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Category: travel

Path Not Taken

Path Not Taken

No long hikes yesterday, but several walks around the neighborhood. I explored the Cathedral of St. James, a local bookstore, the leafy streets around this hotel and a college campus with green paths and rhododendrons tall as trees. 

It’s hard to say which kind of day I like better, the long-hike ones or the short-foray ones. The first is the sweeping overview, the second a drilling down, an immersion in the particular, like finding a good cafe for take-out hot tea that is not Starbucks.

The kind of day I had yesterday makes me think about what it would be like to live here, to be part of the rhythms and moods of this place. It’s something I do whenever I travel, a creative exercise, pondering the path not taken.

Lake Union Walk

Lake Union Walk

Lake Union is a freshwater lake contained entirely within the city limits of Seattle. It’s a port, a neighborhood and a playground — and we walked all the way around it yesterday.

We trekked from Westlake to Eastlake, from the Center for Wooden Boats to Gas Works Park. We crossed the Fremont Bridge and the University Bridge. We sometimes wandered off course, but always found our way back again.

The trail was a visual feast, with skyline city views, en plein air artists capturing the gas works in watercolor, boats stacked on boats, floating homes tucked away in private coves, roses blooming in pocket-handkerchief-sized gardens, even a goose and goslings. 

Yes, the feet are a little sore this morning, but what a way to see the city!

The Views

The Views

A long walk, a steep climb, and then, at the top …  a reward — the city spread out below: Lake Union to the left, downtown straight ahead and the Space Needle to the right. 

Lovely views have benefits beyond their beauty. They orient us to a place, show us how the pieces fit together. They bind the parts into the whole.  

Later, on the downhill return trip, when the way forward seemed crooked and confusing, I thought about the order revealed at the summit. That — and the map! — got us home.

Bluest Skies

Bluest Skies

My house does the funniest thing when it knows it’s about to be left behind for a few days. It takes on a rosy glow that makes it hard for me to leave. It’s done this for years now, long enough that I’m wise to its wiles. The only way around this is to put myself on auto-pilot, to clean, gather and pack, so that when the taxi arrives, I can walk out the door knowing the house and dog are taken care and we can escape.

This time, it’s to Seattle, just minutes away from Celia and Matt’s place. The city rolled out the red carpet over the weekend, giving us “the bluest skies you’ll ever see” — which, unlike in this spoof of the old song, really were cloudless and azure.

Today it’s a return to the more typical gray firmament— but the city beckons as it always does, with its lush foliage, bustling market and funky vibe that is such a welcome contrast to the button-down culture of the “other Washington,” the one I left just two days ago.

A Trip West

A Trip West

It’s a big country, a fact I learned from the back seat of a station wagon when I was a kid. To land somewhere exciting, you packed your things, climbed into the car and watched the miles tick away. Only 45 more till Joplin, 62 more till Tucumcari and, after what seemed like an eternity but was only four days, we reached San Bernardino, California. 

 The fact that we’d driven there didn’t make it any less exotic. In fact, I always marveled that by simply sticking with it — by putting in the miles, so to speak — we could make our way to a completely new place with orange groves and movie stars and the big blue Pacific lapping at the land. 

How different it will be tomorrow, when we wake up, taxi to Dulles and fly to the other side of the country — not just the horizontal other but the diagonal other, the Pacific Northwest — in all of five hours.

It will be none the less exotic for us having arrived there on a big silver bird. There will be dark firs and steep hills and that same big blue Pacific. But the amazement I feel being on the other side of the country will harken back to those early trips, to those interminable but (come to find out) essential drives through dessert and plain. They taught me a lesson I’ll never forget.

Dune Walk

Dune Walk

Two years ago, I visited the Great Sand Dunes in southern Colorado. My brother Drew and I drove until nightfall to reach the place,  but it was so dark that evening that we could only see the snow on the peaks. The dunes were invisible, being dusk-colored. 

But that only made the morning’s vista grander, a landscape that picked me up and put me in my place, that begged to be explored, which is what I did, starting at the lodge …

Passing a small picnic grounds

And a primitive gas station

I walked for more than an hour in the cold mountain air, all the while being pulled toward the dunes as if by a magnet.

Once on the sand, I trudged and marveled, watching the experienced dune-goers, who brought saucers and boards for sliding. But I had what I needed to capture the experience — and that was what I was after.

An Irish Walk

An Irish Walk

There were cobblestones and spongy soil, rocky fields and urban trails. The walks of Ireland took us from Giant’s Causeway to Trinity College — and many places in between.

One of my favorites, which I’m reliving today, took us from central Kinsale to Charles Fort. It was a sun-dappled paved path with jaw-dropping views of the harbor that winked at us every now and then. 

Seeing the landscape up close, at walking pace, has kept it close to my heart. The memories of that walk are embedded there, to be pulled out at special times — like St. Patrick’s Day — to remember and to cherish.

The Visited Place

The Visited Place

In his book Horizon, the late Barry Lopez talks about his fascination with the life of the British explorer Captain James Cook. Though Lopez admits that Cook’s adventures did not always bode well for indigenous people (and it was indigenous people who took Cook’s life, in Hawaii, in 1779), Lopez does not demonize the man.  Cook explored the east coast of Australia, continental Antarctica and Hawaii, all the while, Lopez believes, remaining “quietly but profoundly conflicted about the consequences of his work.” 

He tells us that Cook’s nautical charts were so detailed that his work allowed humans “to picture the entire planet, the whole of it at once, a sense of open space that, in the centuries of Western exploration before him, had eluded us. After Cook, the old cartographer’s admissions of ignorance, ‘Here Be Dragons,’ disappeared from the perimeter of world maps.”

The best way to appreciate the places Cook visited was to visit them himself, Lopez says. In fact, the best way to take in any place is not with photographs or written descriptions, but by being in the place itself. Lopez was in a better position than most to make that happen.  

“Each place on Earth goes deep. Some vestige of the old, now seemingly eclipsed place is always there to be had. The immensity of the mutable sea before me at Cape Foulweather, the faint barking of the sea lions in the air, the nearly impenetrable (surviving) groves of stout Sitka spruce behind me, the moss-bound creeks, the flocks of mew gulls circling schools of anchovies just offshore, the pummeling winds and crashing surf of late-winter storms—it’s all still there.”

(A map of Cook’s three voyages, courtesy Wikipedia)

By Armchair to Cambodia

By Armchair to Cambodia

We’re closing in on the end of the longest month. Outside, the pandemic rages and borders are closing. Time for some armchair travel.

Two years ago I was preparing for a trip to Cambodia. I had yet to see moonlight on the Mekong or sip coconut milk from a straw. I had yet to visit Angkor Wat or Ta Prohm or Bayon. I had yet to meet Bunthan and Dilen and Johnny, the people I traveled with in country. 

But soon I would ride the roads with them. I would learn that Johnny was about to leave his job as driver and go into real estate (in fact, ours was his last trip). I would learn to count on Bunthan’s excellent translation and Dilen’s knack for noticing what others missed. 

I would also meet the people my organization serves: brave women and men who had known far more of life’s difficulties than triumphs. But still, they were building better lives, and we were there to celebrate them.

Armchair travel is comfortable, yes, but ah, I miss the real thing!

Two for the Road

Two for the Road

When Mom and I traveled to Europe together many years ago, we bought matching sweaters “just in case” it was chilly. We were immediately glad we did. We donned them the first evening, as we listened to an outdoor concert in a chill June drizzle in London, and wore them often throughout the next six weeks as we toured England, Ireland, France, Germany, Austria and Italy. 

We slipped ponchos over them when it was raining and slept under them on overnight train trips. They also came in handy as robes and cushions. We wore them so much that we never wanted to see them again when we got home. 

They’ve always been sentimental to me, enough that I stuck them in a suitcase and stored them in the attic for years. And that has preserved them, preserved the memories, too.