Alexandersmap

    Category: Travel

    • Handshake with History

      Handshake with History

      Whenever I visit a place, I try to understand a little bit about the place.  Who came before me?  What happened here and how has that changed this place and the world we live in?  You stumble on ghosts walking through quiet woods when you come upon a stone wall running straight as an arrow left to right.  Or an old logging road cutting through the forest.  Dimpled rocks betray the hundreds of micro spikes that gripped this granite before you came along.  Statues and monuments tell one story, but so too do the buildings and canals and cobblestone streets.

      I’ve visited Mark Twain’s house in Hartford, Robert Frost’s farmhouse in Derry, New Hampshire and Ernest Hemingway’s house in Key West, Florida.  I ran my hand up the stair railing in each and stood in the doorways they would have been standing in as they looked out on a different world than the one I live in.  Dancing with ghosts.

      I once helped a friend tear down an old shed that had seen better days.  Hammer and pry bar in hand, I stripped layers of plywood and siding off the walls until we were down to the studs of the shed.  This was no Home Depot special.  The studs were old growth wood, hand sawn and straight.  They’d been quietly doing their job for a hundred years or so.  I gave a nod to the craftsman who built it.

      I visited the Duston Garrison in Haverhill, Massachusetts last year, the day after visiting the island that Hannah Duston escaped from between Concord and Franklin, New Hampshire.  In walking around the garrison, built by Hannah’s husband Thomas, a brick layer and farmer, I came across a pair of thumb prints in the brick.  Were they his thumb prints or those of someone who worked with him or re-pointed the brick wall somewhere else in history?  I don’t know, but I do know that whoever it was came before me and I put my thumbs in those compressions in a moment of solidarity across the centuries.

      Thomas and others built this garrison in 1697 for protection from the indians who attacked Haverhill, killing members of his family and his neighbors.  This was the frontier, and I often think about that time in history, so close to where I’m living my own history, and yet so different.  321 years later, this is our time.  That’s not some bullshit motivational slogan.  We’re alive today while the vast majority of people who have lived aren’t.  So many others came before us, and so may more will come after us.  I quietly make my handshake with history when I feel it.  And I feel it a lot in the places that I go.

    • Adventures to Come

      Senses overwhelmed with sulfur, the heavily-accented English and the green twisting glow of the Aurora Borealis, lighting an otherwise dark sky.  Bracing against the cold winds on the fringe of the arctic circle and anticipating adventure.  A glance to the west and I see it.

      Follow the sunset far enough and you get there.  Walking across the hot sands as the surf crashes and knocks the amateur surfers off their boards while the veterans deftly swing around them like Olympic slalom skiers carving into the pins.  Dreams of tropical drinks on the lanai later.  Hawaii is more than halfway from Boston to New Zealand.

      The land of

    • Across the Pond

      Across the Pond

      Sailing from Boston to the English Channel took roughly a month in the 18th century.  Sailing in the other direction took longer because of the Gulf Stream and prevailing winds.  Today the Queen Elizabeth II sails in both directions in seven days.  You can fly to London from Boston in under seven hours, or around nine hours going the other way.

      Benjamin Franklin made the journey between America and Europe many times in his life, and was a keen observer of the sea and the creatures in it.  Franklin was an avid swimmer and no doubt had his opinions on salt water swimming versus fresh water.  If I were a time traveler I’d certainly accompany Franklin on one of those trips across the pond to get his perspective on things.

      With friends sailing across the pond next year, and Emily contemplating studying abroad in the fall semester, I’m thinking more about crossing the pond.  I started this year looking west from the coast of Portugal.  I looked east from the coast of Massachusetts just yesterday.  The Atlantic is telling me something.

    • A Walk on the Beach in December

      In some way my walk on Salisbury Beach today was a bookend moment for 2018.  I took a similar walk on this beach earlier in the year (writing about sea glass).  This time I was looking at my computer screen and decided I needed to take a walk.  Where better to walk than a quiet offseason beach?

      Winter beach walks are different in a few ways.  First, and most obviously, the water and air are colder, so you aren’t barefoot unless you’re hardcore.  I don’t shy away from cold water swims, but I wasn’t going to walk barefoot today.  Second, and almost as obviously, there aren’t all that many people keeping you company.  This solitude, combined with the sound of the surf, promotes quiet reflection.  And another difference in winter walks on the beach plenty of free parking.  I have a real problem with paying to park for a walk on the beach.

      I’ve always said I couldn’t live in the desert because I’d miss the ocean too much.  And yet I don’t really spend all that much time on the ocean or even looking at it.  But I know it’s there, within reach, and sometimes that’s enough.  Today it wasn’t enough, so I visited the beach for a short walk and a few pictures.  The sun was setting behind the rows of houses lining the beach, which cast a beautiful light across the beach and waves rolling in.

      I need to do this more.  We all do.  I believe that most of the worlds problems could be solved with long quiet walks on the beach.  I’m doing my part.

    • Statues and Semaphores

      Statues and Semaphores

      It’s said that there were 17,000 statues in Paris that were removed and melted down by the Nazis.  I was reading The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway where his main character is driving by the statue of Claude Chappe, the inventor of the semaphore.  Semaphores were used for rapid communication across distances, and proved highly valuable.  My curiosity led me to research the statue, which brought me to the realization that old Claude’s statue was one of the many casualties of World War II.

      Statues are all around us scattered about in parks and town squares and cemeteries.  They’re installed to honor some person from the past who accomplished something notable or won the birth lottery.  Most of these statues are just background noise to the masses of people who scurry on with their lives.  Common people rarely get statues, but do get gravestones or monuments marking their final resting place.

      I’m not interested in having a gravestone, and I haven’t earned a statue.  Perhaps I’ll warrant one in the future, perhaps not.  My way of being remember is to be a positive influence in the world and let that positive ripple mitigate the impact of those who would bend the world to their will.

      I take a lot of pictures of statues, I visit graveyards, I try to walk in the footsteps of history and dance with ghosts.  I’m almost as saddened to learn about the 17,000 statues that were melted down as I was to read about the casualties of a battle from the same time.  I’m not saying the worth of a human life is no more than that of a bronze statue, just that I mourn the loss of both.

    • Axial Tilt

      Axial Tilt

      I’m told that 4.5 billion years ago Earth had a collision with a massive object that knocked the planet off kilter and broke off a chunk that became the moon.  These two things in turn created the seasons and tides, our filtering system that built and sustains life as we know it.  The Earth is currently increasing in obliquity, meaning our seasons will be more moderate during this period.  Cooler summers, warmer winters.  I’ve read about much colder winters than we have today and wonder if climate change or the change in obliquity is moderating our winters.

      I’m not a scientist and don’t care to think to deeply about obliquity.  But I know that the axial tilt is roughly 23.5 degrees, and during our trip around the sun that makes the days shorter or longer, colder or warmer, and infinitely more interesting than the alternative.  So in December our sunset is way off the mark of where it is in June.  And that’s an interesting enough point for me to dwell on for this moment.

    • Faraway Places

      I’m looking at an app showing the best locations right now for viewing the Aurora Borealis.  One of the best spots at this moment is 1,063 miles away from where I sit in Labrador.  Seeing the Northern Lights has grown to be a priority for me.  Something I’d like to do today, or at least before the end of the year.  Alas, responsibilities trump dreams.  Which makes me wonder, who made these rules anyway?

      “But oh, that magic feeling, nowhere to go.”
      – The Beatles, You Never Give Me Your Money

      I’ve got plenty of places to go.  Plenty of reasons to stay too.  I’m not going to roll out The Clash’s lyrics now, but it’s a real battle taking place.

    • Dancing with an Elephant, Darwinism and Missing a Ghost

      In Buffalo for work, I debated dancing with an elephant or walking in the footsteps of a ghost.  With better planning I could have done both.  They say we all have one life, and to make the most of the opportunities you’re presented with.  I confess to not taking full advantage of that over the years.  The way the day was shaping up, I had the opportunity to hit a couple of local points of interest while in the area.  Or work a little more at my desk in the hotel.  I know which I’d regret on my deathbed and chose wisely.

      Niagara Falls is a well-known elephant that everyone should dance with at least once in their lives.  I’ve danced with the falls on several occasions before.  But I’d never gone there in winter.  So I got up and out of the hotel early and drove out to Prospect Point at Niagara Falls State Park.  I walked in with one of the park employees who was going to work.  The park is open 24 hours a day but on a cold, wet morning in late November who the heck is going to go there pre-dawn?  Only the security patrols know for sure.  And in the Niagara Falls neighborhood, I’m sure they have some doozies.  I’m probably on that list now myself.

      The view of the American Falls from Prospect Point is spectacular.  This was the dance with the elephant that I’d had in mind when I debated the side trip the night before.  With a distinct chill in the air, the mist rising from the crashing falls was beautiful.  This view alone was worth the 20 minute drive out from the hotel.  And perhaps I should have stopped on this high note.

      I should mention that while I was in the car, I’d contemplated putting on either the boots I’d brought with me or the running shoes that I had for the hotel treadmill I ignored.  I also scrutinized the winter hat and gloves that I’d brought for this weather.  In a move of questionable, Darwinian logic, I chose to just keep my dress shoes on and skip the hat and gloves.  After all, I was only going to be there for a short time before I went to my first meeting of the day, so why take the two minutes to change shoes?  And why get hat head before your meeting?  This is the very logic that precedes business tourist tragedies.

      My first clue that my logic was bad was when I hit a patch of ice walking to view the falls at the American Falls viewing area.  The park service did a decent job of clearing and salting the walkways, but things melt overnight and refreeze, and that’s exactly what I found with my leather soled dress black shoes.  But I pressed on and had a nice photo of the falls to post on Instagram.  Mission accomplished?  For the responsible, reasoned and experienced traveller for sure.  In this moment I omitted responsibility and reason and thought to myself, if you got this spectacular picture at Prospect Point of the American Falls, imagine how good a photo you might get over at Terrapin Point of the Horseshoe Falls?

      Looking over at Goat Island and then down at my footwear, I had another moment of false hope for my future where I thought that no, this wouldn’t be a good life choice.  Go back to the car, drive over to Goat Island, put on better footwear and then if you’re still insistent go see the Horseshoe Falls.  Better yet, go get a coffee and celebrate having this small victory.

      Instead I pressed on, shuffling across the frosted sheet metal of the pedestrian bridge, hands pressed deep in my coat pockets against the cold, and over to the very quiet Goat Island.  The few tourists I did see were dressed in winter-appropriate clothes and footwear, and were certainly wondering who the idiot was dressed for a sales meeting shuffling about on a cold morning in Niagara Falls.  I was wondering that myself.  But since I’d come all this way, I was going to get that picture at Terrapin Point, damn it, as a reward for my stubborn persistence.

      In the back of my mind from the moment I thought up this idea the night before, across the frozen tundra and the treacherous white water of the American Rapids, and then shuffling along the icy walkways where the mist from the falls froze on the paved paths, that there’s no way that the park service would have Terrapin Point open.  It would be way too dangerous having tourists on a sheet of ice inches away from the falls.  People die in summertime when they lean over too far to take a picture.  In winter?  Forget it.  Self-selection is a great theory but who’s going to clean up the mess?  No chance at all it’s going to be open.  And sure enough…

      I laughed to myself, or rather at myself and shuffled the 20 minutes back to where I parked my car where I toweled off my black dress shoes and cranked the heat to the highest setting.  I’d survived my flawed logic and can laugh at myself, but I know I was pretty lucky for a dumb ass business traveller.

      This ill-fated side trip to Terrapin Point ate into the available time I had for my dance with a ghost.  So saved for another day is a stop at the plaque memorializing the spot where President McKinley was assassinated at the Pan-American Exposition on September 6, 1901.  I’d come across the McKinley Memorial in Canton, Ohio several years ago and was struck by his story.  So learning about this small memorial in Buffalo was almost as alluring to me as going to see the falls.

      The Pan-American Expo was a big deal at the time, and there was a big fight for it between Niagara Falls and Buffalo.  Due to better transportation options in Buffalo and maybe some political muscling, Buffalo won out.  The Exposition showcased technology like X-Rays and electric lights, things that they neglected to use to save the President when he was shot by an anarchist at the Temple of Music.

      Like most expos, the buildings were torn down long ago, and that site is now a neighborhood with a small median of grass where the memorial is.  It’s nothing like the spectacular waterfalls I saw.  But there’s a whisper of history there that I’d like to feel on another day.  How many such memorials do we breeze by, not realizing the stories and the lives of those that came before us?  I’m not a “ghost” kind of guy, but I like to walk in the footsteps of history and better understand those who stood there before me.  Capra on Wednesday on Bridge Street in Seneca Falls, McKinley on Fordham Street in Buffalo was to be Thursday.  But alas, adventure is time-consuming and my career called me back to reality.  Perhaps another day.

    • Seneca Falls: Birthplace of Women’s Rights

      If time allows when I visit a town I try to dig into the history of the place and learn something about it.  I think of it as dancing with the ghosts of history.  And there’s no shortage of history in the northeast.

      Seneca Falls is famous for two things.  As I wrote about in my previous post it was the inspiration for Bedford Falls, the town in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, and the bridge inspired the scene with George saving Clarence.  The second, or more appropriately, the first thing that Seneca Falls is known for is it’s role in Women’s Suffrage.  Seneca Falls was the birthplace of the Women’s Rights Movement in America.

      In 1848 the first Women’s Rights Convention was held at Wesleyan Chapel in Seneca Falls.  300 attendees participated, and five notable women spoke.  The attendees included a mix of women and men, and one notable black participant; Frederick Douglas.  Douglas encouraged the women to include the right to vote in their Declaration of Sentiments.  This document was a highly controversial statement at a time when women were largely seen as inferior to men.  The convention inspired others soon after in Rochester, New York and in Worcester, Massachusetts and opened up the minds of many that women were equal to men.

      It would be another 71 years before Congress gave women the right to vote, and many years after that before women were perceived as equal to men.  Frankly there are still some idiots who think they aren’t.  But the slow march towards equality began in Seneca Falls.

    • It’s a Wonderful Life in Seneca Falls

      The movie It’s a Wonderful Life was set in a town called Bedford Falls.  Which in the real world is apparently Seneca Falls, New York.  According to folklore Frank Capra spent some time in Seneca Falls the year before the film was made.  Looking around, he was inspired him to set the movie there.

      To commemorate this film classic, Seneca Falls has a festival every year in December.  This year it’s December 7-9.  And while the town has changed a lot over the years, there are still some areas that are the same as they were in the 1940’s when the film was made.  Most notably, the bridge that George jumped off is still there.  There’s a plaque on the bridge honoring Antonio Varacalli, who jumped into the river to save a woman who jumped off the bridge.  Antonio saved the woman but perished in the river himself.  It seems Frank Capra saw this plaque and it inspired his version of George jumping in to save his guardian angel Clarence.

      Visiting downtown Seneca Falls during the holiday season, and with snow falling, it’s easy to see what inspired Capra to film the movie here.  There’s a certain vibe downtown that inspires.  Sadly, that vibe doesn’t extend to other parts of town.  Seneca Falls is a gritty factory town, with a smelly landfill between the highway and downtown that fouls the air when the wind blows the wrong way.  Chain stores and Walmart line the road.  In some parts of town it’s more Pottersville than Bedford Falls now.  But downtown on a snow globe night, it’s easy to see Jimmy Stewart running down the street shouting “Merry Christmas!” to one and all.