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Category: travel

Landed!

Landed!

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We flew in long and low, not far above the whitecaps, as the jet circled into position to land in Funchal. We bounced and tilted, I held my breath. And then, quicker than I thought possible, we were on the ground.

The capital city of Madeira is nestled between the mountains and the sea, and the runway of the nearby airport, it’s said, is built partially on stilts.

I believe it, just as I’m starting to believe everything I’ve heard about this place, this jewel of an island with red tile roofs atop buildings of pink and yellow, with homes terraced up the hillsides and a jumble of streets leading down from them.

A jumble of streets I’m itching to explore…

Taking a Leap

Taking a Leap

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It’s Leap Day, a bonus, a gift, an intermittent reminder that we live in a universe with rules of its own. Yes, we can parcel our annual passage around the sun into 365 tidy intervals, but there will be hours left over, almost six of them. Adding an extra day every four years keeps our calendars in sync with the seasons. 

This year I’ll experience fewer of these extra hours. Jet travel will erase them. 

Still, it’s not a bad way to celebrate Leap Year: by leaping into the future, embarking on a journey, landing in a place I can scarcely imagine but will soon (I hope) see. 

(Lisbon is our first port of call, but only to catch a connecting flight.)

Madeira!

Madeira!

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Tomorrow we take off for the Portuguese island of Madeira, which is situated in the Atlantic Ocean about 320 miles west of Morocco. 

It’s a rugged, mountainous place, with drop-dead-gorgeous views (see above) — and paths to take us to them. Some of these trails are not for the faint-of-heart, but others are tame enough that I hope to hike them. 

It’s a grand adventure, and like every travel adventure, it comes with to-do’s that must be checked off ahead of time.  Most of my to-do’s are to-done — or they will be soon. They have no choice; they have to be!

(Photo: Wikipedia)

Auld Lang Syne

Auld Lang Syne

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It’s Robert Burns’ Day in Scotland and elsewhere as fans of the poet raise their glasses to toast the man and his verse, preferably at a Burns Supper, where haggis is eaten, strong drink is quaffed, and songs are sung (some of them not suitable for mixed company). 

I saw little of Burns at the Writers’ Museum in Edinburgh. His room was being renovated. Instead, I looked at the exhibits of his compatriots, Robert Louis Stevenson and Sir Walter Scott. 

But today’s festivities are a perfect excuse to write about Scotland, look through photos of the place, and honor one of the most famous of Burns’s poems, Auld Lang Syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak’ a right guid-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

Arrivals and Departures

Arrivals and Departures

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A trip to the airport in predawn darkness, the only illumination (as we grew closer) the ominous glow of many tail lights. The departure lanes were so backed up that we scooted into Arrivals and found the way clear. All the passengers had to do was take the escalator one floor up to check their bags. 

I’ve been thinking since then about arrivals and departures, how closely they are bound. In our case, this morning, inseparably. But they are always linked: coming and going, giving and taking, opening and closing. 

It’s not quite as simple as “what goes up must come down,” but for every joyous embrace of welcome at the airport, there is the bittersweet hug at the end of the visit, dear ones flying back across the country. I’ll be counting the days until they return and I can head to Arrivals again — this time, for real.

Jackson

Jackson

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When I’m falling asleep now, I imagine I’m on Jackson, one of my favorite streets in Port Townsend.

I make my way down the hill from my house at the foot of Artillery Hill in Fort Worden, stroll along the brow, listen to the surf surging below.

From there it’s up one hill and then another. But at the top of that second hill, huffing and puffing, I see all of Admiralty Inlet spread out before me.

I snap photos. And in fact, I snapped plenty of them. But they never did it justice, never captured the openness and the light.

No matter — it’s in my mind now, and in my bones and sinews, too.

Beacon

Beacon

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Fall is farther along here at home than it was out west. Only the Japanese maple is still brilliant with color. I’ve written about it before. 

Today, it seems a souvenir, a memento from the trip. For so many years my writing has been what I do around the edges of things, something I slipped into the day wherever it might fit. 

The last three weeks have given me an idea of what it’s like when writing comes first. It becomes a glowing thing, a beacon, the last tree gleaming. 

Eastward

Eastward

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The question is, would you know it if you didn’t know it, know that here in Seattle you’re near the western edge of this wide continent?

I always think I can tell — something in the quality of the light or the casualness of the architecture or the philosophies of the people. 

But it’s probably just what I overlay on the place, based on visits and attitudes (dreams) about the West Coast I’ve had since I was as a kid. 

This afternoon I fly home, take the eastward journey, which is often faster. It’s the prevailing westerlies that make it so, but today I think it will be the magnet of home pulling me back where I belong.

Rainier

Rainier

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Because I’m a visitor here, the mountains still surprise me. They appear mirage-like on the horizon, a gift after a hard climb or a long walk. 

So it was yesterday with Mount Rainier, shimmering peacefully above Lake Washington in Seward Park. I turned my head … and there it was. 

It wasn’t the clearest day or the bluest sky. But the mountain showed itself anyway. 

Fresh

Fresh

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On a last walk before leaving, I find a new path to the brow.

Places are like that. Just when you think you know them, they open up and offer more. 

Yesterday I strolled out to Battery Stoddard, one of several battlements at Fort Worden. Only this time, I was on top of it rather than below. Seeing it — and the coastline — from a fresh angle. Kind of sums up the residency, too.

I write this post from a little room in Seattle, continuing the work I began two weeks ago. I left Fort Worden with two overriding thoughts: keep it going and keep it fresh. And that’s what I intend to do.