The Giant Green Hat and the Curious Events at the Henry Clay Hotel

Well, I survived the reunion. I haven’t had so much fun in years and not for the reasons that you might usually associate with a reunion. Below is a pretty detailed account of my visit to Clay, WV and these are real events – not one of my little fantasy stories J. Some names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

The drama started a couple of days before I actually left. It had not rained for a long time in WV and my aunt’s well was about to go dry, and she was worried about having a guest at this time. A hotel that I’d heard was closed, suddenly opened its renovated doors and had a room available. I promptly booked it.

The drive up was uneventful. The mountains were beautiful as always. I got to Clay a little before 10 p.m., found my parking spot, got my backpack out (I’ve packed less for an expedition to China), and put on my enormous green sun hat. The office door beneath the faded plastic Pepsi sign was locked, so I stepped over to the smoky, adjacent bar blaring southern rock. When I stepped inside with my huge hat heads turned and mouths dropped open. After a tiny hesitation, I walked over to the first person to catch my eye to ask about my room – a little old drunk man with no teeth, figured if he gave me any trouble at least I could take him down. I bent to hear what he said and a large burley guy came over and pulled me away. He took me to a sparse office where I paid for my room. Cash only.

The basic room came with a shared bath down the hall. The small sink in the corner constantly dripped and a paint splattered mirror hung over it. Couldn’t even see myself. An old style TV rested on a scuffed 1940’s dresser. Couldn’t see anything on that either. The bed looked clean, though, and a functional air conditioner sat in the window. No phone and my cell didn't get a signal. Sweet Home Alabama pounded throughout the 100 year old building.

The hotel made me smile and feel nostalgia for my backpacking days. I’ve traveled to some exotic countries and stayed in worse places – at least this one had a working hot shower and a regular non-squat toilet – my only requirements. Once you’ve showered pouring buckets of cold water over your head, you appreciate the small things.

I couldn’t sleep – too revved from the drive and the music was too loud, so I went downstairs for a beer and to check out the ambiance. I parked myself at the bar while a girl danced on a table. She looked vaguely familiar and if I’d been acquainted with her, then she was a little old to be dancing on a table. Been there and done that when I was younger and stupider. Her technique was certainly more polished and professional than mine had been on that one crazy occasion. The sizable male audience was appreciative.

I wasn't there long when a spare, grizzled man dressed in a camouflage jacket and black ball cap came over and offered to get me a drink. He said his name was Frank. I wanted someone to talk to but didn’t want to give the impression that I was available. I told him upfront I didn’t mind talking, but I was married and not looking for a date. I’ve found this approach causes less problems and misunderstandings. In a show of friendship, I got him a beer. He never did drink it. Wondered if I’d committed some country bar social faux pas. I don’t think they get many new millennium women in there. He’d recently lost his coal truck driving job. I asked if he'd considered driving tractor trailers over the road. He said his house was paid for and he had no desire to drive cross-country. For myself – I’d take what I could get until something better came along. I did a stint as a truck driver and it wasn’t that bad a job, but I mentally shrugged – it wasn’t any of my business.

It was biker night and I saw my first ever bar fight. Just a couple of guys getting rowdy out on the sidewalk – no one seriously injured, but I’m a little vague on the details. I got distracted by the man in full biker regalia carrying a black and white Chihuahua wearing a sweater. He said the little dog rode everywhere with him.

I finished my second beer, said good night to my new bud, Frank, and went to bed.

I got up around nine, dressed, and went to find breakfast. My Dad had talked about how good the food was at The Kitchen across the street, so I went there. Again, the heads turned when I walked in, but the looks could have been because of the enormous lime green hat I was wearing. Business was brisk at The Kitchen and most of the customers were from the older crowd. Because I didn’t want to look like a pregnant bullfrog that evening when I met up with everyone at the pre-class reunion party, I resisted the sausage biscuit and gravy; I settled for eggs and half a piece of toast. After the initial stare, my audience pretty much ignored me.

I decided to check out the Golden Delicious Apple Festival that started this morning in front of the new court house, which was actually new like twenty-five years ago. The local bluegrass band wasn’t bad and some of the moderately geriatric were up dancing. I like a little bluegrass on occasion so I sat on a bench in the shade, taking pictures of the small crowd.

I eventually moved on, taking photographs of whatever struck me as interesting. I found the Democratic Party Headquarters and snapped photos of the campaign signs in the window. I stepped in to ask how Obama was doing in the county and had a lively conversation with the man running the table. He was made of sterner stuff – he didn’t gape at the hat.

At first he thought I was taking a survey or something. I guess because I asked so many questions, but the lowdown on Obama in Clay is that his campaign team hasn’t sent any signs or materials to distribute, which may be because they’ve written off the state. He was a little cagey as to whether he thought Obama could win in Clay.

Not wanting to take up all his time, I walked on down to the public library to catch up on my email.

After I caught up on my email, I strolled on to the Family Dollar Store. I had a vague notion of getting a tub stopper so I could take a bath (my skin still itched from the Lyme antibiotics). I got to the last display and heard my name called. I looked up and around at a strange woman at the end of the aisle. It was an old classmate. She’d heard about my wearing a large green hat (I doubt she would have recognized me otherwise) – it’s a small town. She said as soon as she saw it she knew that must be the hat she’d heard about. She had to get cleaned up after helping to set up at the high school. She said they were still working if I wanted to go down, but I was due to have lunch with my aunts shortly, so I had to say no.

I headed back towards the Henry Clay Hotel at a leisurely pace. I saw the Obama Campaigner and we took up our conversation again. He asked if I’d thought of moving back and running for office – I laughed. My husband had already told me if I made him move to the country again he was leaving me. Obama man said that was ok, if that happened, he’d marry me. Now at my age, I take what I can get and he was clean, presentable, and most important – sober, so I’m counting that as a legitimate proposal of marriage even if he did have six kids. Don’t care what y’all think!

I continued my stroll. Throughout the morning, I’d had folks comment on the hat. One lady said she loved it. Couple of men asked me if I thought it was big enough. One man asked why I kept walking up and down the street at random – I told him it was part of my exercise plan. Saw a guy driving a van turn his head as I walked by. Worried he was going to hit someone in the crowd. You’d think they’d never seen an interesting hat before.

I made it back and got a cup of hot water from the restaurant for a cup of tea (I’d thought ahead and brought my own bags). I could tell the bartender wanted to laugh at the hat. He managed to restrain himself. He’d checked me in last night. I think he was the manager. My bud, Frank, from the night before was there and I said hi before going upstairs to freshen up before my aunt picked me up. She was married to a minister of a little church in their holler and all her children and grandchildren lived around her.

I felt a certain amount of trepidation. Even though I called my aunt regularly to check on the health and well being of my dad’s extended family, I wasn’t completely sure of my welcome. Even excluding the giant hat, I’d always been seen as an odd bird, and it was a close knit community, and twenty years is a long time. As I’d told her she couldn’t miss me in the hat, she didn’t have any problem spotting me on the street. I needn’t have worried; I had a wonderful afternoon visiting with her and my Aunt Hilda. They laughed at my jokes and my hat. I told them that when I was younger I couldn’t afford to be fashionable, but now I just didn’t care. I’ll wear what I like. They seemed a little disturbed about the hotel, but I assured them that I loved it. It’s been a long time since I’ve stayed at such a colorful establishment- I don’t get out often.

I returned in time to clean up and change into a sweater and jeans for the evening. It gets chilly in the mountains after the sun goes down. Then I was off to the class reunion tailgate party at the local football game. If I was nervous meeting with my aunts, it was nothing compared to what I felt at the prospect of seeing people whose last memory of me was of a shy, gawky weirdo who made the chemistry lab smell like rotten eggs for days while creating paint from scratch.

I’d brought Darren’s camera, and I found it was a great ice breaker to go up to people I didn’t recognize and ask to take their picture. Then I’d ask how they were doing. I had a great time, but you know how it is when you speak to thirty people in two hours, it’s hard to remember who said what. Most lived locally and conversations revolved around family and jobs. Everyone had matured and there was an absence of the competitiveness and one-up-man-ship that had marked high school.

A few asked if I was staying with family and I said no, I’d gotten a room at the Henry Clay. Jaws dropped again – and I wasn’t even wearing my big green hat! It was like I’d said, “Oh yes, I’m staying just down the road with my good buddies Adolf Hitler and Eva.” It was the same look of horrified fascination.  Apparently, the bar has the worst rep in the entire county for wild drunkenness and other disreputable goin’s on. My church goin’ aunts hooked me up to the wildest party in town!

Some asked how it was and I shrugged and said I’d seen worse. A few offered me an alternate place to stay, but I refused because I adored this hotel anyway, but now that it was a challenge, you couldn’t have pried me out of there with a crowbar and a stick of dynamite. I think it adds to my mystique: the woman with the big green hat who stayed at the Henry Clay and lived to tell the tale!

A few characters stood out. Folks I barely remembered from high school. Late in the evening (never did make it to the game) a woman grabbed me and said someone wanted to meet me specifically. He said he’d been wondering if I’d traveled like I’d planned to. As people wandered to the game, home, or to clean up, I stood talking to him and another guy who rode my bus. Apparently, these guys had never married and the redhead who wanted to know about my travels told us about his last girlfriend who had left him.

Upon meeting him, she’d poured a bottle of beer into his pants’ pocket. I nodded as he went on to describe her attributes. I finally asked, “Did she have big boobs?” He laughed and said yes, how did I know? Well, a drunken woman who would pour beer down a potential beau’s pants was hardly going to impress him with her intellectual capacity, so it must have been something else. Told him he needed to find a woman with some common sense and he’d be ok. He said those were already taken. He was funny. Wouldn’t mind keeping up with him either. His love life sounded highly entertaining.

Eventually it was time to go. My friend Kate, who helped talk me into going, said we’d meet at the Henry Clay bar afterwards. I sat at the bar and got my beer. My bud from the night before was there. He seemed to spend a lot of time there.

I photographed a young man who’d felt the urge to dance on his booth bench. Unfortunately, I only got a shot of his back and the photo didn’t capture the wiggle effectively. My friends arrived and we sat at the booth by the door to escape the worst of the smoke. I’m going to use false names at this point to save the not-so-innocent any embarrassment. The arriving friends were Kate, Georgia, and Star.

It was hard to talk because of the noise, but we were enjoying our beer and chatting. Georgia told me a guy once got his nose bitten off in the bar. Not sure I buy that one. The current clientele were just country boys enjoying their beer and really loud music. Kate knew a lot of people so folks came over to the table. The local law arrived. Not sure why. It could have been because someone had a three year old running around earlier. Star and a few others at the bar started to chant, “Poopie! Poopie! Poopie!” I immediately tried to shush her. There was NO WAY I wanted to have to call my minister’s-wife-aunt to come bail me out of jail for calling the local law mean names! She would have wrung my neck, and then she would have really got mean! My other aunt lived closer and she’d been married to a drinkin’ man; I thought she might’ve had more practice bailing people out of jail, but I didn’t know her number.

Star got up to talk to someone she knew. For some reason that I don’t recall, Kate struck up a conversation with a guy named Harley who wore a doo rag. I couldn’t hear most of what was said, although he did look at me once (I sat right across from him) and asked me if I was married. I said yes. He asked if I was happy. I said yep.

While he was sitting at the table with us three attractive women, who had ditched our husbands for the weekend, his girlfriend/wife stood by the table for a good ten minutes. I could just about see the mental toe tapping going on there and my friend Kate was oblivious. 

I nudged Georgia and said, “She don’t look happy.” Georgia agreed. The wife/girlfriend finally went to sit with friends at the table across from ours. I started to worry a bit because she looked like she wanted to snatch Kate bald. I jumped when she slammed her beer bottle down on the table so hard it sounded like a pistol shot. I nudged Georgia, who kicked Kate under the table and said we had to go -- now.

And that’s the story of my closest brush with a barroom brawl over a guy who wasn’t even cute!

Back out on the sidewalk, we debated the virtues of flirting. What I know about male psychology, I learned when I was a truck driver. It doesn’t take much to turn these guys on. For example, standing in line waiting to pay for fuel and saying the weather was nice will be translated as: she wants my bod. If you said the weather was nice, but you’d heard on the radio it was going to rain later, that would be translated as: Oh yeah! She wants me bad! Then they just hound you to death. So using this knowledge I’ve managed to travel most places, including the roughest bar in the county, by myself, and stay out of trouble. They didn’t agree with my philosophy. They felt their way of flirting was more fun.

The new courthouse was closed, so no bathroom. I offered the one at the hotel. We didn’t have to go back through the bar and I think they were kind of curious. So I showed them my sloppy room and the bathroom. I’m pretty sure they were not impressed and wondered why I liked the establishment so much. The bathroom had some abandoned mint green panties – which I will have to get to in my next installment.

Chincoteague, Virginia

24 hours, 800 photos later...
http://picasaweb.google.com/117405333436994601330/20100919Chincoteague#

I woke early on Saturday morning groggy, groaning, and wondering why I had suggested a trip that required a weekend pre-dawn rising. We stumbled around to get ready, sort of left on time at 8:30. The drive down was uneventful. I'm not very chatty first thing in the morning, so we listened to Car Talk - which is very educational :)

We set up the tent without any maiming; had our fourth cup of tea with lunch; dressed in mosquito/sun proof clothing, hat, and blister proof socks; were ready to tackle the wildlife refuge on foot by 2 pm. The "on foot" decision had profound effects on the rest of your weekend.

The map "said" half a mile to the entrance from our roomy campsite accommodations, 3.5 miles around the wildlife loop, and a couple of miles to walk back. We, who had hiked the full length of London's South Bank and back last winter, felt up to the challenge. Well, the map was wrong, as they so often are these days.

It was a beautiful day and we set off in good spirits, laden with snacks and water. Our first destination was the wildlife loop. It looked pretty dry and the most exciting thing we found was a dodgy looking grasshopper with buck teeth (see Darren's pics: http://picasaweb.google.com/darren.518/ChincoteagueVirginia#) and a few ducks.

Things got a little livelier once we got to the beach. Darren was a trooper. He stayed to the back of the beach, but as long as no crabs crawled up his leg he was ok keeping a sharp look out, even photographed a ghost crab :). He said he did screech like a Chinese opera singer when he saw a large dead crab shell. I missed it because I was chasing the sandpipers up and down the beach, waving my camera (sort of like one of those old cartoons of butterfly catchers chasing butterflies). The sandpipers ran after the waves, picking up food in the sand, then, as the waves came back in, they raced back up the beach. They were never still and most of the 100 photos I took were blurry. Darren never once told me how silly I must have looked racing up and down in my big hat and backpack:) (not sure he was watching as he was chasing after his own birds).

We followed the beach down until we came to the parking lot. We still had a couple of hours before sunset, so we hiked down to the wilderness trail where you could see the wild ponies the island is famous for. On the way we found out why there were no birds in the wildlife loop, they were all hanging around the bay and canal beside the road, posing for the tourists driving in.

It was a bit of a hike to the pony overlook and a total disappointment. The nearest ponies were a half a mile away. I included one pic I got with my x10 zoom. They could have put fake ponies at half the distance and no one would have noticed. (PS I'm not one to approach too close to wild animals, but half a mile?) (PS this was the only section where the mosquitoes were bad. We spritzed a fellow tourist that was getting eaten alive).

We then sped marched back to the beach for sunset (anyone who has marched with Darren knows this is some serious power walking). We made it with a few minutes to spare. 50 pics later, we were ready to head back to the tent. That's when we realized we'd left the little pen lights we'd purchased for the trip in the car. Took us nearly 1.5 hours to march out of there in the dark at a pretty good clip (car headlights provided illumination most of the way). At one point I suggested a shortcut via the unlighted footpaths, but Darren said we'd end up lost and huddled under a tree until dawn.

Feeling pleased with ourselves, but very sore, with multiple blisters(me), we limped into McDonalds for a well deserved McFlurry at 8:30.

Lessons learned - mosquitoes quite happily dine through clothing and 40 is not the new 30 if one uses the creaking noises my back made climbing out of the tent the next morning as a yardstick.

I didn't hear the phone alarm go off the next morning over my iPod's white noise sound track (no noisy campers at the bath house waking me up). Darren's patting me down looking for his phone was the first indication I had that it was morning - 5:15 am.

After much groaning (and afore mentioned creaking), I crawled out and limped to the bath house. We were still bleary and looking forward to caffeine, courtesy of the local McD's (didn't trust us to operate a stove that early - drive yes, heat water - no), when we set out a little before 6. (I was driving because Darren said people sometimes had trouble understanding his accent)

We'd decided to drive into the reserve this time because I was too stiff to walk far and my super blister-repellent-socks had failed. It was also more time efficient than walking around in the dark.

My eyes still weren't focusing properly when we pulled up to the drive-thru speaker. A pleasant voice asked what we'd like to order. I asked for a large coffee and large black tea and waited. And waited. Then waited some more. We were on a tight schedule to beat the sunrise, so I drove around to the window. And waited. Thought they opened at six. A woman waved us up to the first window and said when we arrived that the speaker was automated to ask every car what they'd like to order - whether they were opened or not - just so you know if you ever find yourself at a McD's drive thru before 6 am in the future :)

With our prized drinks, we buzzed over to the island to take our spots beside the other nutty people who were out and about at that god forsaken hour on a Sunday morning. I set my mini tripod over what looked to be a crab hole, prepared to snap away as the sun came up. I'd given my attire some thought and wore warm thermals, jacket, and wool hat. Darren was further up the beach, back from the ocean - he didn't want to step on any crabs in the dark.

It was an impressive sunrise and because I wasn't moving about, the birds came in close (my co-worker has since informed me that we should have simply fed the buggers and they would have been easier to photograph).

We walked along the boardwalk at the visitor's center. That's where we got the bulk of the crab pics. Darren photographed most of them - ok all of them.

Darren wanted to catch the birds early in the morning, but we needed to get a pass for the car and I really needed another cup of tea. So I volunteered to take care of the self-serve pass and refreshments. About a mile back there was a pack of birders intent on the canal along the side of the road. There was a herd of egrets having their breakfast while the birders gawked. They were very close to the road and easy to photograph, though. I went back to get Darren so we could gawk together.

I did finally get around to getting the pass and beverages.

After a busy early morning, it was time to pack for home. Our organizational/packing skills could use a smidge improving. We pack great on international trips, but we're a wreck at car camping for some reason. It's probably from sleep deprivation and creaking muscles - at least on my part :)

Stopped at the Mexican place in Cambridge that we'd discovered on a previous trip to the area. The food's pretty good. You can't miss it - has lime green and yellow exterior. I think it may have been a Pizza Hut in a previous life.

Unfortunately, the last 50 miles before the Chesapeake Bay Bridge were horrible. There'd been an accident, but I think the bulk of the traffic was people going home. Bikers from a bike rally wove in and out of the stop and go traffic. Some were very colorful. I particularly liked the senior citizen couple on the fire engine red bike with the teddy bear riding on the back. Getting home took a lot longer than going out.

We got home tired, but happy, and the dogs and cats were thrilled to see us.

And that's the end of another fabulous Walker adventure tale.

New York City via Chinatown

OMG! It's been a classic Walker holiday.

 I was to meet Darren at the Medical Center Metro. I got there early and read. Darren jumped off the train and I waved. He jumped back on the train and I didn't make it. I waved from the platform and made hand gestures to indicate I would meet him at the next station -yes, it did look as stupid as that sounded. Having finally met up, we made our way to the Chinese Bus Station in Chinatown.

We'd never used this company before, so we had to look around. Found it in a dingy basement. I tried the restroom. It was covered in colorful and imaginative graffiti-mostly pertaining to sexual preferences. I nearly took a photo for posterity, but Darren has told me I need to contain my inner geek.

We waited in the station. It filled up quickly with a mixture of backpackers wearing last year's Mountain Hardwear kit (some women are into designer shoes, I like travel gear), students, the economically challenged, and cheap old geezers like us :) Many seemed to be headed for Philadelphia.

At boarding time, we gathered on the sidewalk. In true far eastern fashion - there was no line and no English. The only words I understood were e-tickets! Waving our printouts, we hustled forward and found seats.

People boarding were still talking about Philly. I asked Darren if we should ask the driver to be sure we were on the right bus, but he pooh-poohed it.

We had an uneventful tour of eastern seaboard Chinatowns until we got to Philadelphia. Everyone got off the bus! It terminated there. Near panic, we bounced off the bus to see if we could get a connecting bus.

 A plump young Asian guy met us at the door, waving our connecting tickets. We just had to wait 30 min.

 Our evening went downhill after that. We boarded the new bus with no problems. Unfortunately, we chose the seats in front of the loudest people on the bus. I'm sure everyone on the bus heard their mating ritual conversation – “Are you married?”, “ What kind of woman do you favor?” etc.

It went on and on for over two hrs. Made me feel nostalgic for truckers who are direct and to the point – You want sex? No. They move on. Much simpler, saves time.

 We heard their whole life stories - and they weren't that interesting. Which shocks me to say, as I'm sure you know, I’m usually very nosy in wanting to hear the details. I also had a headache from my impending cold that contributed to my lack of appreciation of the romantic spirit.

The whole bus heard the young love conversation. I thought the guy was full of it, Darren thought the young woman seemed interested.

As the bus stopped in NY and people started to debark, I glanced back and asked them if this was Chinatown since the fellow had indicated during that horrendous conversation that he often took this bus into NY for his modeling/acting career. He looked a little scruffy to be a model. But he indicated that this was Chinatown. It wasn't, so we got back on the bus.
 

The bus dropped us on a near empty street in Chinatown around 11:30.

It was a dark and clear night in the middle of Chinatown...

We struck off to find our hotel. After consulting the map a few blocks away, it seemed we were going in the wrong direction, so we reversed for six blocks and re-consulted the map (which, by the way, was not designed for the over 40 crowd unless they remembered to pack their reading glasses, which we had neglected to do).

Seems we had been going the right direction originally. So back we trod - with thankfully light packs. We found the Sun Bright Hotel around midnight.

They had kept our room - #23. We laughed when we saw it - I think it must have been a converted broom closet (6 x 8 or so). Seemed clean enough though, didn't notice any obvious signs of the dreaded bedbugs. Walls were paper-thin, a bargain at $80 a night. I was fortunate that I'd brought my white noise soundtrack on my iPod and earplugs. Darren was not so lucky. He didn't sleep well between the talkative neighbors next door, the suspected dorm above us, added to which the hall light shone on his face through the large crack in the door. There was a huge crash on the ceiling at something o'clock in the morning. I missed the whole thing as Darren said I continued to snore away. He commented that NY is the city that never sleeps and when he was here, he wasn’t going to get any sleep either.

We're sitting here at the Chinese bus station. Darren's looking over his pics from this morning on his netbook. I've got my nifty borrowed keyboard, typing on my blackberry.

We made a groggy pair as we stumbled around getting ready Sat. morning. Darren hadn't slept well and I'm just not coherent until I've had a couple cups of tea.

One thing the Chinese do that I love, is they often have hot water on hand everywhere. In China it was easy to come by on trains, dormitories, etc. We lived on pot noodles. It was a pleasant surprise that the Chinese run hotel kept hot water available, especially since we realized the limitations of our heating element (it will boil a cup of water, but if more than one cup - it will only heat the top half). (Yes, I realize we should have tested this before we left home :))

The shared bathroom was clean even though there were just two for the whole floor. In the interests of reduced luggage, I washed my hair with plain soap. I'd read about people doing so and found it to be adequate. This is when I realized we hadn't packed a brush. Early morning packing is not something I do well and since Darren now shaves his head, he doesn't use one now. I did the best I could with my fingers and the unexpected bathroom supplied hair dryer.

To hit the road running, so to speak, we breakfasted on pot noodles, walnuts, an apple, and, of course, tea.

We did not get the early start we hoped for, but it was respectable. It was unfortunate there was track maintenance on the 6 line. It put a crimp in our route. We ended up at Lexington and 63rd St. It didn’t take us long to get turned around.

I approached an older gentleman dressed all in black on the street corner and asked directions to the Met Art Museum. He seemed a little startled. I wasn’t sure if it was the temerity of my question, my strange accent, the untidy state of my hair, or the copious dog hair on my person that he feared would infect his black clothing. Darren stepped forward and asked the direction of Central Park. The gentleman was very helpful and pleasant. I now realize the surprise induced by my question was probably due to the fact that we were some distance from the museum - which again looked closer on the map :) (I must remember to get reading glasses).

Somewhere near the lama exhibit on 5th Ave, we stopped to check our progress on the map. A homeless man stopped and asked if we needed assistance. We indicated that we were ok, but thanks. We were left scratching our heads as he happily continued on into the park. So far New Yorkers were not fitting the stereotypes perpetrated by violent/action TV. I suppose it would be difficult to maintain constant violence/action on a day-to-day basis.

After our refreshing 20 block power walk up 5th Ave, we split up. Darren wanted to continue his power walk around Central Park and I wanted to take in the Met.

I thoroughly enjoyed the museum – or at least the first floor, which is as far as I got before I got hungry. I love to look at the minute/artistic details on everyday items. My camera doesn’t do macro photography or zoom as well as Darren’s, so we switched cameras. The Tiffany stained glass window was beautiful, but didn’t come out well in the pic. The Egyptian section was impressive. They had designed the galleries for medieval artifacts (most being religious in nature) to feel like you were walking through a cathedral. I highly recommend it. We’ll be going back to NY at some point and I’ll see the second floor. http://picasaweb.google.com/117405333436994601330/20101024NYC#

I met Darren for a quick sandwich at Subway, then we headed off to the Rockefeller Center to view NY from above. On the way we saw Sponge Bob Squarepants. They say anything goes in NY :)

The lines looked long at the Rockefeller Center, but the staff were efficient. In no time we were posing to have our photograph taken with the Empire State Building behind us and taking pics for our fellow tourists. At one point Darren extended his arm and took a blind shot of us with Central Park in the background. He checked the picture and took another. Checked it, and snapped another. I asked what was wrong and he replied that his head had a funny shape. So we have several pics of Darren tilting his head this way and that, trying to compensate for a misshapen head. Most of the pics of us were on Darren’s camera and he’s posted them at http://picasaweb.google.com/darren.518/NewYorkWeekend2010#

You can also check out my distressed hairdo. I’ve been working harder to be more color coordinated in pics, but I forgot to get my hair trimmed before the trip.

Then we were zooming off to catch the sunset over Manhattan from Brooklyn. We snapped pics of the Manhattan skyline and the Statue of Liberty as the sun went down. The wind was cold, I dug out all those layers I’d been carrying with me all day. Darren said I was likely to be arrested for being drunk as I lay prostrated on the sidewalk to get photos of the statue of liberty without the fence in the foreground.

 

Feeling pleased at our productive day of touring, we left Brooklyn to hang out with the other tourists at Times Square. I’m not sure what to make of Times Square. That part of my brain that retains a smidgeon of WV sensibility finds it mind boggling. Part sees it as a monument to wasteful consumerism in our society. It’s like going to the circus to be amazed and horrified by feats and freaks.

We stopped off for a bathroom break and tea at McDonald’s – always quick and convenient. The one near Times Square has a fully lighted marquee outside. The inside is designed like a dance club with music videos projected onto the bare brick walls, music throbbing through the entire building. The young woman who took our order impressed me with her calm unflappability in the face of the massive crowd coming in the doors.

We continued our tour of Times Square. Darren took some good shots. We stopped by Walgreens for cold medicine (I’d been looking for a pharmacy all day). I’d been sucking on cough drops all day. We were tired, so we headed back to our broom closet.
   
If we got up early enough, we thought we’d catch the Staten Island Ferry to view the Statue of Liberty up close. Darren woke up at 4:30. I refused to budge. So he wandered down the hall. He said he saw a woman in just a sweater and her undies heading for the showers. At one point a man was sitting at the one Internet terminal in just his Y fronts (Darren assumed he was French). It was a very liberal hotel :)

I was still up early enough to go for the ferry. We were stymied once again by the subway. We waited 40 min for the M train, as the 6 line was still not running. We gave it up and decided to tour Chinatown. The Chinatown area is more extensive than expected. We walked for a good three hours up and down the side streets and still did not find the outer borders. There was a creepy lack of the American icons – Starbucks, McDonald’s, Wendy’s, etc.

People were bustling about, mostly selling produce, and extremely fresh fish. Darren took pics of all the crabs. We settled on a schizophrenic Vietnamese coffee shop for tea. It had Vietnamese sandwiches, French bread and pastries, Italian gelato, definite identity issues. The tea and coffee were great though.

We were asked again by an elderly man if we needed help when we whipped out the guidebook to check something. I suspect a secret plot to overturn pre-conceptions about New Yorkers.

Our feet were tired, neither of us had slept well. We finally picked up our stored backpacks and propped our weary feet up on a brick wall overlooking the basketball court in a local park.

We got back on the China bus and took the opportunity to nap. I woke somewhere south of Delaware. It was a fairly uneventful bus ride. The dogs and cats were glad to see us when we got home.

On looking over this narrative, it occurs to me that we often come across as the two stooges traveling without a clue. I don’t know if that’s exactly true, but does make for more interesting reading than if we always got it right.

Back in the USA

Wow! Flying into the USA is a tough business these days. We expected to have to pick up our checked bag of souvenirs, go through customs, recheck the bag, etc. They checked Darren's fingerprints (all fingers) and did a retina scan. Darren’s bag was bag thoroughly searched. We also got pulled over at customs. They didn't say what was wrong, but took my passport and his green card into the Homeland Security office.
 
We felt it was a little over the top.
 
The guy who searched Darren's bag asked where we were from and Darren responded that he was from England and I was from WV. He asked where in WV (he'd driven through there). I said a small place no one has ever heard of. He asked me if it was near I95 or Richmond?
 
I’m now considering getting cow poop chocolates for my co-workers.

Journey home and other misc notes of useful items

You'd never guess that Guatemala has the fourth highest murder rate in the world. The people are so nice. We would heartily recommend Guatemala. We didn't have any shady incidences.

Our trip from Panajachel to Antigua was without incident. We got our first room back at the Dona Angelina - not the one with rattling window panes that I had to stabilize with a tube of toothpaste.

We organized our shuttle for the ride to the airport, got some lunch, found some rolls for a quick breakfast, and then went to bed early.

Must have been windy last night because the window pane in this room rattled as well. As it was an upper pane, I had to lean my backpack against it to stop the rattle.

Between the rattling window panes, night buses, roosters, and dogs we've not gotten a lot of sound sleep. I'm sure we look like something the cat drug in this morning.

Darren just came back with some tea and coffee as I sit here typing in the airport. He was one Quetzal short for the cream to put in the coffee.

I believe I've picked up a mild stomach bug these last few days. The Imodium has kept it in check for the most part. I will be sure to eat bland food when I get home - not sure I know how to cook bland food. It could be just from the copious amounts of beans here, although we have been more adventurous in our eating than usual when traveling.

Things I never thought would be useful on a trip to Central America, but have been indispensable: thermals for those night buses, nights in hammocks, and generally when the weather is cooler than expected. My jacket has also been a must. Mornings waiting for a bus in Antigua are cold.

Darren says on the next trip he would bring deodorant (it was a space issue) and a knife/spoon set. The Spanish dictionary has not been used.

I would probably bring an extra mug as Darren has co-opted mine for his morning cup of coffee. I’d also bring a second bra. Some mornings my single bra has not been completely dry as promised in the travel shop ad.

Other notes: The American couple that had done most of South and Central America suggested putting religious icons and addressing packages to "Sister...." to get them to arrive unmolested in the post.

Solola Market or Death by Chicken Bus

OMG! We nearly died and Darren laughed! He was still crazy with the high produced by the colorful market at Solola. He loves the markets here. We got the chicken bus back down the mountain afterwards. I knew we were going to die. The driver took the hair pin curves at top speed. I could feel the wheels on one side leave the road as the bus swayed. My hands were white gripping the seat in front of us. Darren laughed and took copious photos of me and the view of the lake like we were at bloody six flags!

As you're reading this, you may have guessed that we didn't die after all. But I've had second thoughts about riding the chicken bus back to Antigua.

The market at Solola was amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it-not even Walmart on double coupon day on the day after Thanksgiving. We could barely walk through the crush of native ladies doing their shopping. One guy carried a full size wardrobe on his back. This wasn't the tourist market like Chichicastinango, so we weren't hassled. There were some persistent ladies just outside the market in the park. One caught Darren as we left. He was still counting things in Honduran currency, so she got a very good price, but it goes to support the local economy, so can't be mad.

Everything under the sun was sold there. Great tarps protected the sellers from the sun. Darren held his camera at his hip and snapped away, trying to be discrete. There weren't many tourists, and those mostly weren't discrete. Darren's looking at the photos now to see if he got anything usable. I will have to remember to get him a James Bond type camera for Christmas for these types of situations.

We’re packing up now for the ride back to Antigua. We'll spend the night in our hippy retirement hostel and get a shuttle to the airport at four am. Last night was the last chance to do laundry with any hope that it would dry before the trip.

Yesterday was a quiet day. We rested up for the horrendous journey home. We did our part to support the local economy by buying souvenirs. We sat by the lake a while and watched the shoe shine boys having a high old time swimming in the lake. Darren people watched at the cathedral while waiting for a wedding party to come out so he could get a photo. It was a long ceremony and he finally gave up.

My hat is now the worst for wear - sweat stains from El Peten region, dirt spots from being rolled around in shuttles and buses. It looks well traveled.

I think I mentioned the lovely garden at the hostel in Copan. It was small, but had an impressive range of plants and blooms. I was there two days before I realized that she'd wired on big fake red blossoms to one type of plant(don't know what it was). There were enough genuine flowers that you assumed they were all real.

The reason I mention this is our current hostel in Panajachel also has an impressive garden in the courtyard and they have also included a few fake blossoms amid the impressive real collection.

We're now on the roof of the hostel enjoying the sun and a cup of tea before our shuttle arrives - no more chicken buses in the mountains.

Darren says he will fill you in on the true story when we get home as he doesn't find my posts reliable. :)

Santiago and St. Moximon

It's bloody cold here this morning. I have found many opportunities to wear my thermals on this February trip.
 
In Panajachel it's mostly about soaking up the beauty of the lake and shopping. Loads of stalls selling everything from embroidered anything you could want - including the local mens' traditional knee length shorts - to jade necklaces and wood carvings.

We didn't make the chicken bus to Chichicastenango. After yesterday we weren't excited about 5 more hrs on a bus. We may take a bus to Solola market tomorrow as it’s only one hour.

After picking up some rolls for breakfast at the local bakery for 0.30, we went down to the lake to take photos of the volcanoes and have breakfast. We, of course, shared it with the local stray dog.

We walked along the shore in search of a cup of tea when a local man asked if we needed a boat across the lake. There was one leaving in ten min for Santiago. As it was on our list to visit, we went.

There was an American woman on the boat doing humanitarian work. The poverty conditions are horrendous outside the tourist centers.

The village was larger than expected and we didn't have our guide book, so we wandered looking for the church door with an excellent Mayan carving and the Saint Moximon. Moximon specializes in whiskey and cigar smoking.

We found the square packed with local women in traditional dress. Darren sounded close to tears that he couldn't get any photographs (the local women don’t like it). They were beautiful, the embroidery on their dresses exquisite.

Told Darren I wasn't going to defend him when the little ladies got angry with him surreptitiously taking their photos, formed a mob, and chased him thru town waving machetes. He was on his own.

We gave up hope of finding Moximon and got a tuk tuk. The driver took us there. St. Moximon was an effigy housed in a dark room down an alley. There were several men in attendance and they looked pleased to see visitors. I got the impression this was the local mens' club. Darren tucked some money into one of Moximon's scarves. 

Next on the list was the Mayan door carving (which we hadn't found at the local cathedral). Darren didn't know how to ask in Spanish, but we finally came up with Mayan door at church. The driver seemed to understand when I said Mayan. He happily took us back to the cathedral, but we never found the door (later saw in guidebook that it was an alter carving we were looking for).

We were winding down. Had another cup of tea, looked in some of the shops, and headed back to the dock.

There was another American waiting for the boat to go. She was late 50s, here teaching English as a volunteer.

We'd had a busy week and this was our margarita time, so I took a nap.

We watched the sun set over the lake and got dinner at a Mexican restaurant. They were happy to accommodate a veggie burrito request even though it wasn't on the menu. Should have known it would have carrot in it (I’m allergic to carrot). Had to chase down a pharmacy and ask for benedryl as I started to itch. It wasn't as difficult to ask for as anticipated.