Alexandersmap

    Category: Travel

    • Ulsce Beatha: Water of Life

      It’s a cold and rainy Friday morning in New England, and my thoughts turn to Scotland.  I spent a similarly wet day trying to be outdoors on Isle of Skye last November.  The goal all along in Scotland was for a generous mix of outdoor activities.  Plan B was to visit distilleries when Mother Nature turned her back on us.  And so it was that when the sky was full of cold water in Skye we went to Talisker.  We capped the trip with a very intentional visit to Speyside and the Glenfiddich and Balvenie Distilleries. We didn’t go to Scotland to drink our way around, but we made a point of visiting distilleries in each region we found ourselves in.  If castles and battle sites teach you the history of the place, distilleries teach you the entrepreneurial spirit and patience of the Scots.

      Two things you realize quickly when you’re on distillery tours is that you never have enough time to see all of them and it’s best to have a designated driver if you want to immerse yourselves in the process.  Alas, I was the designated driver and time wasn’t on our side to see everything.  But we managed three hours at Balvenie for a magical tour that I highly recommend.  Off-peak tours are especially enlightening as you have a little more elbow room and an opportunity to dwell in special places.

      The Gaelic Ulsce Beatha, pronounced “ish-ka ba-ha”, translates to “water of life”.  Similar to the Latin Aqua Vitae.  Whisky distilling began in Ireland, made its way to Scotland via Islay, where it was transformed into something else entirely.  There are plenty of differences between Irish Whisky and Scotch Whisky, but the primary difference is in the distillation process.  The Irish triple distill, the Scots double distill.  Mix in the raw ingredients and the essence of the land and you’ve got two very different spirits.  There’s magic in each of the spirits, should you choose to linger with them.  Lingering is the key, these aren’t meant to be slammed down like you’re on spring break in Cancun.  Honor the spirit or don’t dance with it.

      Tonight, on this rainy and raw day, I’ll dance a bit with the spirits.  Just enough to honor them without offending them.  A taste of the essence of Scotland, which draws my attention still.  Humanity is taking a bit of a hit at the moment and we’re all living with plan B, but there’s hope for brighter days should we get this right.  I’ll have a virtual toast this evening to your continued good health.  Slainte Mheh!

    • These Streets

      I’m thinking back fondly on some of the streets I’ve walked along when being in close proximity to thousands of people seemed desirable. Someday we’ll walk amongst others again without unconsciously holding our breath or measuring out six feet of space in our heads. Here are six I look forward to visiting again someday should the travel gods smile favorably upon me:

      La Rambla in Barcelona
      If you want to see Gaudi, walk down the bustling Passeig de Gràcia or take a ride over to see La Sagrada Familia.  But if you want to avoid the roar of traffic and absorb the energy of Barcelona, walk down La Rambla, stop for tapas at one of the many restaurants and stroll off the calories on this pedestrian way.  I walked La Rambla in January with a light coat on and it was still fully alive.  I would love to visit in other seasons to see how it transforms when it’s really full.

      Duval Street in Key West
      Slip on your flip flops and stroll the full length of Duval Street during the day and try the same journey at night.  It’s jammed full of people determined to have a great time, and that’s easy to find on this street.  Start your morning at the Southernmost Point and cap the daylight hours at Mallory Square, just off Duval Street.  If you’re lucky maybe you’ll see a green flash.  When the sun sets return to Duval Street for some evening fun.  Like many people I found my way into Sloppy Joe’s a few times for live music with something to wash it down with.

      Broadway in Nashville
      Wander around the honky-tonks on the lower part of Broadway and you’ll fall in love with the energy of this city.  I was just there a few weeks ago, just as the world was flipping around into the new reality.  Timing is everything I guess.  A perfect time to visit would be during a normal SEC tournament or in the fall when the Tennessee Titans are playing just across the river.  Walk back after the game and soak up the live music poring out of every bar.  Walk up to a rooftop bar for a view of the city.  If you love live music this is the street for you.  Just make sure you’re over 21 to get into the honky-tonks.

      The Royal Mile in Edinburgh
      The Royal Mile is a walk in the footsteps of history.  Sure, that’s cliche, but it fits well on this street, or rather, these streets.  The Royal Mile is made up of High Street, Lawnmarket and finally Castlehill as you approach it’s namesake.  Edinburgh Castle commands the city as it has for centuries.  But a walk to the bottom of The Royal Mile has it’s own rewards with a visit to The Palace Of Holyroodhouse (open when the Queen isn’t in residence).  In between is plenty of touristy shopping, some very enjoyable side trips down the many Closes, each with their own personality.  Want to burn more of that haggis off?  Extend your walk with a hike to the summit of Arthur’s Seat and the 360 degree view of forever.  If you’re lucky you’ll catch a rainbow but avoid the source.

      Boylston Street in Boston
      There are plenty of famous streets in Boston, with Beacon Street, Lansdowne Street, Commonwealth Avenue and Newbury Street each offering something unique.  But Boylston Street has a special place in my heart one day every year, and that’s Patriot’s Day.  That’s the day when the Boston Marathon finishes on Boylston Street and Red Sox fans pour onto the street after the early game and Boylston Street comes alive with an incredible vibrancy that you look forward to all year.  This year won’t be the same with the pandemic postponing both the marathon and the start of the baseball season, but hopefully a year from now we’re talking about Patriot’s Day in Boston once again.

      George Street in St John’s, Newfoundland
      The shortest street on this list, George Street in St John’s is jammed full of bars.  This is a sailor’s town if I ever met one, and it’s highly likely most sailors have made their way onto George Street when they spend any time at all here.  I fell in love with St John’s during my one visit, and I still can’t believe I haven’t been back again since then.  Someday, maybe.  Just like all the rest of the streets on this list.

      The Royal Mile, Edinburgh

    • Crazy for Lovin’ You

      In August of 1961, a couple of months after being thrown through a windshield after a car accident with her brother, Patsy Cline recorded a song that would become the most played song on juke boxes around the country for years to come.  And that’s where I fell in love with this song years ago, 25 years after it was recorded, hearing it over and over on a juke box in The Old Worthen in Lowell, Massachusetts.  With senses refined by pitchers of cheap beer, the pack of us would conspire to plug quarters into the juke box to play “My Way” and “Mercedes Benz” and “Tainted Love” and especially this Patsy Cline hit, the sultry and mournful “Crazy“.  This song has been playing on constant rotation in my brain ever since.

      In Nashville a couple of weeks ago, (which seems like a million years ago now) my daughter and I made our way upstairs from the Johnny Cash Museum to the Patsy Cline Museum for a visit with the timeless Patsy Cline.  We’re coming up on 59 years since she recorded this Willy Nelson song in Nashville, scarred and still on crutches from her car accident.  The magic in this song comes from Owen Bradley’s arrangement, bringing in a mix of musicians who gave it that special sound and propel the careers of many of those involved with the recording.  A-Team session players were brought in to bring the song it’s richness and soul.  Floyd Cramer’s “lonesome cowboy” piano style dominates, with Bob Moore’s acoustic bass driving the song.  Harold Bradley’s six-string guitar punches through and the rich harmonies of the Jordanaires lay the foundation for Patsy Cline to soar over the sonic landscape.   The song was recorded on 3-track, rare at the time, with Patsy nailing down her vocals after the rest of the musicians completed their work.

      As you work your way around the Patsy Cline Museum, you can hear Crazy playing on repeat from a juke box, which seems about right to me given my own beginnings with this classic.  Behind the song was a very driven, very talented young lady who would push aside her injuries from that car accident and create many of the songs that were staples of her catalog.  She would die way too young in a plane crash on March 3, 1963, less than two years after recording Crazy, at the age of 30.  People talk about the day the music died being when Buddy Holly died in a plane crash in 1959, the crash that killed Patsy Cline was just as devastating for Nashville.  Her music lives on, timeless in many ways.  Personally, I can’t hear Crazy and not think about it playing on a juke box in an old bar many years ago.  I suppose that’s just how it’s supposed to feel.

       

      Juke box at the Patsy Cline Museum. Guess which song was playing?

      Set list at the Patsy Cline Museum

    • Je Suis Vivant

      I thought I was doing pretty well learning French until the four people in the row ahead of me on a flight back when the world was almost normal started speaking rapid-fire French to each other and I realized I have a long way to go. It was like putting a student driver in the Grand Prix. And that’s okay; it’s a journey not a test. Those four people couldn’t speak much English but it didn’t stop them from traveling to a country where relatively few would throw them a bone and know and speak French (welcome to America!). I saw myself in those four, back when I was stumbling through Portuguese while driving across the country and falling in love with the adventure of it all. You don’t need to speak to communicate, you just need to find common ground.

      “Add up the sum of our days and that’s who we are. We get what we repeat.” – Seth Godin

      The world is in a collective, forced re-evaluation of what matters. I was suffering from bottled-up wanderlust before COVID-19, and I was traveling a lot the last six months prior… but it seems still not enough. Now that I’m camped out at home I’m finding myself less concerned about FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) and just living. Learning a bit of French every day, sticking with the habits that build up a life, whether you’re traveling or sitting at home. Eventually I’ll get to put my limited French vocabulary to the test in Quebec or Paris, but for now I’ll keep on plugging away at it.

      Travel is often the highlighted passages in our life journal and an opportunity to broaden our awareness of the world and our place in it. It’s a vehicle for growth, teaching you humility gently… and sometimes abruptly. It’s living with a purpose many don’t find in their day-to-day existence. Travel heightens observation and slows down time in that particular moment. That makes it a drug of sorts, making us feel more alive. The pauses in between travel, or between growth in general, offer us an opportunity to contribute, to give something back to the universe.

      I’ve got this restlessness bursting inside of me most of the time, but strangely now doesn’t seem to be one of those times. I recognize the need for a collective pause given the circumstances. Instead of sipping a cocktail while watching surfers in the setting sun in Sagres I’m watching the deer, camouflaged and stealthy, walk single file through the woods beyond the old stone wall that pre-dates the deer and the observer alike. I listen to the sound of water heating in the kettle for a second cup of caffeine. I feel the coolness on the tile floor on my bare feet. It seems the senses are still alive and well, observing the world and all that’s in it. Eventually we’ll be let free to wander once again. Being fully alive until then seems the least we could do. Je suis vivant, et toi?

    • Dancing With Perhaps

      “I have a lot of edges called Perhaps and almost nothing you can call Certainty.” – Mary Oliver, Angels

      I’m a big believer in Perhaps, though I know Certainty has its place in this world. Certainty dances in the world of STEM. I’m grateful for Certainty and those who pursue it, but I like where Perhaps dances. Those who know me know that I use the word often, and likely too much. So be it, I find Certainty less… fascinating. So it was a delight to read Mary Oliver’s poem and read that line. Why did it take me so long to get around to it, I wonder? Dabbling too much in the world of Certainty I suppose.

      You want Certainty? Certainty is a kettle whistling when the water boils enough that steam trapped inside screams to get out, now! How many mornings have I been quietly lost in thought, reading or writing when that kettle calls for my immediate attention? Countless. And I appreciate Certainty knocking on my forehead now and then, prodding me back to reality. I don’t especially like to linger in Certainty but I find it comforting to visit once in awhile.

      Mary’s famous line from “Angels” is this:

      “I don’t care how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. It’s enough to know that for some people they exist, and that they dance.” – Mary Oliver, Angels

      I don’t think all that much of angels dancing on pins either, but do I think of ghosts whispering history when I arrive at places of significance and listen raptly as the oaks welcome me back to their woods. Places speak, if you’ll listen and observe. There is no better practitioner of observation than the poet. Sure, scientists do pretty well too, but I’d contend that they’re secretly poets with a formal education. But what of religion? Isn’t that Certain? Believers might tell you there’s Certainty in the Bible. I’d contend that there’s far more Perhaps in the Bible than Certainty. Zealots arrive at Certainty about their religious views or their political views or their social views and work to impose Certainty on others. We get in trouble when too many people arrive at a Certainty that conflicts with the other guy’s Certainty. Leave room for Perhaps.

      So we’ve entered a strange new world, stranger than the world we’ve been living in for some time now (and that was pretty strange indeed). It seems a good time to look inward, to turn off the panic news and read the works of those who came before us. The poets and Stoics and Transcendentalists and philosophers. They dealt with far more uncertainty and death than we have (they’re all dead after all). Shouldn’t we learn more from them?

      Whatever you believe, leave a little room for Perhaps. That’s where you’ll find me most of the time. Come visit now and then if you like. I’d certainly like that.

    • Breaking Ropes

      “If you don’t break your ropes while you’re alive
      do you think
      ghosts will do it after?”
      – Kabir

      When the world is upside down and stress boils up inside you, how do you set it free? I release it slowly on long walks, or feel it melt away listening to immersive music like the album Beyond The Missouri Sky (Short Stories) by Charlie Haden and Pat Metheny, or reading some Mary Oliver poetry (Thanks, Mary for the Kabir quote). I don’t often get stressed out, but the world can creep up on you sometimes. Tonight after a day of work and a few home renovation hurdles I was about at my limit. So I made mine a double: poetry and music. I listened to Missouri Sky twice before I forgot what I was stressed about. Turns out it wasn’t anything all that important.

      So back to Kabir; Part of my stress is a desire to get out and see the world, but blocked by ropes of my own making and a few that fate threw at us all. Seeing the world shut down in profound, unprecedented ways is a bit of a curveball, isn’t it? London, Scotland and even Nashville seem a long time ago. But this is no time for casual travel. No, not right now. Now we collectively try to flatten the damned curve. But there are other ropes to break besides travel. And it turns out those ropes are best broken with time and effort and isolation and thought.

      Life is short and unpredictable, and who can’t see that now? Given that, when else are you going to step up and break a few ropes that are holding you back? Seems now is really the only time to do it. Those Northern Lights and the Southern Cross will have to wait for healthier days. And my God I hope they return soon, I won’t waste a moment getting to them given the opportunity. Until then, break those writing ropes. Break those learning ropes. And let yourself free.

    • RCA Studio B

      Elvis used to book his studio time from 6 PM until 7 AM Monday morning at RCA’s Studio B in Nashville and just crank out the songs. After one of these sessions he walked outside to a waiting Army Jeep to report for draft service. You walk into that studio today and it looks a lot like it did then. Same floor and walls, same light fixtures that Elvis requested (“mood lighting”), and same piano Elvis played. The room reverberates Elvis, and it’s fair to say he was the biggest of a long list of performers who have recorded in this studio for the last 6 decades since Roy Acuff built the studio in 1956. . When you walk in there’s a “Wall of Elvis” hits recorded in this studio. Young Elvis was prolific, working hard and building the legend. That wall shows some of his work.

      There’s a certain sound in this room that carries across everyone who’s recorded here. Its an echoing richness to the songs that is very distinctive in songs recorded in Studio B. That sound became known as the “Nashville Sound”. Listen to Jim Reeves (“Welcome To My World“), Dolly Patton’s “I Will Always Love You“, Floyd Cramer’s “Last Date“, The Everly Brothers’ “All I Have To Do Is Dream” and Roy Orbison’s “Only The Lonely (Know The Way I Feel)” are all examples of that sound, all recorded right there in that room.

      The best story I heard about the room was Elvis’ recording of “Are You Lonesome Tonight“. As with all recordings then, it was a single track – you either got it right or you didn’t. The song was recorded in the dark, with all the musicians playing and harmonizing by the glow of a single red light. Towards the very end of the recording Elvis bumped his head on the microphone stand. If you listen to the song you’ll hear the click right at the end of the song. They left it in then and it remains to this day.

      As a music lover it was a bit surreal to be in that room as they played a few of the songs recorded right in the very place. You feel like you’re in a time warp in a way, the walls embrace the sounds and you and in a way you are timeless with that song. Some of the instruments haven’t left that room since they were used in the recordings. I felt a bit like I did when I stood in The Cavern in Liverpool; this was where it all happened. I often write about the ghosts of history whispering in your ear when you visit a place of significance. RCA Studio B is surely a place of significance, but the whispers here are heard around the globe in that Nashville Sound, deep and rich with a little hiss from the recording tape. Magic.

      Elvis’s piano, still in Studio B and still being used today

    • The Honky-Tonk Line Between Order and Chaos

      If you like live music, Nashville is your place. If you believe right now mitigation and social distancing are in order, well, it’s not optimal. Every honky-tonk bar you walk by has the back of a drummer facing you and music playing. It must be a madhouse during a normal SEC tournament (cancelled this year), or a normal Spring Break (extended for most out of an abundance of caution), or a normal year for that matter. As everyone knows now, 2020 hasn’t been a normal year. But people here are determined to dance the news away. Broadway in New York has shut down. Walking down Broadway in Nashville the music and neon pulls you in, the sounds of celebration are still there. It turns out there are still people jamming into clubs despite the news. It’s just… tempered a bit. There aren’t as many people but the music is throbbing and people are jamming together dancing and flirting and drinking. There’s a spirit of celebration in this city that’s great to see and be a part of. Just not this particular week.

      I’m not oblivious to the threat, and wash my hands often. Hand sanitizer stations are everywhere and I’m using them. I’m practicing what can be considered social distancing in downtown Nashville, but know the risks are very high here in the clubs. We sat outside in a rooftop bar, but you still wade through humanity when you use the bathrooms or get a drink. Again, not optimal. I brought alcohol swabs to wipe down phones and such but I’m not naive, we’re swimming in the Petri dish being out. There are no surgical mask-wearing dancers bobbing on that dance floor. When I get home I’m self-quarantining myself just to be sure I’m not spreading anything I might have gotten to others.

      This trip was scheduled before the acceleration into madness but we knew what was about to happen. Two days earlier and we’d have thought less about it. Two days later and we would have cancelled. You dance along that line between order and chaos, hoping you don’t lose your balance. Americans love to debate, ignore the future for the present too much, and are resistant to change, but we rally when you punch us in the mouth. That punch hasn’t fully landed on the jaw but the gut punch that preceded it this week has taken the collective breath out of people. Out of an abundance of caution is a familiar phrase to everyone now, even if they aren’t showing it in the honky-tonks just yet.

      Tomorrow seems a long time away with the accelerating news of COVID-19. I left fully prepared for the shortages created as people snap up supplies and the supply chain that fills those shelves is impacted. Perhaps we should have shown an abundance of caution with more abundance, but time will be the jury on that now. We’ve lived deliberately, and tomorrow morning we’ll circle the wagons back at home for an extended and hopefully heathy stay. Today? Today we’ll celebrate life with as much social distancing as travel allows. Pass the soap?

    • Five Mornings of Watching the World Go Mad

      “I live
      in the open mindedness
      of not knowing enough
      about anything.”
      – Mary Oliver, Luna

      I woke up early, restless and ready to move on from this place at 4:30 AM.  I get like this sometimes.  It’s the fifth morning I’ve woken up in a different place, this time I slept in Poughkeepsie, New York.  This town has meaning for me; I once slept in my car near the boathouse at Marist College back when it didn’t seem like a big thing to do such things.  I’d taken one look around the full boathouse we were all going to sleep in and opted for quiet over shared suffering.  Come to think of it, I still steer in that direction.

      In a week of accelerating news stories about Presidential campaigns and Coronavirus, I’ve been operating under the cloak of business travel.  I gave up on trying to find a bottle of hand sanitizer after the fourth store clerk shrugged and talked of orders pending.  A woman in Glens Falls told me “the virus is close now, with confirmed cases in New York City and Albany”.  It feels too much like a scene in a movie for me.  I just want to have my hands not smell like gasoline after I fill up the car, but I guess I’ll need to ration what I have left in my travel bottle.  The world goes mad sometimes, and Coronovirus has kicked the hoarder’s nest.

      I have more travel in the next couple of weeks, and candidly I thought about cancelling some of it.  Not because I’m an alarmist, but because I’m a pragmatist.  Who needs the drama of flights and edgy fellow travelers around you?  Who needs the potential lockdown of a city I happen to be in at the time?  I love the ocean but I’m just not hopping on a cruise ship right now, thank you.  I saw World War Z, I know what happens when the virus rips through a plane full of people.  I’m not Brad Pitt, there’s no way I’d survive that.

      All this comes up when you wake up at 4:30 on the fifth morning of business travel.  I didn’t feel this way Monday morning in Buffalo, or Tuesday in Rochester.  I had some trepidation in Syracuse on Wednesday but felt great about the world on Thursday in Saratoga Springs.  Then again, it’s hard not to feel like the world is a beautiful place when you spend a little time in Saratoga Springs.  Which brings me to Poughkeepsie, on the shores of the Hudson River.  I once jumped in the frigid Hudson right about this time in March back as a freshman in college too many years ago after we won a race.  At the time that seemed the logical thing to do.  Sort of like buying all the Purell at the local pharmacy just in case you need it when Coronavirus madness starts going down.  Sometimes we get inspired by the odd behavior of those around us.  And that’s why I don’t watch the news or hang out with large groups of angry people.

      Look, I don’t know enough about Coronavirus to know whether traveling the next two weeks is a good idea or not.  On the surface it seems better to just stay home and let things play out.  But I’m a traveler at heart, and if everyone else stays home I may just have a little more virus-free air to breath.  I do know I’ve really improved my hand-washing skills, and I try not to touch my face with my hands.  I don’t mind when someone doesn’t want to shake hands, but I don’t shrink back in horror when they offer their hand in greeting.  I mean, that’s what Purell is for…  if you can find any.

      This all seems a little smug, and I apologize for that.  I’m taking a potential pandemic very seriously, but I don’t watch the news and I don’t hoard dust masks, vodka and Purell (maybe a little rum).  I think the best thing we can do is be a little diligent with our personal hygiene, stay out of crowded indoor places, and give those who might be a little vulnerable a little distance in case you have the virus and don’t know it.  If things spiral into madness tap into your water heater for drinking water and carbo load on rice.  All that is unsolicited advice from someone figuring it out like you are.  The only thing I’m sure about is that you really should wash your hands better.

    • Old Fort Johnson

      There’s beauty in serendipity, especially when traveling.  Yesterday afternoon while driving from Rochester, New York to Saratoga Springs, New York Waze sent me off the highway onto Route 67, which is a shortcut that cuts off a good chunk of highway.  The drawback of course is that you’re on back country roads in farm country, but I haven’t met an off-the-beaten-path route that I didn’t want to try anyway.  As a history buff I’ve long circled Old Fort Johnson as a place to visit.  It’s hard to hear the whispers of history when you’re blowing by at highway speeds, so having Waze take me off the highway less than three miles from this historic site seemed, well, serendipitous.

      Here’s the thing, small historical sites like Old Fort Johnson aren’t open year-round.  I’ve experienced this many times over in my travels, but you make the most of the opportunities fate throws your way.  The site is open to walk around, and I stepped gingerly in my dress shoes around the main house doing my best to avoid mud on a wet afternoon.  Sure, I could’ve put on my hiking shoes, which were sitting right in the car, but why dabble in logic when the ghosts are calling?  I walked across the bridge onto the mowed lawn surrounding the historic house, touched the limestone walls and felt the vibration of the colonial history…  or maybe it was the Amtrak train roaring down the tracks between the house and the Mohawk River.

      Okay, this was a quick stop, and not as meaningful for me as visits to battlefields or the homes of poets and writers.  But still meaningful.  This site was where William Johnson settled in a place he called Mount Johnson.  He was a fur trader and as such became friendly with the Iroquois, eventually building enough wealth and influence to be quite a power broker in the wilderness of Upstate New York.  When hostilities with the French broke out, he led the local militia as a Major General and was Commander when the French were defeated at the Battle of Lake George and other monumental victories at Fort Niagara and in Montreal.  In defeating the French at these three key sites, the British would control the waterways to the interior and forever evict the French from New York.

      This large home that Johnson built would eventually be passed on to his son John and other members of the Johnson family.  But here’s where things took a turn.  The Johnson family were Loyalists, and with the outbreak of the Revolutionary War, they chose to fight on the British side just as the Iroquois did.  When the British lost, they were evicted from New York, just as the Iroquois were.  There’s a profound sadness in the history of this place.  Where once there was a thriving collaboration between the Johnson’s and the Native Americans, there was now a void, still felt to this day.  Be careful which side you choose, for you may lose everything you’ve built for yourself in the process.  The house remains a monument to a greater glory, and to all that was lost in the next generation.