAAAAAAAQSQ/be-Bnj8VPO4/s400/DSCN7991.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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...we came across this pharmacy in the marina.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bLadv5CFMuw/UKrt8YoQPFI/AAAAAAAAQEg/s_L8NQcUyM4/s1600/DSCN8175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bLadv5CFMuw/UKrt8YoQPFI/AAAAAAAAQEg/s_L8NQcUyM4/s400/DSCN8175.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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And later on, out shopping, we saw this one. It looks like the "super" viagra contributes more to overall robustness....</div>
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...which made us think of the Neptune statue back at Pueblo Bonito. So robust, but lacking a bit.</div>
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Anyway, back at yet another sister resort, <a href="http://www.pueblobonitosunsetbeach.com/" target="_blank">Pueblo Bonito Sunset Beach</a>, things were hopping at the Sky Pool, an infinity pool perched just below the top of the hill that this resort sprawls up and down.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G651qtRWsEE/UKruW4ZEp-I/AAAAAAAAQHw/s5hXT9o4lqk/s1600/DSCN8135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G651qtRWsEE/UKruW4ZEp-I/AAAAAAAAQHw/s5hXT9o4lqk/s400/DSCN8135.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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To get there, we had to take a 20-minute shuttle bus from Rose through town, then a golf cart shuttle from the lobby up a really steep hill. I usually hate hip-hop music, but for some reason (that does not include alcohol, since I wasn't drinking at the swim-up bar), it was kind of fun dancing around in the pool. Tami kept trying to tell me the words to the songs--she's much more in sync with pop culture than I am. But I really did not want to know the words, because then my feminist ire would be aroused because of course the words would be disrespectful to women. And it's hard to relax and have fun in the sunshine if your feminist ire is aroused.</div>
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We also did a stint lounging on the lovely empty Pacific Ocean beach at the bottom of the hill. But we didn't last long. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O6YvA_SY_e4/UKrudpoM4qI/AAAAAAAAQIo/fhvMLI345xM/s1600/DSCN8121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O6YvA_SY_e4/UKrudpoM4qI/AAAAAAAAQIo/fhvMLI345xM/s400/DSCN8121.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
See the couple under the palapel on the right? And see how they're both practically lunging at the poor woman in the lounge chair?<br />
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They were a Catholic married couple from Milwaukee who had just happened upon another couple from the same Catholic parish. The two of them talked really loud in a nasal Wisconsin accent. The wife was the stronger talker, but the husband talked right over her because, finally, here was someone who might listen to him, too. They went through all of the parish gossip, and some other stuff, too. The other woman, who was knitting a heavy sweater, made the mistake of trying to be polite by occasionally responding. After about 30 minutes, her husband stood up and gathered their things and hovered until she got up and they left. </div>
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Tami and I stared straight ahead and avoided eye contact. A Spanish couple came by and tried to take the two now-empty lounge chairs. The wife only let them take one, because she had been waiting all afternoon to get a lounge chair and now she thought she might want to use it. (She never did.) Two more groups came and quickly went from the palapel. Then they discovered wasps nesting under the peak of the roof and demanded immediate action from the security guard patrolling the beach. I made the mistake of looking up at our roof to check for wasps. Then it seemed as if they might start talking to us. And really, they were so loud and unrelenting that it was almost as if they were talking to us. So we packed up our things and caught a golf cart back up to the sky pool to listen to some hip hop.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F4ork_s0pso/UKruZvQqnHI/AAAAAAAAQII/fHOH5x1j4og/s1600/DSCN8129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F4ork_s0pso/UKruZvQqnHI/AAAAAAAAQII/fHOH5x1j4og/s400/DSCN8129.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here's the traditional bunny ears photo, with Pueblo Bonito Sunset Beach sprawling behind us. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p9FVaq94gS0/UKrt92wvDxI/AAAAAAAAQEo/9JVetNrgJ_M/s1600/DSCN8174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p9FVaq94gS0/UKrt92wvDxI/AAAAAAAAQEo/9JVetNrgJ_M/s400/DSCN8174.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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As long as we're looking at childish photo poses...here we are poolside at Rose reading the sunglasses-shaped poolside cafe menus. </div>
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And here's Tami participating in what we called "Night of the Typing Dead" at the pleasant little courtyard outside the spa that provided the resort's only free wi-fi.<br />
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I had such good intentions to log on every day and keep up with all the assignments from my online writing class. And I did it for three days. By that time, detox had become effective and I couldn't be bothered. Internet detox, that is. The first few mornings, we both missed our routines of checking Facebook and email on our smartphones. The first couple of days we also missed being able to quickly search for maps, directions, Starbucks, and whatever random trivia we disagreed on. At least we didn't need to text each other, since we were spending the week together!</div>
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But every night in this courtyard, screens glowed eerily in the dark and Americans hunched over them. Meanwhile, resort employees trying to sweep and mop the brick courtyard roped off a few tables at a time and shifted chairs around, and patiently waited for us all to get up and leave.</div>
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You can see that the detox really worked, since it's over a month since I last posted to this blog! Okay, it didn't work that well. The first morning after I got home, I woke up and checked Facebook on my phone before I got out of bed. I wanted to see if my friends were jealous after seeing the vacation pictures we'd posted! And then I texted Tami to ask if she'd checked Facebook yet, and did she see how many "likes" the accordion photo got.</div>
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But the lack of texting and posting left our hands idle. To the point that the resort's ceramics painting table started to look like fun. We were fresh from Tucson's <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2012/11/tucsons-day-of-dead.html" target="_blank">Day of the Dead festivities</a>. This made us think that we were a lot more artistic than the other tourists and we should paint skulls.</div>
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At first, it was fun. I was feeling that pre-Hispanic artistic vibe.<br />
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But at about this point, I realized my skull was turning out really ugly and it was taking way longer than I'd thought it would, and that I don't have any blood link to pre-Hispanic Mexico.</div>
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I was hungry. My blood sugar dropped. I begged Tami to let me abandon the project. She tried to touch it up for me. My blood sugar dropped some more. I could tell I was starting to go over the edge by the way Tami's eyes got big when she looked at my face. So we decided to cut it short and go get some lunch. I told the owner of the booth in Spanish that I wanted a discount because it was so ugly. He looked slightly alarmed until he saw that I was joking. Then he said he'd finish painting it for me if I tipped him. So, for the price of a song by the roving restaurant musicians, I hired an artist to ghost-paint for me. It was still really ugly when we went back to pick it up. But at least I got lunch and that made me feel much better.</div>
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Here I am with my blood sugar stabilized after eating fish tacos and drinking two <i>limonadas</i>. I know, again with the childish photo poses.</div>
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We got in trouble with guest services once for hanging a wet towel out on the balcony. We got in trouble with hotel security once when we put all our money and credit cards and passports inside the room safe and forgot to lock it and they sent two extremely handsome Mexican men to our room to open the safe and check the contents. We went to the waterfall pool inside the spa about five times on our three-visit pass. We kept exchanging our dollars for pesos, then we had to calculate how many pesos to pay everybody that kept quoting us prices in dollars. And a whole bunch of other stuff happened, too (including some stuff Tami didn't want me to blog about), but, wow, this post is really getting long, so I'm going to wind it up.</div>
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Also, I feel the need to text Tami to tell her to look at this post now that it's finally finished. And I have to check Facebook. </div>
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But I promise no more crafts projects! Although Tami's (right) doesn't look quite as hideous as mine (left).</div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-36818126387792431152012-11-08T19:02:00.002-07:002012-11-08T19:02:50.228-07:00Tucson's Day of the DeadTucson, Arizona is close to the Mexican border, and never more so than on <i>el Dia de los Muertos</i>, or the Day of the Dead. The Day of the Dead is celebrated on November 1 and 2, and according to this <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Day_of_the_Dead" target="_blank">Wikipedia article</a>, can be traced to an indigenous, pre-Hispanic festival in Mexico. Skulls were kept to symbolize death and rebirth. Now skulls and skeletons are everywhere as symbols of the holiday.<br />
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The Day of the Dead is an occasion to honor and remember family members and friends who have passed away. Maybe even to encourage their spirits to visit the living and hear the prayers we offer for them. And, like many things in Mexico, the holiday has evolved to include a bit of humor. The traditions and activities are different from town to town even within Mexico. And they have danced right across the border into Arizona, where Tucson has developed its own traditions and activities.<br />
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The University of Arizona hosted an author reading by <a href="http://www.luisurrea.com/about-luis" target="_blank">Luis Urrea</a>. His "Hummingbird's Daughter" is one of my all time favorite books, so I had to go. Here's my review of it in Goodreads.<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/91289.The_Hummingbird_s_Daughter" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/91289.The_Hummingbird_s_Daughter" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/91289.The_Hummingbird_s_Daughter" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/91289.The_Hummingbird_s_Daughter" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Hummingbird's Daughter" border="0" src="http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1344268741m/91289.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/91289.The_Hummingbird_s_Daughter">The Hummingbird's Daughter</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52458.Luis_Alberto_Urrea">Luis Alberto Urrea</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/37281331">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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It's not quite magic surrealism, because the events are more concrete and reality-based than that. The narration is quietly hilarious. The tone, the events, the characters all beautifully capture the feeling of how magical Mexico is.
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Hmmm...I think the correct term is "magic realism." Oh, well. And bonus, because it was all part of a Day of the Dead celebration, we also got <i>mariachi </i>music and Mexican folk dances and <i>pan muerto, </i>a sweet bread. They promised Mexican hot chocolate, but I'm not sure if it really counted, because it was a thermos of hot water with packets of instant Swiss Miss hot chocolate.<br />
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The mariachis were little! They were <a href="http://tucsoncitizen.com/morgue/2009/03/24/112693-working-with-schoolkids-a-labor-of-love-for-mariachi-maestro/" target="_blank">Las Aguilitas de Davis,</a> from Davis Elementary School, with musicians from grades 1-5. The music was quite good. And the kids were really cute in their <i>charro</i> suits and skeleton makeup.<br />
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The high cuteness factor makes <i>Las Aguilitas</i> a hard act to follow. But the university's <i>Grupo Folklorico Miztontli</i> held their own with beautiful Mexican folk dances, also performed in skeleton makeup.<br />
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And then we all followed the performers in a mini-procession from the basement of the bookstore to the auditorium in the Student Union Building, where Luis Urrea read to us. But really, he told us a story. I saw him holding the book and glancing at it for the words, but he performed it for us in such a way that the whole audience was transported to the home of the old woman and her family who babysat him as a little boy while his father was at work. Beautiful! I hate to admit this, but I'm not positive which book he was reading from--I missed that part talking to my friends right at the start! But I think it was, "Nobody's Son: Notes from an American Life." And in any case, I am definitely planning to read more of Luis Urrea's work.<br />
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The next procession was more arduous. My friends Sue and Alice and I joined <a href="http://www.derechoshumanosaz.net/2012/10/twelfth-annual-dia-de-los-muertos-pilgrimage/" target="_blank">the pilgrimage</a> from St. John's Church in South Tucson to <a href="http://www.sanxaviermission.org/" target="_blank">San Xavier Mission</a>, a walk of eight miles.<br />
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St. John's Church</div>
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We walked the eight miles to honor the lives of those people who lost their lives along the U.S.-Mexico border in Arizona in the past year. <br />
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179 crosses, one for each of the people who passed away. If the person was identified, his or her name was written on the cross. Many bodies were not identified, and their crosses were labeled "<i>Desconocido"</i>, or "Unknown."</div>
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We gathered behind the church and the organizers told us some rules about crossing streets and made some promises about breaks and snacks and water along the way. Then they talked about all those <i>desconocidos,</i> who had been found alone in the desert and not identified, and that most likely their families don't know what has happened to them. We would honor them and bear witness that they had passed through this life by carrying a cross for each of them and thoughts of each of them on this procession.<br />
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Lining up...</div>
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...lining up...</div>
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...and we're off!</div>
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Here we're passing out of Tucson and onto the Tohono O'Odham reservation.</div>
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About four or five miles in, Alice (above, in white hat and purple shirt) and I were trying to remember why we were doing this. It was hot, and the scenery we passed through was not as pleasant as our usual hiking excursions. But Sue (in blue) never wavered. </div>
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Along the way, we passed this altar for a deceased loved one.</div>
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Our final rest stop. Notice the bottles of pain relievers there in front of the fruit and pretzels! Some good planning by the organizers!</div>
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And we could just see San Xavier Mission, only about a half mile away now. It's those white rounded towers poking up at mid-horizon. Yay! We're getting closer.</div>
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When we reached the mission, crosses from the previous several years were already laid out in this circle. As I walked up, it hit me hard that each of those was a person who was lost. And then I remembered what I was doing there.</div>
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Several people took turns reading the names of those whose crosses we had carried with us, including <i>desconocido.</i> As each was read, the person holding that cross placed it at the edge of the circle.</div>
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One of the mission priests offered a blessing...</div>
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...and we were done.</div>
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An altar set up by the mission priests.</div>
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That's me, Sue, and Alice hoping we can get a ride back to Tucson....which we did, thanks to Sue's persistence!</div>
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The event Tucson is most known for is the huge All Souls' Procession through downtown. I'd say this is also the event that most incorporates that Mexican humor. The procession started in 1990, when Tucson artist <a href="http://www.susankayjohnson.com/" target="_blank">Susan Johnson</a> was grieving the passing of her father. Inspired by Mexico's Day of the Dead celebrations, she offered a performance to honor his memory. Other local artists liked it, and the celebration grew into <a href="http://www.allsoulsprocession.org/history" target="_blank">Tucson's All Souls Procession</a>. This year, organizers estimated 35,000 participants paraded over two miles through downtown.<br />
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I headed to the parade route with Sue and Alice and Tami (who lives only two blocks from the route and let us park in her apartment complex--score!) to bask in all the craziness. While, of course, offering our respects to the dead. And here is just some of what we saw in the dark of downtown Tucson on All Souls' Day....<br />
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Waiting with the kids for the parade to start.</div>
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An altar on a wagon to pull in the procession. They had photos of family and friends lost over the last several years taped to the outside and the Virgin Mary on the inside.</div>
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Last-minute adjustments to the costumes.</div>
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OK...all of this and the procession has not even started yet!</div>
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Tami and I always get distracted by blinking plastic novelty items for sale at public events. So we ended up with these flashing hair bows. Or maybe they're butterflies? Anyway, they were really helpful for finding each other in the huge crowd in the dark. Also notice my cool necklace of skulls (I know, it's too little to see. Trust me, it's cool!)</div>
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The procession ended with the burning of a large urn filled with slips of paper carrying hopes, offerings, and wishes for those who have passed. </div>
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It started with a model of the urn...</div>
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...and strolling attendants in silver
offering paper and pencil and collecting notes to burn later. I offered the names of two older ladies from my church who passed away this year and whom I've been missing. Both of them would have delighted in a night like this!</div>
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A rolling altar in the form of a sailboat made of bones. My interpretation? The lady in the picture loved to sail and she died this year, and these are her children and they're missing her.</div>
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A whole group in "house dresses" and pink bob-style wigs carrying large pictures of the family matron. Or maybe it was all for <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/3073287.stm" target="_blank">Celia Cruz?</a> She had a pink wig like that.</div>
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Good-bye to Neil Armstrong. I didn't capture it in a picture, but the astronauts had skeleton faces inside their helmets.</div>
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Some bereaved pet owners commemorated their lost animals. Here, a dog.</div>
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Speckles, the pet bunny.</div>
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Maybe this cowboy lost his favorite horse this year. He built quite the contraption.</div>
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OK, and some people just made interesting stuff and marched in the parade. Unless this girl really had a pet jelly fish.</div>
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And some environmental politics--save the jaguar.</div>
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And lots of Mexican-style skeletons and spooks...</div>
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Alice and I saw something funny...I don't remember what exactly...but it could have been almost anything!</div>
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This is the <a href="http://www.sevenpipers.org/history.html" target="_blank">Seven Pipers</a> band. They had a sign saying, "129 Days Until St. Patrick's Day." It's the whole American melting pot thing.</div>
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And there was so much more than this. And I probably only saw a third of it in the dark with the huge crowd.</div>
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So let me just close by saying how much I love Tucson! And I am dressing up next year!</div>
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Oh, and we did have Halloween first, just like the rest of the U.S.!</div>
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Here's Tami on Halloween dressed as a really cool guy from the '70's. You can tell it's authentic because she looks just like Ben Affleck as a 1970's CIA agent in "Argo." Also by the fake chest hair. Blecch!</div>
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-9639109615811868992012-10-17T23:37:00.000-06:002012-10-17T23:37:01.140-06:00Mujeres con Huevos Going to CaboI love beach vacations. I love Mexico. <br />
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My last visit to Mexico was Christmas, 2009 when friends invited me to their beach house north of Vera Cruz. It was a great visit. I attended a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quincea%C3%B1era" target="_blank">quinceanara</a>, toured ruins of an ancient city, took two all-night bus rides through areas now beset by drug violence, shared an early morning coffee on New Year's Day with a polite young cab driver, and was the only person crossing the border back into Brownsville, Texas at 6:30 am on New Year's Day, 2010.<br />
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<i>Quinceanara!</i></div>
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A little <i>cumbia.</i></div>
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Taj%C3%ADn" target="_blank">El Tajin archaeological site</a></div>
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Misty corner in Xico, Mexico.</div>
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<i>Mujeres con Huevos</i>. Women with Eggs--a women's egg-selling cooperative in Xico, Mexico. Of course, in Mexico, <i>huevos</i> is slang for testicles. So these egg-selling chicks are tough!</div>
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Mexico! How could you not love it? Well, there's that part about the drug violence. I, like many other Americans, have let myself get a little freaked out by all the bad news from Mexico. But many places in Mexico are still completely safe to visit. So I nagged my friend K until she agreed to go to Cabo San Lucas for a one-week beach vacation at a big resort. I will refer to her only as "K" because she says her mom (one of the Americans who is freaked out by news reports) is gonna be really mad when she finds out K's going to Mexico. "K" isn't even her real initial, so we're talking deep cover, here.<br />
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But now, two weeks after the start of vacation planning, and three weeks before departure, we are asking ourselves, "Is this vacation doomed?" You be the judge....<br />
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After we got ourselves all worked up over the idea of a beach vacation, I went to the internet to search for cheap holiday package deals. This isn't even really vacation planning. It's just a week at a hotel and a flight. In one of the busiest tourist places in North America.<br />
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I went to a website that offers deals to military families and government employees. I clicked on a link for "5 Days in Cabo for Only $499!!!" The link opened to a page with the name of a very nice resort on Medano Beach. I called the toll-free number to ask about adding extra days. The operator answered the phone with, "Welcome to our One-Day Vacation Sale." Seven days was still cheap.<br />
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I hung up and looked at online customer reviews of the resort. It was universally well reviewed, except for annoyance with time share salesmen. But, hey, that's a constant for Mexican beach vacations at nice resorts! We ended up booking a week at the super cheap price.<br />
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But the booker asked us a bunch of questions about our age, our income, and our employment and disclosed that the super cheap deal was a special promotion with the goal of selling timeshare weeks. One of us would be required to attend a 90-minute sales pitch our first morning at the resort. Still not all that unusual. I gave him my credit card number. He said I should be waiting for a call in the next 48 hours to confirm our vacation. He emailed me a "terms and conditions" document asking again about our ages and income, and stating that if we did not meet the age and income requirements the resort would add $150 a day to our cheap package deal.<br />
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Then he emailed a receipt. It wasn't actually from the well-reviewed resort. It was from one of those bundling companies that sells discount packages to many resorts. Okay. Starting to feel a bit uneasy now. But, hey, I've endured so many time share sales pitches over the years that I still thought things were okay. Maybe the sales pitch would go longer than 90 minutes. We'd probably get a crap room with no view. But it was so cheap!<br />
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The next morning K called me from her office. (She still has to work. That's why the vacation can only be one week, exactly.) She was feeling uneasy. It sounded too good to be true. I realized I'd researched reviews for the resort, but not for the company we were actually dealing with. Their reviews were horrible! One told a tale of arriving at a resort with no reservation and not getting a room. A month later they were still hoping for a refund. Two told tales of horrible rooms and resort personnel refusing to move them to better rooms, because they hadn't booked directly with the resort. Three told tales of canceling and still fighting for refunds.<br />
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I called the company and cancelled. The operator said he'd send me an email confirming the cancellation. I waited an hour without receiving an email. The "terms and conditions" email had hit my inbox while I was still on the phone with the first operator! I called again and said I wanted to cancel a reservation. My reservation was still in place, just as if I had not already cancelled it. I asked the operator to send me the email while remaining on the phone with me. He had to consult a supervisor, but he did it. I then checked my online credit card statement obsessively every day for a week. But no fraudulent charges, so we dodged that bullet.<br />
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So we booked through Expedia, which we're pretty sure we can trust, and still got a pretty good deal at a really nice resort on Medano Beach.<br />
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Next! On to the flights. There must be a lot of flights, we told ourselves. It's a major tourist destination. Well, yes, there are a lot of flights--with 26-hour layovers in Los Angeles! By the time we winnowed out all the two-day trips, we were left with American Airlines with layovers of one hour and 20 minutes in Dallas. The layovers sound not quite long enough if we have any problem with late flights, or if there's a long line at immigration or baggage claim or customs when we re-enter the U.S. But it was pretty much the only choice, so we booked it. And it was expensive. And then they charged us $21 to book any seat other than a choice of three middle seats. Maybe they don't charge extra baggage check fees, though, since they already gouged us on seat reservations. Ha! I know--I was just making a sad little joke.<br />
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Next morning-- <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2012/10/02/travel/american-airlines-problem/index.html" target="_blank">breaking news!</a> American Airlines had two emergency landings because rows of seats broke loose and slid into the laps of passengers in the next row back. Great! Well, I'm sure our extra $21 preferred seating charge means we'll get the good seats that are firmly fastened to the floor. One of these articles mentioned that American has many late flights. So that will be good when we're connecting in Dallas. When I texted K about the seats, she texted back about a pending <a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/10/02/us-american-airlines-idUSBRE8911CH20121002" target="_blank">pilots' strike </a><br />
at American.<br />
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I proposed taking my Subaru and driving. It would be the classic Baja road trip! But K has that job that limits her to a one-week vacation. And really, it still should be easier to fly. Maybe.<br />
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Next! We moved on to natural disasters and oddities.<br />
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K wants to scuba dive while we're in Cabo. She is also phobic about snakes and assorted other creatures, including some sea creatures. So, of course, a "monster from the deep" <a href="http://www.grindtv.com/outdoor/blog/36396/rare+find+of+bizarre-looking+oarfish+made+on+cabo+san+lucas+beach/" target="_blank">oarfish</a> washed up on Medano Beach--probably right in front of the resort where we'll be staying (although the article didn't actually say that). I sent a link to K so she could see the picture of this 20-foot long "monster from the deep" taking its dying breaths on our beach. She called me from her office and said we should reconsider this whole Mexico thing and just go to Florida instead. Joke's on her--a mysterious giant sea creature <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/future_tense/2012/10/12/giant_eyeball_found_on_pompano_beach_squid_whale_mystery.html" target="_blank">eyeball</a> washed up on the beach in Florida around the same time. So we're still set for Mexico. We'll see what happens with the scuba diving.<br />
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And then, a couple of nights ago, I was watching the weather report. What else could happen? Hurricane! I actually did think to check on hurricane season when we started out with this whole ill-fated Cabo vacation idea. Surveys show big storms in October, but no hurricane ever hit Cabo in November. Well, it's still October. And Tropical Storm Paul (soon to be Hurricane Paul) was headed towards Cabo. I texted K yet again. She mentioned Florida again. But Paul had fizzled by morning, without causing lasting damage to tourist facilities on Medano Beach.<br />
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When K and I first got the idea of a beach vacation in Cabo, I thought the whole thing would be so easy! It's not like it's a trip to Africa or somewhere far away with few tourist facilities. But we will be spending a week at the beach. In Mexico. Sea monsters? Hurricanes? Falling airplane seats? We laugh in the face of danger and chaos! Because...<br />
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...we are <i>mujeres con huevos!</i></div>
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And we are going to the beach! </div>
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(This beach actually is in Africa, but I'll post some pictures of Medano Beach later...I hope!)</div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-48991314290513579162012-08-23T23:08:00.000-06:002012-08-23T23:08:57.085-06:00Party Like a Nigerian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Look! I finally got a chance to wear my <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/12/kitenge-report.html" target="_blank">Tanzanian kitenge dress</a>! And my big, flashy green variscite Navajo necklace, which looked kind of African when paired with the dress. That's me on the right. My wonderful Nigerian friend, Hannah, is in the middle, and her friend, Enobong is on the left. (Notice Hannah's giant purse--it came into play later in the evening.)</div>
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Hannah has invited me to parties for Nigerian Independence Day in Salt Lake City, Utah a couple of times. Yes, Utah! There is actually quite a large Nigerian (and other African) community there. I really enjoyed the first one, a few years ago. I really enjoyed the second one, until the music started and it was rap--the 20-something's had been in charge of the music and dancing. Hannah and I slipped out early (along with everybody else over 40!). </div>
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When Hannah invited me to go with her to a combination 40th birthday/ 15th wedding anniversary party thrown by a Nigerian couple, I jumped at the chance. Well, first I had to check two details with her. Was it really okay for me, who was not invited and did not know the couple, to just show up at the party? Hannah laughed and told me that when Nigerians throw a party, everybody is invited and bring all your friends and the more the merrier. And would my Tanzanian dress, from East Africa, be appropriate for a West African party? She came over to my house to see the dress and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs-up. So I volunteered to drive!</div>
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When I went to pick up Hannah, Enobong was there, too. She loved my dress. The skirt style of snug through the hips and thighs, with a swishy, ruffled drape from the knees down, is common to Tanzania and Nigeria. She twirled me around to see my behind, then said, "Oooh, you must have African blood!" She meant I have a big butt, but she meant it as a compliment. </div>
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We drove across town and picked up another Nigerian friend, Godfrey, and his American date, Jesse. </div>
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Here we are at the party. We arrived one hour late, but we were still about an hour earlier than most of the guests. </div>
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The party started off with prayers for the birthday girl, on the right, in her first fabulous dress of the evening.</div>
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Then prayers for the couple together, celebrating their anniversary. The husband's outfit was fabulous, too, but he only had one for the whole evening.</div>
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And then prayers for the couple and their children.</div>
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Hannah and Enobong got distracted and started telling each other jokes during the third prayer. Their excuse was that the prayer was in a different Nigerian language than theirs, and they didn't understand the words. So I guess I shouldn't have been so concerned about trying to be polite! </div>
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These regal-looking women are part of the <i>ashebi.</i> They are friends or relatives of the celebrant, and act as attendants during the party. They all wore dresses of the same fabrics in slightly different designs. Don't you love the gold head dresses?</div>
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<i>Ashebi</i> dance. The birthday celebrant is in her second fabulous outfit.</div>
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See the money on the floor? Guests danced up to the celebrants, and stuck dollar bills to their foreheads, as a gift. After a second , the bills fell to the floor.</div>
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Hannah had just danced up, stuck a dollar to the wife's forehead, and was dancing back to our table.</div>
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More people joining in, and the kids gathering up the money from the floor. </div>
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Love the bold, bright clothes--both the traditional Nigerian outfits and the western (or "English" as the Nigerians, former British colony, call them). </div>
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Some couples and families wear outfits of different styles in the same fabric. These cutwork fabrics are the most expensive and are called "lace."</div>
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Here are our hosts sitting down for a drink and a snack. The husband's outfit is lace and the kids are dressed in matching fabric.</div>
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Dinner time--promised for 8:30, but finally served at 10:00. I saw lots of women (including Hannah) putting an extra bottle of Guiness into their giant handbags. Also part of the Nigerian hospitality.</div>
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At my first Nigerian party, I discovered one popular food that I really don't like--a very strong smoked fish that is cut into coin shapes and used as an ingredient. At my second Nigerian party, I discovered that the smoked fish is used in different dishes in an unpredictable way. So, my favorite food at the first party, a cake of boiled garbanzos, was full of smoked fish at the second party! </div>
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When we went through the buffet line, I begged Hannah to advise me on which dishes had that fish in them. But she got distracted again and I ended up with soup full of smoked fish. Plus, I set my grilled goat meat in the soup and it also became infused with that smoky, fishy taste. I turned to Godfrey and said, "Hannah is useless to me. There's smoked fish everywhere!" But I didn't mean it, Hannah! The rest of the food was good! Although I had made the strategic error of carrying a small evening bag, and I couldn't fit any extra drinks in it.</div>
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And here's the wife's third beautiful outfit. (We viewed a slide show earlier, and the projector was left on and projected the date on all the dancers for the rest of the evening.)</div>
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Here's the wife with her <i>ashebi</i> cutting the birthday cake. </div>
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Even though we were celebrating the wedding anniversary, too, the husband did an admirable job of staying out of the spotlight, with his one lone outfit, and showering attention on his wife. That's a good way to make it to 15 years!</div>
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Two beautiful Nigerian women--our hostess and Hannah.</div>
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After all the prayers and speeches and dinner, we got to the main event--the dancing! The music was mostly Nigerian highlife--very upbeat and very fun for dancing. You don't have to wait for a man to ask you to dance. You just mix into the crowd, and somebody may dance with you while you're out there, or not, it doesn't matter. I'm usually very shy about dancing, and will sit on the sidelines all evening. But at a Nigerian party, there's just no reason to be shy. People welcome you out on the floor and are happy that you're joining in and not critical of your moves.</div>
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Hannah and Enobong cutting loose...</div>
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Me cutting loose! I watched Hannah all evening and just copied her moves. And yes, I was able to get back up all the way!</div>
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Hannah, Enobong, and I went out to the dance floor together, without any men, and just started dancing. Pretty soon, the man on the right came over and danced with me. Then a young guy kept dancing over to join me. He was dancing with his American date, too, and pulled her over, too. Hannah and Enobong were both dancing with one man. So no excuses to sit on the sidelines here!</div>
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Jesse and Godfrey out on the floor.</div>
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Even though Nigeria and Tanzania are on opposite African coasts, this party was such an exuberant, warm, happy shot of Africa the way I experienced it in my time in Tanzania. As we walked out to the car after midnight (which is really late for me!), all I could say was, "Wow! That was fun!" A few days later, Godfrey told Hannah that many men at the party had asked him which of the four women at his table was his wife, and said that he was a lucky man to be sitting at the most lively table in the room. He thanked Hannah for, "making him look good." And I thank Hannah for inviting me to share such a fun experience with her!</div>
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Here's a bonus shot from 2009. I'm wearing one of Hannah's head dresses. She was looking for a certain textbook in boxes in my basement, which she never did find, but she found a whole box of these and let me try one on. </div>
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-53355527091149184312012-08-06T22:19:00.001-06:002012-08-06T22:36:44.361-06:00The Shining Rocky Mountain High......in Colorado. Remember the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OwARpaKHx_w" target="_blank">old song by John Denver</a>? One of my favorites back in 1974 when I had long, straight hair and wire-rimmed glasses and played the guitar! Last week I spent a few days in <a href="http://www.nps.gov/romo/index.htm" target="_blank">Rocky Mountain National Park</a> in Colorado in my own personal Rocky Mountain High with my old Peace Corps buddy Diane and friend Alice. (Click <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bear-baiting-toughest-job-youll-ever.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bison-or-grizzly-eternal-yellowstone.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/big-sky.html" target="_blank">here</a> to read about my travels in Montana and Wyoming with Diane and Alice last year.)<br />
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The "high" part had nothing to do with any 1970's-era drugs. It was all about the elevation! We hiked almost every day, and as soon as we passed 9,000' (2743 meters), I started gasping. I've hiked at elevation a lot over the years. Usually after an hour, I adjust and don't notice. I made it all the way to the top of Kilimanjaro at 19,340' (5894 meters) in 2006. But after five days, still gasping. The hiking was really fun anyway, and the higher you go, the more spectacular the scenery.<br />
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Here I am at Nymph Lake--this is my nymph pose. I think the lake is named for definition 1: the larva of a grasshopper or mayfly. Whereas, I am working definition 2: minor divinities of nature in classical mythology represented as beautiful maidens dwelling in the mountains and forests.</div>
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Farther up the trail on our beautiful evening hike--Diane and Alice on the approach to Dream Lake.</div>
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Dream Lake. </div>
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A little girl sitting with her parents at lakeside said, "This lake is beautiful like a dream." She was only at Nymph Lake, but it was still sweet. </div>
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Mornings, Dr. Alice attended a medical conference down in the town of Estes Park. While Alice studied gerontology, Diane and I took another hike, to the very popular Cub Lake. It was here that I first noticed many large groups of hikers wearing matching t-shirts. We stood to one side while 11 people of all ages marched by in green T-shirts. Then 17 in blue. Then 8 in yellow. Diane and I were under dressed in our mismatched outfits. </div>
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Cub Lake, ringed with lily pads. </div>
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A dusky grouse along the trail. She had a baby with her. The baby hid in the grass, but the mama stood her ground as we passed by only a foot away.</div>
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I know she's a dusky grouse, because the next morning, Diane and I got up early and went on a bird-watching walk with a Park Service volunteer. We showed him the grouse picture and he identified it for us. No pictures from the bird walk because it was so early that I left the hotel without my camera, due to caffeine deficit. But, all the birds (<a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/yellow-rumped_warbler" target="_blank">Yellow-rumped Warbler</a>, <a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/violet-green_swallow" target="_blank">Violet-green Swallow</a>, <a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/green-tailed_towhee" target="_blank">Green-tailed Towhee</a>, <a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/northern_flicker" target="_blank">Northern Flicker</a>, <a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/hairy_woodpecker" target="_blank">Hairy Woodpecker</a>, <a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/broad-tailed_hummingbird" target="_blank">Broad-tailed hummingbird</a>) moved so fast, I wouldn't have gotten any pictures, anyway.</div>
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Another spectacular hike another day, going ever higher into the mountains, and still gasping.</div>
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Alberta Falls</div>
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Alice and Diane on the approach to Mills Lake.</div>
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Beautiful Mills Lake, where we gulped down our lunch, so that we could finish the loop trail and get down out of the high country before the regular afternoon thunderstorm rolled in.</div>
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Oops! Too late! But nobody got hit by lightning....</div>
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Poisonous, pretty Amanita mushroom along the trail.</div>
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Still no lightning strikes.</div>
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A distant view of Longs Peak--one of the Fourteeners in the park. Peaks over 14,000' (4270 meters) that hikers more serious than we flock to Colorado to climb. This is as close as we got!</div>
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More groups of hikers in matching T-shirts this day on this trail. They were all boys in their early- to mid-teens wearing maroon T-shirts with little white emblems. Being from Utah, a very big Boy Scout state, I asked one group if they were Boy Scouts. Yes, they were. Eighteen of them were traveling with four adult leaders for a two-week trip, in which they had driven from Michigan to Colorado, planned to hike all day, then drive to Arches National Park in Utah, and then drive on in a giant, multi-state, multi-park loop that would eventually take them back to Michigan. Yikes! Brave adult leaders!<br />
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And bonus! While I was chatting with the Boy Scouts, Diane spotted an <a href="http://www.birdweb.org/birdweb/bird/american_three-toed_woodpecker" target="_blank">American Three-toed Woodpecker</a>. We didn't get a good look at his toes, but we did clearly see the yellow patch on the top of his head that our volunteer bird walk guide had told us about earlier.<br />
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I would say that Rocky Mountain National Park is mainly a hikers' park. Most of it is unroaded, and the many hiking trails access spectacular scenery. But roads ring the edges of the park and the Trail Ridge Road, a high-elevation road with its own spectacular views, cuts through the north of the park. We drove that road twice and took in the views and walked out to the overlooks and stopped for animal sightings along the road. </div>
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Elk...</div>
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Elk...</div>
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And more elk. I think Diane's getting a little too close...</div>
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See? That one's mad! </div>
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But just like the lightning storm, nothing bad happened. Maybe those park rangers have been exaggerating the dangers of nature all along.</div>
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We saw a few marmots behaving really oddly--flattened out on the dirt road, licking the road surface. A ranger told us they're getting mineral salts from the dirt.</div>
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This one's acting more typically marmot-y.</div>
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Here's a chipmunk in action!</div>
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And this is NOT a chipmunk! It's a golden-mantled ground squirrel.</div>
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That's a chipmunk on the left--smaller, with stripes extending across his eye. And a golden-mantled ground squirrel on the right--bigger with no stripe over his eye. So now you know! Don't call that big ground squirrel a chipmunk!</div>
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And more elk--this one a baby still in spots.</div>
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And just to break things up, here's a big bull moose.</div>
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And my favorite animal sighting of the whole trip...</div>
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...this beautiful little red fox trying to cross the road.</div>
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As the Trail Ridge Road climbs higher, it's all alpine tundra and high peaks and stormy weather.</div>
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There's the stormy weather...</div>
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There's some alpine tundra...</div>
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Here's the really fun Tundra Communities trail out to a high scenic overlook.</div>
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Our fellow tourists over looking the void. Two of them have matching shirts!</div>
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Tundra and stormy weather together in one photo.</div>
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And then, winding our way back down to the lower part of the park, here's Sheep Lake, where the Bighorn Sheep often come right down to water's edge to a mineral lick. But hadn't done so for eight days when we passed by.<br />
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Overall, we felt very satisfied with wildlife sightings during our visit. Except that we saw no bighorn sheep or mountain goats. Then we stopped at the lake, where another volunteer told us there are no mountain goats in Rocky Mountain National Park. So we remained dissatisfied only about the bighorn sheep.</div>
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We stayed in the town of Estes Park, just a few miles outside Rocky Mountain National Park's east boundary. Many of the town's motels seem to date from the 1960's and 1970's and are pretty basic. Of course, the newer, fancier ones are expensive! We went cheap and had an adequate, comfortable room. But all of the rooms in our building had sliding glass doors facing a playground area that hosted much noisy activity every evening. Our last two nights, a group of 50 or so staged a big barbecue in the playground. They all had matching orange T-shirts and a big tartan banner proclaiming the Douglas Family Reunion. Alice (Chinese) and Diane (Italian) tried to send me (Irish) out to steal some barbecued ribs because they thought I could pass for Scottish. But I didn't have an orange T-shirt, so I didn't try it! We were all happy when a big thunderstorm with heavy rain rolled in at 8:00 pm and the reunion broke up early enough for us to get a good night's sleep. I know that sounds crabby. What can I say? We wanted to sleep.<br />
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We did spend a bit of time in town. We carried a picnic lunch with us on a tram ride to the top of a ridge on the edge of town and had lunch with an incredible view.<br />
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Alice and Diane at the top of the tram, way above Estes Park with lunch, but non-matching T-shirts. You can see the edge of Estes Park at bottom right.</div>
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And no trip to Estes Park would be complete without a visit to the <a href="http://www.stanleyhotel.com/" target="_blank">Stanley Hotel</a>. We not only visited, we took the ghost/history tour. Ghost tour? Yes! Because Stephen King and his wife were staying here, as the only guests at the end of the summer season, when he was struck with the idea for <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11588.The_Shining" target="_blank">"The Shining."</a></div>
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I think it looks spooky, even in the sunshine.</div>
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Stephen King wanted <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081505/" target="_blank">the movie</a> (you remember--Jack Nicholson--"Honey, I'm hoooome!") to be filmed here, but Stanley Kubrick instead used the Timberline Lodge at Mt. Hood, Oregon. Our tour guide told us that Stephen King was unhappy with the movie, and so filmed his own version, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118460/" target="_blank">a TV miniseries</a>, at the Stanley Hotel in 1997.</div>
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All that "woodwork" around the reception desk is really white plaster, but the TV crews painted it to look like wood. The plaster was too cheerful.</div>
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Cheerful...</div>
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...or spooky?</div>
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Spooky! This is the hallway where the two twins with braids stood shoulder-to-shoulder.</div>
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As we toured this hall, a family were in the hall outside their room, getting their baby stroller and packages all situated. They had twin daughters, about nine years old, with braids! I wanted to ask them to pose for pictures in the hallway. But I didn't, in case that would have been rude. Or in case they actually were ghosts. </div>
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The adjoining hall is rife with contemporary ghost stories, repeated by many guests, of the sound of children running and laughing in the hall late at night. When the guests open the door, no one's there! When the guests call the front desk, and an employee goes upstairs to check, no one's there!</div>
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I guess Diane wasn't all that scared by the ghost stories. She dozed off on the hotel's gracious front verandah. </div>
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And back at our (much cheaper) hotel in town, we repeatedly heard children running and laughing outside our room. But every time we looked outside--there were a million little kids wearing matching orange T-shirts! </div>
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(If you'd like to see more photos of this visit to Colorado, click <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/118432794966361137017/RockyMountainNationalPark?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCPX5kdv7iaiTwwE&feat=directlink" target="_blank">here</a> to jump to a Picasa web album of 169 photos.)<br />
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<br /></div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-77986101138676748572012-07-17T18:28:00.000-06:002012-07-17T18:35:25.221-06:00Tours--Assorted and SundryI've found myself on a few organized tours and a few <i>de facto</i> tours over the past few months, even though I've been roaming just around the western United States and everybody speaks English and I should be able to find my way around on my own. Sometimes, it's just easier or more interesting or more fun to join a group with a guide.<br />
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The most recent of these tours were in Sedona, Arizona with my friend Georgia two weeks ago. We covered everything from cowboys to vortexes. The Latin-style plural of this word is "vortices." However, as a native speaker of vernacular English, I find that "vortexes" sounds more natural. They are both listed in the Oxford dictionary. Georgia turns up her nose at "vortexes" and says that's only one example of why she no longer considers the Oxford dictionary to be an authoritative source on grammar. Interestingly enough, even as I am typing this sentence, the spell check in Blogger is now showing that "vortices" is misspelled and does not have a dictionary entry for it. Did I mention that I met Georgia in a writing group?<br />
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But back to the tours! The classic tour in Sedona is a jeep ride in the red rocks. Our driver was a retired steel industry executive from Indiana who now drives jeeps while wearing a cowboy hat and spurs, with a bandolier full of bullets draped over the seat back. He never did use the spurs on the jeep--he probably didn't want to scratch the pretty red paint. But the jeep ride was fun and took us through some really pretty country.<br />
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Georgia smiling even though she had to get up too early...</div>
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We found a list of more unusual tours at Sedona Summit, the timeshare resort where we stayed. Of course, when staying at a timeshare resort, the tour to be avoided at all costs is the one that ends in a lengthy sales pitch. I refused to sign up for the sales pitch about 8 or 9 times, then snagged a list of resort activities. Patrick Houlihan, a former director of the <a href="http://www.heard.org/" target="_blank">Heard Museum</a> in Phoenix, leads a few tours for Sedona Summit. I loved the Heard when I <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-water.html" target="_blank">visited it last year</a>, so we signed up for two local tours, figuring Patrick would give us an interesting anthropologist's perspective. And bonus, he turned out to be funny and entertaining, as well as knowledgeable.</div>
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We went out to hear about the <a href="http://www.visitsedona.com/article/213" target="_blank">vortexes</a> Sedona is known for.Over the years, I"ve hiked to and stood on three of these vortexes. I myself have not felt the energy. Patrick took us to parking spots from which we could overlook the general areas of four of the vortexes. I couldn't tell for sure if he's a believer or not. At first, I thought no. Then I thought maybe. By the end of the tour, Georgia and I were thinking maybe he doesn't feel the energy himself, but he keeps an open mind. I can't help feeling a bit skeptical, mostly because these vortexes first became popular in 1981 when a psychic living in Sedona announced them to the world. She first promoted them in somewhat Buddhist-like terms. Later she switched to somewhat Native American-like terms. On the other hand, I have often felt some special energy when I've stood in a particularly beautiful, wild place. Usually that doesn't happen if there's a crowd gathered at the spot. And usually in Sedona there is a crowd gathered at a vortex. So, whatever idea or place helps someone focus on their own spiritual path is good by me.<br />
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This photo shows the energy from the Bell Rock vortex sucking in Georgia's hat....</div>
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...and here the vortex is sucking my stomach fat sideways towards Bell Rock.</div>
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We made the short hike up towards a vortex in Boynton Canyon. On the trail, we met a man who handed us palm-sized flat pieces of sandstone carved into heart shapes and said, "I want to give you a piece of my heart." Patrick told us he's there every morning, and gives a sandstone heart to every woman he meets. He was quite sweet. And another night, I felt quite an energy surge from a Mexican waiter who kept pouring water for us. I theorized that perhaps he had been spending time at the airport vortex, which puts masculine energy into people, but Georgia scoffed and made some disparaging comments about precisely what energy surge I was feeling.</div>
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Over the Memorial Day weekend, further south in Tucson, my friend M and I joined the <a href="http://www.meetup.com/tucsonhiking/" target="_blank">Tucson Hiking Meetup group</a> for their weekly Friday night Sabino Stroll. It's a very easy two-mile walk up a section of paved road in <a href="http://parentseyes.arizona.edu/sabino/" target="_blank">Sabino Canyon</a>. It's still light out when they start, but since Arizona insists on marching to their own syncopated drummer and refuses to switch to daylight savings time, it gets dark early. The group advises participants to bring a good flashlight because rattlesnakes may be lolling about on the warm pavement after dark! And, apparently, scorpions are out and about in Sabino Canyon after dark, too. </div>
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Phil, the young man who leads the walk, is a scorpion expert. He brought an ultraviolet light and shined it over the rocks and there were scorpions everywhere glowing in the dark! (Note to self: never sit on a rock in the dark in Arizona!) M and I hung to the back of the group on the way down so we could walk with Phil and catch all the scorpion action. Phil had two friends, a female college student and an older gentleman with a gray ponytail, who were also really into scorpions. So we're walking down this road, in the dark with our headlamps. Phil and the girl have ultraviolet lights and are scanning the rocks along the edge of the road. A hopeful boy is following Scorpion Girl, trying to make friends. She is lecturing him, in very scholarly style and a loud voice, about scorpions. I said to M, "This is like one of those crossover TV episodes where the characters from one show visit another show. 'Big Bang Theory' meets 'Survivor Man.'"</div>
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When Phil spotted a scorpion, he'd try to catch it and put it in a vial. I was puzzled, and asked him why he'd want to catch them. He collects them, and keeps "about 40 or so" in his house. Also, his brother has a business in which he sells scorpions to people who collect them as "pets" or feed them to "pet" snakes. Phil could identify the species of scorpion and knew what regulations governed collecting for each (as well as assorted other insects, arachnids, arthropods, and reptiles we encountered that night). I asked if any ever escape inside his house, and he admitted that it happened once, but it was no big deal, because it went into his roommate's bedroom and was never seen again! I said, "It must be hard to find roommates with all those scorpions in your house." Turns out the roommate is his brother. </div>
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Most of the scorpions evaded Phil that night. He said they're quick when the weather's so hot. And they were! He did catch one-- a big one-- which he placed on the front of his shirt and let it run around--on the front of his shirt--while he told us about scorpions. He's very knowledgeable, but I was so freaked out that I don't remember much of what he told us. He was confident that this scorpion would not sting him, unless it got inside his shirt somehow and got smashed against his skin and felt threatened. He repeatedly used his fingers to herd it away from his collar and sleeves while he talked. Then he set it back on the ground and it scurried away into the dark. </div>
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As we proceeded down the road--in the dark--Phil and the older gentleman swept their flashlights along the pavement several yards out ahead. They picked out the reflected glow from the eyes of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wolf_spider" target="_blank">wolf spiders</a> standing on the pavement. There were even more wolf spiders than scorpions! (Note to self: just stay indoors after dark in Arizona!) The older gentleman was very knowledgeable about wolf spiders and filled us in on the health and activities of the spiders we met. For example, one was probably sick and starving because its abdomen was very small. The next was thriving, because its abdomen was full and round. And a pair facing each other from a foot apart were engaged in courtship behavior.</div>
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And then...Phil made the big find of the evening. A baby <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gila_monster" target="_blank">gila monster</a> right on the edge of the pavement! It was only about eight inches long and really cute, even though it was a venomous reptile. <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2012/05/ambushed-by-pregnant-realtor.html" target="_blank">I'd seen an adult gila monster</a> a few weeks earlier, and it was shy. It crawled off the trail and took cover under a pile of branches. But this little one was fierce. Phil was shining his flashlight on it and trying to get close enough to take a picture with his phone. It hissed at him, twice, then jumped at him! At that point, he backed off because he didn't want to harass it (I don't think he was concerned about the venomous reptile thing at all).<br />
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M and I were both thrilled to see the baby gila monster and cringed at the scorpion on Phil's shirt and found the whole scorpion crew to be delightfully odd. When we got back to my apartment, M made me turn on all the lights and investigate every piece of leaf or paper or dust lying on the carpet. And I was a little jumpy for a few days afterwards!<br />
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M was with me on another off beat tour last fall. We found ourselves in <a href="http://www.navajonationparks.org/htm/monumentvalley.htm" target="_blank">Monument Valley</a> watching sunset and moonrise over the huge rock formations known as the Mittens.<br />
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Monument Valley is just astonishing. It's on the Navajo Reservation and the tribe limits access by outsiders. There's one dirt road you can drive on your own, and it's not very good, so even though I'm always saying how much I love my Subaru with all-wheel-drive, I felt hesitant to tackle it. Plus, if you sign up for a tour with a Navajo guide, you get to go on other roads and see more.<br />
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Our first stop was a demonstration <a href="http://navajopeople.org/navajo-hogans.htm" target="_blank">hogan</a> where a grandmother demonstrated traditional weaving and a traditional hairstyle. When she asked for volunteers, I shoved M out into the middle of the circle, and said, "You have to do it. You have the flowing black hair for it." And the rest of the women in the group, me and several Germans, all had short haircuts. One of M's great grandfathers was Navajo, and our tour guide was the first to take a long look at her face and ask her nationality. The lady doing her hair saw it, too, and asked.<br />
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You can see in this photo that she took an immediate liking to M. </div>
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It was another jeep tour, but this time with billowing clouds of dust.</div>
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At one stop, we saw this petroglyph of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kokopelli" target="_blank">Kokopelli</a> lying on his back.</div>
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The evening before, in the jewelery shop inside the Navajo-owned The View Hotel, a young Navajo woman had told us a story about Kokopelli and a girl who refused his romantic advances. He followed her to where she was bathing in a pond, then hid underwater and used his flute to impregnate her. This petroglyph has to be about that story!</div>
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And finally, a tour that M and I decided not to take just a few weeks ago in <a href="http://www.nps.gov/yell/index.htm" target="_blank">Yellowstone National Park</a>. When I <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bear-baiting-toughest-job-youll-ever.html" target="_blank">was there last year</a>, I talked with a man from back East who'd seen grizzlies and wolves on a tour with a wildlife biologist. We didn't see any! So I had it in mind that we could increase our chances of wildlife sightings if we found one of those tours. I did find a couple online. But they cost about $300 for a one day tour. And poking around on their websites and the Park Service websites, it didn't seem as if the tours provided access beyond the main roads open to everyone. So we decided to save our money--and then spent most of it buying jewelry and huckleberry ice cream in West Yellowstone anyway. But we put together our own "tour" of Yellowstone, which consisted mostly of driving over every one of the park's major roads and pulling over at geysers until we'd had enough and never wanted to see another geyser as long as we lived. We did go on one quasi-tour, a free guided walk with a ranger around West Thumb Geyser Basin right on Yellowstone Lake.</div>
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The ranger was a fun speaker, so people kept joining the group as we walked, until you could barely make your way through the crowd. </div>
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But it was free! And I was really glad we didn't spend the $300 and get on the bus...</div>
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...because here's the gray wolf we saw on day 2 of our self-guided tour.</div>
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-61612049402521779542012-05-17T16:45:00.000-06:002012-07-12T11:24:50.424-06:00Ambushed by a Pregnant Realtor!I've been in Tucson for a couple of weeks now. People here are always warning me about all kinds of dangerous desert denizens. I've seen two rattlesnakes (one was huge), a gila monster, and a scorpion. None of them came after me, though.<br />
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Here's the huge rattlesnake crawling away from me.</div>
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But one morning, I was driving around the Catalina Foothills area of town, getting a feel for the area, looking for cute patio homes at foreclosure prices. I saw a "for sale by owner" sign and followed it into a neighborhood that was obviously too expensive for me. As I pulled up in front of the house, a well-dressed woman came out of the house and got into her car. I rolled down my window and called out, "How much are you asking?" She told me, and it was way too much. I smiled and waved and drove slowly away, cruising the neighborhood. I heard honking, and wondered if she was telling me I had a flat tire. But I've been conditioned by my time in Tanzania to never stop when a stranger honks <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/10/robbered-part-2.html">for fear of being robbed.</a> OK, not really. But I kept driving. As I circled around a few minutes later, I heard honking again and noticed the same woman following me. So I stopped the car, and got out to talk with her. She was a realtor, and almost let me drive away, until she saw the out-of-state plates on my car, which marked me as a likely target--er--customer. She got out of her car and said, "I hope I didn't scare you." At which point, I noticed that she was about 8 months pregnant, and said, "No, you didn't scare me," and tried not to laugh. She whipped out her business cards and asked what kind of house I was looking for. I explained that I hadn't decided to move to Tucson, but maybe I would someday, and now I'm on her email list. Which, actually, I don't mind because I enjoy looking at the houses for sale. So, pregnant Arizona realtor: less aggressive than the <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/10/robbered-part-2.html">"flat tire thieves"</a> in Arusha, Tanzania but more aggressive than rattlesnakes, gila monsters, and scorpions.<br />
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My vacation rental is in the Catalina Foothills area, so it's right up against the Santa Catalina Mountains and the desert. Lots of birds. Lots of hiking trails. Beautiful early mornings. Scorching hot afternoons. At my first rental, the parking area included a gate onto the Ventana Canyon Trail, so I made that my morning workout. It wasn't a very vigorous workout, because the desert so captivated me that I spent a lot of time photographing flowers and sitting on rocks watching birds.<br />
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Purple Paddle Prickly Pear</div>
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Cardinal!</div>
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Greater Earless Lizard</div>
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Saguaro flowers and buds.</div>
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Don't know what this little guy is--my entomology training is failing me.<br />
*Update added May 23: My new hiking friend Andree suggested this might be a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apiomerus">bee assassin</a>. This would put it in the order <i>hemiptera</i>, or true bugs. I thought of that, but wasn't sure, because true bugs usually have a diamond pattern on their wings. But a ranger in <a href="http://www.recreation.gov/camping/Sabino_Canyon_Recreation_Area_Cactus_Ramada_1/r/campgroundDetails.do?contractCode=NRSO&parkId=72126">Sabino Canyon</a> told Andree that this is breeding coloration. So there you have it: bee assassin looking for love.*</div>
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Cholla flower--not as spectacular as the saguaro flowers. Cholla specialize more in thorns.</div>
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Bee pollinating saguaro. Bats pollinate them, too, but I haven't been awake late enough to see that. Click <a href="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/xHkq1edcbk4?rel=0">here</a> for a TED video on pollination that includes some incredible footage of bats pollinating saguaro flowers (thanks for the link, Janet!).</div>
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Saguaro forest in the middle ground. And you can't see it, but there's a ravens' nest in one of the little caves up high on the peak in the background.</div>
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I was sitting on a rock at the edge of the trail with my binoculars trained on the cliff, waiting for some raven action. It's more like a monocular for me. My contact lenses are formulated to correct both horrible distant vision and always increasingly horrible reading vision. So my right eye sees through the binoculars fine, but my left eye (with its bifocal contact lens for close and middle vision) sees everything in a blur through the other side. Just something for serious middle-aged birdwatchers to think about before buying off on the whole monocular contact lenses thing. Anyway....as I was waiting on those ravens, two ladies hiked by fast. Just past me, one of them said to the other, "Oh, I've never seen one of those before." And they just kept on walking fast! I jumped up to see what they'd spotted, and it was a gila monster!</div>
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No, it's not a good picture, but it's all I got! He's in there, the orange and black spots underneath the branches. He was about 12 inches long. </div>
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I can't believe those ladies didn't stop to watch him. I guess that's the difference between a workout and a nature walk.</div>
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My first rental had a lovely second-story deck that was shaded in the mornings, with a couple of saguaro and a nice mesquite tree surrounding it. The downstairs neighbors had a big bird feeder, so the mornings were a frenzy of birds...</div>
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...and javelinas!</div>
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Curve-billed Thrasher on a saguaro flower.</div>
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White-winged Dove on saguaro.</div>
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Gambel Quail</div>
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Gila Woodpecker...</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GU0aEvIU17A/T6s1ePxIu5I/AAAAAAAAMAQ/e2sB1y2mHXU/s1600/DSCN4446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GU0aEvIU17A/T6s1ePxIu5I/AAAAAAAAMAQ/e2sB1y2mHXU/s400/DSCN4446.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...digging under the rocks.</div>
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He briefly wondered if I was a threat to him with my camera. But he decided no, and went back to work...</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jiC2pghXpVw/T6s1ezfYTZI/AAAAAAAAMAY/qsyFlNZucww/s1600/DSCN4447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jiC2pghXpVw/T6s1ezfYTZI/AAAAAAAAMAY/qsyFlNZucww/s400/DSCN4447.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...and emerged with this dead lizard for breakfast.</div>
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But I had to leave the first rental and its lovely deck, because the downstairs neighbors not only feed the birds, they smoke--a lot. The cigarette smoke permeated my rental and really made me ill. But the wonderful Canadian owners of the condo refunded part of my rent because, they said, they didn't want me to be uncomfortable or suffer ill health effects in their condo. As sad as I was to leave behind the deck, I feel much better in my new rental. Renting to snowbirds (retirees who spend the winter here and the summer back home in a northern state) is huge business here, so it was really easy to find another rental on <a href="http://www.homeaway.com/">homeaway.com</a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgND91cRWeLG-QgvwVR45O8tbUbNufKgK97lQvAJvwnUBcOpWix5jis4q2k0-Akdf02rKbKPWxw1Gu8OKJoOxzhg3CXKe91Phw7ahCMPz0mn0ESUpgH6a18O8A1JskJOkFFw-VTMdg0zz7V/s1600/DSCN4509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgND91cRWeLG-QgvwVR45O8tbUbNufKgK97lQvAJvwnUBcOpWix5jis4q2k0-Akdf02rKbKPWxw1Gu8OKJoOxzhg3CXKe91Phw7ahCMPz0mn0ESUpgH6a18O8A1JskJOkFFw-VTMdg0zz7V/s400/DSCN4509.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is the almost-courtyard outside my new front door, where I sit in the evenings and read and watch the hummingbirds fight and gaze at the Santa Catalina Mountains in the background. Plus, the pool here is better!</div>
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Meanwhile, back in Ventana Canyon, hiking really early on a Sunday morning...</div>
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...with my really fun new friend Sue, whom I met at a hiking event I found on <a href="http://www.meetup.com/cities/us/az/tucson/">meetup.com,</a> we found more desert denizens--not dangerous, but a little creepy because of their near-perfect iridescent gray protective coloring.</div>
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Can you spot the 3 inch long Canyon Tree Frog?</div>
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Thanks to Cynthia for the ID!</div>
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There are five Canyon Tree Frogs in this photo. Start at bottom left with a vertically oriented frog nestled into a crack. Got him? A bit to his left, find a wide crack in the granite and follow it up until you are about one-third down from the top of the photo, and find a vertically oriented frog nestled in the crack. Diagonally to the right of that frog, just below the black band in the rock, find three frogs huddled together, one horizontal and two vertical above him.</div>
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About a week and a half into all this blissful desert hiking, I realized that I'd barely ventured into Tucson at all. So I drove down to the University of Arizona and cruised the prestigious Sam Hughes neighborhood. The adobe houses were adorable, nicely maintained and painted in a surprising array of colors, and xeriscaped to die for. But I didn't get any pictures, because apparently parking is a problem so close to the university, so the streets were lined with "Parking by Resident Permit Only" signs. I headed over to 4th Avenue with its collection of student-oriented bookstores, cafes, bars, and tattoo parlors. And there I saw the most impressive, and puzzling, desert denizen yet....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqP4VQus4scNJFM1awFBwlRROIzM1dYP9DetnBb4qXJnOPnXekKk9Mw_HKqbVQILtZ90U8frVTjBNWf2xpPSKyIuWk0r8RYMy9fA-moANS_MlqABD5ufiTpTLC48pJCvBrgFOTaET6KU9s/s1600/IMG_0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqP4VQus4scNJFM1awFBwlRROIzM1dYP9DetnBb4qXJnOPnXekKk9Mw_HKqbVQILtZ90U8frVTjBNWf2xpPSKyIuWk0r8RYMy9fA-moANS_MlqABD5ufiTpTLC48pJCvBrgFOTaET6KU9s/s400/IMG_0011.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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...a giant Easter Island head sitting outside a bar. He started his <a href="http://tucsoncitizen.com/morgue/2008/03/17/79934-magic-carpet-golf-s-tiki-head-finds-a-home-on-fourth-avenue/">Tucson career</a> at a miniature golf course.</div>
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I think I need to spend some more time in the city and develop a feel for what Tucson's all about. I thought I was getting it when I saw the gila monster on only my second day here, but this Easter Island thing has set me back a bit. Anyway, I'm going to a Padres (AAA league) baseball game tonight, so that will be a good start.</div>
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<br /></div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-64880244096494151872012-04-30T22:22:00.000-06:002012-04-30T23:06:54.625-06:00I'm Baaack--But Not Back in TanzaniaWhen last you heard from me, I was on <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2012/01/wearing-my-obama-khanga.html">Kauai</a> and it was three months ago. A few weeks before that, I <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/11/musings-on-being-still-in-america.html">mused about being still in America</a>, as opposed to back in Tanzania. I really did expect to go back to Tanzania sometime around July, then October, then March of this year. But now that March has come and gone, it's time to admit to myself that I'm not going back in the foreseeable future.<br />
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In that earlier post, I said I didn't want to start a new blog on a more general theme, because it would mean admitting to myself that I was finished with Tanzania. Well, this blog has already become more general, or at least less Tanzania-themed. But I'm keeping the same name, because I'll never be finished with Tanzania. I don't know when I'll visit again, but everything about Tanzania will stay with me and will color everything I see here. Much as my two years living in the Philippines in 1982 and 1983 still colors everything I see here, and colored everything I saw in Tanzania. You never finish with those other places and people; they come away with you. So thank you, Tanzania and K2, for the big adventure.<br />
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And since I stopped posting back in January, my readership seems to have gone up! I'm not sure if that's good or bad. Anyway, it's mostly based on tourists at Kenyan and Tanzanian beaches trying to find out if an insect has actually laid <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/02/well-ill-be-jiggered.html">eggs under their skin</a>. The answer to that question is usually "Yes! And you'd better do something about it!" So I'm providing a public health service by keeping this blog in place. <br />
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Good bye for now, Tanzania...</div>
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What's next? Who knows? Not me, that's for sure. I have wandered away from my home in Utah, where allergy season is in full bloom and I could expect to have a sinus headache every day for the next five weeks. I'm in Tucson for a few weeks, because I like it here. A lot of retirees move to Arizona. Maybe I will, too. It's a test run. But I notice there's <i>palo verde</i> and mesquite pollen everywhere. Wherever you go, there you are--and it's allergy season.</div>
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Hello, Tucson...</div>
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...where the prickly pear are blooming. </div>
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Just look at all that pollen!</div>
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I'm into the second course of <a href="https://continuingstudies.stanford.edu/writingcertificate/intro.php">the Stanford Continuing Education Online Creative Writing Certficate Program</a>. That continues to keep me busy. I'm learning lots and enjoying it. So maybe, in addition to the big adventure, I'll get a book out of Tanzania. But that'll be at least a couple of years away, so don't worry about my blog going all promotional and author-platformish just yet.</div>
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<br /></div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-8474433195008131632012-01-31T16:23:00.002-07:002012-02-07T14:28:50.052-07:00Wearing My Obama KhangaI'm in Kauai, Hawaii right now. I am sad to report that I'll be returning home tonight.<br />
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I bought a <i>khanga</i> in Tanzania in 2008 that comemorates President Obama's election. (You can read more about <i>khangas</i> <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/06/khanga.html">here</a>. ) At home in Utah, I don't wear it out in public for fear of sparking an argument with my conservative neighbors. But I thought since Hawaii is Obama's home state and a <i>khanga</i> makes a great swim suit cover-up, I would take the opportunity to wear it. It's a big rectangle of printed cotton that wraps around your waist like a sarong or pareo. Like this...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh_xW5o1_vgg6v-Nfiz5vBOezHg69r3uvTksSgeQYB1IyBMQVwkQJjpjmWT8OLzaBkxGH6xH6G0q1wocSVlB__4sE1Uvlk3OpnXMl1D48_Yl1ieU-NnkrYBjtu3ZEkr3RjmnGT1YjoinBc/s1600/DSCN3576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh_xW5o1_vgg6v-Nfiz5vBOezHg69r3uvTksSgeQYB1IyBMQVwkQJjpjmWT8OLzaBkxGH6xH6G0q1wocSVlB__4sE1Uvlk3OpnXMl1D48_Yl1ieU-NnkrYBjtu3ZEkr3RjmnGT1YjoinBc/s400/DSCN3576.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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After a snorkeling/whale watching trip on a Zodiac with Captain Tara, we found ourselves wandering through the botanical gardens in swimsuits with coverups. My friend M overheard a conversation between a mother and her young son, about six years old, when I passed by.<br />
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Son: "Mama, that lady had President Obama on her butt."<br />
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Mother: "Don't talk like that. He's our President."<br />
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Son: "But that lady had Obama on her butt."<br />
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Mother: "Shush! Don't be disrespectful of the President." Turning to the auntie: "What's he talking about?"<br />
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Auntie: "Look at her skirt. It has the President on it."<br />
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And let me say that I really do not want to precipitate any political discussion here. I just thought this was funny, and I found it so refreshing that at least one American still thinks it's important to respect our President.<br />
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Also, the owner of a jewelry booth in the outdoor market at the Spouting Horn State Park offered me a sales clerk job two days a week after we got to chatting. She'd chased me down saying, "Where'd you get that pareo? I have to have one!"<br />
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And here are a few pictures from the botanical garden.<br />
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And lastly, I'm sorry for the infrequent posts! I've been traveling a bit again, and also this online creative writing class is keeping me busy! I may do better with the blog in about two or three weeks. Thanks for staying tuned... Aloha!</div>
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Oh, and if you find in yourself in Kauai and want to snorkel or see whales, I highly recommend Captain Tara and Kauai Sea Riders. </div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-49179315131463970012012-01-07T14:13:00.001-07:002012-01-07T14:13:04.874-07:00The Other F-WordLife in Tanzania desensitized me to America's other F-word. Tanzanians use it all the time in a very light-hearted way. No shame. No character judgment. But for Americans, this word is taboo. I keep slipping and saying it. The listeners always cringe.<br />
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My latest slip? Last week I loaded my cross country skis into the Subaru and headed up to <a href="http://www.xploreutah.net/story/gliding-along-north-fork-park-adds-new-building-programs">North Fork Park</a>. In the summer it's a campground. In the winter, a local non-profit group, <a href="http://www.ogdennordic.com/">Ogden Nordic</a>, grooms the roads for cross country skiing. When I arrived at the trail head, I discovered they'd made changes last winter while I was basking in the African sunshine. They've built a warming hut, added ski rentals, and changed the "suggested donation" to a user fee. I bought a season ticket. I'm not sure I'll ski enough times to break even over the daily fee (16 times!), but I wanted to support their efforts. As I was filling out the paper, one of the two gentlemen staffing the hut told me about ski lessons and workshop days. I've been wanting to learn how to skate-ski for a few years, so I said (in light-hearted Tanzanian fashion), "Can short, fat people skate?"<br />
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That's right. "Fat" is America's other F-word. Fat! Fat! Fat! (I occasionally use the original F-word, too, but we can talk about that another time.) One of my listeners turned away from me as if he hadn't heard. The other looked surprised for a moment, then said to the first, "Well, there's Marybeth." The first guy looked over his shoulder with an uncomfortable expression. I was just kidding, guys! I only brought it up because skating is very aerobic and most of the people you see doing it are long-legged and skinny. And I'm not.<br />
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Fat rises to the top of America's consciousness every New Year's Day. Many people resolve to lose weight. The gym gets really crowded. People eat cabbage soup every day for lunch. Or order hamburgers and eat the meat and leave the bun on the plate. And lick the grease off the fries, but leave the actual potatoes on the plate. Okay, I'm just kidding on that last one. I'm making fun of the Atkins diet. And the gym will be empty again by February.<br />
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My friend M (featured in a recent post about <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-long-time-travel-friend-m-who-doesnt.html">visiting the Giant Sequoias</a>, and soon to be featured in posts about other national park visits) delights in taking unflattering photos of me when we travel together. Most are variations of my sweat-drenched head when I remove my hat after a strenuous hike. There was one in Costa Rica featuring chocolate smears around my mouth.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbP5Hjlj8VJwgQXkLTYoW9mzbK-xw3MkTZr0FAGWllfNmmVmvc6wyQ-5tyBfdmof1Pavvd7Hk5PXJwz4WOdoQZONnBmKC5MBNneWJXlNjr8n2mKxdeCFOILzr-Nk-TQ5bMzZXM109g3ur/s1600/scan0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRbP5Hjlj8VJwgQXkLTYoW9mzbK-xw3MkTZr0FAGWllfNmmVmvc6wyQ-5tyBfdmof1Pavvd7Hk5PXJwz4WOdoQZONnBmKC5MBNneWJXlNjr8n2mKxdeCFOILzr-Nk-TQ5bMzZXM109g3ur/s400/scan0005.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here's one she took in the sequoias. Nice!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53q9H5cfOfw7CpzDlIuZOfDW8IGQsBBCuzpsm86I-tW2igfrb1w7KxIh0NkSRX14h85iXzhoIfpw0AFupTsuMBB22rRzNXb-hNsJko1_Y0DoFsRJ0vGS7WpRRhfllvyi3Xx4-dHwUaHlo/s1600/scan0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj53q9H5cfOfw7CpzDlIuZOfDW8IGQsBBCuzpsm86I-tW2igfrb1w7KxIh0NkSRX14h85iXzhoIfpw0AFupTsuMBB22rRzNXb-hNsJko1_Y0DoFsRJ0vGS7WpRRhfllvyi3Xx4-dHwUaHlo/s400/scan0004.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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And here's one she took in Arches National Park in October.</div>
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<br />I'm not sure she intended this one to be unflattering. I think she was just placing me in the spectacular landscape. But when I saw it, my first reaction was horror at my fat ass. Especially since I just bought those hiking pants. That reaction means that I am settling back into the American mind set wherein "fat" is a dirty word.<br />
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But after a few minutes' reflection, I thought K2, being Tanzanian, might like this picture of me. So I emailed it to him. He replied with a nice compliment on how good I am looking here in America. This must be what they mean by "cultural relativity." Fat! Fat! Fat!<br />
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-68771586135892521492011-12-26T10:03:00.002-07:002011-12-26T10:03:30.606-07:00It's All ConnectedI just read a fascinating post in the blog <a href="http://safari-ecology.blogspot.com/">"Safari Ecology."</a> The author is a British ecologist doing research and living in Tanzania. He started "Safari Ecology" as a tool for safari guide training. As a former forester and environmental coordinator, and a current enthusiast of Tanzanian parks, I've been sneaking in and reading it all.<br />
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His <a href="http://safari-ecology.blogspot.com/2011/12/tawiri-conference-discussions-continued.html">latest post </a>ties together two subjects I've written about previously--Ruaha National Park and electricity shortages in Tanzania.<br />
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I won't attempt to link to every post I wrote that mentions lack of electricity. But when I came back to America near the end of May, we'd been getting about 12 hours of electricity per day with alternating blackouts day to night. After I was comfortably ensconced in my American house, enjoying electricity 24-7, Arusha dropped back to 8 hours per day, then to 4 hours only during the night, then they had a few 72-hour blackouts. A lot of that was attributed to a meager rainy season without enough accumulated water to power the hydroelectric system.<br />
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I only wrote one post on <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/03/ruaha-aaah.html">Ruaha National Park</a>, which is much more fun to read than my whining about lack of electricity. In that post, I discussed the sandy river channels, partially dry, running through the park, and included a few pictures of the rivers.<br />
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"Safari Ecology" gives a fascinating discussion of the effect of grazing in wetlands that feed the Ruaha River, how that has altered the river's historic flows, the effect of the altered flows on electricity generation, and the effect of the unreliable electricity supply on Tanzania's economy. So <a href="http://safari-ecology.blogspot.com/2011/12/tawiri-conference-discussions-continued.html">click on over</a> and take a look at it. But you will have to concentrate because it's science and math, whereas I mostly centered my discussion around elephant jokes!<br />
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-76613818841392379042011-12-24T19:49:00.000-07:002011-12-24T19:49:36.234-07:00Blogging Award or Chain Letter?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a 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" 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" 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Thank you and Merry Christmas to Caroline over at <a href="http://asiavufullcircle.blogspot.com/2011/12/you-like-me-you-really-like-me.html">Asia Vu</a> for giving me the Liebster Blog award. According to Caroline, who appears to be quite the language enthusiast, "Liebster Blog" is German for, roughly, dearest or sweetest or a very special blog. It's also like a chain letter. You know, when you get an email from a friend saying how much they love you, and that you must forward the email to five other friends in order to assure a run of good luck Sometimes they even promise money. </div>
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I never forward chain letters, but it's so nice to receive this compliment from Caroline that I'm considering it to be truly an award that only slightly resembles a chain letter. She didn't promise me money after all. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px;">The award is given to bloggers with fewer than 200 followers. It has these stipulations:</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">2. Reveal your 5 blogger picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">3. Copy and paste the award on your blog. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">4. Hope that the people you have sent the award to will forward it to their favorite bloggers.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://asiavufullcircle.blogspot.com/2011/12/you-like-me-you-really-like-me.html">Asia Vu</a> is the chronicle of Caroline and her family's life as expats in South Korea. It was her post about visiting <a href="http://asiavufullcircle.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-praise-of-chicken-seoul-museum-of.html">the National Museum of Chicken Art</a> that really hooked me. I always enjoy hearing about the quirky things. Plus, this Korean museum had a Navajo-carved chicken, which Caroline featured in her blog. J</span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">ust a few weeks before, </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">I had bought my own Navajo chicken in Arizona. I took that as a sign that Caroline and I are on the same odd wavelength. It's a funny blog. She can tell a good joke about the difficult parts of expat life.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">It's really hard to pick just five blogs. Some of my favorites have more than 200 followers, so they're out. And they don't need any help from me in getting more readers, anyway. And some of my other favorites may not care about getting an award or about getting more readers, but I'm going to go ahead and pick them, anyway. They can always be the one to break the chain.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">1. <a href="http://notenoughmud.blogspot.com/">Not Enough Mud</a>. Mud, a British woman, works in and visits many exotic locales. This blog leaves me waiting with bated breath to see what will happen next. Will the bus crash on Timor? Will the buried mine explode in Sri Lanka? What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt? Her writing and her photos are both beautiful. My only complaint is that, since she took a job removing old landmines, she's apparently too busy to post as often as I would like (which would be about twice a week). How can you not love a writer who nicknames a hot Swedish backpacker "Scandi Candy"? I am right now waiting with bated breath to see if anything will develop with Scandi....</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">2. <a href="http://onestonedcrow.blogspot.com/2011/12/two-christmas-songs.html">One Stoned Crow</a>. One Stoned Crow does a lot of driving in remote parts of Namibia. It seems to be connected with his job, but I don't know what that might be from reading the blog. He posts the most amazing photos of the beautiful desert landscapes and provides a bit of history and commentary. After reading his blog for a few months, I feel that I absolutely must see Namibia. Hey, and maybe Botswana, too, since they're so close together.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">3. <a href="http://www.abitsouthofnormal.com/">My Life a Bit South of Normal</a>. AC vents about her southern family in a loving, hilarious way. For readers outside America, let me just say that the American South has its own distinct sub-culture. I had no idea how complicated that sub-culture was until I found this funny blog. AC is also a fabulous photographer. She doesn't often post photos in her blog, but you can link to them from there. Although she did post a photo of her new puppy when I requested it in the comments. She broke away from the South in a recent series of fascinating posts about her visit to Cuba.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">4. <a href="http://robynsafricanadventures.blogspot.com/2011/12/ethiopia-bound.html">Africa, My Africa</a>. Robyn, a Scottish woman teaches school in Nairobi, Kenya. When I found this blog, she was teaching in Uganda. With her transfer, the reader gets a taste of what it's like to settle into a new job and home in an African country. I think of this blog as what my experience in Tanzania might have been like if I'd gone there for a job instead of for a man. Easier in some ways. Harder in others.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">5. <a href="http://www.inveracruz.com/2011/12/couvade-syndrome-sympathy-or-psycho.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+InVeracruz+%28In+Veracruz%29">In Veracruz</a>. Leah, a young American woman married a Mexican man and moved to Veracruz. And then up into the mountains to Xico. I love Mexico and for years have entertained the fantasy of living there. This blog lets me indulge that fantasy. Leah's been posting less often lately, because she's pregnant and had morning sickness and is back in America for awhile. But I can't wait to read about raising a baby in Xico.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">So, thank you, Caroline, for the award and for reading my blog and commenting so often. And thank you for providing me with an entertaining blog to read. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;">Merry Christmas, everyone everywhere! And to K2, climbing somewhere on Kilimanjaro tonight.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-17512281437153293172011-12-15T22:30:00.000-07:002011-12-15T22:31:25.322-07:00Those Are Some Big Trees! Sequoia National Park<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My long-time travel friend M (who doesn't like people knowing her business, so she shall be known only as "M") and her friend C make an annual visit to the giant sequoias in Southern California every year. This year, when I told M I would be in America all fall, she invited me to join them in late September.</div>
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I started by flying to Orange County, probably one of the most crowded, highest-income areas of the country. The three of us convened at C's house and went shopping for groceries at <a href="http://www.traderjoes.com/">Trader Joe's</a>. I love Trader Joe's, but we'll never get one in Utah because our cumbersome liquor laws would prevent them from selling alcohol. </div>
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Orange County felt odd to me. The air was white and hazy and all I could see was houses, streets, landscaped road medians, and shopping areas all around us and at the same level. I couldn't see blue sky. I couldn't see hills to the east. I couldn't see ocean to the west. </div>
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Much of California makes me feel uneasy. Not all of it, certainly. I like San Francisco. I like being up in the Sierra Nevada. I like Death Valley. But the Central Valley gives me the creeps. Even though there's plenty of open space in farms, it's as if people have modified every square inch. Even farm fields look industrial and feel unnatural. </div>
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The next morning, we purposely made a late start, in order to avoid morning traffic as we headed up the freeway through Los Angeles. This was my first time to travel this infamous stretch of freeway. But nobody shot at us and traffic was actually not too bad. It did feel crowded. I must have been twitching, because once we were north of the city, C pointed out to me all the farm fields and vineyards and commented that now we were out in the countryside and the wide open spaces. I was feeling uneasy again, because of that completely unnatural aspect. I don't know how it's possible to make grape vines and fruit trees look industrial, but California's farmers have mastered it.</div>
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We just kept heading north on "the ten," as Californians refer to Interstate 10, for quite some time. Actually, until we realized we needed to backtrack a bit to the south and look for a road heading east to the mountains. We wended our way through more industrial orchards and fields, and a couple of charming towns full of historic houses. </div>
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We reached the foot of the mountains around dusk and headed up the road to <a href="http://www.nps.gov/seki/index.htm">Sequoia National Park</a>. The road into the park at this end is a narrow mess of steep switchbacks. And it's been under construction for a few years now. We drove through that part in pitch dark. C was heroic as our driver. We'd wind around a corner and come up to a portable red light, sometimes alone, sometimes behind one or two other cars. We'd wait ten minutes for the green light. Then we'd ease over sections of road where the pavement was ripped away down to dirt. It seemed pretty narrow, but we couldn't see that much. On our way back out of the park a few days later we saw the whole situation. I'm glad I didn't understand the extent of it that first night in the dark. </div>
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And then, even though we were creeping along in the dark, reading every glow-in-the-dark Park Service sign, we drove past Wuksachi Lodge and had to turn around and backtrack for the second time. When we finally checked in, we advised the young receptionist that somebody really should check on the missing sign at the entrance road. She was very polite, but was clearly thinking she had a group of crazy old women on her hands.</div>
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The lodge was quite posh. And it had an excellent restaurant. Both of those things go totally against National Park tradition (see my complaints about the food and lodges in Yellowstone <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bear-baiting-toughest-job-youll-ever.html">here</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bison-or-grizzly-eternal-yellowstone.html">here</a>.) Our dinner reservation was for 6:00, but they let us squeeze in at 9:30 and cheerfully served us. </div>
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The next morning, after a quick, cheap breakfast from the mini-fridge in our room, we headed out to see the big trees. But first, we saw an enormous roadside sign marking the Wuksachi Lodge entrance road. No wonder the desk clerk looked at us like that. Looking at the sign in broad daylight, it was hard to believe we'd missed it.</div>
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But never mind the sign...look at the trees! This one is named the Sentinel, out in front of the Giant Forest Museum. A group of funny young women from San Francisco grabbed my camera and took this shot of M, me,and C.</div>
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Here's the view from Beetle Rock, a curve of glaciated granite that looks back the way we came, out towards the citrus orchards.<br />
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The view from Beetle Rock is almost always hazy, due to air pollution. Two rangers told us this is the most polluted National Park in America. I was assuming the pollution came up all the way from Los Angeles, but one of the rangers said the orchards at the bottom of the mountains generate most of it.</div>
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M riding a granite elephant. Or maybe it's a camel? Or a creature from a Dr. Seuss book?</div>
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The wind howled around us. We heard a tremendous crash from somewhere to the northeast. Everybody on Beetle Rock turned towards the sound just to make sure whatever fell wasn't anywhere near us. It sounded like one of the big trees had gone down. Rain pelted us, and we ran for the museum.<br />
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The gift shop was too small to occupy us for long, and the museum displays were only so so. But I did pick up this bit of information: the giant sequoias in this park are the world's widest trees. The redwoods, found in northern California near the coast, are the world's tallest trees. And bristlecone pines, found in Nevada and a few high elevation places in California and Utah, are the world's oldest trees.</div>
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Once the rain stopped, we headed to the Giant Forest area to hike the loop trail and see <a href="http://www.nps.gov/seki/naturescience/sherman.htm">General Sherman</a>, the world's largest tree (by volume). And, after spending four days in <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bear-baiting-toughest-job-youll-ever.html">Yellowstone</a> (the park famous for bears) searching for bears and never actually seeing one.... </div>
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...we saw three bears right next to the parking lot here in the sequoias!</div>
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They ignored the fifteen people standing around snapping pictures and the cars cruising by, and just went about their business.</div>
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Here's C setting off down the trail. She is a classic California blonde beauty. I took so many cute pictures of her, but she denies being classic or beautiful, and she hated every picture. So I'll just use a few where you can't see her too well!<br />
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Along the trail, we came across this...the tree we'd heard crash to the ground from two miles away at Beetle Rock!</div>
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The ranger said a father had pulled his little boy out of the way just in time as it fell. At least it's not a sequoia. I think it's a white fir. M and C suffered through a lot of tree and plant talk from me, as I relived my glory days as a forester and pointed out all sorts of interesting things along the trail.</div>
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Farther along, there they are again...the funny San Francisco girls.</div>
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I wonder if they're stalking us? Look at the size of that tree! Their camera batteries were dead, so I took these pictures and promised to send them. But I lost their email address, so I'll just post their pictures on the internet instead.<br />
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This group tree hug reminded me that I, too, am a tree hugger, and I was really feeling a strong aura from these giant trees. I picked one and hugged it myself. </div>
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The bark is very dry and corky and at least a foot thick. When I hugged it, I came away with slivers and dust poking through my shirt and scratching me. Not to mention the many spider webs in the bark crevices.<br />
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The thick bark shields the tree from fire, so the big trees survive a lot of fires. Many have impressive fire scars.<br />
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Anyway, as I walked the trail, plucking at my shirt to dislodge the splinters, I understood that the sequoia aura comes from size and solidity and beauty and is one of utter indifference to many smaller organisms. It's good to be reminded of my puny place in the wild universe a few times a year. So then I enjoyed the aura by wandering among the trees and gazing adoringly from a splinter- and spider web-free distance.</div>
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Giant fire scar! Puny people! <br />
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The Park Service named trees for past presidents and groves of trees for political bodies. But it must have been a long time ago, because there's no way the American Senate this year can be compared to these stately, dignified trees.</div>
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Here's M lending scale to the roots of an uprooted sequoia.</div>
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That's M and me at the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/seki/naturescience/sherman.htm">General Sherman Tree</a>, the world's largest by volume.</div>
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It's on the left in this more distant view. It's 275 feet (84 meters) tall. See all those tiny people standing at its base, to the left, for scale.<br />
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Next, we were off to a guided tour of Crystal Cave, one of several karst-limestone caves in the park. Crystal Cave is the one they've developed with trails and lights and tours. You could consider it a "sacrifice" cave for public consumption, while the others remain open only to researchers or otherwise serious spelunkers. A few years ago, M convinced me to to do a very serious spelunker's tour in an undeveloped part of Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. It was terrifying. But also really fun! But that's another story for another time. This day, we just walked a paved, lighted trail. </div>
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In true Park Service fashion, this sign at the start of the 1/2 mile trail to the cave tries to give visitors a good scare. So if you have to pee alongside the trail, be sure you don't grab a handful of poison oak leaves, or you'll be sorry. The ratty-looking raven isn't real, just a toy available in the tiny gift shop attached to the ticket kiosk.</div>
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Really, the trail was lovely.</div>
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For some reason, the entrance gate is a giant spider web.</div>
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Still trying to scare us, I guess.<br />
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We toured with a group of 50! Way too big...<br />
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But the cave has some beautiful formations. The <a href="http://www.sequoiahistory.org/default.asp?contentid=632">Sequoia Natural History Association</a>, a non-profit organization, runs the tours. Our guide was a young man who loves caves. He looked as if maybe he'd been sleeping in this one for a few days. He gave a very good tour replete with in-depth discussion of chemistry, geology, biology and everything else. He made one joke about his girlfriend being jealous of the cave. M and I whispered to each other, "What! Do you believe this guy actually has a girlfriend?"</div>
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Fairies' Pool.</div>
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When all 50 of us sat in a circle for the obligatory lights-out plunge into total darkness, a Japanese man who didn't understand English took advantage of the break to scroll through all the pictures he'd taken. Which distracted us a bit from total darkness. An American man snarled at him, "Cameras off! Cameras off!" Our guide said, in a soothing voice, "No judgements, now. No pressure." The Japanese man was still scrolling, all unaware of the restless natives. When the lights came back on, the guide gave us a little talk about going out into the world to do good works for the environment. He made me think back to the 1970's and Earth Day and John Denver. Very gentle and earnest. But the tour was good, because he presented much more in-depth science information than you usually get on a 50-tourist cave tour. <br />
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Stream channel running through the cave. The gray and white part has mineralized from limestone into marble.</div>
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Aaah! Back into the light.<br />
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We still had some daylight left, so we headed back to Wuksachi Lodge and walked a couple of miles of the Twin Lakes Trail that starts behind the lodge. We spent about two hours walking the trail and saw not another soul. The shorter, easy trails that start at big parking lots and pass through sequoia groves were very busy. We had to reserve the cave tour a day ahead and walk in a big group. But this trail doesn't pass any sequoias and isn't paved and is steep in a few places, so nobody was there! It was lovely.</div>
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M and C crossing Clover Creek on the Twin Lakes trail.</div>
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Look! My shirt matches the lichens on the fir trees!</div>
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We finished the hike just as the light faded.<br />
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Another expensive, delicious dinner in the lodge and we called it a night.<br />
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Next morning, bright and not too early, we headed to the Tokopah Falls trail. Even less early because we passed a really good gift shop on the way to the trailhead and took a few minutes to shop. <br />
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Bears are so active in the park that the Park Service provides these bear-proof boxes at trailheads. You're required to take all food out of your car and store it in the boxes. We carried our lunch with us, but that sack in the corner contains all our snacks and drinks for the rest of the day.</div>
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Bears here are expert at breaking into cars if they smell something good, or even if they see a cooler in the back. I suppose you could lose your food out of these bear boxes if another tourist stole it. I checked every time to see if anyone else had left something better than ours, but never saw anything worth stealing.</div>
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C and M hit the trail. This was a non-sequoia hike, through mixed pine and fir forest.<br />
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The highlight of the hike was a bear family about a hundred feet below the trail. Here's Cub Number One.<br />
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Here's Mama, keeping an eye on us humans up on the trail.<br />
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Cub Number Two.<br />
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Have you ever seen anything so cute? We so felt the urge to climb down and pet him.<br />
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But we didn't get too close. At least she's tagged, so the rangers would know which bear took us down.<br />
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We cut the hike off just below the top. We could see the waterfall and it wasn't too impressive and the last half mile involved picking your way through a rock field. </div>
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M was ready to climb over all those High Sierra rocks, but C and I talked her out of it.<br />
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On the way back down, we met a couple with the husband standing on a fallen log peering through the brush below the trail and the wife hanging back behind. She gave us the story. Not two minutes before, a large bear had crashed onto the trail only a few feet from them. It stopped for a moment, turned its head toward them, and growled! Then it moved on across the trail. We saw a blur of dark fur and the bushes shaking as the bear charged downhill. I was kind of happy that we missed the growling part.</div>
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After a nice lunch eaten on a scenic granite slab in the middle of the creek, we walked back to the car, retrieved our snacks and diet sodas from the bear proof box and headed down the road to Crescent Meadow. </div>
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Here's a Park Service classic-the tree tunnel on the road to Crescent Meadow.<br />
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The trail loops around a small meadow, passing through mixed pine, fir and sequoias, all underlain by a carpet of ferns. It was stunning in the late afternoon light.<br />
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We chatted for a few minutes with a woman, probably in her sixties. She had lost her husband only a few months before. The Crescent Meadow trail had been their favorite hike, one they'd visited every year. She was revisiting the place and remembering her husband. She said she could feel him there with her. Very touching, sad and sweet and happy all mixed up together. </div>
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That's either the worst case of cellulite I've ever seen, or someone's smuggling sequoia cones!<br />
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Back at the trailhead, I asked a young ranger about the signs placed in every intersection in this part of the park. They warned that, as part of the ongoing construction, this road system would close at 7:30 and remain closed for three days. Wouldn't they let us come back out a bit later if we were already behind the sign? Wouldn't they sweep the parking areas and check for stragglers? The ranger said no, they wouldn't, and we could spend the next three days trapped behind the gate, screaming for help, with no one to hear us. Or something almost that bad.</div>
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This was important because sunset would be at 7:30. M and C have a ritual of climbing Moro Rock to watch the sunset every time they visit the park. Moro Rock is a granite hill sitting at the top of a ridge with a long view to the west and a steep, 329-step stairway winding up to its summit. We decided we'd climb the rock and watch most of the sunset, but get back to the car by 7:15 to be sure we'd be outside the gate by 7:30.</div>
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It felt like the top of the world, with just the railing to keep us there.<br />
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Yes, indeed, America's most polluted National Park. We could barely see through the murk.<br />
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We watched the beginning of the sunset.<br />
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But, concerned with being locked behind the gate, we dashed back down the 329 steps before the sunset was complete. When we reached the parking lot, the road construction crew were there. A young woman on the crew greeted us with, "Aren't you going to stay and watch the sunset?" They were sweeping the parking areas and making sure everybody was out before they closed the gate. Stupid ranger! But we couldn't see the sunset from the parking lot, and we weren't going to reclimb the 329 steps.<br />
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So we drove back to Beetle Rock to catch the end of the sunset there.<br />
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And as a bonus, on our drive back to the lodge after dark, when our headlights swept across the Wuksachi Lodge sign, it did not glow in the dark! So, we weren't crazy after all. Checking it out the next morning, it looked as if the sign was covered with dust or something that made it non-reflective. </div>
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The next morning was our last among the Sequoias. We had time for one more short walk among the beautiful giant trees. </div>
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Look what greeted us at the start of the trail...<br />
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...a marmot, just waking up and coming out for the morning. We watched him for several minutes from only 10 feet away. He was slow to wake up, and even fell asleep for a minute while dangling half out of the tree like this.<br />
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This trail, a meadow loop across from the Giant Forest Museum, finally gave me the chance to get a picture of an entire tree.<br />
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By the time we finished the loop, the marmot had made it to the ground and was basking in the sun.<br />
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All good things come to an end. We had to leave the park so that M and C could get back to the icky part of California and report back to their jobs. But leaving the park was quite a job. </div>
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Here's the road construction in daylight...<br />
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...with lots of traffic to back up.<br />
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We were first in line, and we waited for an hour. We hung out with the retired couple from the Midwest who were behind us in line, and heard their travel stories from the whole summer. You can make a nice shade awning for yourself by flipping up the back window of your car and huddling under it. They gave us chocolate, too. </div>
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Ah, here's the traffic from the other end. Shouldn't be long now.<br />
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Here we are following the pilot car through the construction zone.<br />
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This is why I said I was happy I couldn't see this when we came up the mountain in the dark. There's a long drop off just the other side of the pilot car.<br />
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And here are the cars on the other end waiting for us to get out of their way.<br />
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During our five-hour drive back to C's house in Orange County, we got to talking about movies, and then about Africa. So of course "Out of Africa" came up. I said I'd seen it years ago when it first came out, but that I'd like to see it again now that I'd spent so much time in East Africa. C set us up with the DVD in her living room. And that's how I ended my trip to Sequoia National Park feeling homesick for Tanzania.</div>
</div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-58998686242971970492011-12-05T14:40:00.001-07:002011-12-05T15:48:29.082-07:00Another Short Post--Another Couple of BooksTwo posts ago, I said I'd be posting about my travels through various American National Parks this fall, starting with Sequoia National Park. OK, I'm still going to do that, soon. But first, just one more post about books I really liked and other odds and ends.<br />
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The Tanzanian tribe that gets the most attention (at least from Westerners) is the Maasai, They traditionally are nomadic cattle herders who roam large areas of East Africa. When you see pictures of a slender warrior draped in red robes, standing on one foot, leaning on a staff with the sun setting behind him....that's a Maasai. I've mentioned them in various posts and included a few photos. Here's my review from the Goodreads website of a sweet book that provides an inside view of Maasai culture.<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/127180.Facing_the_Lion" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Facing the Lion: Growing Up Maasai on the African Savanna" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1320466422m/127180.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/127180.Facing_the_Lion">Facing the Lion: Growing Up Maasai on the African Savanna</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3270376.Joseph_Lemasolai_Lekuton">Joseph Lemasolai Lekuton</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/243409813">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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A children's book, but one also suitable for adults as a quick read. The author is Maasai and grew up in a traditional cattle-herding family in northern Kenya, but ended up attending university in America. Now he spends half his time in America teaching at a private school, and half back home with his family. He tells the story of his childhood with the perfect balance of the personal and the cultural. Fun stories from his boyhood illustrate the main points of Maasai culture. As I read, the humor and overall tone kept reminding me of the few Maasai I got to know a little bit in Tanzania.<br />
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This blog gets about 30 hits per day from search engines, mostly Google. Many of those deal with Maasai topics, such as "Maasai <i>shuka,</i>" (the traditional robes). Most of those come through Google Images and pull up various photos from various posts. Here's a new one to search for:<br />
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Sebastian, a waiter at Kundayo Apartments, demonstrates the proper way to wear <i>shuka</i> and a few Maasai dance steps. He also showed us a few different <i>shuka</i> patterns and explained that each was worn by people in specific gender and age groups.</div>
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But of all the beautiful landscape photos and fabulous wildlife photos and fun people photos that I've included in this blog, the one photo that people search for the most is the ugliest. Here it is:<br />
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My foot with a jigger, or sand flea egg case near the end of its gestation period. Bleah!</div>
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That post, <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/02/well-ill-be-jiggered.html">"Well, I'll Be Jiggered,"</a> has received 948 views, more than double the views of the next runner up. I guess if I were embarrassed about this unflattering photo of myself, I wouldn't have published it in the first place. I'm viewing it as a public service on my part, informing numerous visitors to Tanzania and Kenya that the ugly bump on their foot is a jigger and that no, they can't ignore it until it goes away. Who knew there were so many jiggers out there waiting to pounce on unwary foreigners? I'm sure they pounce on the locals, too, but I'm guessing the locals recognize them without doing a Google search.</div>
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I also get many Google hits on my <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/12/simple-goat-curry.html">goat curry recipe</a>. Most of those hits seem to be from India and Saudi Arabia. I always imagine that they're disappointed by the recipe, because it's such a basic recipe for an Indian or Saudi cook with more experience of cooking with goat meat or curry.</div>
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Another source of hits is the phrase, "Tanzanian manners," which leads to a post with a brief discussion of one or two points about eating at restaurants. Probably not very helpful for foreign volunteers getting ready for their first trip. I thought of that when I recently read this book about Tanzanian manners. This will give them something more substantive to search out:</div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8215142-tanzania-culture-smart" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Tanzania - Culture Smart!: the essential guide to customs & culture" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1320559436m/8215142.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8215142-tanzania-culture-smart">Tanzania - Culture Smart!: the essential guide to customs & culture</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4009146.Quintin_Winks">Quintin Winks</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/243413630">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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A good, straight forward primer on how to behave politely in Tanzania. Tanzanians seem to me to be quite patient with foreigners blundering around socially, but still, Tanzanian manners are much more complicated and demanding than American manners (well, maybe everybody's are--we're all pretty casual). After spending over a year in Tanzania, then reading this book, I found it to be accurate and helpful. I especially liked that the author, a foreigner, is respectful of Tanzanian culture. (I'm partway through the Botswana guide, by a different author who is disdainful of Botwanans.)<br />
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That finishes all the odds and ends floating around my brain for now. Next time, I promise the Giant Sequoias! <br />
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-15779146909492413732011-11-30T17:30:00.001-07:002011-12-13T19:24:16.550-07:00Read This! (If You're Interested in the Peace Corps)I just finished a very interesting book. If you ever thought about joining the Peace Corps, or met a Peace Corps volunteer in your home country, you might be interested, too.<br />
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Here's my review from the Goodreads website:<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9025023-when-the-world-calls" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="When the World Calls: THE INSIDE STORY OF THE PEACE CORPS AND ITS FIRST FIFTY YEARS" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1320556488m/9025023.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9025023-when-the-world-calls">When the World Calls: THE INSIDE STORY OF THE PEACE CORPS AND ITS FIRST FIFTY YEARS</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/68104.Stanley_Meisler">Stanley Meisler</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/241653735">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Fascinating history of the Peace Corps, which is now 50 years old. The author lays out clearly all the Washington DC fighting and deals and politics that come with any gov't agency. But having served as a volunteer, I didn't see that side of things. I think he gives the Peace Corps more importance in affecting host country politics than is warranted--but I could be wrong--he describes incidents from the 1960's when it was new and glamorous. Looking through the lists in the back of the book, I see that I served during the Peace Corps' smallest years and during the Reagan administration, when the PC was not considered glamorous or important. I always thought the administration was crazy to think they could use volunteers to promote their agenda, because we volunteers were 90% young, inexperienced liberals who were always against the agenda. Reading this book, it looks like that dynamic is at the heart of the PC's history. The author jumps too far to that liberal heart of the agency to defend it, and its cherished traditions, against all criticisms. But he does present the criticisms and discuss both sides. Really liked this book and learned a lot from it.
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<br />Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-57991121569180147332011-11-22T13:49:00.001-07:002011-11-22T15:56:43.524-07:00Musings on Being (Still) in AmericaI apologize for the long delay between posts. I've been asking myself how long I can continue a blog purporting to be about Tanzania when I keep extending my stay in America. As you may have noticed, my last several posts have been from Arizona and Montana and Utah, none of which are anywhere near Tanzania. I considered ending Tanzania 5.0 and starting a new blog with a more general theme, maybe something about how I spent my summer vacation or retirement for the adventurous. But that seemed like admitting to myself that I might be finished with Tanzania, and I'm not ready to do that. Also, I've built a modest readership for Tanzania 5.0 and I hope some of you are still here with me in Arizona and Montana and Utah. So I've added a bit of explanation in the header, changed out the photo of the Maasa'i woman for a photo of Bryce Canyon (here in Utah), and updated the "About Me" paragraph in the sidebar. I'll be in America at least through spring. I have two more trips to national parks with fabulous photos, one from September and one from October, one from California and one from Utah, that I still want to post about. And it will all continue under the title of "Tanzania 5.0."<br />
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In 1982, I first visited the little Filipino town where I would spend the next two years as a Peace Corps volunteer. The jeepney driver heaved our giant suitcase onto the jeepney's roof, where it lay unsecured and surrounded by bags of rice and coconuts. My (now) ex-husband asked, "Won't it fall off before we get there?" The more experienced volunteer who was escorting us said, "The first rule of physics in the Philippines: Nothing placed on the roof of a moving jeepney ever falls off." That turned out to be true. As did many other seeming breaches of what I'd previously believed to be immutable laws of physics. I think that when the people living in a place (e.g. Americans) believe in an orderly universe governed by rigid rules, that's how things will go in that place (e.g. America). But I also think that the Filipinos' common disregard for the rules of physics actually negated the rules of physics in that place.<br />
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You always hear people (e.g. international aid workers) say things like, "A.W.A. Africa Wins Again." This is the version of a disordered universe with fluid rules that is found in Tanzania. You can keep trying to plan ahead, working out what you hope for step-by-step. But things don't stick where you put them in Tanzania. Plans don't come to fruition. But you might end up with something more interesting than you'd planned.<br />
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I arrived in Arusha, my fifth trip to Tanzania, in March, 2010. I planned to stay for three months, then bring K2 with me back to America. Instead, I stayed in Tanzania until June, 2011. I'd come full circle in my thinking and considered myself an expat American living in Tanzania. I was busy putting this plan in place, step by step. I rented a house. I bought a car. I learned to drive on the left in the crazy Arusha traffic. I found a few friends. I lined up a job and applied for a work permit. The immigration officer told me to leave Tanzania for a few weeks unless I wanted to pay $400 U.S. for an interim residence permit. That seemed like a good time to visit America and take care of some financial tasks rhat had been waiting for me.<br />
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I arrived in Utah, planning to stay for five weeks. The financial matters turned out to be more complex than anticipated, and I realized I couldn't finish in five weeks. My mainstay friend in Arusha, Anna, emailed that <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/09/kwaheri-anna.html">she was returning home to the U.K.</a> At five weeks, K2 asked me not to return yet, because he wanted to work nearly continuous treks on Kilimanjaro for a few more months. I agreed and planned to return at the end of October. Then the house I'd rented shortly before returning to America <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/07/news-on-new-house.html">started crumbling, even though it was brand new, and K2 moved out</a>, and into a much more modest, local-style bachelor apartment. Then my <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/07/all-white-girls-got-cars.html">beloved Suzuki Escudo</a> began demanding repairs, starting with a water pump and ending with complete engine replacement. At the end of October, K2 asked me again not to return because he wanted to continue working on the mountain.<br />
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So, it's AWA, and my best attempts to put a plan in place unraveled thread by thread as soon as I left Tanzania. So now I'm feeling less the expat and more the tourist, hoping to visit Tanzania again, but not sure when.<br />
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But I have been enjoying my time back home in America. I've loved reconnecting with my friends. I've luxuriated in my wonderful house and reliable running water and electricity. I've had a ball wandering the western U.S. through the summer and fall.<br />
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And so, coming up in my next post...<br />
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...a visit to Giant Sequoia National Park in California. That's the world's biggest tree (by volume) on the left. You can see some teeny tiny little people standing under it.</div>
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And after the Sequoias, a Southern Utah road trip through...</div>
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...Bryce Canyon National Park, and...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIB9YaWDqfpDGPd3lxmCCJ84T6B9hFHQU6Qh6ULO_MAi_BFkxS-FsfDBWYDJhxlfawV9fcuHhX9Akw8SEYHa4hjqJ4A-MzRvG_qdMXM8myLdt5Nj4sd9xhlxUlyjhDS1dbfCUyWEuVnDQM/s1600/DSCN1625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIB9YaWDqfpDGPd3lxmCCJ84T6B9hFHQU6Qh6ULO_MAi_BFkxS-FsfDBWYDJhxlfawV9fcuHhX9Akw8SEYHa4hjqJ4A-MzRvG_qdMXM8myLdt5Nj4sd9xhlxUlyjhDS1dbfCUyWEuVnDQM/s400/DSCN1625.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...Cedar Breaks National Monument (with snow for added scenic effect), and...<br />
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...Zion National Park, and...<br />
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...Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park (with sunset for added scenic effect), and...<br />
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...Arches National Park, and...<br />
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...Canyonlands National Park, and...<br />
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...Dead Horse Point State Park. This is a cosmically appropriate place to end a great girls' road trip, because it's where they filmed Thelma and Louise driving their convertible off that cliff.<br />
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And just as winter is getting started in Utah, and I'm wondering why I can't miss it like I did last year in Tanzania, I received a piece of good news to cheer me up. I've been accepted into <a href="https://continuingstudies.stanford.edu/writingcertificate/intro.php">Stanford University's Online Creative Writing Certificate Program.</a> I'll be part of a group of 30 students working together through a series of creative non-fiction writing classes and forming an online writers' workshop for the next two years, starting in January. It's part of their continuing education department, so I'm not a regular Stanford student and I'm not working toward an academic degree. It's all online, so I won't be moving to California any time soon. But if I find myself back in Tanzania during the two-year series of courses, I'll be able to continue working on it (if the electricity stays on long enough to charge my laptop battery). </div>
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<br /></div>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-57521438391021512202011-10-08T00:01:00.000-06:002011-10-09T22:47:17.436-06:00Beautiful Butte-the Garden Spot of MontanaMy brother Bob and I recently took a joyful, nostalgic romp through historic uptown <a href="http://www.buttecvb.com/">Butte, Montana</a>. Back in the 1960's, the highlight of every summer vacation was our two-week visit to our grandparents in Butte. We lived in a suburban neighborhood of brand new ranch houses crowding up against alfalfa fields. It was idyllic in a 1960's America sort of way. Our grandparents lived in a gritty urban-feeling neighborhood of multi-story brick buildings and narrow alleys crowding up against open pit mines. We thought it was fabulous just because it was so different from home. Oh, and maybe because all our Irish Butte relatives spoiled us with gifts and outings and lots of attention. My mother always referred to her hometown as "Beautiful Butte" or "the garden spot of Montana." She was joking, but I didn't realize that until one of our neighbors back home burst out laughing when I repeated it. Our last visit had been in 1967, the year before my grandfather died and my grandmother left Butte to shuttle between her two daughters' houses.<br />
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As Bob and I drove into Butte, we saw that all the newer houses and businesses and most of the activity were down in "The Flats." But we were interested in "Uptown," the historic section built on a steep hill. The hill is known as "the richest hill on earth" because it's full of minerals and riddled with mines--some gold and silver, but mostly copper. <a href="http://www.bigskyfishing.com/Montana-Info/butte_mt-2.shtm">Click here</a> to read a short version of Butte's wild history.<br />
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From uptown, the streets roll away downhill in every direction.</div>
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This one rolls away downhill to an open pit mine.</div>
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These old headframes dot the landscape. Each stands over a mine shaft and was used to hoist men, machines, and mules (yes, mules!) down to and up from the mines.</div>
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We headed uphill on Montana Street, looking for Granite Street where our grandparents' apartment had stood. Just as we approached the corner of Granite, church bells rang out. We both said, "Oh!" and turned to look at each other and smile. Those bells, from multiple churches, had rung throughout every day of our summer visits. I hadn't remembered that, but when I heard them there at the corner of Granite, memories flooded back.<br />
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We turned onto Granite, not sure what we'd find. Butte suffered numerous fires throughout uptown during the 1970's. Most were arson for the insurance money, or so everybody says. We'd heard that our grandparents' building was one of those that had burned.<br />
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Here's what we found...someone is currently rebuilding the fire-damaged building. It's the small, green building to the right, with the Carpenters Union Hall, in all its original glory, to the left. You can see some fire damage under the eaves on the top left corner.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KpWGfyzkZ4A/TnixwaceGSI/AAAAAAAAH2Y/V2P_NhetJIo/s1600/160+West+Granite%252C+July+1949.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KpWGfyzkZ4A/TnixwaceGSI/AAAAAAAAH2Y/V2P_NhetJIo/s400/160+West+Granite%252C+July+1949.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here it is in 1949. Our grandparents' apartment was the left half of the
second floor. It must have been tiny, but it seemed big enough at the
time. (All of these old photos come by way of my cousin Chris who dug
them out of family archives at her mom's house and scanned them. Thanks,
Chris!)<br />
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The green siding is quite a change. It used to have asphalt faux-brick shingle siding like this.</div>
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Here's Chris with Grandpa, sitting in the neighbor's doorway. The door on the left was ours.</div>
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Today's view down Granite Street. </div>
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Granite Street in 1949. Left to right are Grandma, my mother, my Aunt Mary Ellen, and Grandpa. </div>
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It looked busier back then, and Bob and I both remembered it being busier in the 1960's, too. There's a section past the Carpenters Union Hall that is now a parking lot, because several buildings burned. One of those was the garage where Grandpa rented space for his car, which my other brother, John drove through the garage door when he was three years old.<br />
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This headframe is only a block away from the apartment--the town just ends right there.</div>
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The courthouse is across the street from the apartment and we spent hours playing on the steps. Bob and I both remembered the courthouse steps as being much bigger. John concurs about the size of the steps after viewing the photos. </div>
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I remembered three levels of steps at least, separated by landings. More like the courthouse in New York that they always show on "Law and Order."</div>
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Here's Bob sliding down the bannister, a big pastime for us during our visits. This bannister also seems to be much shorter than I remember it. (Okay, I'm consulting a visitors' bureau brochure for information on historic buildings. The brochure says the courthouse was built in 1912, but it says 1910 on the front of the bannister. Hmmm. But whatever dates and history I throw in are coming from the "Copperway Walking Tours" brochure.)</div>
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Looking at the old photos, it seems it was as much a family landmark then as now. Here's Chris posing with Grandpa on the steps. </div>
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And here are Chris's parents right after they got married inside the courthouse in 1942. Left to right are my mother Margaret Ann, Aunt Mary Ellen, Uncle Bill, and Bill's sister, Betty Ann. I guess in Butte in those days, nice Catholic girls used their middle names.<br />
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Bob is two years older than me, so his last visit was when he was 10 years old, while I was only 8. Also, Bob has an unusual, near-photographic memory and I don't. At all. So he remembered many more details of Butte and our visits there than I could. It was interesting to see what random things triggered memories for each of us. The smallest things triggered the strongest memories.</div>
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We squeezed through the alley and into the dirt-packed yard behind the apartment (also much smaller than we remembered). </div>
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We ignored the "No Trespassing" sign--that doesn't apply to people revisiting childhood memories. I saw these old windows...</div>
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...and the latch on the window triggered for me a vivid memory of opening these exact windows in the bathroom and looking out to see the clotheslines on pulleys suspended over the yard.</div>
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The current owners weren't there all weekend, but if they had been, I'd have knocked and tried to get inside and have a good look around.</div>
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Bob stopped in his tracks when he saw this window well in the alley. He used to hide down inside there--not scared of bugs, I guess.</div>
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Here's my mother (right) hugging her little sister, Aunt Mary Ellen, in that same back yard in 1928. </div>
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Two alleys over, Bob's memory was triggered by this heavy-duty drain pipe...<br />
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...and this painted sign...<br />
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...and especially this gate at the end of the alley. He remembered them all and the memories were so powerful he just stopped in his tracks and laughed each time.</div>
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He used to hide behind the gate and watch people walking down Granite Street (back when it was busier). One day a woman walking by saw him and said, "What are you doing in there, little boy?" He told her, "I'm in jail!" And, of course, the gate looked a lot bigger to him, then. </div>
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It was so much fun to see all of this with Bob because he remembered so much and he was so joyful with each memory as it struck. We wandered the back alleys of Butte laughing and telling stories. Here are a few of the things we saw...</div>
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More of the asphalt faux-brick shingles.<br />
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Grandpa working in a back alley somewhere--it looks like it could be the same building as in the picture above. He was an electrician who worked on the first electrical lines to go into Yellowstone Park. It looks as if he's cutting cables or conduits here.<br />
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Next, we cut through the old bus station (now a parking garage) and onto Broadway, and looked around on the streets of uptown.<br />
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In 1879, a fire destroyed the entire business district. Following this disaster, the city council passed a law requiring all uptown buildings be built of brick or stone. That's why Butte has so many still-standing historic buildings. But, ironically, there are now many more-recently-generated vacant lots caused by (arson) fire.<br />
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All over uptown we saw black marks and floor joists like these delineating where the missing burned buildings used to be.</div>
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One of the first things we found on Broadway was our Cousin Jack Sullivan's electrical shop. It was full of odds and ends and he always welcomed us in to hang around and get in the way. And we always got to choose one gift. One time I got a little copper tee-pee and John got a rabbit's foot. Bob always chose old electrical parts.</div>
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His shop was on the left side of the space with the large windows trimmed in blue. It's a surveyors' supply shop now. Again, closed with no one around, so we couldn't go in. But we could see one of Jack's glass-fronted cabinets still in use inside and the original rough wood plank floor.<br />
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We walked on up the block, and when we turned around, found this old sign for Jack's shop painted high on the side of the building.<br />
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Here's the proprietor, our second cousin, Jack Sullivan. He limped, because he'd had polio as a child. His wife Marie cooked wonderful tamales (which I thought were Irish until I was a teenager) and Cornish pasties.</div>
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Pasties, a kind of portable meat pie that miners used to carry in their lunches, are a Butte specialty. It's hard to find them anywhere else. So around noon, I started thinking about pasties and asked some locals where to find them. </div>
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We ended up at Gamer's Cafe. I had a delicious pastie, rib-sticking enough for a 12-hour shift in the mines. Bob wasn't up for pasties and just had a burger and fries. For those of you who have no Cornishmen or miners in your family tree, pastie is pronounced with a short "a" (rhymes with "nasty") and has nothing to do with strippers.</div>
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Neither Bob nor I remembered Gamer's. But our cousin Chris did when she looked at the pictures. It's on the ground floor of a fabulous historic building, which started us off on our two-day walking tour of historic buildings, both restored and crumbling. You can take a trolley or bus historic tour, but we walked around with a brochure and crafted our own tour. We felt that commercial tour guides would likely not focus enough on our family history to provide us a satisfactory experience.</div>
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Home of Gamer's Cafe, the Curtis Music Hall, built in 1892.</div>
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Love the shamrocks! One of many Irish touches seen around Butte. But I somehow neglected to get a picture of the menacing plastic leprechaun leering down from the roof of Maloney's Bar.<br />
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As Bob pointed out, if you lived in Butte, you'd certainly want fire insurance.<br />
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Lions at the Silverbow County jail--modeled after lions bagged on an African safari by Theodore Roosevelt.<br />
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Built in 1907. (For my readers in the U.K. and India and Belgium and Italy--yes, here in western America, 1907 is historic!)<br />
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This used to be Hennessy's Department Store, where we each got to choose one toy from the big basement toy department. And Grandma always bought me at least one dress. One key feature that's changed: the revolving door is gone. We loved going around and around in it until our mother ordered us to stop.<br />
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Both of my grandparents' funerals were held here, only half a block from the apartment they'd lived in since 1939.<br />
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Cousin Jack's shop was also less than a block from the apartment and Hennessy's was one block away. I remembered wandering great distances through this big gritty city, but it turns out our whole territory was contained within two city blocks! But they were gritty.</div>
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Broadway Antiques-a sprawling suite of rooms filled with an astonishing array of almost anything you can imagine. See the little balcony on the corner? Lots of Butte buildings have these.</div>
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The tile floor in Broadway Antiques.</div>
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The tin ceiling inside Broadway Antiques. Even in a mining town, it can't really be gold, can it?</div>
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M&M Cigar Parlor, left from the days when Butte's drinking parlors sold cigars to miners coming off shift. Bob remembers buying candy there. This day, a motorcycle gang were having a few drinks.</div>
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Another common feature: these borders of rough granite chunks.</div>
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They're working on it!</div>
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The Finlen Hotel, modeled after Manhattan's Astor Hotel, and now being restored by its current owners.</div>
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Another small thing that triggered our memories--these purple glass blocks set into the sidewalk to let light into rooms below. We walked onto this square in the sidewalk and both said, "Oh, I remember these!" I've never seen them anywhere but Butte.</div>
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Another interesting historic building, but about 50 years away time wise and a world away style wise from its neighbors! It looks to me as if it's filling a space left by one of the missing older buildings. </div>
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The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knights_of_Columbus">Knights of Columbus</a>--important in a Catholic town like Butte.</div>
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And the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freemasonry">Masonic</a> Temple.</div>
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The <a href="http://www.buttetours.info/motherlode.htm">Mother Lode Theatre</a>--still in use as a theater, and the last of several grand theaters in Butte.</div>
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The <a href="http://www.thecopperkingmansion.com/">Copper King Mansion</a>--built in 1884 by <a href="http://www.thecopperkingmansion.com/waclark.htm">Copper King, W.A. Clark</a>, one of the world's richest men during his lifetime. Through various business ventures, he accumulated $50 million by 1900. It's estimated that the cost of building this mansion, about $500,000 was only half a day's income for him.</div>
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This was the first apartment building in Butte, and it was considered scandalous because it would undermine the family structure.</div>
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They knew how to build a front porch back in 1900!</div>
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And in the middle of all those big houses, an empty space with nothing left but foundation and burned out basement...</div>
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...and a backyard Madonna.</div>
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The house of W.A. Clark's oldest son. It was modeled after a French chateau he and his bride admired on their honeymoon. It's now used as a community art center.</div>
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We also spent a few hours at the <a href="http://www.miningmuseum.org/">World Museum of Mining</a>, even farther up the hill.</div>
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The museum is housed at Montana Tech, which used to be known as the School of Mines. My mother attended during World War II, along with about 10 other women who were majoring in geology or mining subjects. One of the other women was in a lab class with a male lab partner. After each experiment, she received a failing grade, while her male partner passed. When she consulted the professor, also the college president, he told her that the class was required for graduation, she could only fail a required class three times, and as long as he was president, no woman would ever graduate from the School of Mines! That propelled my mother off to Washington State University, where she went on to earn both a bachelor's and a master's degree in metallurgical engineering. I'm sure they don't do things like that at Montana Tech nowadays.</div>
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And like many American parents, she used to tell us about the long, steep hill she walked up, in deep snow, to reach the school. The hill is quite long and steep. But still, Bob and I agreed she was exaggerating.</div>
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We went on the underground tour, in which a we walked only about 100 feet inside an old mine tunnel. The tour was interesting, though, even if it wasn't very far underground. The guide showed us several pieces of old equipment and talked about the work they used to do here.</div>
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The headframe from the old Orphan Girl Mine is a prominent feature.</div>
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Bob, the auto mechanic, was fascinated with the motors housed at the base of the headframe.</div>
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Most of the museum is what you could call "un-curated." That is, there's an incredible array of old machinery lying around and you're free to wander around and look it over. No matter how obscure, Bob could figure out what each piece of equipment was for and how it must have worked.<br />
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This thing is a 1917 Fordson Snow Motor, an early version of a snowmobile. Those spiral-etched pontoons rotated and gripped the snow. </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/zBjlSJf4274?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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The tour guide passed by as we were looking at it and tipped us off to this great You-Tube video of a 1929 Snow Motor in action.</div>
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One last fond memory was the Columbia Gardens, an old amusement park built by Copper King W.A. Clark for the children of Butte. Our second cousin Margaret lived next to our grandparents and she spoiled us just as much as her brother, Jack did. Every time we visited, Margaret took us to the Columbia Gardens where we rode on the roller coaster and the airplane ride. The annual Columbia Gardens visit was so exciting, we'd start asking about it almost as soon as we arrived in Butte. The Gardens also had beautiful flower beds and old playground equipment. Our cousin Chris had already told us that Columbia Gardens was gone, subsumed by a still-active open pit mine. But a girl at the Butte Visitors' Center told us that some of the playground equipment had been moved to Clark Park down in the Flats.</div>
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We found the park, and the playground equipment was there. We were so excited!</div>
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We had to try it out. Even though the sign says no adults. Seriously, would today's children think this "cowboy swing" was exciting enough? I would bet that at least 80% of the people playing on this equipment are over 50 years old and reliving childood memories. Or else, why would they need the sign?</div>
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And our last stop, the infamous <a href="http://www.pitwatch.org/index.html">Berkeley Pit</a>. The Anaconda Company progressed from underground mining to open pit copper mining in 1955 with the Berkeley Pit. It incorporated several underground mines and swallowed several neighborhoods of Butte until it closed in 1982. After mining stopped, the pit filled partially with contaminated water and is now a toxic waste cleanup site. Bob could remember going to the overlook and watching the huge mine trucks driving along the terraces on the pit sides.</div>
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Anaconda started digging the pit right at that headframe on the top ridge. </div>
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Part of the color in the water is reflections of the pit sides and the hills. But on the left, the chocolate-colored line is chemicals in the water. In the pretty morning light, it looked like chocolate syrup spreading into coffee.</div>
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While we were at the mining museum, we'd heard multiple gunshots and wondered what was going on. Firecrackers? Target practice? Miners' union riot? Leprechauns at Maloney's Bar? It turns out that an employee stays in a shack on the pit's banks and watches for birds. If birds land on the water, he fires shots in the air to scare them away before they can be poisoned.</div>
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The adjacent Columbia Pit is still active. It's the one that undermined the Columbia Gardens.</div>
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And the waste from that pit is put into the Berkeley Pit at one end.</div>
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But if you're fond of Butte, it's all part of the landscape. I called my cousin Chris while we were standing on the edge of the Berkeley Pit and she was very excited to be getting a call from Butte and asked about the color of the water that morning.</div>
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Bob and I both wished we had more time to spend. But Bob has a job, so we were limited to a two-day visit. We had so much fun revisiting this wonderful part of our childhood. The only thing missing was our other brother, John. And it would have been nice to have Chris with us, too. And we really felt some regret that we had not thought to make this trip ten years ago when our mother could have enjoyed it with us. </div>
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Good-bye, Butte! Next time, I won't wait 44 years!</div>
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Ivan Doig's novel, "Work Song," centers around Butte's mining history. Although it's not my favorite of his books (and he is one of my favorite authors), it's worth reading if you'd like to know more about Butte.</div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7167918-work-song" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Work Song" border="0" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1275612267m/7167918.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7167918-work-song">Work Song</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/70540.Ivan_Doig">Ivan Doig</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/120399555">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Disappointing after reading his other work, especially "Whistling Season," which is incredible. This one is just pretty good. He paints a vivid picture of Butte, Montana and the copper mining culture. But characters and especially plot are just a framework for talking about Butte.
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/list/800466-barbara"><br /></a>Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-20499585824292705422011-09-18T13:44:00.001-06:002011-09-21T16:54:50.693-06:00Shakespeare and Red RocksAnother road trip (still here in America) with another old friend. This time to Cedar City, Utah with Jane, another fun former coworker. She's the one I'd call from a restaurant table and say, "Hey, I'm about to order Sunday brunch. Come and join me." And she would. Once, another friend and I were waiting inside the theater for "An Inconvenient Truth" to start and realized we should've invited Jane because of her extreme interest in global warming. We called her, said she had ten minutes, and she showed up just as the lights dimmed. But now she lives in Las Vegas, so I have to plan ahead a bit more when I want to see her. So we picked Cedar City, halfway in between us (approximately). And believe it or not, Cedar City, Utah is known regionally for its excellent <a href="http://www.bard.org/">Shakespeare festival.</a><br />
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Over a long weekend, we saw three plays, one of them Shakespeare.</div>
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Our first was "The Music Man," at 2:00 on Friday afternoon. We planned to meet at noon at the Comfort Suites Hotel, check in and put on nicer clothes, then go for a leisurely lunch before the play. All the road construction I drove through on my road trip to <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-water.html">Phoenix</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/07/south-to-tucson-and-north-to-driggs.html">Tucson</a> was still there, and they'd added more farther south, so I calculated I'd be 40 minutes late. I called Jane to let her know and she sounded breezy and unconcerned and said she was on her way and had plenty of time. At 12:50 I was changing my clothes at the Comfort Suites in Cedar City, but saw no sign of Jane. I called her and she said she'd stopped in St. George to have her air conditioner checked and she'd be along soon and don't worry, she still had plenty of time. I said, "Jane, it's after 1:00. The play is at 2:00." Jane said, "What!!??"<br />
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The border between Utah and Nevada is a ripple in the cosmos. Everything is different on either side, mostly in terms of the seven deadly sins--they're all legal in Nevada and illegal (or at least highly regulated) in Utah. Plus, Utah has added more, like smoking. We're up to about 11 or 12 deadly sins now. Another thing different on either side of the border is the time zone, and it's been awhile since Jane lived in Utah and she was blissfully dawdling along in Pacific Time where it is one hour earlier than at the Shakespeare festival.<br />
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I went to a fast food taco place to grab a burrito to carry with me over to the festival grounds. I noticed a two-for-one special, so I bought one for Jane, too, figuring she wouldn't have time to stop for lunch. I went to the festival box office and picked up all our tickets. Then I found a picnic table outside and ate my burrito. I was tracking Jane's progress by cell phone and knew she was getting closer. Ten minutes before "The Music Man" started, I was in front of the theater waving my arms at Jane down at the corner by the parking lot. She breezed up with at least three minutes to spare and I handed her a foil-wrapped burrito, which she hid inside her purse to save for intermission.<br />
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We really enjoyed the play. This one turned out to be our favorite. Over the next two days, we also saw "Noises Off" and "Romeo and Juliet." We were both a bit bored by acts one and three of "Noises Off," but laughed throughout Act 2. We both enjoyed "Romeo and Juliet," except for the sad ending. We both thought the lead actors were a bit bland for their roles. The actor who played Mercutio had more charisma and looked better in his stretchy velvet pants than Romeo. Which is not to say that all the young men didn't look good in their stretchy velvet pants.<br />
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Half of the fun of "Romeo and Juliet" was watching it in the Elizabethan Theater, sitting almost outdoors on a beautiful summer evening. I have no pictures of the inside of this theater because of the young usher who really wants to be a policeman and was zealously ensuring that nobody took any pictures even before the play began.</div>
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When we reached our seats in the balcony, our neighbors were buzzing about this usher. He had just jumped out behind the woman sitting next to me and yelled at her for taking a picture of the empty stage and the audience. They pointed him out, now standing in front of the stage. He was scanning the audience and occasionally darting to different rows and yelling at other unsuspecting patrons. I'm thinking now Jane and I should have approached him at intermission and asked if he'd take our picture.</div>
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Next day, we headed out to look for petroglyphs at a place north of town called Parowan Gap. I'd pulled directions from the internet, and directed Jane in circles all over the edges of Cedar City while I misinterpreted the directions. So we stopped for an early lunch at Lefty's Hideaway, a great Mexican restaurant.</div>
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Jane and Lefty. She's totally left Utah behind and is now much more on the Vegas side of the cosmic divide.</div>
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We chatted with the waitress about <a href="http://www.scenicsouthernutah.com/heritage_discovery/parowangap.shtml">Parowan Gap</a> and she gave us another set of directions. Then Jane took charge and drove us straight to the petroglyphs.<br />
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They are thought to have been made by Fremont and Paiute people in their yearly travels through the gap. This site is different from most petroglyph sites in that it includes few human or animal figures. These petroglyphs seem to be all about counting, with lots of geometric figures composed of tic marks or dots or series of lines.</div>
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This one is called the Zipper. Its shape seems to match the shape of...</div>
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...the Parowan Gap, which is a narrow slot through the Red Hills. (You could see the matching shape better if only I had taken this photo from the other side of the road.)</div>
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The theory is that the tic marks on the Zipper are a diagram of the sun's position every day at sunset. At the solstice and on some other days, the sun shines through the Gap and illuminates various petroglyphs. Of course, we're all just speculating now, so long after the artists and astronomers have come and gone. You can click <a href="http://www.parowangap.org/">here</a> and <a href="http://www.scienceviews.com/indian/parowangap.html">here</a> and <a href="http://www.parowan.org/index.php/heritage/parowangap.html">here</a> to read more about the petroglyphs and the solar calendar theory. The mystery is part of why I love petroglyphs so much. </div>
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How did they get up there? I love petroglyphs, and this site is beautiful.</div>
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Hey! This one looks like Hello Kitty!</div>
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We saw a few later additions, mostly from the late 1800's, and the one at lower left from 1939. A woman walked past Jane, intent on finding this "very old" cross. When Jane commented that the other petroglyphs were much older, she became angry and wanted to argue. At which point Jane just sort of said, "uh huh" and got away from her. Not sure what that was all about.</div>
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Sunday morning we got an earlier start and headed up into the mountains to <a href="http://www.nps.gov/cebr/index.htm">Cedar Breaks National Monument</a>. This is the perfect place to get a little taste of red rock if you don't have time to go all the way over to <a href="http://www.nps.gov/brca/index.htm">Bryce Canyon National Park.</a> </div>
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It's a beautiful sandstone bowl eroded out of the landscape.</div>
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You can see Cedar City off in the distance at the top of the picture. Well, sort of. It's not that big of a town.<br />
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Jane mentioned a fear of heights when we decided to hike the rim trail. But then she kept walking right up to the cliff edge to get pictures!</div>
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The wildflowers were fabulous everywhere they had dirt to grow in. Here are some Columbine along the trail.</div>
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See that white promontory on the left? That's Spectra Point, where we stopped for lunch.</div>
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A beautiful little stand of bristlecone pines grows on and around Spectra Point. The world's oldest living organism is a bristlecone pine over 2,000 years old (not here, over in Nevada on the other side of the cosmic divide).</div>
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The oldest bristlecone in Cedar Breaks is around 1,600 years old. So that's still old enough to cast quite an aura, tree-wise. We sat in the shade of this one for lunch.</div>
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During lunch, we discussed at length whether or not to continue on to the Ramparts Overlook. The discussion consisted mostly of me worrying about being too out-of-shape to make it all the way out and back. But neither of us wanted to leave this beautiful place on such a beautiful day, so we kept walking.</div>
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What fear of heights? Here's Jane photographing the Ramparts.</div>
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And here are the Ramparts. </div>
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On the way back, the light had shifted to a warm afternoon glow, and everything looked different than it had when we passed an hour or two earlier. Sunlight and sandstone can produce a million different colors.</div>
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Also on the way back, I realized that we were already halfway from Cedar
City to Mt. Carmel Junction. This was important because when I drove
home from Arizona a few weeks ago, I was looking for Maynard Dixon's house somewhere in the vicinity of Mt. Carmel. He painted
wonderful southwest landscapes in the 1930's. I'd caught a glimpse of a
sign saying his house was there, and intended to visit on the way home,
but missed the sign as I drove by. But Jane--just like my friend Tami
down in Tucson-- has a smart phone. We'd planned to both head home
Monday morning. But when I asked Jane if she had to be back at work on
Monday, she said no and was immediately interested in whatever
entertainment I might propose. So right along the Cedar Breaks rim
trail, she pulled out her smart phone, hooked up to the internet, and
found out the location and tour information for Maynard Dixon's house. And we scheduled ourselves for an extra half day of vacation on Monday morning.<br />
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I did make it safely back to the trailhead, happy and thirsty. We tried to buy diet Coke at the visitor center, but all they had was bottled water, so we had to be healthy. At least it was cold! </div>
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Back in the car, we completed the scenic rim drive, stopping at all the overlooks...</div>
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...and by the side of the road for this field of wildflowers.</div>
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Monday morning required an earlier start, which we accomplished. We ate the quick free breakfast at the hotel, checked out and hit the road. I drove across the mountains east to Mt. Carmel and slowed down while we both looked for some sign of Maynard Dixon's house.<br />
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I drove past it again. Yes, now I can see the bright red sign. But it's small and not all that visible from the highway.</div>
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But we stopped at a little hotel in town and the owner gave us more exact directions and we found the place. <a href="http://www.thunderbirdfoundation.com/index.cfm">The Thunderbird Foundation</a> maintains the property and offers artists' retreats and other activities there. We paid for our $10 self-guided tour at an enormous, brand-new log house nearby. There was a small art gallery, too, but maybe it was just getting started, because it had only a few offerings, and disappointingly little by or about Dixon. The Dixon property is a short walk and another world away. Dixon and his third wife, Edith Hamlin, bought the property in 1938.<br />
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They completed this small log house in 1939 and then spent summers here,
no doubt to escape the heat of Tucson, where they spent the rest of the
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The house is lovely inside, and seems authentic to its time, with the exception of the kitchen that's undergone some 1970's type updates. The print above the fireplace is one of Dixon's.</div>
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Several prints hang in the house and studio, but they are very cheap, poor quality. Which I guess is good when you let random tourists like us wander through unaccompanied.</div>
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The property is peaceful and lovely. I almost wanted to sign up for an artist's retreat myself. But I think they're looking for actual artists for that. You can click <a href="http://www.maynarddixonpaintings.com/">here</a> to read more about Dixon and see photos of some of his compelling paintings. </div>
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Edith completed this studio in 1947, after Maynard had passed away.</div>
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It was inspired by the Anasazi culture and by Frank Lloyd Wright's Taliesin West, which I visited in <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/06/its-water.html">Phoenix with my cousin Chris</a>. It's much smaller than Taliesin West, but I thought it was prettier and more comfortable and welcoming. Edith, also a renowned artist, painted here and hosted many other artists to work here. Ansel Adams spent time in this studio.</div>
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Here's the view from the studio. Clearly a good spot for artists to find their muses.</div>
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We stopped for lunch at a local sandwich shop/ crafts store in Orderville. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Orderville,_Utah">Orderville</a> sprang to life in 1875 as an experiment by the Mormon church in communal living. Everybody worked as they were able, and everybody took only what they needed from the common pool of goods. Communism, right? The teenage waitress who took our sandwich order overheard me use the c-word and spun around to deny that her ancestors were communists. She was really upset. I tried to explain myself. "Not communism as it played out in the Soviet Union. More like the pure ideal of it that Karl Marx wrote about. People working to produce things for the common good. Only taking what they need." But she would have none of it. We discussed it for a few minutes, but she became more upset. She described Orderville and its United Order in almost the same words I'd used to describe Communism, but she did not like the c-word. I envisioned her spitting in our food back in the kitchen (although she did not really seem the type to do something mean like that). I also did not want to insult such a sweet young girl, so I said I must be wrong. Jane persisted for a few more volleys, then she backed off, too. The sandwiches were quite good and did not seem tampered with. And I felt bad so I made an extra effort to be really friendly to the waitress. </div>
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On that quirky note, we headed back to the Interstate and Jane's car, then ended our vacation and went our separate ways, each to our own side of the cosmic ripple that is the Utah/ Nevada border.</div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-48821343300693486742011-09-06T19:30:00.000-06:002011-09-06T19:30:01.007-06:00Kwaheri, Anna!My wonderful British friend, Anna has left Tanzania and gone home to England. I am devastated. But she made a good decision. When I came home for what I thought would be a few weeks, Anna had not breathed a word of this to me. But not long after I got here, she e-mailed, telling me she'd decided to go home and pursue a master's degree. I was stunned by the news, had no idea she'd been considering it. The night I read that email I cried myself to sleep. Can I do Tanzania without Anna? I really don't know. But, I have to keep reminding myself, she made a good decision. She's young and in the early stages of her career. She will find much better opportunities in the U.K. than in Tanzania. Maybe a master's degree from the U.K. will help her find better opportunities in Tanzania later on if she wants to go back.<br />
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So here's an Ode to Anna--a look back at what a wonderful friend she's been to me over the past year and some.<br />
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I got to know Anna during the two months I stayed at Kundayo Apartments starting in March, 2010. <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/03/out-and-about.html">You can read something about my stay at Kundayo in this older post.</a> I was surprised at check-in to find a young blonde British girl behind the reception desk. She wasn't there the previous year. She was a great hotel manager! She arranged room repairs when needed. She arranged <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/04/safari-njema.html">K2's and my first safari of the year</a>. Then she arranged <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/04/safari-again.html">our next safari, too.</a> When <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/03/washing-my-panties-in-bucket.html">I lost my bank card in the ATM</a>, she said I could charge meals at the Kundayo restaurant until I resolved the cash flow problem. Then she helped me resolve the cash flow problem by telling me about a hotel that would give me a credit card advance.</div>
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When I got discouraged with the visa process for bringing K2 to the U.S and decided <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/04/immigration-laws-and-good-manners.html">I wanted to extend my stay in Tanzania to a year</a>, Anna suggested to me that I get a one-year volunteer visa based on my <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/03/getting-it-together.html">teaching English at Jordan Institute.</a> Then she invited me to her house so I could see what type of house I might be able to rent in Arusha.</div>
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We each <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/07/all-white-girls-got-cars.html">bought cars</a> at about the same time, along with our Dutch friend, Martina. This opened up many new possibilities for entertainment. We started with <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/07/all-white-girls-got-cars.html">the Missing Tanzanian Boyfriends Dinner Club</a>. Then we moved on to girlfriend excursions around Arusha. Our first was <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/06/dancing-at-karibu-fair-toto-were-not-in.html">the Karibu Fair</a>, a tour industry exhibition we attended with another friend, Joyce. I really like Joyce, too, but she went off to Dar es Salaam shortly after this, so I don't have many other posts featuring Joyce. She went back to school, too, an advanced certificate in hotel management. Better education has been messing up my social life for awhile, now.</div>
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Anna and Joyce at the Karibu Fair.</div>
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Later on, Anna changed jobs and worked as the visitor coordinator at <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/11/visit-to-school-of-st-jude.html">the School of St. Jude</a>. She invited me for a tour there, which was lots of fun due to the hordes of cute Tanzanian kids everywhere. The school offers high quality education to promising children from the poorest families in Aruhsa. Anna contributed to that for several months by helping potential donors see the beauty of Tanzania and its people.</div>
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Anna asking the kindergarten class if we can join them for lunch at St. Jude's.</div>
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She accompanied me for many lunches in town and a few shopping excursions, which are always an adventure in Arusha. Our best was this <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/12/christmas-shopping-arusha-style.html">Christmas shopping trip</a> at the end of 2010, which resulted in fun custom-made (or "bespoke", as British Anna would say) <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/12/kitenge-report.html">kitenge dresses</a>.</div>
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Anna in bespoke couture just in time for Christmas.</div>
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We <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/11/perfect-storm-no-water-some-electricity.html">lounged at hotel pools</a> when we got the chance, including on election day when we couldn't vote anyway, not being Tanzanian citizens. We went together to enjoy various entertainment offerings. We saw a documentary on Namibian San people outside under the stars and we saw the latest Harry Potter movie at an air-conditioned shopping mall (and ate pizza for dinner at the food court). We went to a one-woman play acted by a South African woman from Dar es Salaam. And we went to <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/04/circus-mama-afrika.html">an African circus</a> with Anna's mum and aunt when they visited Tanzania.</div>
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At Circus Mama Afrika.</div>
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Sometimes, we needed more! Our excursions expanded beyond Arusha. We took an overnight trip to <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/10/marangu-and-machame.html">Marangu</a>, in the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Anna and I have matching spirits of adventure, but she can walk a lot faster than me (She's 6' tall and I'm 5'3" tall. She's 26 years old and I'm 52 years old.). But that was okay, because she always waited for me. Our Marangu adventure included a hike to a waterfall and an underground tour.</div>
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Anna at the waterfall.</div>
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Anna underground!</div>
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We made a side trip to Machame, where Anna's great aunt, Nancy King, established Machame Girls' Secondary School in 1947. Nancy King was the first foreign woman to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro. So all this wandering around East Africa runs in the family.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicZc5GmBWFMwRDyVQV3sKgp5a2Yo5R3ISHB_QgenEEqNOpCR7bBwEJch7gQXvZ7sMgpZPLfnfhryG2mUFvsan1Qvzh-urVfpUGvi50cFnsv0X9rJtjzv8j0-bNNoJxhsFPRVdou1e7cq7/s1600/IMG_8200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicZc5GmBWFMwRDyVQV3sKgp5a2Yo5R3ISHB_QgenEEqNOpCR7bBwEJch7gQXvZ7sMgpZPLfnfhryG2mUFvsan1Qvzh-urVfpUGvi50cFnsv0X9rJtjzv8j0-bNNoJxhsFPRVdou1e7cq7/s400/IMG_8200.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anna and the current head mistress at Machame Girls' School.</div>
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It was during this trip that Anna first asked me to include pictures of her in my blog so that she could just direct her mother here rather than send pictures herself. After this, whenever we did something interesting, or I took a cute picture of Anna, she'd say, "Are you putting this in your blog? I'll tell my mum." But that's good! The more readers the better. And Anna's mum was my first reader in the U.K.<br />
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Our next weekend trip away from town was in the other direction, out to the village of <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/11/walk-on-maasai-side-via-snake-park.html">Monduli</a>. We found a hiking guide by random good luck combined with Anna's faith that you will find what you need in Tanzania. K2 joined us and we hiked through idyllic Maasai villages. But don't click on this link if you're phobic about snakes because we started the weekend with a visit to a snake park and that post opens with several close-up photos of snakes.</div>
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Anna in Maasai Land. No pictures of her with snakes, because she's scared of them and wouldn't get near them.</div>
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Our last excursion away from town was to <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/05/beach-safari-to-tiwi-beach-kenya.html">Tiwi Beach, Kenya</a>, with friends Cynthia and Lema and their daughter Amaya. We had rain and termites, a monkey attack, and two flat tires. But Anna was upbeat through it all. And eventually we got some sunny beach weather and time to lounge.</div>
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Anna and Amaya bonding on the way to Kenya.</div>
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Anna enjoying the beach once the sun came out.</div>
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But a good friend is much more than just someone to have fun with. Anna, although she's half my age, was my mentor for life in Tanzania and she was my support in times of crisis.</div>
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I had no idea where to shop or how to buy electricity or what food to cook. K2 and Tanzanian friends helped me. But Anna, being British, understood the questions I, being American, was asking. Tanzanians showed me how they lived, which was very helpful. And then Anna showed me how we foreigners could find something extra to make ourselves feel more at home. Anna helped me understand Tanzanians better (although I still have more to learn). Sometimes when I had no idea what K2 was up to, Anna explained it to me, and said, "That's just how it is in Tanzania." She helped me enormously.</div>
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Here's the second-hand clothing market. It's Anna's favorite place to buy clothes in Arusha and she introduced me to it and showed me how to navigate its tricky innner workings.</div>
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When <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/10/robbered-part-2.html">Anna got robbed,</a> she came to my house for a soda and a quiet place to sit and calm her nerves and I gave her a loan until payday. When she was upset with her boyfriend, I gave her a home cooked meal and ice cream for dessert. When <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2010/07/heading-home-for-now.html">my mother passed away</a> in America while I was in Arusha, Anna took care of me. She drove me to the airport and helped me figure out how to change my plane ticket to get home sooner. During the two days I waited for my flight, she made sure I was alone only when I wanted to be. (K2 was on Mt. Kilimanjaro and had no way to come home.) She invited me over for dinner and fed me lasagna and we watched "America's Got Talent" from last season, all of which kept me from crying for at least a few hours. She drove me to the airport a second time to catch my flight. And the drive to the airport is a 45-mintue ordeal in the dark. </div>
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So, Anna, my friend, thank you for all the fun times and thank you even more for being there during the bad times. I'm not sure I can survive in Tanzania without you. But you made a good decision! </div>
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<em>Kwaheri </em>(good-bye), Anna. Study hard!</div>
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P.S. I'm not mad anymore about all those jokes about loud Americans wearing sweatpants and trainers.</div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-8493492452952041772011-08-31T22:30:00.000-06:002011-08-31T23:18:09.448-06:00Big Sky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When last we talked, Diane, Alice and I had just left Yellowstone National Park after four fruitless days of looking for grizzlies. But we did see millions of wildflowers, thousands of tourists in cars, hundreds of geysers and hotpots, dozens of other animals of several species, several park rangers, and a smattering of interesting (some good and some bad) fellow travelers. If you missed all of that, you can read Yellowstone <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2011-08-21T16%3A31%3A00-06%3A00&max-results=2">Part 1</a> and <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bison-or-grizzly-eternal-yellowstone.html">Part 2</a> to catch up. </div>
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But even after all of that, we weren't ready to go home yet. Alice hadn't even collected her name tag for the medical conference. The medical conference that triggered this whole trip by paying for gas and a hotel room in Big Sky, Montana. Big Sky is a big Montana ski resort. I'd never been there and wondered what we could do for fun at a ski resort in the summer. Plenty, as it turns out.</div>
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We pulled into that already-paid-for hotel, <a href="http://www.buckst4.com/">Buck's T-4</a>, in late afternoon, to find a crew just finishing set-up for "A Taste of Big Sky,"an event in which many restaurants offered small sample portions of their menu for anywhere from $2.00 to $5.00. (I can't remember the exact name of the event, so I made up "A Taste of Big Sky.") Of course that's where we ate dinner. It was as if they scheduled it just for our benefit! About 200 people crammed themselves into this modest roped-off area and circulated table-to-table with their wine samples. </div>
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We sat at a table with an elegant older couple who looked really rich. You know, tasteful well-made Western wear, a bit of silver and turquoise jewelry, stylish haircuts. I proceeded to question them about what they were doing in Big Sky. They spend the summers there and the winters in Michigan with their grandchildren with assorted jaunts to the Caribbean and Europe at various points during the year. We saw a few other elegant older couples in the area over the next few days. They said they used to come for the skiing, but now they don't like the cold weather. Even though I hear Michigan's pretty darned cold in the winter, too. But grandkids can make up for a lot of bad weather. I think we may have been the only out-of-town guests there. Everybody was greeting everybody else like long-lost best friends and catching up on all the gossip. The atmosphere was really friendly, warm, and fun.</div>
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For only about $20 apiece, we had small portions of buffalo and elk disguised as nouvelle cuisine and heaping helpings of barbecued ribs. We tried to get some Thai food, but they sold out too fast. Diane and Alice tried two wines, both of which they didn't like. I had a lamb slider (teeny hamburger-style sandwich), which I quite liked. Then we finished with a Mexican-ized cheesecake sopapilla dessert and two helpings of huckleberry ice cream (we were still in Montana, after all). Very fun and an auspicious start to a summer vacation in a ski resort.</div>
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Back in the room, Diane and Alice opened up their laptops. Yay! We were now in a really nice hotel with free internet. Also, we could close or open the windows and we had air conditioning. I mention these things only by way of contrast to the historic lodge and run-down cabins in Yellowstone, which are worth staying in because they're inside the park. But hey, it was nice to have wireless access again. They efficiently picked out a whole list of activities and places in just a few minutes of browsing. Just like that, we had an itinerary.</div>
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Early next morning, the three of us piled into the car and drove about 20 minutes up into the mountains, right to the base of the ski hill. Alice then had to go to work by finally attending the medical conference. Diane and I headed back to the Lower Village and found a cute little bakery and settled in with coffee. </div>
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I ordered a huckleberry scone, and made a traumatic discovery. After all the "fresh" huckleberry ice cream I thought I'd been eating the last few days, it turns out it wasn't just the cream that was frozen. The baker told me she'd been unable to get huckleberries from her supplier for the past week. They were entering into the annual huckleberry shortage when LAST YEAR'S STOCK OF FROZEN HUCKLEBERRIES runs out a couple of weeks before the new crop is ripe. It was even worse this year because spring was very cold and wet, and all the berries were ripening later than average. She could see I was upset, so she baked blueberry scones to console me. I couldn't quite taste the difference, so I did feel comforted.</div>
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When doctors attend conferences in beautiful vacation places, they end their work day at 1:00. So we ran up the hill to fetch Alice, then headed north up the Gallatin River Canyon towards Bozeman. </div>
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We made our first stop at <a href="http://www.visitmt.com/categories/moreinfo.asp?IDRRecordID=2867&SiteID=1">Bozeman Hot Springs.</a> This is a combination hot springs, RV park, and gym. We were only interested in the hot springs. They have six indoor pools. The biggest is an ordinary heated pool, full of kids splashing and screaming. On each end, they have small pools, hot and hotter and so hot you think you might die, and another freezing cold. The water has a bit of a mineral, sulfur-ish smell to it, and the pipes are glazed with calcite. We lounged for over an hour, moving from hot to hotter to hottest and then plunging into cold. My back had been stiff for a few days from so much time riding in cars and from too-soft beds, but after Bozeman Hot Springs, I felt relaxed to the point of limpness. Wonderful! And since we weren't gym members, I didn't have to feel guilty about not working out while I was there.</div>
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Next, on to <a href="http://www.museumoftherockies.org/Home/EXPLORE/Dinosaurs/tabid/90/Default.aspx">Museum of the Rockies</a> at Montana State University in Bozeman.</div>
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Museum of the Rockies is known for their incredible dinosaur display, starting with this Tyrannosaurus Rex outside the entrance. (Photo by Diane, because I forgot to charge my camera battery.)<br />
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Diane and Alice in fear for their lives! Don't call us nerds, or we'll send the T. Rex after you!</div>
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This dinosaur display is fascinating. Many museums display only reproductions of the original bones, but here, a significant number of displays include original dinosaur bones. The sheer number of creatures and bones and displays is amazing. And exhausting! My back hurt again by the time we'd finished looking at everything. <a href="http://www.museumoftherockies.org/Home/EXPLORE/Dinosaurs/PeopleinPaleo/JackHorner/tabid/389/Default.aspx">Dr. Jack Horner</a> is the museum's curator. Back in 1988, I read his book "Digging Dinosaurs," and was fascinated. So between the curator and the location in Montana, home of many many dead dinosaurs, the museum had to be good!</div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1173286.Digging_Dinosaurs" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Digging Dinosaurs: The Search That Unraveled the Mystery of Baby Dinosaurs" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41YnzwdNUxL._SX106_.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1173286.Digging_Dinosaurs">Digging Dinosaurs: The Search That Unraveled the Mystery of Baby Dinosaurs</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/387125.Jack_Horner">Jack Horner</a><br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/203079506">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Next morning, Alice went back to her conference to learn something. And Diane and I went back to the Gallatin River to learn something...<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gvAXqlWfvgQ/Ti5EHeeE9XI/AAAAAAAAGDo/_0VslvLX33I/s1600/DSCN9517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gvAXqlWfvgQ/Ti5EHeeE9XI/AAAAAAAAGDo/_0VslvLX33I/s400/DSCN9517.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...fly fishing! With <a href="http://www.montanawhitewater.com/">Montana Whitewater Rafting Company</a>.</div>
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Diane casting on dry land.</div>
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Our teacher, Alex, had the six of us students stand in a row on dry land and practice casting at lifesize wooden fish mounted on posts. Diane and I aced it. I hope Alice was learning as much, too.</div>
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Next, Alex showed us some flies and talked about insect species and life cycles and what fish look for in a snack.</div>
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This was my chance! I scrolled back to Yellowstone on my camera screen and showed this picture to Alex. He identified it as a salmon fly.</div>
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Now we were ready to try casting into water. Alex cautioned us that the fish had not been biting well. Due to the spring's high flows, the water had been murky for weeks, and had only cleared up three days before. Also, it takes lots of practice to cast well. And the point of fly fishing is not really how many fish you catch. It's the journey. And so on. So I wasn't expecting too much.<br />
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But Diane still thought she might catch something. Here she is casting into the Gallatin, aiming for the sweet spot right between the quiet water in the eddy and the fast-flowing center current.</div>
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Alex could do a lot more with a cast than we could!</div>
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He lives for fly fishing. In fact, he lives in a tent right on the Gallatin's bank. He grew up in Bozeman and learned to fish and ski as a boy. He went to Europe to teach skiing. He went fishing one fateful day in Europe, caught a fish, and remembered how much he loves fishing. So he's back in Montana, where he fishes, goes to work teaching fishing or guiding fishing trips, and fishes.</div>
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And no, we didn't catch anything. But it was okay, because Alex taught a good lesson and we enjoyed that. We enjoyed casting over and over. It's kind of addictive. You just want to do it better next time so you can't stop trying. And it was delightful hanging out by the Gallatin all morning. <br />
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And bonus! We saw these otters on the far bank. They caught a fish.</div>
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But since we didn't catch any trout, we picked up some salmon at the market on our way to pick up Dr. Alice at her conference, and headed back up the Gallatin Canyon to find a nice picnic area.</div>
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Bear warnings, just like in Yellowstone! I hear bears like salmon...maybe we'll see one now!</div>
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I mentioned a few times in my two posts from Yellowstone that Diane stores mountains of trivia in her head and that her mind jumps nimbly (and unpredictably) all over the place. Here's an example: on one of our many drives through the Gallatin Canyon, we passed a small trailer that looked as if it had seen better days and as if it had been parked in its camping spot for quite some time. Diane said, "I would have liked to be a gypsy." Pause to look at the trailer. "Except for the part about getting beat up and run out of town." </div>
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I took this gypsy-themed picture especially for Diane the next day in a different place. </div>
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But back to our afternoon on the Gallatin River. No, we didn't see any bears at the picnic area. That's okay, because we were on to something else scary and thrilling. For the last several years of my career, I worked with many people who love whitewater rafting. Some of them even managed to work it into their job duties, something about protecting endangered fish or river management plans...whatever. I am always drawn to the beauty of river canyons but have always been too terrified of whitewater to get into a raft. But on our first morning in Big Sky, when Diane and I went into Montana Whitewater's headquarters to sign up for fly fishing, Diane just matter-of-factly assumed that of course we would go rafting, too. And later, Alice also assumed that we would. Under their influence, I suddenly found myself open to the idea. And then I found myself signing the list and handing over my credit card. But I insisted on the easier trip, class II and III rapids only. Lucky for me, Alice waited until after they ran my credit card to tell her terrifying story about being trapped under a capsized raft on the Zambezi River, which is full of hippos and crocodiles. She survived, though.</div>
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I was scared at first. After we came safely through the first three sets of rapids, I realized I probably wouldn't fall out of the raft and then it was just fun! Really fun! A nice father and daughter pair from back East rode with us. The daughter, 12-years-old, was a bit nervous, too, so I couldn't let go and be all dramatic about being scared or I would be a bad influence on an adventurous young girl. Totally against my philosophy of life and outdoor recreation. She and I both relaxed and started whooping through the rapids at about the same time. Our guide (very fun) told us only chickens sit inside the raft and that if everybody sits centered on the outside edge of the raft, the raft is actually more stable. I didn't care...I sat a bit to the inside so I would not tip over and into the Gallatin.</div>
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Alice is in the yellow lifejacket. Diane and I are on the side near the camera. I'm in the back. My 12-year-old friend is in the orange helmet with her dad in front of her. (Greatly over-priced photo by Montana Whitewater. But heck, I had to have the picture, didn't I?)</div>
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One of my travel friends likes to say, "Feel the fear and do it anyway." I'm thrilled that I put down the fear and took a ride in a raft. But don't look for me on the Zambezi. Or in any other class V rapids.</div>
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Oh, and between rapids, we had time to look around and enjoy the river. And we saw two fly fishermen bringing in nice trout. I guess Alex lied to us about the fish not biting so we wouldn't feel bad when they didn't bite for us.</div>
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We were now on a roll, adventure-wise, so the next morning we drove through miles of beautiful Montana...</div>
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...north towards Bozeman, then east towards Whitehall...</div>
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...south towards Ennis...</div>
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...to Lewis and Clark Caverns State Park. Here's the view of the Jefferson River as seen from the trail up to the cave entrance.</div>
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We toured the cave with about 20 other visitors and a young park ranger who told awful jokes with a sunny attitude.</div>
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Here are a few photos from inside the cave, but only in those areas with no bats--the babies were just out and would be disturbed by camera flash.</div>
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Mmmm....bacon. This formation is called cave bacon.<br />
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Diane! Don't touch the cave! And don't hit your head on the bacon! (Photo by Alice.)</div>
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I'm not sure if I meant to get Diane in this picture or not. The camera viewfinder only showed total darkness every time I tried to look through it, so my cave pictures were a bit hit and miss. I deleted all of the pictures of the backs of people's heads.</div>
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Me and Alice in the middle of one of the numerous long stairways. (Photo by Diane.)<br />
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(Photo by Diane.)</div>
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Here I am ducking for a low spot in the ceiling, to be followed by a short slide on my seat down a stone slide. (Photo by Diane.)</div>
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A fun tour through an interesting cave.</div>
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The woman staffing the visitors' center told us about nearby Nevada City and Virginia City. They're located about ten miles apart in the area of an 1880's gold rush. Both have short main streets with buildings from that era. <br />
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A collector of old log buildings bought Nevada City and bought a bunch of old log buildings and relocated them there as a museum.<br />
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Seeing the sights at the Nevada City Museum...</div>
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(Beautiful photo by Diane.)<br />
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Here's the "Cheap Cash Store," which must have been the forerunner of the "Family Dollar Store." Or maybe Walmart.</div>
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Alice on the porch of the nicest house in town. It belonged to a senator.</div>
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The oldest restored schoolroom in Montana.<br />
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Inside the buggy barn--the historic version of the garage full of junk.<br />
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Montana: the Big Sky State.<br />
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The music room was full of all kinds
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Here we are up the road at Virginia
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Virginia City still has the old
buildings, but many of them have been converted to cute shops and cafes. And an
ice cream shop for one more round of huckleberry ice cream!</div>
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I find this photo interesting for the
contrast in clothing between the local man, probably a rancher, at left and the
tourist just behind him in striped tee and yellow capris. He's a man. The
outfit is so unusual for Montana that I thought maybe he was European. But when
he spoke, the accent was totally American.</div>
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I guess the Montana
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Heading back towards Bozeman in late afternoon, we watched a series of storm cells move across the Jefferson River valley. Clouds were rolling around and raining on three sides of us, but we were in sunshine. </div>
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We stopped in to see the "Water of the Gods" at <a href="http://www.norrishotsprings.com/">Norris Hot Springs</a> on our way past, but we felt sort of weird and out of place. The vibe was old hippie and women were lounging pool-side in bikinis. The pool and surroundings were small, so you'd have to engage with fellow bathers unless you pretended you didn't hear what they said and looked the other way. Anyway, we felt too shy. So we continued back over to Bozeman for another visit to Bozeman Hot Springs, followed by dinner in town. It was Friday night, so there was a long wait at the pizza place that smelled delicious and must have been good because everybody was there. So we had a quick sandwich next door and drove home in the dark in the rain that had now caught up to us.</div>
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It was a surprise, but the doctors convened back at their conference on Saturday morning. After we dropped off Alice, Diane and I wandered around up above the ski area.</div>
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Foggy and cool early in the morning.</div>
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We saw lots of rich peoples' houses.</div>
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A family of foxes played outside their den near one of the rich people's driveways, well behind the "No Trespassing" sign. </div>
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We were hanging over the gate watching the foxes when a big black SUV pulled up behind us and honked. I thought the rich authors of the "no trespassing" sign had caught us playing with their wildlife. But it was a family of fellow tourists from Florida, and the husband came out of the car apologizing for honking the horn. It was a rental car and he didn't mean to do it. </div>
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They told us they'd just come from a nearby hiking trail where they'd seen a moose. Moose! Another animal we hadn't spotted yet on this trip. So off we went. We hiked maybe half a mile, well past the place described as hosting the moose. So many people were coming up the trail on this beautiful Saturday morning that we gave up on the moose and headed back to the ski area.</div>
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Just one part of the sprawling Big Sky Ski Resort.</div>
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We rode the chairlift to the top, for the view. </div>
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We had to wait over 20 minutes to ride back down, though, because they can only load every 12th chair on the way down. And dozens of people had hiked to the top as a fundraiser. I thought they should walk back down. Heck, they'd already done the hard part. We had so much time in line that Diane offered to take a photo of the group behind us. But their camera battery was dead. But, wait, Diane had the same camera as them. She traded out the camera batteries. They posed for a series of shots. She traded the camera batteries back. And we still had time to befriend two other people to share a four-person chair, and have a nice chat with them and tell a few jokes before the four of us boarded the chairlift for the ride down.<br />
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Alice and the other doctors were just finishing up the grueling conference. The three of us grabbed lunch at one of the kiosks at the base of the ski hill, then headed south toward home.<br />
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One more drive through one more beautiful meadow of wildflowers.</div>
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I thought the beautiful wildflowers were a nice way to say good-bye to Montana and end the trip. But wait...there's more! We drove up on three cars pulled over to the side of the highway with people pointing across the distant river and looking through binoculars. And there it was! Way off in the distance, but visible with binoculars....<br />
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...Grizzly Bear!!</div>
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Now that's the way to end a visit to the Yellowstone area! I can go home happy now.</div>
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We traveled home through southern Idaho, which is one of the world's premiere potato-growing regions--as illustrated by the above photo of a fridge magnet I bought at a truck stop in Idaho a couple of years ago. Somewhere between Island Park and Rexburg we drove into an area of potato farms. Diane had one more comment to make. "Potatoes must be a boring crop to farm." </div>
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As a native of southern Idaho, I was somewhat taken aback. "Why do you say that?" I asked, as soon as I stopped laughing.</div>
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"Well, you know, they're all dirty and underground and you have to dig them up."</div>
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And with that one last piece of trivia...er, wisdom...er, totally off-the-wall opinion from Diane, we cruised on home laughing and happy. Thanks, Diane and Alice, for inviting me to tag along!</div>
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For more photos of Big Sky and environs, click <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/barschust/BigSky?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCIbYx_ao8cfeiAE&feat=directlink">here.</a></div>
Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1063318877570357905.post-15151587680116794912011-08-21T16:31:00.000-06:002011-08-21T16:48:46.847-06:00Bison or Grizzly? The Eternal Yellowstone PuzzleIn my <a href="http://tanzaniafivetimes.blogspot.com/2011/08/bear-baiting-toughest-job-youll-ever.html">last post</a>, I told you all about my first two fun-packed days in <a href="http://www.nps.gov/yell/index.htm">Yellowstone National Park</a> with my friends Diane and Alice. Here's the scoop on my next two fun-packed days. There really is a lot to see in Yellowstone.<br />
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On our third morning, we left the "comfort" of our accomodations at Canyon Village and headed north over spectacular Dunraven Pass. Elevation at the summit is 8,859 feet (2700 meters). But the elevation didn't bother me at all. Because I was riding in a car.<br />
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Wildflowers were going crazy. The sweep of yellow is a million arnica flowers (a bright yellow wild daisy-ish flower).</div>
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When I said "arnica," Diane, who is a physical therapist and a lover of trivia, told me that arnica gel is an effective, frequently used pain remedy.</div>
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We all thought this should be grizzly habitat. Diane scanned with the binoculars, but all she saw was arnica. And some sagebrush.</div>
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What a beautiful road! As Diane drove, she told me the arnica all turn towards the sun and that all the flowers were facing in our direction of travel and filling the rear view mirror with yellow. I didn't believe her until we got out of the car the next time and I could check for myself. She was right!</div>
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A view of the Yellowstone River in the Tower/Roosevelt area.</div>
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Here we are in the Lamar Valley, famed as the release site for wolves when the government re-introduced them into the Yellowstone ecosystem. Famed as the best place in the park to see wolves, and grizzlies, too.</div>
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And we saw... more bison. Just like our first two bison-filled days in the park.</div>
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But never mind. The Lamar Valley was beautiful and I loved just passing through it.</div>
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At one scenic pullout, we saw a small group of people looking through binoculars. We took our positions off to the side, and Diane raised her binoculars. There was some discussion among the group as to whether or not that dark spot waaayy off in the distance was a grizzly or a bison. A woman next to us announced that it was a grizzly.<br />
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Diane said, "It's a bison. It's not moving at all. Grizzlies keep moving, they don't just stand still." <br />
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The grizzly woman pounced. She said, "That's not true. Yesterday a grizzly two miles from here denned up in a hole next to the road and he stayed there and didn't move at all for six hours." <br />
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She was surprisingly angry. I couldn't decide whether she viewed herself as an expert and did not brook any challenge to her authority, or if it was more that she felt herself to be one with the grizzly and we shouldn't challenge her psychic connection. Whichever, she seemed a little crazy, so we hopped back into our car and went in search of lunch.<br />
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We'd already discovered that Yellowstone has maintained the long tradition of concessionaires selling crap food for high prices inside national parks, so we drove on through the Lamar Valley and outside the park to Cooke City, Montana. Cooke City is tiny and about 90% of it is log cabins, three of which are cafes. We had good sandwiches but had to sit inside, since a motorcycle gang was occupying all the patio tables, except for one that was taken by an elderly couple with a toy poodle. </div>
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Finally, a grizzly! And right on Main Street in Cooke City.</div>
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After lunch, we retraced our route back through the Lamar Valley, and still did not see any wolves or grizzlies. We did see several animals other than bison, though. The first were mountain goats clambering around on a cliff far in the distance. Through binoculars we could see white spots with four shaggy legs. It was amazing to see the places they climbed. I badly wanted to get a picture so I could send it to Margaret over at one of my favorite blogs, <a href="http://www.nannygoatsinpanties.com/"> "Nanny Goats in Panties," </a> so it could be a "Goat Thing of the Day." But it would have been just one more picture in my extensive catalog of black or white dots off in the distance that may or may not have been animals. (The best one is killer whale dots in Alaska!) Then I saw a small badger walking beside the road. That was exciting, only the second one I've ever seen. Also no picture, because we were driving and just zipped by and he was gone.</div>
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But look! Pronghorn taking a walk through the lupine (those purple flowers) and sagebrush (those silver shrubs).</div>
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In my last post I mentioned that we used to say "buffalo" instead of "bison." We also used to call these "antelope" instead of "pronghorns." But I guess that's wrong now, too.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6XIwzKeKbpU/Ti3x2KaOR6I/AAAAAAAAFsA/CX6wqzY46K8/s1600/DSCN9231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6XIwzKeKbpU/Ti3x2KaOR6I/AAAAAAAAFsA/CX6wqzY46K8/s400/DSCN9231.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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And then we saw even more bison. But this time, they had babies with them!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJLe5JU8iYT0yqCyVWwIIKDQH3HfJSfVhCnX_IXCi6l1XJ_P5cAFDGngGM7Ko0FDa6P_zx0vjsXadOC1Y_WI7SxAFDsEHuKEBbDBH-ikM-pv8JvU28c9SQEO9M8noCt6lP05lKbbvLTTF/s1600/bison+baby+crop2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitJLe5JU8iYT0yqCyVWwIIKDQH3HfJSfVhCnX_IXCi6l1XJ_P5cAFDGngGM7Ko0FDa6P_zx0vjsXadOC1Y_WI7SxAFDsEHuKEBbDBH-ikM-pv8JvU28c9SQEO9M8noCt6lP05lKbbvLTTF/s400/bison+baby+crop2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Awww!</div>
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We left the Lamar Valley and headed west onto Blacktail Deer Plateau. Our first stop there was the Petrified Tree. But I'm not even showing you the picture I took, because it was such a strange, disappointing spectacle. Basically, you got one stone cylinder about 15 feet tall inside an iron cage. I guess they have to fence it to keep people from chipping away souvenir slivers of stone. But if you want to see petrified wood, I recommend <a href="http://www.nps.gov/pefo/index.htm">Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona.</a>..</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xvhkVhtfwNcEbQP7qY02z2Y4yralKeEL4y3eOs-6d8l78Af-mjzwuJxtZNlkroXSdf4Qs6ifBwOZuxAi4XeHTyxR7lHdcA8yy2sDnvk1G6nSou-hbL5vkJkGsRuRiVQ5wFo6kN5kIEh9/s1600/IMG_2936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xvhkVhtfwNcEbQP7qY02z2Y4yralKeEL4y3eOs-6d8l78Af-mjzwuJxtZNlkroXSdf4Qs6ifBwOZuxAi4XeHTyxR7lHdcA8yy2sDnvk1G6nSou-hbL5vkJkGsRuRiVQ5wFo6kN5kIEh9/s400/IMG_2936.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...where they have beautiful pieces of petrified trees like this...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIwXXo-nQ6N6OB7O3urc4NAJio1BBHz19sS54jwT4enp6sWKF7Gh9BR0xGyAXgY2M9FQS1tL0FI68h1dYqTXfmX9JiQF8yxtmbMZBjMB1GNlzBDqFmnQtUqKktKf_uVRl5pAjBcinixBP/s1600/IMG_2938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIwXXo-nQ6N6OB7O3urc4NAJio1BBHz19sS54jwT4enp6sWKF7Gh9BR0xGyAXgY2M9FQS1tL0FI68h1dYqTXfmX9JiQF8yxtmbMZBjMB1GNlzBDqFmnQtUqKktKf_uVRl5pAjBcinixBP/s400/IMG_2938.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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...scattered all over the ground like this.</div>
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But back to Yellowstone. Thousands of acres of Yellowstone are lodgepole pine forest, an ecotype in which fire plays an important role. Back in 1988, wildfires burned a lot of the park (over 790,000 acres <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellowstone">according to Wikipedia</a>). It was in the early days of natural resource agencies' policy to embrace fire as a management tool, or "Let It Burn," as the media called it. The Park Service was the focus of a lot of outrage from the public when all those tourists who loved Yellowstone, and weren't used to seeing any of it black and burnt, came back. They all had the idea that the park was somehow dead and gone after burning. I remember this clearly because my previous trip to Yellowstone was in 1989 with my family. My mother was a member of the outraged public. Every time we passed black trees, she'd say "They ought to hang the Park Superintendant." Only she knew his name, which I've since forgotten, and would use his name when making this threat, so it was even more personal. I'd earnestly explain to her that fire was a natural part of this ecostystem and that the forest wasn't dead and would in fact be healthier in years to come for having been naturally thinned out. She'd nod and say, "I see." Twenty minutes later, we'd drive by another blackened stand, and she'd say again, "They ought to hang the Park Superintendant." The Park Service didn't hang him, but I seem to remember he was reassigned to a different park. </div>
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Driving through the Park, we saw many burns of different vintage. The black trees against the new green are striking. </div>
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Views from up high on Blacktail Deer Plateau.</div>
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Not a blacktail deer, but an elk on Blacktail Deer Plateau.</div>
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We made it to Mammoth Hot Springs and our reservation at the historic Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel there in late afternoon. Diane and I grabbed our cameras and ran for the boardwalks, babbling about the beautiful afternoon light. Alice came along to see the thermal features, but she knew she was in for a long, boring photo session. But she was a good sport ( just like at every geyser basin on the whole trip. Thanks, Alice!).</div>
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Scenes around Mammoth Hot Springs...</div>
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Alice on the boardwalk. "When will it be over?"</div>
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Not yet! Just a few more shots...</div>
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This is the original infinity pool.</div>
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It looks like snow and icicles, but it's calcite deposits and running water. Some places the water was hot and some places it was cold.</div>
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Diane and Alice on the boardwalk. </div>
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Mountain bluebird clinging to a calcite cliff. Several of them were swooping around and climbing in and out of a crack in the cliff. Diane and I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get pictures of them while Alice found a shady spot to patiently wait for us. Thanks, Alice!</div>
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The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roosevelt_Arch">Roosevelt Arch</a> frames the park's north entrance. President Teddy Roosevelt laid its cornerstone in 1903. Miss Trivia, Diane, didn't tell me that. I looked it up in Wikipedia.</div>
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The arch is just outside Gardiner, Montana, where we spent the evening in another successful attempt to avoid the food inside the park.</div>
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When we stopped to photograph the arch, we met a man and his father from Michigan, who were waiting for all other tourists and cars to clear the arch so the son could photograph the father standing in front of the arch. The father was about 80 years old and walked slowly with a cane. He hobbled to and from the arch a couple of times while we chatted with the son, just waiting for others to finish their pictures and move on. The son told us that his father had wanted for years to get this picture of himself standing in front of Roosevelt Arch. The son was quite emotional telling us about it. Eventually, everybody did clear away and the father was posing in front of the arch in this pretty evening light as we headed into Gardiner for dinner. As we sat eating giant plates of fettucini, I suddenly said, "Damn! Why didn't we offer to take a picture of the two of them together in front of the arch?" Diane said, "Damn! We should have offered!" That bothered me all evening.</div>
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Then back to our room at the historic hotel. I always imagined it would be romantic to stay in one of the park's historic lodges. This one looked beautiful from the outside. But it turns out historic is not the same thing as comfortable. Each floor had one bathroom with two toilets and a shower for men and two toilets and a shower for women. Although we didn't have to wait for showers, so I guess that wasn't really a problem. In sharp contrast to our freezing cold mornings in the cabins at Canyon Village, we sweated our way through our night at Mammoth. There's no air conditioning, because it wouldn't be historically accurate. And there's no breeze coming in the room's one window. They did supply us an electric fan. We plugged it into the room's one outlet, which placed it between the beds up near our heads. As it rotated, the breeze hit only my calves and feet. So I slept with my head at the foot of the bed to try to get the most benefit from the fan. </div>
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We were off early the next morning for one last day and a few more animals and dozens more geysers and hot springs and mud pots.</div>
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We stopped first at Sheepeater Cliffs to see the columnar basalt formation named after early Native Americans. Diane and I both knew that bit of trivia about the basalt.</div>
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These yellow-bellied marmots were more fun than the basalt, though.</div>
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Farther along the road, we saw this sandhill crane with chick.</div>
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Our first geyser basin of our last day was Norris geyser basin, where we got plenty of the spa steam treatment, with just a touch of sulfur dioxide fragrance.</div>
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Boiling mud pot</div>
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Killdeer wading in warm mud</div>
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This side is called Porcelain Basin, and is the park's hottest exposed area. Diane recalled the boardwalk being closed a few years ago when she visited due to extreme surface temperatures. </div>
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It was also in this area where we saw the sign explaining how a geyser had been damaged by people throwing in coins which gradually became coated with calcim carbonate and clogged it. Which Diane had told us happened to Old Faithful! Ha ha! Wrong this time! But I think this was the only time...</div>
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At this point, Diane's shoes had blistered her foot and she hobbled to the bookstore/ranger museum to take a break. I think it was her shoes, unless it was the surface temperature and she didn't want to admit to having stepped off the boardwalk.</div>
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Don't worry, Diane! I took plenty of pictures on the second loop, so you can see it all!</div>
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And on up the road to the Artists Paintpots area. It was here that we met a man carrying his brand new iPad to use as a camera and to pull up the Park Service website and read about the paint pots. It was hard not to notice. He waited until a crowd had gathered, then held it up over our heads, and said loudly, "Can someone take a picture of us?" I hope sulfur steam doesn't damage iPads. Sort of.<br />
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Overview of Artist's Paint Pots.</div>
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The light grey parts are boiling mud.</div>
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It was coming up close to lunch time by now, and we were within striking distance of the town of West Yellowstone, which would allow us to yet again avoid eating inside the Park. We could have hit a few more geyser basins along the way, but Alice had seen enough of them. And now I'd come over to her side and also had seen enough. I think Diane could have kept going, but she was a good sport and we headed west for the exit.</div>
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And for our final Yellowstone wildlife sighting, a group of elk crossing the Madison River.</div>
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Good-bye Yellowstone!</div>
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In the town of West Yellowstone, Montana, we found one more round of huckleberry ice cream (which Alice and I had started back at Old Faithful) and cheaper souvenirs. After a shopping break, we headed north to Big Sky, Montana. Next time, find out what to do for summer fun in a Montana ski resort!</div>
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To see more photos of the parts of Yellowstone visited in this blog, <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/barschust/YellowstonePark2?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCPan6MCbgPORpgE&feat=directlink">click here.</a></div>
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Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09427415191530966075noreply@blogger.com4