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Category: travel

Beach Clouds

Beach Clouds

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Beach clouds differ from their mainland cousins. They cluster in the distance, looking gray and ugly. They throw down sheets of rain, giving themselves away.

Sometimes they scoot over the beach, leaving just droplets in their wake. We beach-goers take the brief pelting and shrug. We can see the sun breaks up ahead. We know we will have blue skies again soon.

I used to dread clouds at the beach; now I welcome them. They block some rays, cool me down, let me stay a few more precious minutes on the shore.

The Contemplative Life

The Contemplative Life

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Shortly before leaving the house on Saturday, I panicked about what books to bring.  I jettisoned the hefty library book, a novel scheduled for September book group. There will be plenty of time for it, and it hadn’t grabbed me yet.

I thought about packing a book I’d already read, a security blanket of sorts. But that seemed too unadventurous.

I ended up with Virgin Time: In Search of the Contemplative Life, by Patricia Hampl. It is part travelogue, part memoir and part spiritual exploration.

The contemplative life is what Hampl is after, but to get to it she takes a walking tour to Assisi, home of St. Francis.  The walking feeds the contemplation, and provides authentic moments like the one when a woman in a kerchief runs out to offer the pilgrims two bottles of her homemade wine, a gesture “a million years old, far beyond courtesy, rooted in ancient communion.”

“Walking allowed such timeless moments, making us slow-moving parts of the landscape we passed through. Maybe the world isn’t, at its daily heart, as modern as we tend to think. As we walked, it kept reverting to an ancient, abiding self.”

And it is in that “ancient, abiding self” that Hampl discovers — and perhaps all of us could find — the lives we are looking for.

The Vacation Typo

The Vacation Typo

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If relaxation means typing “vest” instead of “versa” or “swet” instead of “swerve” then I’m officially in vacation mode.

Those errors, since corrected, remind me this morning that my editing eye must be officially closed for the duration.

What I hope is not, what I hope is wide open, is the “inward eye,” the one that helps me notice all the hues in pool water, the liquidity of the cerulean, the merging of the teal and the turquoise, the azure and the ultramarine.

That’s the part of me switched off too often, the part bypassed for efficiency’s sake. And oh, how I want to reawaken it!

I’ve Got Rhythm

I’ve Got Rhythm

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It’s the rhythm that does it to me, the waves lapping, advancing and retreating, moving in and out.

It’s the palm trees swaying and the birds here, different from the ones back home.

It’s the landscape. Semitropical, lush — hot, yes, but where isn’t it hot these days?

The rhythm of Florida has become the pace of relaxation for me.

Bach to the Beach

Bach to the Beach

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One of the joys of a beach vacation is how few decisions need to be made. I love the hustle-bustle of a traveling getaway, one where you must decide which states or countries to visit, which sights to see, where to stay, which routes to drive.

But on a beach vacation you know what you’ll do. You’ll walk, read and swim. You’ll look at the ocean and marvel at the immensity of it all.

Yes, you must decide how to divvy up your days. Beach in the morning, pool in the afternoon — or vice versa?

And what you must also decide is what to listen to while striding down the strand. Yesterday, it was Bach. To “Sleepers Awake” I watched gulls swoop ands swerve. To “Sheep May Safely Grace” I dodged lizards in the dunes. To the “Toccata and Future in D” I saw thunderheads pile up in the east.

They almost chased me inside, but I kept walking and they blew over … for a while, at least.

Blast Off!

Blast Off!

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Today, as we celebrate the 50th anniversary of Apollo 11 and humankind’s first footsteps on the moon, I take off for Florida, the state which launched that famous spaceship.

Even on television a rocket launch is a grand and awe-inspiring sight. Here in D.C., they’ve turned the Washington Monument into a light show of the Saturn V rocket, an inventive and whimsical creation that seems just the right touch for the day.

However you celebrate it, July 20 is an awesome day to be an American, and, as always, an awesome day to be alive.

A Diller A Dollar

A Diller A Dollar

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I miss reading Mother Goose rhymes to little people, but this morning it was almost like I was reading one to myself.

Into my mind, unprompted, came these words:

A diller, a dollar, a 10 o’clock scholar
What makes you come so soon?
You used to come at 10 o’clock,
But now you come at noon.

I know why this nursery rhyme suddenly came to mind.  It’s the first day of my vacation, and I slept from 11 p.m. till 9 a.m.

The feeling, like the nursery rhyme, is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. And, like both, it is much fun.

Too Much and Too Little

Too Much and Too Little

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Charlotte Airport, 9 p.m.

Modern travel has much to recommend it. More people can be whisked to more places than ever before. But as anyone who has flown recently knows, modern travel can also be a headache.

Yesterday I spent 12 hours getting home from Little Rock. I could almost have driven in that time. Thunderstorms were the culprit. They grounded planes, which then caused a cascade of delays that rippled through the East Coast and beyond.

That much couldn’t be helped. But as I walked through the Charlotte Airport I couldn’t help but see deeper problems. There were plenty of places to spend money, but no comfortable seats. The place was so cold that my fingers were numb by the time I boarded the plane. And while the airline wheeled out a cart of snacks and drinks, there weren’t enough attendants to help the stranded travelers get where they were going.

There was, in short, both too much … and too little.

National Airport, 3 a.m.

Smelling the Roses

Smelling the Roses

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It’s been a short trip to the Natural State. I leave later today. Amidst the work I absolutely have to do, I find time to visit with people I don’t usually see. It’s what makes it rich, and it makes me think how shallow life can be when efficiency rules.

Dozens of times each year I vow to be less efficient, to smell the roses, to take life easier. And dozens of times I break that vow.

But I’m an optimist, so I think … maybe this time it will be different. It probably won’t be. I know that. But I can always try.

Highs and Lows

Highs and Lows

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A few weeks ago, the Arkansas River, which now flows placidly less than a quarter-mile from my hotel, rose and raged and overflowed its banks.

I was trying to imagine the flooding last night as I strolled along the river walk. There was a large hose, some matted greenery, but nothing else to give away the inundation that was. Instead, there was sultry air, graceful bridges, crepe myrtle in full bloom. 
It made me think about the changeability of the natural world, its highs and lows, of what Emily Dickinson described when she said:  “Nature, like us, is sometimes caught without her diadem.”