Tag Archives: Tourism

George Alfred Townsend: A Gap(land) in our Knowledge

culture, tourism, travel, , , ,

Nature and some largely forgotten history converged on a little post-Thanksgiving jaunt we took this weekend.  The Appalachian Trail intersects with a small park called Gathland in rural Washington, County, Maryland.   I wish I could say we went on a hike, but since the light was failing when we finally got there, we just explored the mute, stone testimonies to the man who was George Alfred Townsend, AKA “Gath.”

One of the two interpretive signs that deal directly with this enigma of a war correspondent and author of several novels includes the quote, “Mankind is always interesting, but is also fatiguing.”  As a successful writer, with it would seem substantial financial means, Gath and his beloved wife Bessie built a country estate to escape mankind and Washington, DC.

As most of the other ten or so signs describe various aspects of Civil War campaigns in the area, one does not learn much more about Gath, his life, and work from the site.  Bessie gets even shorter shrift.  The buildings remaining in the park, constructed from an attractive local stone, include Gath’s “empty tomb” – highly creepy, even if his mortal remains did not end up there – and the ruins of what appears to have been a very large barn.  There are also two houses intact, and the park web site promises a museum in one of them, open in the tourist season.

The central attraction of the property is a massive and curious memorial to war correspondents, planned and perhaps financed by Gath.  It towered over the peaceful late fall landscape like the sole remaining wall of a castle, with arches and crenelations, statuary and niches.  And a weather vane.

Perhaps we will return to visit the museum if/when it is open. Perhaps we will acquire a copy of one of Gath’s novels, such as The Entailed Hat, or Patty Cannon’s Times (as you see from this link, it is available on Amazon) and read it to better understand this contemporary of Mark Twain’s.  Perhaps not.  Meanwhile, visiting what remains of Gath’s country estate and trying to decipher his life from the meager outdoor interpretation available in the park made for an interesting afternoon.

Teddy Roosevelt in Buffalo: Mystery in History Solved

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While in Buffalo recently for the annual American Folklore Society meetings, I had some free time to explore this fascinating city.  (Yes, it is much more than hot wings and Niagra Falls.)  I set off to explore why Theodore Roosevelt was inaugurated in Buffalo in 1901.

I set off on a brisk (due to the 40sF temperature and wind) walk from downtown, admiring the architecture along the way, and soon arrived at the Theodore Roosevelt Inaugural Historical Site

This stately mansion houses not only the library where Roosevelt was inaugurated, but an impressive array of interactive displays for deeper dives.  While you wait for your guided tour through the house, you are immersed in an exhibit on the 1901 Pan Am Exposition,  a sort of world’s fair designed to showcase everything progressive and superior about America.  Considering that electricity, and even ice cream, were new things back then, there was a lot to ooh and aah over at this fantastic city of the future for the people of the day, and putting yourself in their place via the displays was fun.

Things get decidedly darker when the tour guide puts on a video that explains how, after a rousing speech about the wonders of the exposition and of America, President McKinley is shot while greeting well wishers.  (Obviously at least one person, Leon Czolgosz, did not wish him well at all.)  TR was the Vice President, and when poor McKinley finally succumbed to his wounds (unfortunately he did not die instantly but suffered in the hands of inferior medical practices of the day), Roosevelt was summoned to Buffalo to pay his respects and get sworn in.

The next area imagines the many pressing issues of the day that must have been going through Roosevelt’s mind as he prepared to take over the presidency.  Many of them sounded disturbingly familiar to those of us reading the news in 2018:  immigrants flooding the country; poor race relations; and rampant devastation of natural resources in some of the country’s most spectacular wild landscapes, among others.

Poor old Teddy had his hands full, in other words.  As those of us who know a little something about his personal history (or find out more through a visit to one of the many TR historical sites around the country), he was not exactly perfect.  (Let’s not get into such things as the eminent domain of the Philippines, destructive safaris in Africa, etc.)

In any case, the tour through the house, standing in the library were the inauguration took place, seeing a pile of facsimiles of telegrams (the email – or even Twitter – of the day) that he needed to address, and then diving into more history in the upstairs rooms of the mansion where you can pose with a larger-than-life cut out, pretend to be president, and contemplate further how far, but then again how close, we still are to issues of 1901, was all very interesting and powerful experience.  Thanks to our tour guide and the staff of the site for an enlightening couple of hours.

 

Down Home on the Farm

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Having spent my formative years living in rural Vermont, though I don’t think about it much since I now live in the close-in ‘burbs, I do feel at home on a farm.  Even when it’s a historic farm like Landis Valley Village and Farm Museum, which I visited last week during a conference in Harrisburg, PA.

I am happy walking a country road and communing with cattle and crops.  I especially grooved on the presentation of the heritage seed program they have at Landis Valley.  Hundreds of heirloom tomato seeds!  My favorite was one called the Mortgage Lifter.  Gotta get me some of those next year.

I also learned a lot in the farm equipment part of the tour.  Like many, I assumed the Conestoga Wagon was the conveyance that the “pioneers” took across the mountains.  Not so, it was actually the 18-wheeler of its day!

At the end of the visit, clutching the chamomile plant I purchased which I hope will thrive in my side yard herb patch (which shares space with lots of weeds and where the mint has run wild), I was content to have gotten a farm fix.

Hidden in Plain Site: Downtown DC

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Last Saturday, my best friend since fifth grade, Debi, and I went on a DC downtown adventure (a very late celebration of her birthday, which is in October).  We met at a very crowded Renwick Gallery to take in one of the last days of the Murder is Her Hobby exhibit.  Visitors huddled around the little murder rooms, created by Frances Glessner Lee, depicting sordid deaths of the working class.  We all speculated freely about what had happened to the hapless victims.  It was grisly fun.

We then pigged out on delicious cheese redundancy at the nearby GCDC Grilled Cheese Bar.  A shared ramekin of lobster mac and cheese and cheeseburger grilled cheese sandwich later, we rolled out and sought caffeine at Compass Coffee a few blocks away.

Time for a walk.  Consulting a map attached to the side of a bus stop, we set off to visit an obscure monument to The Nuns of the Battlefield.  But we got distracted by St. Matthew’s Cathedral and totally missed the monument.  Yes, there is a cathedral in the middle of downtown DC and it is gorgeous inside, with a majestic rotunda and interesting art in all the side chapels.  We spent some time reading about all the artwork and marveling at its intricacy.  (I’ve attempted my first ever Word Press Gallery here to showcase some highlights!)

After walking blocks out of our way, and finding another little known monument to German homeopath Samuel Hahnemann, we got some intelligence from a passerby that the Nuns were located, logically, right across the street from St. Matthew’s and we had walked right past their monument.  We circled back to pay homage.   There they were, the noble ladies, in bas relief flanked by female warriors in 3-D.  Elsewhere in the city, modern day female warriors were marching in their pink hats and chanting in support of other noble causes.  Here, hidden in plain site, was the quiet testimony to these Civil War era women who did what they could, when they were needed.  Visit them sometime if you can find them.

 

Minneapolis, A Breath of Fresh Air

American Folklore Society, food, Minneapolis, tourism, travel, , ,

When folklorists go to our annual American Folklore Society meetings each autumn, most of us try to avoid that melancholy post-conference refrain, “I never got out of the hotel the whole time.”  Even in the midst of snow storms in Alaska or pouring rain in San Antonio, we find excuses to cut out of a conference session or two to experience some of whatever city we are meeting in.   It is our professional duty, after all, to get a taste (literally, since most of the excursions involve sampling the local cuisine) of the city we are visiting, to honor its history and ethnic make-up, and to then compare notes of our adventures.

This year, we met in Minneapolis.  Despite the fact that we had met there back in the mid-1980s, I had little memory or preconceived notion of the city.  Consequently, I built in a pre-meeting day to explore and embarked on other forays during stolen hours.

My old friend Jean and I made our way via public transportation to visit another friend and colleague, Macey, in her eclectic neighborhood of Powderhorn Park.   Why this neighborhood did not make it to the “local guide” that fellow folklorists had compiled for the meetings escapes me, because it was a fascinating mixture of ethnic businesses, a lovely park with a small lake or large pond which sparkled in the warm fall light, and rows of tidy houses and gardens.  We had a fine walk around, and ate lunch in a sort of Latino mall featuring taco, tamale, and torta stands and small stores with clothing, jewelry, teas and spices, and miscellaneous other items.

Just down the street was Ingebretsen’s Scandinavian store, actually three stores adjacent to one another, with housewares, foodstuffs (including as many different herring products as I had ever seen in one place before and a fine selection of cod roe), and other goods.  The same street had a Caribbean cafe, Halal meat markets, and other wonders. After some shopping, we bid Macey goodbye and returned to hotel life, which already seemed sterile and boring after our glimpse into Minneapolis Life Beyond.

Shorter jaunts outside the confines of the hotel included one afternoon exploring the waterfront along the river and canal with my friend Hanna. Features of this area include the bones of old mill machinery, grand views of St. Anthony Falls, which are featured in the photo at the header of this entry, as well as the  historic Pillsbury A Mill across the river in St. Paul, and some other splendid architecture, old and new.

As for the best food adventure, the prize goes to a homey Tibetan restaurant that my food-savvy friends Lucy and Sue and I discovered on a mission to “Eat Street” (a stretch of Nicollet Avenue not too far from the hotel).   The walk was a mile and half or more back, but we only briefly considered hailing a taxi.  Besides the dumplings, homemade noodles and steamed bread with spicy beef we had to work off, we were in no hurry to return to the confines of hotel life.  The fresh Minneapolis evening air, and the exhilarating feeling of discovery, buoyed us on.   Another city, another AFS conference, another set of adventures.  On to Buffalo next year!

 

Falling for Southern France, Part Four (final)

culture, food, France, memories, tourism, travel, ,

We returned from France over over a month ago, but still the memories linger and must have their due.  Here, the fourth and final installment finds us on our last full day of the trip in Sete, a small maritime city near Montpellier.

The first thing upon arriving is to find your way to the top – a challenging climb up steep streets and steps to the highest point, Mount St. Clair.  The elevation is a mere 574 feet, but the view is spectacular and lays Sete’s waterways out for you so that they make sense.  To the right, the Mediterranean.  To the left, Etang de Thau, a sort of large lake or lagoon.  And, in the middle, bisecting the town, a series of canals connecting the two.  Water, water, everywhere.

Because that climb up and back down will surely make you hungry, the next thing to do is to find a spot at one of the long string of canalside cafes.  If the weather is fine, as it was the day we were there, finding a seat around lunch time at one of the outdoor portions of the cafe may involve an awkward wait.  Seeing as most of these cafes seem chronically understaffed, also expect a leisurely experience once you are seated.

That said, the local seafood is worth it all no matter which cafe you end up at, and the menus are all very similar.  The most famous local dish is a sort of octopus pie which is called tielle setoise.  We got the last one in the cafe that day, and savored every bite of the salty crusty tomatoey minced octopusiness of it.   Mussels were also on offer, mine steamed and M.E.’s in a rich tomato sauce with sausage.   Water all around you, seafood inside your tummy…how much better does it get?

There is apparently a nice art museum in Sete, and a lighthouse which we saw from afar, but we didn’t make it to either.  We opted instead for wandering around the town, up and down the canals, poking into some shops and a modern art exhibition, snapping pictures of sites along the water.  Here, a pile of fishing nets.  There, a row of Crayola colored small boats for rent.  Trying to capture the essence of the last place, the last day, of our wondrous trip.

I boarded the train back to Montpellier that afternoon with mixed emotions.  Tomorrow we would be making the long trek back to our normal lives via train to Paris and flight home.  It would be good to be home, but I felt as though I was leaving a part of me behind somehow.  The intrepid traveler who “conquered” this portion of southern France.  The adoring Mom who got the rare gift of spending protracted time with her grown daughter and loving every minute of sharing this part of the world with her.


Adieu, France, and thanks for opening your welcoming southern arms to us.

 

 

 

Falling for Southern France, Part Two: Carcassonne

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Carcassonne – the word rolls off one’s tongue in a whisper.  To many, the Medieval walled portion of this bustling city is an item on their “bucket list.”  Others know it only as a board game.  It is a wonderful place to spend a vacation day.  (Next time I would stay longer, because it is hard to take it all in during just one day.)

We started our adventure by parking near the train station, which is close to the Canal du Midi – which figures later in the story – and setting out for the walled city.  In all the photos you see of the walled city (which is situated as every fortification worth its salt on a high and formidable hill) one would assume that it must loom up from the more modern part, and that you should be able to see it from everywhere you look.  Not so.

You walk and walk through the lower portion, past attractive shops, cafes and parks, and finally catch a glimpse of the ramparts high above, across the Aude River.  Your first thought is, how the heck do we get way up there?  Following the crowd that is inevidibly climbing the same way is one method.  A young person adept at smart phone way-finding is another.

However you get up there, you must climb steep pathways or series of stairs, but as usual in this part of the world, it is well worth it.  Once you reach the inner walls, you find yourself accosted by gift shops, tourist attractions such as The Torture Museum, and cafes touting the ever-present cassoulet (reportedly invented in this region of France and featuring enough types of meat to make you want to become a vegetarian after a close encounter with it).

You can merely stroll around the walls, which offer lovely views of the hills in the distance, or you can go the historical interpretation route of a visit to the Chateau Comtal, the inner residence of the aristocracy of the city, which is now a museum.  (Even on a non-tourist heavy weekday, the line to enter this inner sanctum is long and slow, especially around lunch time, so maybe take the advice of some Trip Advisors and get tickets ahead.  Also, some of the ramparts are closed between 11:30 and 2 for some strange reason.)

The chateau is a maze of enchanting stairs  and towers that you wish would go on and on forever.  Here, a view of over the tiled roof to the courtyard.  There, a peak through some arrow slits.  Windows open to the bracing wind of the Midi, and views of the mountains beyond.  Even though the useful interpretive slide show at the beginning of the tour reminds us that much of the walled city was reconstructed, it still feels as though you are transported back to the heyday of the 12th century, before a hoard of Northerners laid siege to the castle and brought its inhabitants (including those notorious heretical Cathars) to their knees.

I must admit, my whole experience was colored by the reading of Kate Mosse’s romantic historical novel The Labyrinth, which is required reading before a visit to Carcassonne in my mind (thanks, Hanna!).  Though reading these Goodreads reviews, you might be tempted to skip it, I recommend wading through if you like your historical background sprinkled with plenty of blood, lust, intrigue and time travel.

We finally, and reluctantly, left the walled city and headed back to the canal for another history lesson wrapped in a relaxed boat ride.  The Canal du Midi is part of a system that runs from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean.  You can take a commercial boat ride along it, or actually pilot your own canal boat for a leisurely holiday, which may be tempting some day with the right cast of characters.

As you glide down the plane tree lined canal a guide gives you excellent background information, you go through a lock to find out how those work, and you have a lovely rest stop at an old inn.  A whole different view from the rugged walled city, which you could not see from the part of the canal we toured.  It seemed something we had dreamed instead of actually having visited just hours before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seaside Sojourne 2 (sort of) Colonial Beach edition

#colonialbeach, #crabcakes, beach, culture, Northern Neck, tourism, , , ,

The widest parts of the Potomac River are not quite “seaside” but they have that sort of feel, nonetheless.  On a two-day tour through Maryland’s Western Shore (or, as some call it “Southern Maryland”), and the Northern Neck of Virginia, my friend Debi and I experienced a wide variety of sites, tastes, and even smells (fish guts on a public pier and fried food in a divey pub/Tiki Bar for instance).

For brevity purposes, I will concentrate on the Northern Neck portion of our journey.  For those of you who are uninitiated, the NN is the portion of land between the mighty Potomac and the Rappahannock Rivers.  This area is billed as, among other things, The Birthplace of the Nation since several founding fathers and other historic personages were born and/or grew up there.

We started our adventures in Colonial Beach.  The first thing we noticed was the mural that we parked near, depicted in the large photo at the top of this blog, which might tip one off to the fact that the town, while still charming in its own way, may have had its heyday at an earlier time period.  Other murals we encountered around town had a vintage feel as well (you can view a slide show of more of them here).  

What does one do in Colonial Beach?  We started out by indulging in some retail therapy at a very nice second hand store.  Then, we walked down and out onto to the town pier, where locals were catching some impressive catfish.  Next, walked along the beach on a pathway that leads to, among other things, the humongous Riverboat on the Potomac, a casino and restaurant which apparently gets around strict Virginia laws against such gambling establishments by being located on the river, which is technically part of Maryland.

When asked about the best crab cakes served in a beachside atmosphere, the proprietor of the second hand store recommended  The Dockside, a couple miles out of town.  Basically, you just follow the road that parallels the water until it ends in a marina and the sprawling restaurant, offering a slightly seedy but cool interior as well as two levels of “outside dining” – steamier but with water views.  There is a little beach and a small performance venue on the grounds, no doubt very popular on weekend evenings, and the de rigueur “tiki” furnishings – thatched huts and Hawaiian style decor.  The crab cakes and hushpuppies were very satisfying (I gave it a good rating on Tripadvisor.).

Our appetites being satiated, we next turned our attention to history.  Which eminent figure’s birthplace to visit?  George Washington seemed too obvious.  James Monroe was also vetoed.  Robert E. Lee…well, who could resist such a controversial and complex personage?  We headed for Stratford Hall, birthplace and boyhood home (till he was little more than a toddler) of REL.  This site did not disappoint.

In addition to the Great House, which has an oddly truncated appearance and layout despite its impressive cadre of brick chimneys, the museum at the visitor’s center and the grounds are worth lingering in.  Unfortunately, we caught the last tour of the day and didn’t have enough time to do the site justice.  But we caught the gist.

I came away feeling sad for Robert E. Lee, a brilliant and conflicted figure.  His father was a poor money manager and they had to leave this idyllic home on the Potomac for less impressive digs when the lad was four years old.  Our tour guide indicated that he seemed to yearn for this home for the rest of his life.  (The stately Lee Custis House now located in Arlington Cemetery was his wife’s family home.)  No denying, he was one of the most prominent Confederates and, of course, one of the statues in his honor was a major catalyst of the recent tragedies in Charlottesville.  But visiting his boyhood home also reminded us that he was a human being with an extremely complex history.

The Northern Neck is worth visiting for all of the above reasons:  crab cakes, scenic views, and historic circumstances that continue to haunt us all.

I Got Misty

Last weekend, my husband and I treated the interns staying with us (who are both from Europe) to a trip to Niagra Falls and Toronto.  Blame it on my mother, but whenever I hear the words “Niagra Falls” I cannot help but think (and start acting out even) the old vaudeville sketch of an earlier generation… slowly I turn, step by step…

20160520_160854Jennifer, the intern from the Netherlands, wanted to do the iconic Maid of the Mist adventure – in which you pile into a tour boat with a couple hundred of your fellow tourists, all bedecked in blue plastic rain ponchos, and are transported as close to Horseshoe Falls (the bigger of the two) as possible without capsizing.  I am always up for a boat ride, so I accompanied her even though I had done this at least once (maybe twice) in the past.

20160520_162135Despite the cattle-like treatment of the blue plastic line-up by the staff handlers (“Move up – move along!”) and the rush of teenagers to the better viewpoints, I have to say the experience was still awesome.  Especially when you get to the base of Horseshoe Falls and the cold mists hit you full force.  This makes you abandon your camera and just live in the moment (because you can’t see anything through the viewfinder except water, for one thing).   I have to admit, I got a little choked up – the majesty of nature and all that.


You forget for the moment that both the American and Canadian sides of the falls are a rabbit warren of tourist traps.  It is just you, and The Falls, and millions of tons of water tumbling and churning endlessly.  There before tourists and Ripley’s Believe It or Not existed, and there forever exerting its endless power.  The refreshment of those few moments was not all in the cold spray and the wet hair (blue plastic is not effective against The Falls).  I got misty in more ways than one.

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