USA Travel Stories

Key West, Florida: Historic Party Central

by Chris Millikan

Arriving in legendary Key West just before the crimson sun slips into blue seas, we join celebrating sunset revelers at Mallory Square and all along the waterfront. While artisans peddle unique handicrafts, jugglers, zany acrobats, cats walking tightropes and fire-eaters draw gasps and applause from swirling crowds. Later, like us, many munch succulent seafood in outdoor bistros, toasting passersby with frosty drinks…

Still savoring our grilled Wahoo dinners, my hubby and I escape to the quiet comfort of our B&B. Complete with gingerbread trim and veranda, Rose Lane typifies the many white-painted heritage houses in the heart of old town. Following deluxe breakfasts served in its lush gardens next morning, we stroll lively Duval Street, commonly known for nightly bar crawls.

Here, taverns, restaurants, galleries and souvenir shops mingle with historic landmarks, including Key West’s oldest house built in 1829. Relics salvaged from the shipwrecks that made Key West the USA’s richest city still fill this home…I’m fascinated by the detached cookhouse standing out back in perfectly manicured gardens.

Nearby, a three-story mansion bears John James Audubon’s name. Ushering us along its wide veranda, guide Sophie explains, “A celebrated naturalist, Audubon was a frequent guest of master salvager John Geiger, one of Key West’s wealthiest citizens. Inside, she smiles, “These glorious antiques reveal the elegance then commonplace in prosperous homes.”

Viewing some of Audubon’s original drawings upstairs Sophie comments, “Visiting the Keys and Dry Tortugas in 1832, he sighted 18 new species for his milestone Birds of America folio.” And along garden pathways we view the cascading orchids and spiny bromeliads he’d once used in backgrounds; his white-crowned pigeon painting illustrates the same gigantic Geiger tree dominating the front yard today.

Heritage House Museum also brims with original furnishings and rare artifacts. Preservationist Jesse Porter once hosted celebrities in this Caribbean-Colonial home and Poet Laureate Robert Frost wintered in its secluded garden cottage, now named for him. Amid these luxuriant gardens we listen to his poetry, almost as if Frost himself is reading…

Curry Mansion stands out among historic houses lining Caroline Street. From a rocking chair on the veranda, the elderly concierge explains, “Starting as a penniless immigrant, William Curry soon became Florida’s first millionaire, building this magnificent home in 1855 and furnishing it from his wrecking hauls.

” Nowadays an antique-filled Inn, we explore this Queen Anne-style mansion’s 15 lavish rooms before scrambling up a steep attic ladder to the roof where we achieve spectacular panoramas from its widow’s walk.

At Shipwreck Historeum, actors portray feisty movers and shakers of the day recreating those glory days when wrecked offshore ships produced so many fortunes. Inside, recovered artifacts glitter in an ambience alive with sea-shanty music. From the 65-foot observatory, we scan the reef for wrecks, calling out “Wreck ashore!” over-and-over like captains of old.

Around the corner, we hop on the Old Town Trolley and step off at the Little White House, Florida’s only presidential museum. A guide there explains, “Officer’s quarters on the naval base were converted into Truman’s residence when he first came here in 1946 for rest and relaxation.”

During that time, Harry wrote wife Bess, “I’ve a notion to move the capital to Key West and just stay…” Truman’s family quarters, poker porch, living and dining rooms reflect their lifestyle in their beloved tropical retreat…

The trolley next drops us off in the old Bahamian neighborhood where we join fellow literary pilgrims at Ernest Hemingway’s two-story home. Guide Bob regales us with details of Papa’s audacious life in this Spanish-Colonial mansion, where he wrote prolifically for over ten years.

“While living in Key West, Hemingway was in his 30’s…the prime of his life,” grins Bob, “and here you’ll experience his personal flare: European antiques; artifacts from African safaris; first editions of his books, even boots and saddlebags from hunting expeditions out West.”

Upstairs, an enormous ginger cat stretches out in the middle of Papa’s bed. “This tomcat descends from Papa’s first six-toed gypsy cat, a gift from a salvage captain,” says Bob. “Polydactyl cats look like they’re wearing mittens…that extra toe y’know…”

About fifty ‘Hemingway cats’ roam throughout lush grounds. Along a brick walkway, paw-prints embellish the patio; miniature kitty cottages dot the yard; pussycats snooze everywhere.

And for the departed, a feline cemetery sits in shaded gardens. Nearby, Bob identifies an unusual artifact. “Papa had this drinking fountain built for his beloved cats. On top, a Spanish olive jar from Cuba; the base, a converted urinal trough from friend Sloppy Joe’s Bar…Papa said he’d used it so often, it should be his anyway!”

Papa’s second-story studio remains intact over the old carriage house. I visualize him early each morning, slipping from his bedroom along the old catwalk above the garden.

Surrounded by his favorite mementos…still in their places…he’d be seated on his Cuban cigar-maker’s chair, pounding away on his portable Royal typewriter finishing A Farewell To Arms, a popular war story published in 1929. Here, he also wrote For Whom The Bell Tolls, among others, going on to win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and Nobel Prize for Literature.

“Remember, Hemingway’s Key West was unlike anywhere he’d been,” Bob reminds us. “Filled with interesting people from the very well-heeled to down-on-their-luck fishermen and wreckers, he based his fictional characters on them in To Have and Have Not, the acclaimed novel about depression-era Key West.”

And though Key West welcomed many writers over the years, none left as lasting a presence as Ernest Hemingway did…and it takes us only a few days to develop our own appreciation for Key West’s alluring past.

Prized for her colorful heritage, marvelous 19-century mansions and exotic ambience, Key West attracts lively crowds just as in days of old.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes the travel writer team of Rick and Chris Millikan who live in North Delta, a suburb of Vancouver, B.C.

Photos by Rick Millikan:
1: Overview of Old Key West.
2: Mallory Square hosts a variety of performers.
3: A descendent of one of Ernest Hemingway’s cats relaxes on his bed.

If you plan to go, check out:

Key West www.keywestattractions.org
Old Town Manor/Rose Lane Villas www.oldtownmanor.com
Audubon House www.audubonhouse.com
Shipwreck Historeum www.shipwreckhistoreum.com
Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum www.hemingwayhome.com

Chilling Out at The Jell-O Museum

by Susan Deefholts

It’s one of those grey, rainy spring days-cold enough to feel like we’re about to regress back into winter. We’ve driven into the small town of Le Roy, New York in search of bright, jewel-toned colours and happy memories of childhood.

Word has it that the Jell-O Gallery is just the ticket. Our guide, Ruth, a diminutive woman with a twinkle in her eye, leads us into the foyer of the museum.

Jell-O was created, she tells us, when Pearle Wait, a carpenter, came up with a fruit-flavoured version of ‘setting’ gelatin. His wife, May, named it Jell-O, but the pair lacked the experience and know-how to market the product.

Ruth gestures at a photo of an earnest-looking man with brilliantine slicked-down hair. “That’s where Orator F. Woodward came in. He bought the recipe for $450 but after taking his own crack at selling the product, he had reached his wits’ end. In a low mood, he offered to sell the recipe to a friend for $35! The friend refused! Sad, isn’t it?”

Ruth gives us a tragic look, but the gleam in her eye hints at further reversals of fortune to come. “All seemed lost, but then, thanks to the distribution of the first-ever free samples, which placed recipes and packets of Jell-O in the hands of housewives across the country, the product soon caught on. The recipe that Orator couldn’t sell for $35 was soon worth millions.”

Ruth guides us through an accelerated history of Jell-O, pointing out that they were one of the first companies to use eye catching, full-colour advertisements in magazines. She indicates a series of oil paintings, depicting Norman Rockwell-esque scenes of early Americana-eager, bright-faced children clustered around elaborately molded Jell-O sculptures in glowing oranges, reds and yellows.

It seemed that no-one could resist Jell-O. “You see,” adds Ruth, “before that, jelly required almost two days to make-only the rich could afford it-and even then, it was very bland. But now, between the attractive molds, the lovely colours and the fruit flavours, it became the dessert of choice.”

Ruth leans towards us, her expression earnest. “Now, I don’t want to alarm you, but I do have a question: what does Jell-O have in common with the human brain?”

We shake our heads, stumped.

She grins. “They both emit the same radio wave frequencies!”

I am thunderstruck. “What?”

Her grin widens. “Well, all right, yes, that’s not quite true. However, a few years back, a doctor who wanted to make the point that all the electrical interference in hospitals was skewing the results of the EEG machine. So he hooked one up to a bowl of Jell-O-and sure enough, the results were strikingly similar to the ones that registered from a human brain.”

Ruth wraps up the tour soon afterwards, leaving us to browse through the displays. A tribute to Bill Cosby* includes a television, showing some of the many commercials he made when he was the Jell-O spokesman. I can’t resist a chuckle-they take me right back to when I was the same age as the giggling kids in the ads.

Downstairs, we find a non-Jell-O related display of fascinating memorabilia: locally-manufactured snake-oil remedies, vintage bicycles, buggies and automobiles.

As I wander by the posters and various bits of Jell-O themed paraphernalia-moulds, toys, even books-I begin to see that the story of Jell-O also demonstrates the belief that entrepreneurs who are determined enough to work through challenges, will ultimately achieve world-wide success.

The Jell-O Gallery in all its playful kitschy glory is a show piece for that all-American dream!

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes Susan Deefholts, a freelance travel writer who lives in Ontario.

Photos by Susan Deefholts:
1: The Jell-O Gallery in Le Roy, New York.
2: A “Surrey With A Fringe On Top” at the Museum.
3: Snake-oil remedies manufactured in Le Roy, New York.

If you go:
For further information: www.jellogallery.org
Bill Cosby and Jell-O clip on YouTube: www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpUybAMfa-0

*EDITOR’S NOTE: This article was originally published in 2012, about six years before Bill Cosby was convicted of sexual assault.

Death Valley: Land of Extremes

by Karoline Cullen

“There could be a cataclysmic event tomorrow,” Ed says cheerfully as he welcomes us to the Inn. I look at him in alarm and ask, “What’s going to happen?” His eyes twinkle as he drawls, “Well, we may get a millimeter of rain!” We are at the Furnace Creek Inn in California’s Death Valley National Park. It is the largest national park outside of Alaska and one of the hottest, driest places on earth. Rain is counted by the drop and when some falls, it is indeed an event.

Deciding we can safely begin our exploration of this land of extremes without umbrellas, we head for the salt flats on the valley floor.

At 85.5 meters (282 feet), below sea level, Badwater Basin is the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere. After an ancient lake evaporated the basin that stretches for miles is covered in residual white salt.

As we walk across its empty expanse, salt crystals cling to our shoes in big clumps. To the west, mountains rise abruptly from the valley floor to heights where snow falls. Looking back to the roadside, we spot a sign high up on the cliffs. It marks where sea level is.

Also below sea level is the Devil’s Golf Course. Its surface is nowhere near as flat as Badwater Basin’s and walking over the lumpy, salt-crusted terrain is difficult and treacherous. The name correctly implies no one but the Devil would play here and we decide to hike somewhere smoother.

We couldn’t ask for smoother than the water-polished walls of Mosaic Canyon. The trail twists and turns through narrow channels of curving travertine marble. Streaked white, tan and gray, the rounded surfaces are cool to the touch. The whole canyon is a testament to the power of the water that sculpted it eons ago.

When borax was mined here in the late 1800’s, water was scarce. Mule trains hauling ore out of the Valley also pulled their own water for their journey. In a feat of strength and tenacity, twenty mules pulled three wagons weighing almost 40 tons over 275 kilometers of hot, barren desert in a month long round trip. Although the industry was short-lived, the mule train became a Valley icon and some of that history is preserved at the Borax Museum in Furnace Creek.

Mule trains crossed a monochromatic desert landscape but in the canyons, we discover ample colour. A drive through steep ravines and past chiseled rock formations leads to the Artist’s Palette lookout.

Glowing in the afternoon sun are multi-hued rocks – yellow, red, blue, green, pink – like a giant’s selection of water colours. In Golden Canyon, the towering walls of yellow rock are accented with the occasional green and a flowing canyon of golden brown leads to a vista of red rock cliffs sitting like a crown on a base of white boulders. From Zabriskie Point, we look over eroded badlands of golden tan, dark brown, red, and cream.

With sunset approaching, we trade the coloured rocks of the canyons for the undulating curves of the sand dunes at Mesquite Flats. Surrounded by purple mountains, the tall dunes have elegant forms and rippled surfaces that glow like gold.

Feeling a bit like actors in Lawrence of Arabia, we traipse over one dune after another. They have endless variations in pattern and texture, which give them their own stark beauty.

After dark, we head out into the blackness of the desert. With so little light pollution, the sky is a tapestry of stars. There are so many visible, it is hard to pick out the constellations and even without binoculars we can spot Andromeda, earth’s closest galactic neighbour.

In contrast to the chill of a desert night, daytime summer temperatures soar to well over 40 degrees Celsius. I thought the valley would be deserted but apparently, summer is a busy time.
Many European and Asian visitors come; hoping the day they are here is the hottest of the year.

I ask Ed how he handles the extreme heat of summer. It’s somewhat like weathering a blizzard, he explains. You crank up the air conditioning instead of the heat, read, watch movies.

And wait for a cataclysmic event – that precious drop or two of rain.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes freelance travel writer and photographer Karoline Cullen who lives in Delta, a suburb of Vancouver B.C.

Photos by CullenPhotos:
1: Overview of Furnace Creek Inn.
2: Near Stovepipe Wells.
3: Rhyolite Nevada, a ghost town on the way to Death Valley.

If you go:

Death Valley National Park’s three million acres of desert wilderness is about a two hour drive from Las Vegas. www.nps.gov/deva/

You can access many areas in the Park with a regular car but getting to more remote sites requires a four-wheel drive vehicle. Prepare appropriately for extreme heat if you are making a summer visit.

The Furnace Creek Inn is open October to mid-May; the Furnace Creek Ranch is open year round. www.furnacecreekresort.com

Sweetheart Sites of San Francisco

by Jane Cassie

How do time-deprived couples manage to stay blissfully connected these days? While juggling jobs, kids and homestead, who has the energy to keep love alive and sparks flying? Desperate for a pulse-quickening gift, and one that’s far from daily demands, I quickly Google ‘romantic places.’ In a jiffy my electronic genie comes to the rescue! San Francisco, a short flight from Vancouver, is listed as one of the top spots to smooch.

It’s also the place where crooning singer, Tony Bennett, once left his heart. Surely during a three day stint of Valentining, we’ll be able to unite ours!

I refine the search to discover that this peninsular enclave, that’s rimmed on three sides by shimmering waves, is bursting with tantalizing opportunities.
We could mosey around tourist haunts like Fisherman’s Wharf where we’d dine on Dungeness crab, then stroll Ghirardelli Square to sample my favorite aphrodisiac –chocolate.
Cuddling on a cable car, sauntering along a stretch of sand and caressing on a harbour cruise –they’re all ‘amoré must dos.’ Many of the popular tourist icons are included in the City Pass, a coupon book that’ll give us a great bang for our buck. By supplementing it with a few of these other intimate ideas, I’ll surely spoil my sweetheart!

Flying high

We get a real lift while flight-seeing, heli-style. San Francisco Helicopters have been offering whirly bird tours since 1976 and as well as sweeping us off our feet they’ll give us a panoramic city view in just thirty minutes!

We’ll peer down at Alcatraz, the infamous island prison where mobsters like Al Capone did time, fly above (and under!) the Golden Gate Bridge that spans the glistening bay, and glide above skyscrapers that frame this dreamy city.

We get some real live action

As well as offering more than twenty museums to appease our cultural desires there’s one particular live performance that would even tweak Aphrodite’s interest. Beach Blanket Babylon, the longest running musical revue in theatre history, is a wild and wacky parody on American pop culture.

It features outrageous entertainers who are decked out in flamboyant costumes, massive hats and big hair. Some mimic famous actors and not so popular politicians, others try to help Snow White find her true love. All four hundred seats in the cabaret style, Club Fugazio, offer a good view, but I’ll need to book early as most shows sell out.

Hand holding hills

There’ll be lots of palm to palm and heavy breathing going on when we tackle a few of San Francisco’s slopes!

From Russian Hill, we can traipse down Lombard, a hairpin street that’s rated as one of the most crooked in the world. A plod up Nob Hill will take us past elite apartment buildings and luxury condos where the wealthy hang out. And on Telegraph Hill we can take in the sunset from the Coit Tower.

This beacon not only commemorates San Francisco’s volunteer fire department but also dubs as a romantic lookout, whatever time of day.

Cozy Nooks and Neighborhood

San Francisco is dotted with uniquely flavored neighborhoods and each one sports its own personality and allure.

Chinatown, clad in festive colours, offers everything from decorative dragons to delicious dim sum. A short stroll away is the square mile of North Beach where tantalizing Italian coffeehouses, bars and bakeries dish up delicacies, Bohemian style, and if shopping turns us on, Union Square is the place to roam.

We can check out an award-winning film in the Castro area, head to Alamo Square where the city backdrop and rows of pink ladies (Victorian homes) will provide a great photo memento, and most definitely meander through the famous Haight-Ashbury district.

After all it is the original home to flower power, ‘be-ins’ and free love.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes the freelance travel writer/photographer team of Jane and Brent Cassie, who live in South Surrey, a suburb of Vancouver B.C..

Photos by Brent Cassie:
1: Enjoying a cuddle aboard one of the city’s cable cars.
2: Jane and Brent on one of the city’s hand-holding hills.
3: Chinatown is alive with festive colour.

Where to stay:
Hyatt Regency San Francisco
5 Embarcadero Center,
San Francisco, California, USA 94111
Tel: +1 415 788 1234 Fax: +1 415 398 2567

www.sanfranciscoregency.hyatt.com

What to do:
City Pass: www.gosanfranciscocard.com/
Beach Blanket Babylon: www.beachblanketbabylon.com/
San Francisco Helicopter Tours: www.sfhelicoptertours.com/

Nashville’s Steel Magnolias

by Kathleen Walls

The history of Nashville, Tennessee is liberally sprinkled with women who didn’t know “their place”. So if you’ve been feeling like you have to keep on your toes to survive in “a man’s world”. Music City is a great place to visit. There is much more to see and do in Nashville than country music.

To start with, there is Athena, Nashville’s own resident goddess. She is a pretty muscular gal and it’s pretty hard to imagine even Zeus attempting to harass her. Her home is among the sun dappled trees of Centennial Park It stands both a memoriam to times gone by and a beacon to the future ages.

The Nashville Parthenon is a work of art in its own right. It is an accurate, full-scale restoration, built for the 1896 Centennial Fair. To make it even more appealing to woman travelers, one of the major sculptors was a woman. Belle Kinney Scholtz and her husband, Phidias, carved the pediments. Belle is also known for her sculpture,

Women of the Confederacy Monument and statues of Andrew Jackson and John Siever that stand in the Statuary Hall in the Capital Building in Washington, D.C. This Parthenon is a fitting abode for this ivory and gold statue of the Goddess Athena, arrayed in all her armor and balancing Nike in her right hand.

(No, Nike isn’t the patron of tennis shoes. She is the Goddess of Victory.). Eight years in the making, Nashville sculptor Alan LeQuire’s Athena is 42 foot tall making her the largest indoor statue in the Western world.

Even thought she is pretty hard to top, some of the flesh and blood women have left a larger than life legacy. Take the nineteen-year-old Selene Harding of Belle Meade Plantation. She was the ultimate cheerleader.

Belle Meade was the headquarters of Confederate Gen. James R. Chalmers of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s cavalry. In December of 1864, the Union army attacked the mansion and fierce fighting ensued in the front yard of the plantation.

Despite the bullets flying around her, Selena remained on the porch waving her handkerchief to cheer on the Confederates. When you visit, be sure to look for the bullet holes. They can still be seen in the porch columns. Belle Meade Plantation is known as the “Queen of Tennessee Plantations” but is not the only one with a strong female figure.

For a real life Scarlet O’Hara, visit Belmont Mansion. It was built in 1850 by Adelicia Acklen.
She was a wealthy young widow during the Civil War.

She only married husbands number two and three after they agreed to sign pre-nuptial agreements leaving her in charge of her own wealth. She must have been pretty good at convincing people to see things her way.

As the battles raged in the South, she traveled to Louisiana and managed to smuggle her cotton crop out by convincing both sides she was going to turn over the profits to them. With one side guarding her by land and the other on the high seas, she transported it to Europe where she received almost a million dollars for the crop.

Of course, she never got around to sharing the profits with either side. She managed to become one of the richest women in America at a time when women were supposed to be just pretty playthings. When you visit Belmont, you will appreciate the scope of her talents. Of course, we can never forget Rachael Jackson who was a pipe-smoking divorcee when “nice women didn’t”.

The Hermitage has been extensively restored to its 1830s splendor and reflects the taste of a president who was “a man of the people.” But more than Jackson’s presence is preserved in the Hermitage. His controversial wife, Rachael, chooses the spot and made it a home.

During Jackson’s presidential campaign, deemed the dirtiest in history, Rachael’s reputation was tattered due to her marriage to Jackson before her divorce was finalized. Although they remarried afterwards, this was a major issue in the campaign. One Jackson felt caused the death of his beloved Rachael shortly before his inauguration.

When he left the White House, he never failed to spend time each evening in Rachael’s garden where she was buried. At his death he was buried besides her. You can still see traces of the flowers and herbs Rachael planted..

A tour of the capital building shows women, although unable to vote, still made their influence felt in Tennessee when the nineteenth amendment came up for the vote. Tennessee was the state that cast the deciding vote.

Nashville is filled with stories of courageous women who helped bring us to the place we are today. One of Nashville’s newest attractions, The Fox Trot Carousel, is a combination of historical tribute, fine arts and just plain fun.

The carousel, located downtown in Riverfront Park, includes many of Nashville’s most memorable women.

Charlotte Robinson, wife of one of the city founders, saved Fort Nashborough from an Indian raid. She later founded the first school in the area.

Anne Dallas Dudley led the fight for women’s rights and became the first woman delegate at large to the Democratic Convention. Modern women are represented there as well.

Kitty Wells, first woman to be elected to the Grand Ole Opry and Lula Naff who managed the Ryman Auditorium for fifty years and is credited with collecting the autographed photos, playbills and programs of those who preformed there over the years.

Speaking of the Ryman, no trip to Nashville is complete without a visit to this legendary music shrine. Be sure to see the life-size bronze sculpture of one woman who carved an unforgettable niche in what had been a male dominated field without relying on her looks or build. Minny Pearl shares the entry way with her longtime friend, Roy Acuff.

Almost anywhere you go in Nashville, you will find traces of the women who made this city great. It’s a place that’s not afraid to show its feminine side.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes publisher, author and freelance travel writer Kathleen Walls who lives in St.Augustine, Florida.

Photos by Kathleen Walls:
1: Athena, the world’s largest indoor sculpture
2: The Belle Meade Mansion
3: Sculpture of Roy Acuff and Minny Pearl

More Information:

The Parthenon www.parthenon.com 615-863-8431
The Hermitage www.thehermitage.com 615-889-2941
Belle Meade Plantation www.bellemeadeplantation.com 800-270-3991
Belmont Mansion www.belmont.edu/about/mansion.cfm 615-460-5459
Foxtrot Carousel 615-254-7020
Ryman Auditorium www.ryman.com 615-889-3060
Capital Building 615-741-2692

Loose and Lavish on Lana’i Four Seasons in the Hawaiian Sun

by Rick Millikan

Adventurous curiosity attracts my wife Chris and I back to Lana’i, a small Hawaiian Island renowned for its longtime production of Dole pineapples. Only twenty acres of this luscious golden fruit remain…so one could say Lana’i’s off the Dole and fully into tourism! A comfortable catamaran ferry whisks us from Lahaina’s wharf to Manele Bay; a bus shuttles us upward through Lana’i City’s pastel buildings. Plantation-style grocery stores, venerable hotel, theatre, small home galleries and bistros surround Dole Park.

On the grassy hillside, the former Dole administration building encloses Lana’i’s Cultural Center. Students walk and cycle from school into bordering neighborhoods of small homes festooned with vibrant tropical flowers.

Along the sidewalks, elderly matrons harvest seeds from its many emerald evergreens.
One lady confides, “I get a dollar a pound for these.” Once planted to gather moisture on this dry island, these towering Cook Island Pines embellish Lana’i, shading its central park, lining both the main road and distant ridges.

While Chris chats with locals, I enter “Dis and Dat,” a notable shop and experience thunderous gongs, a hundred plus wind chimes melodiously tinkling, perfumed incense and Buddha statuary. Wow!

Many overnight at Four Seasons Resort at Manele Bay, catering to water sports…or its Lodge at Ko’ele serving upcountry endeavors. Fortunately, we luxuriate at both. Our lodge balcony overlooks a putting green and extensive manicured gardens. We watch wild turkeys roam beneath us and discover later our feathered neighbors roost nightly in nearby 300-hundred-year-old guava trees.

With only 30 paved miles, many visitors seek unique off-road adventures. Arranging for a jeep the next day, a raven-haired wahine asks my name for the necessary forms. I grin, “Indiana Jones…” Luana grimaces, but helps me initial my responsibilities on the rental agreement.

Then I wink, “Where can I wrestle down a tusked boar or tasty wild goat for dinner?” Smiling, she reports, “These animals overgrazed our native plants, so were eliminated. Now hunters stalk the later introduced mouflon sheep, axis deer, pheasants, quail and wild turkeys. Good luck!”

Such hunters may drive, as we do, through a grove of ironwood trees to Lana’i Pine Sporting Clays to hone their prowess. After initial lessons on laser-guided pellet rifles, we’re plinking targets. Next knocking fleches and drawing bowstrings, we plunk arrows around bulls-eyes.

And after being instructed to safely carry, point and squeeze a shotgun trigger, I aim at wily clay disks, which quiver like quails, race like rabbits, dart like ducks and turn tail like ptarmigans. On fourteen platforms, I’m blasting these saucers into biodegradable sauce.

Driving onward, we descend onto a barren, windswept slope dotted with silvery grasses and low-lying shrubs. Sighting bright orange vines coiled atop drab foliage, we stop to examine a kauna’oa. Its small pearly blossoms are official island flowers. Further along we spot a rusted World War II tanker stranded on the northern reef far below…

Parking atop a plateau, we examine an otherworldly setting of rusty reds, sulphurous yellows, metallic blues and purples. Garden of the Gods recalls a local legend. In the fifteenth century, a Maui Chief banished his troublesome son to this island. After several weeks, the prince vanquished Lana’i’s infamous man-eating ghosts using his magical spear. We imagine the Garden’s eerie squat boulders are petrified spirits.

Out of Manele Bay the following morning, our Trilogy rafting group is photo-shooting spinner dolphins. Like everyone else, I’m trying to capture the essence of these amiable creatures with my camera. This local pod contains over a hundred frolickers.

Rugged black lava walls extend along Lana’i’s northern coastline. Cave-like lava tubes appear at the waterline of these sheer cliffs. Thirsty brown grass covers the desolate slopes above.

Noting three weathered shacks, our rafter captain explains, “Fishermen lived there to be near a perfect spot for catching marlin, mahi-mahi, tuna and barracuda! Hawaii’s first king, Kamehameha often left Lahaina, Hawaii’s old capital to fish here!”

Snorkeling in a pristine cove near Shark Fin Rock, a mottled turtle swims above arrays of colorful fish and coral. Due to conservation efforts, sociable green sea turtles are often observed.

When a crew member dives down to snag a small octopus, he offers an encounter with this very elusive creature. He places the tentacled beauty on the shoulders of two snorkelers, a primo photo op. And before returning him homeward, he allows me to cuddle the eight-armed charmer!

Early the next day we hike along Hulopo’e beach and up a well-worn trail through jagged black lava to visit Sweetheart Rock. Romantic souls had placed a beautiful floral tribute at a cliffside spot overlooking this legendary sea stack topped with a rock tomb.

This site memorializes Hawaii’s Romeo and Juliet tale. It is said that stricken with a Maui princess’s beauty, a Lanai warrior brought her to live with him in a nearby sea cave. When she tragically drowned, he buried her atop this 80-foot rock; then heartbroken, leapt to his death.

Before returning to our plush ocean view suite to pack, I snorkel in Hulopo’e Bay Marine Preserve.

I swim with kaleidoscopes of dazzling fish, including black durgons, tangs, unicorn, puffer and butterfly fish. Exotic yellow, black and white Moorish idols parade among purple and pink coral. Red squirrelfish peek out of rock cavities. Whiskered yellowfin goatfish scavenge and stir the sandy bottom.

All good things don’t end. Our Lana’i adventures will remain as treasured memories.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes freelance travel writer Rick Millikan who lives in Delta, a suburb of Vancouver B.C.

Photos by Chris Millikan
1: A local matron gathers pine seeds from the sidewalk.
2: The author, and wife Chris, on the archery range.
3: Lana’i’s famous Sweetheart Rock.

Arizona’s Other Canyon

by Karyn Zweifel

Breathtaking. Spectacular. Awe-inspiring. It’s no wonder the Grand Canyon is one of the world’s most visited spots. But another Arizona landmark, 235 miles to the east, had an equal yet different capacity to steal my breath away and inspire quiet reverence. It’s the Canyon de Chelly (pronounced “de-shay”) near Chinle in the Navajo Indian Reservation. Canyon de Chelly National Monument is actually a series of canyons tucked away in the eastern edge of Arizona.

Driving there, it’s easy to draw a parallel between the bleak and treeless landscape and the apparent poverty of the Navajo people.

But looking closer, the desert is teeming with life on an unexpected plane. Canyon de Chelly, with its prehistoric pictographs, Anasazi ruins and current-day Navajo residents, offers a glimpse back in time at an endangered culture.

It’s also a vacation stop relatively uncluttered by cheap gift shops, oversized tour buses and hordes of tourists.

We arrived late in the day, and drove to the overlook for the largest and most accessible canyon, Canyon de Chelly.

The canyon walls are sheer and sculpted from a subtle palette of sandstone, ranging from a dramatic red to a pale beige with a rosy tint. The scale of the canyon tricks the eye.

A childlike figure is just visible, bent over a row of plants at the canyon floor. Far away on the northern wall of the canyon is a gap in the stone, gradually widening.

Only with the help of binoculars do the ancient stone dwellings tucked inside the wall become apparent. They look like toys, or even painted false fronts, hardly likely to have sheltered up to 80 people.

Next morning, the dawn breaks over a perfectly clear sky, a little breeze kissing at our heels as we begin to descend into the canyon. The trail is wide and easy, a gentle grade switching back and forth as it lazily winds down some eight hundred feet to the canyon floor.

Only an hour after sunrise the sun begins to bear down, and it is with relief that we reach the shady canyon floor.

The National Park Service manages the area in cooperation with the Navajo Nation. Because of the cultural and spiritual significance of the ruins and the fact that Navajo families live and make a living within the canyons, unescorted visitors are limited to a single moderately easy hike within the main canyon to the periphery of the White House ruins.

To explore the park in more depth, visitors have to apply for a permit and hire a guide.

Now our path is level, cutting past an orchard of gnarled old trees, over rock outcroppings and even through a short tunnel cut through the rock. We come out through the trees to a plain dotted with trees and stretching a few thousand feet to the sheer rock face.

Enclosed within a wire fence are a few crumbling walls, suggesting a sizable three-story building whose roof and floors are long collapsed.

The dwellings were built about a thousand years ago, before the Navajo came, and abandoned inexplicably three hundred years later. The more recent Navajo residents call the original builders “Anasazi” or “ancient ones.”

Beyond these ruins, seventy five feet or more above the canyon floor, a cluster of adobe buildings is tucked into a deep crevice. Barely visible beyond the first row of dwellings is a nondescript rectangular whitewashed structure with deep religious significance.

A Navajo healing ceremony, nine days long, mentions the “white house” where the thunderbird god lives, a “place between.”

These ruins, like others in the park, are facing south to take advantage of the sun in the long winter months. The park holds many other sights, including famed Spider Rock, the Canyon del Muerto (Canyon of Death), Antelope House ruins and Massacre Cave.

But the Arizona sun promises to be pitiless, and we straggle back up the trail and retreat to air-conditioned comfort.

When afternoon shadows stretch long across the canyon, we return on horseback with a native guide. Edwina is eighteen and not very talkative. She points out a handful of petroglyphs, graphic, evocative stick figures of people and animal scratched deep into the wall.

Our six-year-old son gets more pleasure from seeing animal shapes in distant rock formations at the top of the canyon: a turtle, a rabbit.

The horses are swaybacked, pestered by flies. We ride for an hour and return to the stables. They are shabby, with a broken down couch shoved haphazardly onto the porch of an adjoining house. A band of small children peer around the corner and a baby wails inside. Outward signs speak of hardship.

But perhaps this is deceptive, like the view of the canyon floor seen from the rim.

This is a culture that has inhabited this particular corner of the world for three hundred years, following the Anasazi who were here for thousands of years before. They are a people with a different rhythm, different values, a different perspective.

While it is tempting to dismiss the experience with a flicker of pity and a dash of charity, we can’t.

Instead we climb into our car and point ourselves east, back to our own civilization, wondering if relics of our own culture will hold as much meaning in a thousand years, or even survive at all.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tails welcomes freelance travel writer Karyn Zweifel an author and writer living in Birmingham, Alabama. Visit her website at www.karynzweifel.com and learn more.

About the photos:
1: The trail on the canyon floor is canopied by trees bent by wind and time. Kathryn Z.
Turner
2: Layers of ancient stone lie like mud puddles at the base of this cliff. Kathryn Z. Turner
photo.
3: Abandoned by the Anasazi a thousand years ago, the White House Ruins at the base of
this cliff seem insignificant. Karyn Zweifel photo.

The Enchantment of California’s Central Coast

by Leslie Jones

The rugged Santa Lucia Mountains gracefully tumble down to the Pacific Ocean along California’s Central Coast. Towering high overhead, their majestic size safely guards many secrets of this intriguing area’s cultural and historical past. Rolling hills of gold, visualized in highly-esteemed California author John Steinbeck’s novels, gracefully mesh with nearby panoramic ocean vistas.

From a vantage point high up on this coastal range, Morro Rock is visible in the distance while just north, along the coast, stands Hearst Castle, also known as “The Enchanted Hill”. A world-renowned and heavily visited location for close to a million tourists each year, this is just one of many must-sees along California’s majestic coastline.

Situated half way between Los Angeles and San Francisco, the lure of Big Sur’s southern coast offers a gleaming assortment of outdoor and cultural jewels. From world-famous Hearst Castle and nearby historic missions, to the elephant seal rookeries and the immensity of Morro Rock, found a bit further to the south, this southern portion of historic Highway One is overflowing with outdoor pursuits and scenic displays.

Historic Highway One
Considered a National Scenic Byway, it’s one that is recognized by the U.S. Department of Transportation for its archeological, cultural, historic, natural, recreational and scenic qualities. Officially honored as an All-American Road, it has features that don’t exist anywhere else in the U.S. and are scenic enough to be considered tourist destinations themselves.

The views around each turn are breathtaking with deep valleys and long stretches of isolated beach. When California’s scenic Highway One was completed in 1937, it offered the opportunity for travelers around the world to visit Hearst Castle and other prized destinations nearby.

Hearst’s Dream
Hearst’s dream began in 1865 when George Hearst, a wealthy miner, purchased 40,000 acres of ranchland in the area. His only son, William Randolph Hearst eventually inherited the land from his mother. By then the ranch had grown into 250,000 acres.

Originally known as “Camp Hill,” the surrounding wilderness offered a place for the family and their friends to enjoy camping trips. With the help of famed architect Julian Morgan, their collaboration escalated into what has become one of the world’s greatest architectural dreams.

The vast majority of those who visit the Hearst San Simeon State Historical Monument (Hearst Castle) each year never stop to admire the historic village of San Simeon, just across the road. Old Spanish-style buildings, an historic general store and the nearby abandoned schoolhouse share intriguing stories of long ago.

The economy of San Simeon itself was enhanced by the support of William Randolph Hearst and his ranch hands. Spanish-style homes were built along the shore for Hearst employees.

When Hearst died in 1951, the family donated a plot of land on the beach to be used as a day facility. Named William Randolph Hearst Memorial Park, there’s a plaque dedicated to him at the entrance. Dedicated by the County of San Luis Obispo, it honors the memory of him as a distinguished publisher, American patriot and public benefactor.

Mission San Antonio
On the inland side of the majestic Santa Lucia Mountains, between the Hearst Castle and US Highway 101, lies a beautiful valley and mission. Mission San Antonio de Padua, the third mission established in the California system, also has historic Hearst connections.

The interior of the Mission’s long corridor offers an excellent historical perspective on those who have lived in the area. A museum sends you back to the days of the Salinan Indians, the Hearst Family, Mexican and Spanish rulings of California. Take the time to venture through this museum…the displays are incredible and the narratives describe a long, historical lineage.

In the late 1880s, small farms were consolidated into large cattle ranches and, in 1920, William Randolph Hearst purchased as much local land as possible. Later, the Hearst Foundation financed one of several restorations in 1949. The land was then traded to the U.S. Government and today it lies well-preserved within a military base.

Elephant Seals of Piedras Blancas
Although hunted almost to extinction for their oil-rich blubber, elephant seals are found in large numbers near Piedras Blancas, along the southern range of Big Sur, near San Simeon.

Coming ashore to form colonies for a few months out of the year, they give birth to their young during their stay. There are now areas of the surrounding beaches that are literally covered with these massive creatures during the early spring months. Thousands venture to this area each year to view them and their young.

Morro Rock
Another one of Highway One’s world-renowned locations is Morro Rock, easily found on the outskirts of Morro Bay. Peregrine Falcons, considered endangered species, nest on the top and only the Chumash Indians are allowed to climb, on occasion, for ceremonial purposes.

As one of nine sisters of extinct volcano peaks in the area, stretching from Morro Bay down to San Luis Obispo, Morro Rock is considered the “Gibraltar of the Pacific.” Standing at 576 feet tall, its immensity and scenic setting are awe-inspiring.

Surfers catch the waves of the day just below Morro Rock and a multitude of otters, pelicans and sea lions intermingle with the boats that head through the bay’s entrance. The long stretch of sand, known as “the strand”, is a favorite beach walking location.

The entire Morro Bay Estuary is well worth exploring. Kayaking back into the inner bay offers a peaceful sojourn. A natural history museum, located on a perch high above the estuary, offers educational insights into the entire area. Each January, a popular bird festival is held in and around the Morro Bay Estuary. Hundreds of bird species are viewed and counted each year.

California’s Central Coast is historically intriguing, brimming with panoramic views enjoyed around each turn. Visit the museums and missions, enjoy the plethora of wildlife and wildflowers, and relish in the coast’s untamed beauty.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes Leslie Jones, a freelance travel writer who makes her home in California.

About the photos:
1: The historic schoolhouse at San Simeon.
2: Mission San Antonio de Padua.
3: Morro Rock, “The Gibraltar of the Pacific.”

Legends of the Pony Express

by Kathleen Walls

For those of us of a certain age, the legend of the Pony Express is branded into our collective consciousness by images of larger than life heroes engaged in non-stop adventures as they blazed an endless trail across the American west. With idols like Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and John Wayne thundering across endless deserts pursued by bloodthirsty Indians, how could we believe otherwise? As so often happens, the reality is greater and less than the legend. In fact, the Pony Express lasted only 18 months.

On April 3, 1860 the Pony Express began its first run. When the riders galloped into what is now Nevada, they found few settlements.

What they did find was some of the most beautiful landscape imaginable, from flat desert to craggy mountains.

Blooming sage turned autumn into a sea of gold. Quaking Aspens shimmered in the sunlight. Mountainsides assumed fascinating shapes. Wild horses, eagles, coyotes and other wildlife flashed across their vision as they raced across this lonely countryside.

I recently revisited “those thrilling days of yesteryear,” on a drive across Nevada’s Highway 50, which closely follows the old Pony Express route.

Here you will see the “other” Nevada. There’s no resemblance to glitz and glittery Vegas. Instead I found a panorama of scenic and natural wonders, ever-changing landscapes and a trip back in time.

In 1986, Life Magazine denigrated Hwy 50 as “The Loneliest Road in America.” They advised people not to visit it and warned that to traverse it you needed “survival skills.”

Well, lonely isn’t always a dirty word.

Local entrepreneurs turned that slur into a mantra of honor. They use it as their slogan and give a certificate to those who travel America’s Loneliest Road. To get in on this piece of tongue in cheek fun, get your passport at any chamber of commerce on highway 50 and have it stamped in towns along the route.

Begin your trip in Fallon. Where the Churchill county Museum offers a glimpse into the earliest white settlers and the Paiute people who were already there. Corn was a Native American staple so I visited Lattin Maze and traversed a life sized corn maze.

Just an hour down Hwy 50, I discovered Sand Mountain, formed about 4,000 years ago, it towers about 600 feet and attracts sandboarders and ATVers from all over. Adjourning this natural phenomenon is one of the best-preserved Pony Express station houses in Nevada, Sand Springs.

A few hundred yards away is a reminder of the technology that replaced the telegraph, a lonely pay phone.

Continuing down that lonely road to Austin I found a well preserved old mining town. Precariously perched on a mountainside, it’s one of Nevada’s best-kept secrets. With a population of around 300, it is hard to believe it can offer so much.

There are three historic churches, St Augustine Catholic Church, the Methodist Church, and St. George’s Episcopal Church. Visit the gem shops and browse the colorful streets and you can see yourself back in the 1860’s. I really enjoyed The T Rix Bike Shop.

It is so much more than a bike repair shop. You can get a light lunch. Those of you longing for a touch of civilization can get a latte or expresso there but the most unique item on the menu is a real New Orleans snowball made on an old Snow Wizard machine from New Orleans!

Also ask Patsy Waits, the owner, about the Pony Express. She can tell you everything you might want to know about it. One of the most unusual structures in Austin is Stokes Castle. It was built by Anson Phelps Stokes in 1896 –97 as a summer home and occupied by his family for just over one month.

Many other stone structures dot the landscape along Highway 50. These ruins are what remains of tiny hamlets that once dotted the landscape during the mining booms.

U.S. Highway 50, just east of Austin, Nevada is a site that far predated the pony express. The earliest petroglyphs found at Hickison Summit date back about 8,000 to 10,000 years.

In Eureka, I visited the restored Eureka Opera house and the Eureka Sentinel Museum.

Ely offers a unique recounting of its history. Painted on the walls of many of the town’s old buildings, The Ely Murals depict the town’s unique history.

Hotel Nevada, standing six stories tall, was the tallest building in Nevada until 1948. It offers a casino and restaurant too but in it’s a museum also. Scattered among the slots are memorabilia of yesteryear.

There is a Stars Walk of Fame in front of the hotel complete with the town’s best-known native, Pat Nixon. While there, ride the Ghost Train, a restored steam train of the mid 1800’s.

While not totally on the track of the old mail run, the Great Basin Park cannot be missed. It is one of the newer national parks established to preserve the unique ecosystems of the Great Basin; mountain peaks, alpine meadows and lakes, limestone caves and its plant and animal life.

I drove the twelve-mile Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive to visit an ancient Bristlecone forest; these misshapen twisted trees are as over 5000 years old, the oldest living things on earth.

On October 28, 1861, the Pony Express completed its last run. An unforgettable era passed into history. It was replaced by the telegraph. Ten days was cut to ten seconds. Progress marched on but the legend would not die.

Today, we still search for the elusive truth somewhere between Hollywood’s portrayals and actual fact. Standing on America’s Loneliest Road I could look down that narrow ribbon of asphalt and imagine it just as it was over a century ago.

If I squint a bit into the setting sun, I can even visualize a lonely rider galloping westward and vanishing over the horizon.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes publisher, author and freelance travel writer Kathleen Walls who lives in St.Augustine, Florida.

About the photos:

1: The Lonliest Road in America accesses some of the most beautiful places on the planet.
2: A pair of ATVers anticipate the challenge of Sand Mountain.
3: A derelect house, as seen in many ghost towns along the way.

September Danish Days: Vikings Descend on Solvang

by Sheila Fox Tanksley

For the last 70 years, in mid-September, there has been a Danish Days celebration in the heart of California’s Central Coast. This year, number 71, the theme is “Solvang: Can You Remember When?” My husband and I have extra reasons to go this year: the return of the Viking encampment and the Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts (PCPA) Theaterfest performance of Urinetown the Musical, by Greg Kotis and Mark Hollman.

A short drive north on Interstate 101 from Santa Barbara, California, brings you to Highway 246. Take the easterly route from there and you will arrive in Solvang, which means “Sunny Field”.

A Danish-American colony, Solvang was founded in 1911 by a group of Danish educators from the Midwestern states. Originally, the Danish Days celebration was a small town affair for the locals, to remind them of their “roots”. When the Saturday Evening Post featured Solvang in a 1946 article, tourists began to visit, and Solvang developed into a town rich in Danish tradition.

An addition to the Danish Days celebration for the last two years has been the Ravens of Odin. A professional historical re-enactment group, the Ravens of Odin focus on the culture of Scandinavia in the Dark Ages with an emphasis on the Norse Expansion from 700-1100A.D.

This, being the third year for the encampment, will mark our second visit with them. Being long time historical re-enactors ourselves, my husband and I enjoy and appreciate the efforts of this group’s educational representation of Norse warrior/merchants as they traversed the waterways of Europe.

Because of their attention to detail, the Ravens of Odin have been encouraged by professionals from educational institutions such as the History Channel, PBS and Viking Museums in Europe.

Many of their members are craftsmen and teachers, some certified in Viking culture and history. To walk through their camp is to take a step back in time.

I look forward to seeing the on site demonstrations of woodworking, weapons making, jewelry and blacksmithing. Chain mail knitting is demonstrated and on display near the pike racks.

Visitors will be encouraged to participate in a training session of the proper mechanics of footwork, defensive positions, and sword/axe/spear tactics that were employed in the combat of the time period.

Handcrafted leather goods of Viking/Celtic design are for sale along with Viking bead jewelry at the Viking Traders Tables. I’m going to look for something to set off my eyes. I also intend to take the opportunity to observe demonstrations of weaving, sewing, and cooking and hear about herbal lore done in the context of the ancient peoples of the Nordic/Germanic ancestry.

A little closer to modern times, I look forward to “meeting” Hans Christian Anderson, portrayed by Randle McGee. As the storyteller speaks his hands are busy with a pair of ordinary scissors, cutting shapes in paper.

When he finishes a tale, Randle McGee unfolds an amazing depiction of the story cut from a single sheet of paper, much like the original Hans Christian Anderson would have done. Randle has appeared as HC Anderson at many festivals that feature storytelling.

Just a few include The Flying Leap Festival in Santa Ynez, California, Talk Story Festival in Honolulu, Hawaii, Celebration of Light Festival in Midland, Texas, the Asian Congress of Storytellers in Singapore and many others.

Other delights of Danish days include food and dancing. While costumed dancers demonstrate their prowess, I like to indulge in the traditional treats.

The Fresno Danish dancers demonstrate Scandinavian and ethnic dancing while the Fresno Great Danes play the music (no, they’re not performing dogs). One of the famous treats you’ll find plenty of is Aebleskiver.

Legend has it that Danish men originated aebleskiver in Viking days. Some say defeated Vikings used their battered shields to first make the spherical pancakes, frying them in the round dents they received in battle. Come eat your fill in the Aebleskiver eating contest.

Another pastime I enjoy is spotting the many stork figures nesting atop many of the local buildings about town. They are said to bring good luck, protecting the home owner from lightning and assuring the occupant that he/she will live long and grow rich.

In the early afternoon, people will starting to line up along the sides of Mission Drive in anticipation of the Danish Days Parade. The parade last year was made up of the usual components of marching bands and local officials.

However, there were Viking accents to everything. Behind the local Viking Ship with participants throwing candy to the crowds were the “real” Vikings, the Ravens of Odin, charging with weapons and making a fine noise.

Something you don’t usually see in a parade was the Musical Clock Peddler with a coo coo clock built into his hat. Also, there was the Carlsberg Beer Wagon, with the Solvang Village Band on top. Bringing up the rear were the Nimbus Motorcycles. Did I mention there’s a Vintage Motorcycle Museum in town?

After seeing folk dance demonstrations, craft demonstrations and tasting delightful treats, visiting the Little Mermaid fountain and searching for the four windmills, it is time for the theater.

Acclaimed by critics nationwide, the Solvang Theaterfest offers Repertory Theater at its finest with plays presented by the Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts (PCPA). The 780-seat outdoor theater offers a variety of theatrical presentations from June through October each year.

When the night is through, we’ll take the drive down Highway 101, back to Santa Barbara. That is, unless we decide to stay overnight for romantic emphasis.

After all, Danish Days begins Friday evening, September 21st, and lasts till Sunday evening on the 23rd. I’m sure I can find a nice room at one of the many lodges and inns in the area.

We’ll take the whole weekend and explore the museums and countryside as well.

About the author:

This week Traveling Tales welcomes Sheila Fox Tanksley, a freelance travel writer/photographer based in Santa Barbara, California.

About the photos:

1: Solvang Windmill in Copenhagen Square.
2: Viking Lodge in Ravens of Odin Encampment.
3: Noisy Vikings in Danish Days parade.