Odysseus Abroad

Cambridge, UK

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sun, 11 Oct 2026 14:42:00 +0000

Cambridge Colleges - Museums - PYE & Cambridge Instruments - The Cam River

Kings College Cambridge

A year after visiting Oxford UK I had a chance to do a similar four day long weekend in Cambridge, in October with autumn in full swing and the giant deciduous trees turning orange and gold in the fading sunlight. I couldn't help but compare the two university towns in my mind upon the visit, but each stands to its own on their merits, or maybe just viewed together as "Oxbridge", as many students cross over between the two.

Arriving again at London City airport, where I had a harrowing landing the prior year, I realized something wrong when again there was a difficult landing which I was not expecting, as I had checked the weather a few days before and all looked good. Indeed it was mostly calm at the airport but for a few passing low level clouds. After some research I out why and probably good reasons to avoid the airport when possible. Due to noise restrictions aircraft stay high in the air and then follow a fast descent at twice the fall rate of normal landings. Dissipating so much energy quickly amplifies any wind shear turbulence close the ground. Tall city buildings in a random pattern upstream of the prevailing wind throw up unusual and unpredictable patterns and turbulence which specifically leads to side-to-side roll, a cause of aborted landing the prior year (an aborted landing is equivalent to a quarter chance of crash landing). The runway is really short (1500meters) requiring planes to hit down right on target to gain enough braking distance. Only small planes are authorized to land there and those have been modified for additional life at lower speeds. Pilots need additional training and certification to land there. Even on a calm day like on my arrival, pilots need full concentration and control to get down safely. A smooth train ride had ben in Cambridge mid afternoon in an apartment overlooking "Christ's Pieces" park. What a name for a park? Apparently it was owned by Jesus College next door and was farmed in parcels called pieces before they sold it to the city to form the current park. There is alot of open greenspace in Cambridge, probably more so than Oxford and they are home to some of the largest and most impressive trees one will find, mostly of the temperate Europe zone, Sycamore, Horse Chestnut, Hazel, Maple, Elm, but very few Oaks.

Walking from the station to Cambridge center a striking feature of many houses along the way was their naming right above the front door. Row houses are also a common feature of the city. Along Orchard Street from where I entered my apartment there was a long row of wonderful workers cottages. I would learn more about these cottages as each hour an open top double decker tour bus would stop by, its upper floor at level with my desk and just a meter outside my open window. The recording reported that they were built by Charles Humphrey in 1825 for servants quarters. They were built with two bedrooms, but there are no windows in the large second floor roof sections. They are quite preciously preserved and sought after, one having sold recently for 750 thousand pounds. Each evening I would sit on a bench in middle of Jesus Piece's Park and watch Cantabrigians (or Cantabs) go about life, townies and students alike. One thing I noticed which makes it challenging to walk in the town is that there seems to be no convention on which side of the path to walk, people walk and cycle on both sides simultaneously leaving one to cross over continuously. On Saturday night a charity walk was arranged and a flood of thousands walked by my bench, most lit up with multicolored flashing lights in simple of complex designs, some had wings. Whatever shop sold that product did a swift business this month. Cattle grates are everywhere where town meets commons land, which is often grazed mostly by cattle who seem unbothered by runners and walkers, nor dogs. Meanwhile back at the Colleges apparently only "Fellows" can walk on the grass. Being a Fellow myself of the Institute of Chemical Engineering I took license. One evening a stream of middle aged men dressed finely with dickie bows passed by, probably on way to a ceremony, of which there are many in the city. On any day one will see bespoke suits and dress in town and gowns are often worn. When cloth in regular gear, many students are in sports gear or else in Carhartt in unusual conformity, an American brand, which seems a bit strange in light of the current political tensions, but the brand itself is built on worker's clothing and support for workers rights.

Huge double decker busses traveled north and south along Emanual Street to the city center. On one hand, the double decker is a masterful invention, doubling capacity essentially for free and what better way to travel than sit upper front with full view of the beautiful city. The only problem observed though, was they mostly run empty, but for a small peak around pm running northbound. My impression what that Cambridge looks a little more like a city, less "cutsie" than Oxford, although with some its colleges and formal buildings more grand in style. There is no lack of chimneys in the city and it struck me as being even more so than Oxford. Each morning I would run north along the Cam Riverbank. All the rowing houses stand along the west bank ranging from grand Victorian to modern, the rowing digs are definitely better than in Oxford. Cambridge has more wins than Oxford too, money counts in sports and politics. Barges are moored all along the east side of the Cam where I ran avoiding the swans where necessary. English barges were designed to be long and narrow to fit through the narrow lock gates. Dutch barges are much wider as the cost to build wide locks is much lower in that country. Not only is English geology more expensive to carve out into canals, but the elevation changes much greater in elevation requiring more investment in high lock gates. The optimum financially in narrow. Most of the barges today are not for industrial use, especially in Cambridge, but they vary significantly in standard depending on owner, from well maintained holiday homes to barges in the most degraded state, their owners living in squalor. On cool sunny Saturday morning the Cam was full of rowing skulls in training, a few singles but many octupoles (8) with coxswain. It seems they like to train new rowers on large sculls as it helps keep balance while they learn the precision needed to place the ores accurately in the water at correct angle before pulling a power stroke. One false move of the ore in a single will land one in the water in short order, as I learned the hard way on my first day out many years ago.

In Midsummer Common, a large park along the Cam where I ran stood a large circus tent which played each evening, backlit by orange fingered clouds thrown up by the declining western sun, proving an air of mystique suitable captured in Tom Waits lyrics of the sing Circus: "And Funeral Wells spun Poodle Murphy on the target As he threw his hardware, Only once in Sheboygan did he miss At a matinee on Diamond Pier and She'd never let him forget it". One evening on my walk at dusk stopping in at the public toilet nearby I was reminded of a long bygone era half century earlier. Back in those days, entering any public toilet in Ireland or England one was confronted with full on graffiti covering the white porcelain walls. Much of it sexual or erotic, some even with phone numbers "for a good time". By a few decades ago it seems this practice had stopped and most public toilets have no, or minimal, graffiti. Was it due to better maintenance? Who knows, maybe after the erotica movement and porn became the internet's biggest business model there was no longer a need for people to take their unrealized fantasies to the bathroom walls. Anyway, the Jesus Green Public Toilets in Cambridge was a throwback to earlier days, "for a good time", phone numbers and all.

Mildred Anna Rosalie Tuker studied at Newnham College Cambridge in the 1880s and wrote The History of Cambridge in 1907. She starts the story earlier in Roman times, but there likely some speculation. Cambridge colleges started in 1284 with Peterhouse by St Peter's Church build upon the independent college principles laid out by Merton College Oxford a few years earlier, a compound with rooms, dining hall, library and Chapple. Cambridge was "seeded" by students fleeing Oxford after some trouble with the locals there. More followed over the next three decades; Clare, Pembroke, Gonville & Caius, Trinity Hall, Corpus Christi, Kings & Queens, St Catherine's, Jesus, Christ, Emmanuel, Sidney Sussex, most of which I had an opportunity to visit, at least the grounds. King Henry VI laid the foundation stone of Kings College of Our Lady and Saint Nicholas in Cambridge, as it is known by full name, in 1441 and by 1515 the Chapel was completed which would do justice to the name Kings, with its 24 meter high vaulted ceiling and impressive stained glass. One evening I attended Evensong at Clare College next door, student quire singing through a mass of sorts. A lady priest gave the sermon, something about our identities coming from a long well of history, hinting that we should not be making them up as is the trend these days. It occurred to me that Jesus (if there was Jesus) was probably also lectured by his elders not to be making up his new identity defying theirs, its an old story really. Darwin sat on a chair in the gardens of Christ College, a statue there as a reminder. Nearby a bust of Sir Jagadis Chandra Bose a famed Indian physicist and polymath (unrelated to Amar Bose of the speaker company Bose). Queen's College is a little cozier than Kings, with Tudor styling and a wonderful wooden "mathematical" bridge over The Cam.

Grafton Mall nearby my house was derelict. It was being transitioned into a tech park after having finally failed during Covid. Five decades of Malls being pushed on the public, tax breaks and all, maze like structures designed to extract rent from unsuspecting shoppers, destroying Main Street and the social structures along the way. It wasn't built easily, the local business pushing back for two decades before it got approval in the 1980's. By then the uncertainty had rattled investment which made the mall a "fait accomplis" but that did not have to be the way. Meanwhile right outside on "Main Street" (Fitzroy & Burleigh St) the plight of "actual" shoppers was put on display in stark contrast when I counted no less than eight (8) individual charity shops selling repurposed goods. Those, along with a cash exchange pawn shop, a used music exchange and a casino reflected the needs of that small corner of town. Nearby stands the Mill Road Cemetery, less of a cemetery than a park of transit center for locals, it was closed many years ago to new burials and does not even show up in my cemetery app, but stories are still there carved in stone for everyone to see.

While historically colleges were built upon a foundation of Catholic Religion as evident by the chapels located in each college site, Cambridge University does not require any religious affiliation to attend. Religion shifted to Angelical under King Henry VIII. Today it is home to a facility of Divinity which covers a broad range of religions. Town in scattered with gathering places of all main religions and a few cults. Down at the Holy Trinity Church Cambridge near center of town, which is advertised as Anglican, they have thrown off all British reserve and gone full American Evangelical, hands in the air, new entrants are love bombed by Jesus. The C3 Church over on the east side has also gone full evangelical. Many don't get enough from traditional Anglican, which has tended towards secularism. Come have also reverted to pre Reformation by readopting Catholicism. The religions will continue to shift and bifurcate, but the tension remains between faith and science at such learning institutions as Cambridge, as the two approaches are incompatible, although many try to merge the two. There seem like many charity shops in town. Up on Main Street (actually Fitzroy & Burleigh St) nearby my house I counted a full eleven (11) which seems like serious competition. It is good that they provide opportunity to reuse items of value affordably, but one wonders whether the developers and the locals are aligned.

When in the UK I like to eat Indian food as the quality is quite good based on the historic ties to India. On my first evening I ordered from a 5 star rated restaurant. I should have suspected something was not right when they informed me in series that they had no lamb, no bread and no chickpeas. It was the worst. I didn't fare much better other evenings and got to wondering why there were such poor food options in Cambridge. One day, on a visit to Christ's College, I saw a sign for their dinner hall with a claim for great food, open six nights a week, plus an additional onsite day restaurant for in between. Each college has it's own high quality catering which which reduces the incentive for external food options to develop. The model is quite efficient and was central to how the colleges formed. All the needs of a scholar were met inside the college, so students could dedicate their time to study. Probably healthier also as most regular students are bombarded with junk food. Being tight financially, my early years at Teesside was fueled by the worst cheapest food from dodgy shops, but I learned in time to cook Indian and Sri Lankan food which was much healthier and did not cost much more. My favorite though was General Tso's Chicken from the Chinese Restaurant nearby, and I have not food any as good since. On my last night in Cambridge I had Indian food from the package section of Tesco Supermarket and it was notably better than the first night.

Two wonderful museums set in the Downing College are free to the public; The Sedgewick Museum of Earth Sciences and The Museum of Archeology and Anthropology, both well worth the visit. There was a large stone carved sarcophagus likely from the Roman era found in the area on display. A lady in her 20's was buried there with a live mouse and a shrew. Sylvia's Plath's poem goes:

This antique museum-cased lady

Lies, companioned by the gimcrack

Relics of a mouse and a shrew

That battened for a day on her ankle-bone.

The Polar Museum was interesting mainly for the replica of the boat sailed by Shackleton and crew from Antarctica to South Georgia Island (the original is in London college where Shackleton attended). Bring quite familiar with the story I brushed through the museum quickly, especially as one lady there kept crinkling her empty plastic bottle, it might as well have been fingernails on a blackboard.

Sunday was a day for technology with a walk down the Cam River to the Museum of Technology, located in a large steam pumphouse. What is striking about our technology journey recently is the rate of change; technology of our ancestors 10k years ago was likely similar to 40k years ago and most generations noticed little change one to the other, then we settled with agriculture or became nomadic herding domesticated animals - conflict arose among the two modernized ways of life, but also technology started to accelerate, farmers funded craftspeople to shape metals while herders mastered the horse and wheel to dominate the steppe and eventually the genealogy of northwest Europe, the stone and metal revolutions, on to organized states (Egypt, China, Greece, Rome, Persia) and against many odds the emergence of Science, driving a faster pace of change, but then comes energy in huge quantities initially in the form of coal, ancient solar energy locked in decomposing tree deposits. This last part if the story told at the museum, beautiful beasts of metal and precision at an industrial scale in the boilers and steam engines stabilized by huge flywheels. Having always a great love of the mechanical revolution in instruments, engines and technology of the 19th to 20th century I found the museum wonderful. But the change continued beyond a two century Mechanical Revolution to shorter cycles in development in Electrification, Ammonia, Plastics, and after WW2 Computing. I grew up in the 1970's with books, pad and paper and mechanics until in 1983 my father landed home with a Commodore 64 computer and I could immediately see the potential for so much from the machine, although I mainly used it for gaming. It helped me prepare for college and innovative use of computers to deliver on my degree. Cycles of technology which took thousands of years accelerated to hundreds, tens and now years or months.

Unexpected then at the end was a room dedicated to the companies, PYE and Cambridge Instruments. Of course the University needed scientific instruments and Cambridge Instruments was setup by Darwin's grandson and developed well, but a number of spinoffs occurred by individuals involved, including Mr W.G.Pye and UniCam by another. Charles Orr Stanley, an Iriah lad from Waterford originally, was a great salesman for Pye Instruments and saw potential in radio being developed by Pye, but there was not interest in the company, so Stanley sought a purchase by Philips which fell through, so he bravely stepped in with an offer. His only problem is not having the money to buy, so he shrewdly convinced his London bankers with a demonstration of the produced radio. Testamonials in the museum support the view that Stanley was a visionary, able to lead and bring people along, be unconventional in hiring and driven by vision. This works at the forefront, but the rate of change in technology and protected knowledge means that it is hard to ride the front wave forever, so a company needs to either shift to new technology, or master the back end delivery, which by 1960's was being taken over by Asia. He was forced out in 1968 and retired at Lisselan House in Clonakilty Ireland.

Midway through my visit I found a biography of Allan Turing by his mother Sara, in a quaint used bookshop, one of many worth exploring in Cambridge. His parents were in British Civil Service and spent much time in India, while he was educated back in UK. He was packed off to Southampton on a steamer from India when he was 13 years old to attend Shelbourne School, but there was a transport strike leaving no transport options for the 60 mile journey, so he procured a bicycle and cycles there, the staff there being quite surprised at his ingenuity and tenacity, a characteristic he demonstrated well during his life. Both Alan and his mother Sara hiked outdoors and seemed quite resilient and I was delighted to read that they hiked The McGillycuddy Reeks in Kerry when he was 15 years old: "The Summer Holidays of 1926 were spent by Caragh Lake in County Kerry. ... He and I climbed Carntual, the highest mountain in Eire, and also one of its spurs, Benkeragh, preceding the latter climb with a bicycle ride of some few miles". Turing's high school best friend (possible unreciprocated lover) was a science prodigy, Christopher Morcom, who had won a National Science Scholarship to Trinity College Cambridge, but died of tuberculosis before entering. Morcom's parents initiated the Morcom Prize in Science at Shelborne High School, which Turing won in 1930 and 1931. Turing was already considered brilliant by then but inconsistent, often getting low grades in exams, only to recover last minute when it really mattered. He was on his own path, did not respect authority, nor prescribed school programs, favoring self learning from first principles. He applied to King's College Cambridge, but did not get in first time, repeating a year which helped him mature further by all accounts of his mother. He won a scholarship in mathematics which started a long relationship with the college and Cambridge itself. He also spent two years at Princeton New Jersey and later settles in Manchester where he bought a fine house in Wilmslow. Turing was frugal in terms of luxuries for himself, living below his means but earling good money, and always generous in sharing it with others. I had not realized until reading Sara's account that he was a super athlete in many sports, able to run a marathon in 2hr 46 minutes. He worked at Bletchley Park top secret program during WW2 and apparently used his math skills to break through the German encryption code. He was a polymath in terms of interests and broadened into biology later in his career. He loved games, chess and go, but also playing practical jokes, or setting up challenges which required skilled thought to solve. Having recently studied Artificial Intelligence myself I was keenly interested in the huge contribution Turing provided in the foundations of computing and projections that underpin the AI revolution, although he likely did not expect it to take a full seventy years later before such machines could beat the best players in Chess and GO, which occurred mid 2010's. By the 2020's AI was already passing the "Turing Test"; that a human speaking with with an unknown entity in the next room could not tell whether it was a real person or an AI machine. Tragic then that Turing was destroyed by the homophobia of his day, not unlike Oscar Wilde, surely both deep talents with many decades more of innovation to provide our society, but cut short. Turing committed suicide two years after a conviction for homosexuality and a plea bargain requiring him to be chemically castrated, which would have been detrimental to his physiology, especially with his level of both mental and physical prowess. Sara does not acknowledge his orientation in her book, and suggests that he did not die by suicide, but an accident from his home laboratory in the room next to his bedroom. As his mother she gets license to such views, but the public record still stands.

On my way back through London after this visit I stopped in to Westminster Cathedral and was glad to find both a Scientist's alter, dominated by Isaac Newton and a poet's corner anchored by Geoffry Chaucer, both areas of my interest and many of whom attended Oxbridge. Besides Turing, Newton, Darwin and Oppenheimer attended Cambridge. A late addition to the monuments at Westminster is dedicated to Stephen Hawking, who also attended Cambridge and has an interesting story. He was clearly brilliant from an early age, but not without his difficulties and developed motor neuron disease in college which grew to disable many functions of movement, but he persevered with help of computer vocalization. A recent biography released with approval of his family paint a not so heroic picture of him, being dismissive demanding and claiming credit for other people's work. One example I already knew was his discovery of "Hawking Radiation" which reveals how energy flows back out of black holes; the concept came from Jacob Bekenstein, plus input from two Russian scientists, he was initially dismissive, but after he investigated further came to understand it as viable and claimed credit for himself. Another interesting character who used to visit remote parts if Ireland regularly (see book Wittgenstein in Ireland) was philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. From a wealthy Austrian family he had a huge inheritance which he mostly gave away and lived modestly himself, often in basic and remote cabins or cottages in Norway or Ireland. Three of his siblings committed suicide and he suffered from depression himself at times. He attended Cambridge under tutelage of Bertrand Russel before WW2, but enlisted as soon as the war broke out. He met David Pinsent (of the famous Hume family) in Cambridge and they became close friends (some claim lovers), but Pinsent died in a plane accident near the end of the war. Wittgenstein wrote some confusing books of philosophy which he could not even explain, but grow to quite influential in later years, returning to Cambridge regularly but found that he could only really think when living remotely. Consensus has it that Wittgenstein is one of the most influential 20th century philosophers, which may be. My view is that he is a fascinating character, brilliant, unconventional and dedicated to his work in language, math, logic an philosophy which generated some interesting concepts, but he could not work them out clearly nor with evidence, so was confusing and in many ways it now seems like baby steps based on what we have learned since in language, for example. He was clearly brilliant enough to get praise from Bertrand Russel in his early days at Cambridge, but his delivery over time has not kept up in Russel's view. Daniel Dennet wrote that he wrote "a book of such tantalizing perplexity and controversy that it stays on the required-reading list for centuries to come", which I would say is not an endorsement. The New Wittgenstein School of philosophy claims that if one reads his first book, Tractatus, as non-sense it all works out better. Other well known alumni include poets Sylvia Plath, Lee Kuan Yew and John Grey, writer Salmon Rushdie, economist John Maynard Keynes, naturalist David Attenborough, and the genocidal Oliver Cromwell.

Prior to my visit there was a report from Cornell University of a young woman having been gang raped at a fraternity house, which also dredged up many similar abuses plus hazing events at the American Greek frat house system. The problem with the American frat system is that weaker people tend to join groups for security and then do bad things they would never do as an individual because they transfer their responsibility to the group, expect their impact of their actions be exonerated by the group and often fall victim to a lead actor who eggs them on. There's nothing wrong with groups in principle, in fact, one of our strengths as humans is the ability to cooperate in groups, but the structure of the US group frats seems to amplify negative outcomes, with some 200 students having died of hazing welcome to their groups. Cambridge does not have fraternities. The colleges themselves are groups revolving around shelter, food, space, activities and chapel which not plagued with the frat house troubles. Most students then join groups of interest, from sports to art and debate. Some join, or are asked by invite, to join drinking societies and here's where the UK troubles begin. The UK version is less focused on gang rape, although sexual harassment is game as well as racism and classism, plus a good deal of conformism with matching jackets and symbols. Clubs like the Wyvers, the Caesareans, Ferrets Club, the Crescent are of note. A person recorded a drinking gathering of The Crescent Society lecturing on how "Inclusivity" is the worst thing in the world, picking up on Trump's push for exclusivity for the rich over the poor and marginalized. While much of the American dystopian discussions happen behind closed doors, this was recorded at a local pub, made more funny when a puny "enforcer" asked that he stop recording. It was revealed on "Grudgebridge" which provided an avenue of frustration of normal Cantabs against the behaviors of the entitled drinking societies. The Crescent Society was shutdown.

1825 Workers Cottages on Oxford Street, Cambridge

Christ's College Cambridge

Ancient Giant Tree before King's College Cambridge

King's College Chapel

King's College Entrance

Ceiling of King's College Chapel

Organ at King;s College Chapel

River Cam & The Backs of King's & Clare College

Cloister Court at Queen's College


	Mathematical Bridge at Queen's College Cambridge

Huge Tree on Christ's Pieces

Entrance to Trinity College Cambridge

Fish at Emmanuel College Cambridge

Emmanuel College Cambridge

Chapel at Emmanuel College Cambridge

Whipple Museum of the History of Science

The Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

Gonville & Caius College Cambridge

View from The Backs Cambridge

Jesus College Cambridge

Rowing Eight Scull on the Cam River Cambridge

Valve at Cambridge Museum of Technology

Cambridge Museum of Technology

PYE exhibit at Cambridge Museum of Technology

Commodore 64 Computer at The Centre for Computing History

King's College Chapel Cambridge

Christ College Cambridge

Rainy night on Orchard Street

Peter House College Cambridge

Trinity College Chapel Cmabridge

Trinity College Cambridge

Sydney Sussex College Cambridge

Manchester, UK

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 25 Apr 2026 18:37:00 +0000

Manchester - Yungblud - Industrial Revolution - People's Rights - The Gay Village

Manchester, home of the machine era

The dates for Yungblud (Dominic Harrison) concert tour 2026 in Europe and USA did not match my travel plans - he was in EU while I was in US and visa versa for the most part, but I did find one date which would work only in Manchester, UK. I had bought the last 6 tickets to a suite on upper floor, so along came Annette & Liam, plus Mike & Anne and one kept for Conor, but he was in no state to join. Glad to have the opportunity to explore the city, we spent a six day long weekend there with amazing sunny crisp, cool and warm weather for the entirety. After an amazing journey on the EuroStar from Paris to London, then a fast train to Manchester, two hours each leg, I arrived in Manchester mid afternoon. Annette & Liam would arrive from Amsterdam that evening, Mike & Anne from Ireland on Saturday for the concert.

My first walk around town was to find the AO Arena by Victoria Station. By nine the next morning there were hundreds of people lined up (or sitting down in lineup) to enter and get the space at front near stage in standing area. Mostly girls 16-30 years old with lots of goth and black makeup, but a few boys also, well done up in the black face arts also. These were his original fans from the first phase of his career and seeking out front mosh pit, as he usually does a walk by and also pulls out a guitarist to play with his (they must surely be vetted beforehand). Most of the recent fans are from the old rock era and likely wealthy enough to pay for seated tickets, or not mobile enough to stand and dance for six hours. Anyway, more of Yungblud later.

No museum is unworthy of a visit when exploring a new city in my view, but I found the exception to the rule: the National Football Museum located prominently in center of Manchester, the city being famous for its team globally. Not sure why, but I have little interest in football (soccer) and the more money or professional the less appealing. Not that I was a bad player and could have excelled myself in the sport, but my preference was solo sports. "Sportsmanship" is put forward as the benefit of such games and I am sure the aspiration would help cooperation in a competitive society, but what I see more of is the hooliganism, corporate profits, corrupt FIFA, 400 dead building stadiums in Qatar and the tribalism which seems to lead people arbitrarily to an in and out group dynamic. An exception may be Gaelic Football, where players only come from the county they represent and the do not earn money for their play (i.e. not professional, but amateur and very talented), so at least one is supporting their locality, more like in ancient times, while respecting the other team.

The Ryland Library had much more appeal with 750 years of history and a rare collection of the world's oldest books. One page on display was a report to police in Egypt in 29 CE. Sentheus complained to the authorities that, while he slept outside for the heat, a burglar tunneled into his house from the next-door beer shop, stealing money, food and tools. The former brewer was named suspect. On display also a book by the great Copernicus showing calculations proving the earth rotates around the sun, rather than the authoritarian view of the time that the earth must be at the center. The printed pages are heavily annotated by Copernicus' own hand. In facts philosophers had suspected as much for thousands of years, but such a truth would undermine the power structure of the church in society, so was banned, Galileo himself spending years in house arrest for the belief. A book on display shows correspondence from 1748 recording Manchester's commercial interest in the slave trade, supplying standard clothes for slaves in exchange for sugar in return. Another book on display showed the correspondence between Scottish machine maker, McConnel & Kennedy and a Birmingham supplier, Boulton & Watt. The year was 1797 and underpins the foundation of the coal and steam induced industrial revolution starting in the textile factories of Manchester. Technological revolutions start slowly at first, then quickly and eventually transforms our world. It started with more advanced spinning machines which made more, better and consistent cloth. These factories were located in the countryside near water power to expand capacity. There was resistance, with some machines being smashed by workers afraid of losing their jobs. Meanwhile, by the late 18th century, Scotting and English engineers had figured out how to extract work from heat via steam and the most promising use came from spinning cloth. The combination of steam power and spinning machines, relocated to the city of Manchester, transformed cloth production. Henry Creighton, a Birmingham engineer recoded his years installing steam engines in Manchester from 1800 to 1815, which underpins how early the industrial revolution started in the city. It was Frenchman Sadi Carnot who was first to analyze the steam cycles and determine the scientific principles which led to thermodynamics, and was built upon by James Joule (for whom unit of energy is named) and Rudolf Clausius, all of whom I studied as an engineer.

All technological revolutions bring both benefits and negative impacts for society or the environment. Manchester's steam driven cloth revolution initiated over two centuries of fossil fuel extraction, coal, oil and gas, which has released two trillion tons of CO2 in the atmosphere and shows no sign of slowing down. While the massive amounts of energy available from fossil fuels have been hugely beneficial to society over that period, there are severe downsides in store in climate change. Many of the same scientists who figured out the steam engine also figured out the warming potential of CO2. In fact many of the same equations are used to predict the 3-4 degree Celsius temperature rise currently projected for our planet. Too many people in society have decided to believe the equations when it comes to using fossil fuels, but not believe them when it predicts climate change. The industrial revolution, for all its benefits, leaves future generations deal with heat, drought, storms and sea level rise, mass migration, plus stress on nature. Another key downside of Manchester's industrial revolution was poor treatment of workers, from coal mines to the factory floor. As synonymous as industry is to Manchester, the resistance of workers is just as much associated with the city. Over in the People's History Museum alongside the Irwell River this story is told. At the entrance is a grand old brass and wooden clock designed with a punch card for workers. Twelve hours a day, six days a week was a standard minimum, child labor the norm, safety risks without insurance, no safety net if one fell ill. The only question society has to answer is how wealth and pain are distributed. The answer was clear for the first century of what was called "progress"; the wealthy took the main share, the poor were exploited. There's irony in a revolution which is based on supercharging progress with cheap energy, which should have reduced working hours, but the opposite occurred. We evolved to work twenty five hours a week as hunter gatherers and progress brought 19th century laborers up to eighty hours, children and all. Machines were capital intensive so must be used for longer to pay off, driving long days. There's a lesson here for our upcoming artificial intelligence revolution, with silicon valley already adopting Chinese 9-9-6 working hours, don't expect we will gain any benefits from the technology which we don't fight hard to gain back from those in control.

Besides workers rights, Manchester gained a reputation for people's rights including the marginalized group. Alan Turing, born in London, and having made huge contribution during WW2 in code breaking, joined Manchester University after the war and developed the early foundations of computer science. For all his contribution to society, he was convicted of homosexual acts, chemically castrated and committed suicide. Who is the sick one here, Turing or the society which would do such a thing? Turing is well memorialized in Manchester, with a statue in The Gay Village, and many other references across the city. Liam and I visited The Gay Village Sunday evening, the summer weather drawing a crowd to the outdoor terraces overlooking the canal. Christopher, a local gay guy joined us soon after, giving us a rundown of The Gay Village and all the guys within stones throw with whom he had slept. He had left three guys nearby to come talk to us and we got the impression the trio was glad to get rid of him (Samuel, Larry and Mike were their names, we ran into them at a techno club later). We had also planned our exit from the overly talkative day drinker too, but not before we got some stories. I asked about the St George's parade that day and Chris gave me some good insights. Anybody could be proud to fly a British flag and many do, and why not the English fly their own flag, the St George's flag, white with a red cross. Indeed, it is an innocent question, but the answer is more nuances when mixed with nationalism, and a belief that the non English should go back to their countries of origin. One could support such in the case of Nigel Farage heading back to France, most of the rest of the multicultural society of Britain come from the world they owned, which is about half of the global lands. With that bit of wisdom from Christopher, we departed for a cabaret at the other end of the street. Met by a beautiful blond transvestite earlier, some 6'6" or maybe 7ft with the high heals, we were invited there. He was male when we returned later and sang outrageously well, across a wide range of music, Ren to Aretha Franklin. Rooms in the People's museum are dedicated to the fight for gay rights displaying many banners used in marches over the years. "2-4-6-8 Is That Copper Really Straight" read one rallying call. Another showed the alliance between the Unions for workers rights and Gay rights. The anomaly is not that gays are free in society, as the historical record shows a long history not only of gays in society, but highly intertwined and open. King James, sponsor of the famous bible translation favored by Trump was Gay (Trumps likes the gay anthem "YMCA" also, but then actively works to take their rights away). Greece and Rome both had gays in the military, as it made years long campaigns palatable. Alexander "The Great" was gay and no pushover. Anti-gay religious dogma in recent centuries is the weird part, like really, who cares what free people do? Manchester supports that freedom with pride.

As the prosperity of the Industrial Revolution gathered momentum in Manchester the workers toiled in poor conditions and had no representation. 60,000 of them gathered peacefully in St Peter's Field in summer of 1819 to demand rights. A cavalry charge killed 18 and injured many more. It is remembered as the Peterloo Massacre. They lost that battle, but later gained voting rights in the 1832 reforms. We had deep experience with the way the English elites treated the Irish, but I often heard that they treated their own people not much better and the evidence is all over the Industrial Revolution. Over at the Science & Technology Museum the large collection of early factory steam engines had me fascinated based on a love of engineering. Any major advancement in technology can be used for good or bad and history shows that in the hands of a wealthy elite, the poor will suffer. After all, shouldn't the machines help people work less? Artificial Intelligence is now gaining momentum and is held in the hands of uber wealthy elite, what could possibly go wrong? In the museum was a perfect 1905 Rolls Royce 5 hp car, one of the early versions, built in Hulme Manchester. Industrial development continued in Manchester over the centuries. Metropolitan Vickers invented the Mass Spectroscope, common in my industry for identifying chemicals.

The weather was great the weekend and the city packed, even on Monday. Many original grand older buildings still stand and are renovated, while the city has also developed many new skyrise buildings giving an eclectic look, a good balance overall. I walked into the modern Dalton Building at the University one day and wandered the halls, observing lectures on ethics, science and geography. Looking for a museum there, I was told it was closed and by appointment only for researchers. Surprising to be allowed to wander the building so freely without registration. Dalton was a scientist famous for his law defining the partial pressure of a substance in gas over a liquid which is core in Chemical Engineering for separating compounds by distillation. Up in town the central library was a welcoming place, easily accessible and with some exhibits, including one on multicultural nature of Manchester residents and another on local dialect versus perceived wealth. Outside was a statue of some people in misery called Adrift, by Irish sculptor John Cassidy. Across the street stands the grand Midland Hotel displaying an antique Rolls Royce at the door. Trams rule city transport, but we found all of the central city within the ring road accessible on foot within 15 minutes. The university attracts quite some students from commonwealth countries, especially Asia. Many Asian businesses are located in the city and there is an active Chinatown.

Manchester is dense with coffee shops and pizza restaurants we learned. With great weather outdoor dining was in high demand all weekend. We landed a table outside at El Gato Negro Tapis Bar, great food with prices to match and no smoking. Apparently all the restaurants are no smoking in UK even outdoors. That's the freedom they get for BREXIT (haha) while we can smoke in EU. We were directed to Stevenson Square on the North quarter where the pubs allowing smoking at the vast array of benches there, which were packed on this sunny weekend. We found a table at a little courtyard at The Mother of Invention pub, which had a great live band. Early in the weekend Liam went to Yes basement and The Pink Room, four floors of live music. Would have joined, but still jet lagged and better get good nights sleep before Yungblud the following day. Techno in basement was by an international DJ, but she was playing a bit Tiktok like and the crowd dwindled. Techno is amazing to dance to, but for a DJ it is like tickling fish, gaining a response from the crowd and building it to a long session is not always easy. He ended up on the third floor at an Eighty's night, which he wangled into for free. "See, that's how it's done lads" was the complement one African English lad shouted to his Caucasian mates who could not dance in tandem as they did, the lads said back that Liam danced like a Continental, all in good spirit. Another evening I went out around midnight and found Liam by his location at Club renae. He was surprised to run into me talking to someone in the stairwell there. Disco had been replaced with Techno and we danced with a nice group in a red glow of neon. The tree lads at The Gay Village, who left when we took over entertainment of Christopher, were all there and we had a good chat and dance. I spoke with one girl who was interested in why we were visiting Manchester. More than interested, she was doing a research project for the government on the subject. I agreed to do an interview with her the following month to support her research. Sent me a meeting link and I spent a hour with her mid June outlining my views of the city which she appreciated and I hope to receive a copy of her thesis at some point. Looking for traditional pub roast which I recalled from decades earlier on our last night we found The Black Friar Inn on the edge of city center, highly rated. As soon as we sat down in the garden a windy front moved in, so we migrated inside. Food was excellent, but not traditional by any standards. I must allow that English pub food should be allowed to evolve with the times also.

The music and club scene is famous in Manchester, many bands getting their start there. In his book Mancunians, local David Scott covers that scene and much more from the 1980's to today. Intertwined in the book are narratives from many other locals also describing the scene. By the 1980's Manchester was suffering from decline and deindustrialization, plus the effects of Thatcher policies. The malaise probably fueled the music scene and informed the lyrics of bands like The Smiths. An IRA bombing in 1996 caused much damage and would have killed many people had an evacuation not been successful. The IRA claimed responsibility, but no-one was every convicted of the terrible crime. Rebuilding helped regenerate the city, although Scott points out that momentum for regeneration had already been underway. Twenty one years later, in 2017 another bomb killed 22 people and injured many more. Manchester is resilient though and has modernized and prospered into the 21st century. Much is made of The Hacienda nightclub which operated from 1982 to 1997 and was famous for advancing music of the era. Located in an old Yacht warehouse along the Rochdale Canal it featured groups like The Smiths in their early days and Oasis, both out of Manchester, but also internationals like Madonna's first UK tour. It got sloppy on the finances and drugs became an issue, so eventually closed and was demolished for re-development. An apartment stands there today by the name of the club. For some reason I always assumed "The Bee Gees" disco and excess vibe of the 1970's were American, fitting the genre of the day there, but they were brought up in a suburb of Manchester. More aligned with ABBA than The Smiths, they were a true bastion of the disco era, singing in a high pitch. David Scott in his book points out that there were in fact many other music venues and too much emphasis is put on The Hacienda. Still it is an anchor point to this day, we even attended a Hacienda night in Kansas City recently where music from the Manchester club was played. I learned from his book the story of Tony Wilson, owner of the club and quite a character. The story is nicely told in the film 24 Hour Party People, with Steve Coogan playing Wilson. Left in politics and passionate about music, he managed many bands under the label Foundation Records. He was probably not such a good business man however. Contracts were not in place and money did not adequately flow from the bands, nor from the club, which was being bleed also by the Mafia which ran the door. Happy drugs from the 1980's evolved to menacing culture of the 1990's. The club closed door in 1997. Andy Burnham was elected mayor of Manchester in 2017 serving two terms with majority support. Even with challenges like the bombing and covid he was considered a success and would subsequently become Prime Minister as Keir Starmer stepped aside.

Each day I would run up the tow path on either the Rochdale or Ashton Canals heading north east from the city. They served the many factories and industry along the way, most now converted to commercial or residential properties. The canal network is not extensive like Amsterdam and the terrain is challenging, requiring lots of lock gates. It is strange then that so many dead bodies have been found in Manchester canals over the years, some eighty plus over the past few decades. An urban legend emerged of a "Manchester Pusher" serial killer being responsible for many of the deaths, but no evidence appears. There was one confirmed pusher case of a cyclist in 2010, but seems to have been an isolated incident. More likely a hard drinking nightlife culture, pubs on waterways, dark streets and unprotected waterways are the main culprit.

Each evening as I smoked a cigar on the street a city worker in yellow jacket walked by to restack the trash bags and gave me a good salute. The large stack of white bags caught my attention, the same size each day. "Was that for many businesses around here", I asked, trying to gauge the sustainability factor of landfilling in support of our daily lives. "No, just one, that one on the corner" came the reply. The Pret-a-Monge, a French style fast food shop or reasonable quality. ""Too much trash" we both agreed before he moved on his evening rounds. Nearby a homeless lady in a tent got a full night's sleep before the police politely evicted her at 10am, quite kind of them, like checkout time at a hotel please madam. Another couple I saw each evening gathering cardboard to construct their abode in the back alleyways. We learned by out own experience, homelessness is often a combination of mental illness and addiction, sometimes just mental illness alone, such that one can not function in society. With one extra ticket for Yungblud we had hope that Conor would stabilize and come over. His journey in the four months since purchasing the tickets had him instead bounce around between serious drug addiction, homelessness, working odd jobs, sleeping in his car, and multiple attempts are recovery centers, all to no avail. The day we arrived in Manchester, he was kicked out of Atchison Valley Hope for being uncooperative and was homeless again. Any money we could send would go to Methamphetamine, enabling his destruction. All we could offer is support if he stayed sober and in recovery, surely more comfortable than living on the streets.

A Yungblud concert on his Idols tour was the reason for our visit. We entered the AO Arena by Victoria Train Station just before 7pm Saturday evening and were led to the suite for six that I had booked many months prior. There were five of us, with one spare ticket for Conor unfulfilled. The suite was better than expected, with a full bar and an attendant. His formal name is Dominic Harrison, but "don't call him Dominic", I have hears him say, that's what his mother calls him when he's been naughty. Brought up in Doncaster, 50 miles east of Manchester, his family ran a music and guitar shop which was an early influence in a love of music. The music shop failed eventually and many of the older influences in his life discouraged a career in music, as they had seen how difficult it is to succeed. Reporters often over emphasize his connection to the family music store, but it is important to understand the that the shop closed when he was eleven years old and not every son of a music store owner becomes the hugely skilled performer he is today. Dom was determined, had talent and pushed on his own way, moving to London and after a few false started eventually landed a record contract and a following. With the risk of oversimplifying he has had three main eras to date: raw talent and original early period which landed him on the stage and releasing great albums, then a brief more corporately stewarded period where his music was "dumbed down" by committee and finally his breakout to release the full breath of his voice and talent in Idols. Idol's is actually a combination of the first and third era, minus the in-between. That was quite a good strategy, as he was able to introduce his latest audience to his earlier work. He did it by releasing two Idols albums, Idols and Beyond Idols. "Hello" is 9 minutes long and has some framework from early rock music. Androgenous or gender fluid is a term thrown about by reporters on his work incorrectly in my view. He's all Man, just on the spectrum like many of us and well able to wear it. "I don't like his later work, but still delighted to see him tonight", I heard one fan in the line of his first and second phase music. That's understandable, as he is covering everything from effeminate emo vibes to tough rock and roll. Its true he incorporated modern angles on mental pressure plus acceptance of all sexual categories, but the core performance and visuals is not unlike the 1980's rock bands from Black Sabbath to Scorpions, Aerosmith and Bowie. Lots of spandex and sexually fluid costumes, not really questioned by the mainly straight young men who were drawn to those bands. We monitored the fan pages over the weekend and saw that he had stopped in at Johnny's Bar and Parlor in Harrogate, shown pouring Guinness. Let's say he does not have the talent of his sister, Jemima, in pouring Guinness and got a lot of soft ribbing for his glass of foam.

Well along on his Idols tour by the time we saw him in Manchester he had his sound down to a reliable routine. He loved being on stage and really shows it, always doing a number of walks along the front line of the mosh pit crowd, the same people who were lining up early in the day to get the best position. Our seats were on the side high up, with an eagle eye view on the stage, so we got to see all, including his walks out among the crowd and playing guitar in the crowd. One other performance we saw at Manchester Royal Exchange Theater was Noel Coward's Private Lives. Inside a grand old building was built a round theater including a round stage viewable from all sides, making for an intimate experience. During an interview after this trip with a researcher for Manchester council I was well able to provide feedback on the many great thinks the city has to offer.

Halls of Rylands Library

John Rylands Library, Manchester

Police Report from Egypt CE 29

Copernicus proof earth circles sun with annotations

John Rylands Library, Manchester

Union Gay Alliance Banner

Peterloo Memorial, Manchester

Early Steam Engine driving Manchester Textiles

Centrifugal Regulator of steam engine

Industrial Spinning Machine or Manchester

John Rylands Library

The Midland Hotel, Manchester

Memorial to 2017 bombing victims, O2 Stadium

Modernity grows from ancient foundations of Manchester

Mitre Hotes, Old Wellington & Sinclair Oyster House

Yungblud Manchester

Noel Coward's Private Lives, Royal Exchange Theater

Performer at MAYA, The Gay Village

Terrace Suites, AO Stadium, Manchester

The Black Friar Inn, Manchester

Club Renae Techno Dance Floor

Galveston, Texas

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 15 Apr 2026 16:01:00 +0000

1900 Storm - Mansions - Industry - Rail - Graveyards

Gulf of Mexico roils far off to the deep from Galveston

My first visit of Galveston was in 1994 as a young engineer working to evaluate the expansion of a large Mont Belview natural gas liquids fractionation unit. Mont Belview is the largest processor of natural gas liquids (ethane, propane, butane) globally. After work one week day we drove to Galveston, my colleague and a young lady intern at the company there, for a swim in the Gulf of Mexico and have a seafood dinner. The draw of the sea had me come back regularly evenings and weekends to enjoy the sun, sand, breeze, warm ocean and what I recall with passion as a beach full of half naked twenty-somethings swimming and partying. Over three decades later I returned for a long weekend staying at a classic century old shotgun house at 907 Broadway near the beach and all the action. There was a mosque next door, a nod the the eclectic nature of the city. While sex and sea were mainly on my mind back in the mid 1990's on my visits, I would learn after years of visits back, how wide the range of diverse interests exist in a city of just 50K people, some twice the population of my small home town of Tralee, Ireland. Galveston definitely punches above it's weight, but one needs to search beyond the surface to properly understand the city island.

Galveston gets status partly because it is on the leisure coast, and partly because it is on one of the highest volume shipping routes and ports in the country. However, it pays a high price for the risk factor of hurricanes and will ultimately be relinquished, as sea levels rise over the next thousand years spreading plank, brick, steel and concrete to the elements of nature. Galveston only emerged as a coastal barrier island eight thousand years ago after the sea level rose 300 ft to current levels and stabilized. For Galveston it is not about the destination, but that brief journey of nine thousand years. Native Americans sought it's wealth of sea food resources, plentiful fresh rain and naturally cooling sea breeze. Pirates sought it for isolation and distance from governing powers. Immigrants sought it as an alternate to New Orleans and direct route to Texas. Wealthy sought it as the original seat of Texas and stayed, at least part of the time. Rail roads sought it as an avenue to export and import goods. Navy sought it as a base and training ground. Millions of people each year seek it to cruise the Caribbean. Homeless people seek it because you won't die of hypothermia in winter and summer is moderated by the sea breeze (I would certainly choose Galveston if I were homeless). I sought it because I love the ocean and hate staying on Houston hotels.

Today Galveston claims only fifty thousand residents, plus some seven thousand hotel rooms and a few more short term house rentals than the locals would like, but it also swells with day visitors from Houston an hour away. Moreover, some 3-4 million cruise ship visitors transfer via the port. A good quantity of the energy and goods imported and exported from the country come via Galveston.

The mansions and institutional buildings of Galveston before the 1900 storm were magnificent, reflecting the aspiration to remain the dominant city in Texas. Few of them survived. The Menard House, the oldest in town and set at a high elevation survived, as did the Orphan's Residence, which was badly damaged, but rebuilt. Hubris of the Galveston meteorologist Joseph Cline helped convince locals the island was immune to major effect of hurricane, protected by the shallow waters offshore and without need for a seawall in his opinion. Eight thousand people died in the storm, a fifth of the population, the largest toll of a natural disaster in the country's history. Cline's hubris reminds me of that of the climate change deniers in the face of the huge body of science we know today. However, its is easier for the climate deniers as they won't be around to pay the consequences, but Cline paid dearly, losing his wife and unborn child that night. Galveston survived and was rebuilt, even with a 17ft high seawall and many fine mansions and institutions to this day, but it lost momentum in being a leading city in Texas. Houston took over, being higher and far enough inland to mitigate risks from Hurricanes, which strike the coastline regularly, doing significant damage proving Cline wrong many times over. Galveston had clear warning of the catastrophe of 1900 from Indianola down the coast in Matagorda Bay. It was a competing port town through which many immigrants arrived heading for central Texas, like the Germans of Fredericksburg. Two hurricanes had devastated it in 1875 and again in 1886, after which it was abandoned as a major port. Cline could take taken note.

A collection of cemeteries of various denominations at 40th and Broadway holds a remaining record of the devastation. Walking through the matrix of gravestones from the earliest days to current times I searched for those who died on September 7th and 8th 1900, of which there only a few. With so many dead and unidentifiable, many were cremated, buried on location or even in the sand dunes. Joseph Mealy, an Irish American, is buried in the Catholic section. He had just turned 25 when he perished in the storm, along with his sister, Julia, and mother, Margaret Sweeney, for whom there are no gravestones, probably indicating they were not found or recognized. The father, John Joseph Mealy Sr was born in Ireland and had died just two years before. Over in Evergreen Cemetery section four of the Seixas family are buried in a row, three of whom perished in the storm September 8th 1900; Amour, 26, Cecelia, 17 and Celia, 45. Survivors were lucky if they found the body of family members to bury, many perished never to be found. There were even cases where coffins of people who died earlier were floated up from the cemeteries in the surge and washed out to sea, never to be found. In fact the cemetery has been flooded with strong winds so many times, the subterrain is in quite some disorder. Furthermore, when the city elevation was increased in height, so was the graveyard, leaving many headstones half buried. Michael B Menard is buried also at the Catholic cemetery. Arriving in Galveston via Canada he became successful. Supplies were limited in early Texas, so he had a whole house brought to the island on ship from Maine and reconstructed. It was the island's first proper house and still stands today, a testament to solids Maine lumber. Michael O'Keefe, born in Cork Ireland September 25th 1839, likely emigrated with his family during the subsequent famine landing in Galveston where he is buried since 1892. Martha Murphy, born in Dublin Ireland in 1825 died in Galveston in 1871 and is buried there. Lola Colosia was only 16 when she perished in the storm September 7th 1900 and is buried in the Old Cemetery there. Her father has predeceased her, but she was survived by her mother and three siblings. A large number of people moved from Maine to Galveston as Texas opened up, including Captain Rufus Jameson (1820-1882) who is buried along with his wife in the Evergreen section. His wife, who survived him in 1882 has a sail ship carved on the memorial, a reflection of his seagoing days. All sorts of stories and curiosities reveal themselves from the cemeteries of Galveston if one does a bit of research.

Texas came late to slavery, but caught up fast. A third of the population were slaves by the outbreak of the civil war and they joined the Confederates in 1861. While Texas did not see major battles, it was a major supply line to the south throughout the war. A number of confederate soldiers are buried at the Galveston graveyards. Their memorials are pointed on top, the saying goes to stop the Union soldiers from sitting on their gravestones, while the Union headstones are rounded typically. Emancipation from slavery was signed January 1st 1863, but it took two and a half years for news to get to Texas slaves on June 17th 1865 in Galveston. Not so fast said the south, Jim Crow laws were soon on the books, forcing African Americans into a lower restricted class of citizens rights for a century thereafter. Meanwhile, the two political parties switches sides in response and there is no telling where things go with all of the cards in the air currently.

Touring the Bolivar peninsula and Galveston Island late in 2008 after the Hurricane Ike had passed over the area, I got a real sense of the devastating power of storm surge and waves. The 600ft long Balinese Pier, an entertainment joint popular since the 1940's, was gone completely and many structures outside the seawall badly damages, but the wall stood up to protect the main city. Galveston's Seawall was built in the decade after the 1900 storm and still stands firm today, which along with elevation of the island has protected it from the worst of damage in town. Bolivar, however, is a sandbank more like Galveston pre-1900 and was overrun by the ocean surge of water during Ike, clearing much in it's path. Some of the more robust houses on stilts survived, but everything below was washed clear by a river of seawater. Cars stuck out of the ground like seashells, the interior of houses lay strewn across the sands, at least the heavier pieces like toilets, the lighter things having been washed into the bay. Just a few months before the storm I had cancelled my lease on a bayside boat shed, Delino's Bolivar Yacht Basin, as I had planned to sell the boat after a great ten years of adventure. Lucky plan, although the sheds were on the bay side, they were badly damaged and the boat would have been washed away. One only gets a day or two notice of such hurricanes and with island evacuation it would be too late to go trailer the boat out before a storm like Ice, had I not already had the boat safely up in my Cypress property. The yacht basin is still there, but another later hurricane cleared away any sign of the sheds.

Having never been to Moody Gardens on the island I wandered by, but was blocked by a line of Ford Mustangs gathering at a park next door. Most were missing their exhaust pipes, I decided to move on. The gardens didn't look that interesting anyway, more of a theme park with rides. The Mustangs were gathering for a convention. Mostly boring late models, none from the inspirational early decade of the 1960's. Although I am a huge "Engine Head", there were not my people and probably best they were holed up in a parking lot on the edge of town. The following day they were let loose on Seawall Boulevard emitting decibels even the sea waves could not overcome. Their weakness and insecurities caused them to drive up and down all day long without their exhaust pipes, as if to say "Look at me, I'm a dickhead, I've removed my exhaust pipe so you'd have to listen to me and look at my car".

A number of cresting waves, especially near the piers, attracted a number of surfers, reminding my of my days surfing in Louisiana. The warm coffee like water, thick with the sediment of the Mississippi River, transports soil from farms who don't seem to see the value of keeping it on the land. At least its warm enough to surf without a wet suit. In town there is an small but informative Surf Museum, which lays out the evolution of the boards. It is really a Pacific Ocean discipline from ancient history. The pacific islanders having been such powerful seagoing people and navigators, plus living with such beautiful clear temperate waters and large deep ocean swells, its not hard to imagine how surfing on a board would evolve with these right combination of supporting aspects. Meanwhile, recent history in other regions had barriers. Seafarers in many cultures, including Ireland, would not even learn to swim out of superstition. There was an "otherness" to the ocean, not to befriend, but to fight against technologically and overcome or perish accordingly. The pacific peoples had a different relationship to the sea, more intimate, having so skillfully crossed from west to east to populate the islands. The early boards were long and heavy, by the discipline evolved as materials changed and experience expanded around the world. Wetsuits helped push the range of surfing to cold climates. Glasses put me at a disadvantage and as I don't like wearing contacts my surfing days didn't evolve over a swish and swim over gentler waves.

The pier was packed with fishermen and women hoping to catch dinner, although few seemed successful. They'd probably sooner catch a surfer as they ventured too close to the pier and hooks. Then some commotion at the end of the pier as I arrived caught my attention. A large fish had landed on the hook of a fisherman who seemed quite surprised. Others helped land it in and advise about measuring, weighing and tagging. 36" it measured. It was not going back. A short distance away two brown pelicans dive bombed the sea surface seeking smaller fish, more to their size. No dolphins breached the surface, but I had seen some the day before in the channel where they like the tides, current, ship wakes and migrating fish.

Most mornings I got coffee at Red Light Coffee Roasters for the good coffee, but also decent pastries. Long gone are the prostitutes, at least from 28th and Market Street, the old Red Light district. The area seems pulled between an industrial west and the city to the east, plus a very busy marine terminal to the north. Now renamed the Gulf of America, as incorrectly advertised by the Galveston Yacht Marina, which actually sits on the Galveston Channel, but who cares in a post truth world. Most of the bayside water besides the Marina is in business, commercial or industrial use. Two huge cruise ships showed up unannounced Saturday morning, their nine floors and more below towering over the city. Passengers coming and going clogged up all the northern arteries of the island, filled or emptied huge spaces dedicated to parking cars. Luckily they did not discovery my coffee shop. Peaceful Friday had turned into congested Saturday, so I found other activities to pursue. Nearby a derelict cement plant begged exploring and provided some peace and quiet. Drawings and plans for renovation from 2023 were strewn on the floor. It seemed like progress had been made, but then stopped. Maybe they ran out of funding, or had permit problems, but the site was left empty and unsecured.

Pelican Island lies just north of Galveston, a small island which has been expanded by reclamation. An industrial hub with a focus on maritime, its also home to Texas Army & Military Maritime University. Also home to the naval museum which I visited. The USS Cavalla, a diesel electric submarine is housed there and gives a good idea of how it was to live confined in the ocean. Small sealed doors isolate chamber along the axis of the vessel, one could be claustrophobic just on a visit, not mind living in the vessel. Sleeping rooms were packed with bunks for 15 men, showers and bathrooms very small, kitchen tight, and most of the functional rooms to run the diesel engines, electrical generators and systems, plus the torpedoes were not only tight, but crawling with instruments, valves, levers. I guess one advantage of the submariner, besides knowing that one could get crushed by tens of atmospheres pressure of seawater at any second, was that movement subsea is smooth rather than the rough passage of surface vessels rocked by waves. I would rather die in the excitement of battle rather than wait silently as the 23 submariners of the Russian Kursk, the only ones who survived in a seal compartment after torpedoes exploded. killing the rest. They waited for six hours and were running out of oxygen, which they did after a failed attempt to fix the oxygen supply system. Putin was on holiday and only authorized a rescue mission five days later by the British and Norwegians, who found them all dead. That we have evolved as beings to produce such technologically advanced engineered machines is an inspiration to me as an engineer stuck in the laws of physics, mechanics and science. That we use them for war against ourselves is our failure to understand, negotiate and cooperate and a race to the bottom of destruction, which we may well not survive as a species. Nearby stands the destroyer USS Stewart born mid WWII out of a shipyard in Houston. It served in the Atlantic and Pacific for five years and was put up in storage thereafter, eventually becoming a museum ship. While a bit more room was available than the submarine, it is still quite tight for a crew of over 200 and the small stacked bunks would not have been comfortable is rough seas. Both vessels were damaged by the storm surge of Ike, but have since been restored and well worth a visit.

Out in the Houston Ship channel that day were a number of large tankers and freighters awaiting orders. In the main lanes of the channel ships passed at speed (12.5 knots, 15 MPH) in both directions. When I arrived in Houston 25 years ago, most of the incoming liquid vessels were low in the water carrying crude from Venezuela, Mexico and the middle east. Today it is the outbound vessels which are carrying the crude or finished oil products, plus chemicals for export. This is mainly due to amazing fracking technology which continues to develop, but it will be seen historically as a final last gasp of an unsustainable oil industry in the long run. Although USA became the larges oil producer in recent years, it's reserves are thin and expensive to develop. The upside of US being oil independent, at least temporarily, is that there is no need to go waring in the middle east to secure reserves any longer. But we still war there for some inexplicable reason.

Oscar Wilde visited Galveston in June 1882, staying at the Tremont Hotel on The Strand and giving a lecture Monday June 19th at the Electric Pavilion. The venue was designed around the electric light, but the power was not working that evening, nor was there a sound system, so the audience, mostly women, could couldn't hear him well. The pavilion burned down two years later, so much for the safety of early electrification. It was a good or a bad event depending on which newspaper one read, but most agreed there was something different about it. Most likely just came to see the spectacle of the Aesthete in person. All the action was along The Strand, a main street running parallel to the bayside harbor, and still is today.

Galveston is where train engines come to die I learned one day while exploring the industrial west side of town. I counted at least sixty derelict diesel electric engines parked there in lines. Being quite familiar with Burlington Northern Santa Fe (BSNF) engines as so many pass through Kansas City near our house, their growling air horns reminding us of their movement day and night, I could see most of the engines were standard orange BSNF, but a few were black and yellow Santa Fe. Attracted to derelict things, I explored them a number of times over the weekend. Many engines were mostly intact, but for surface damage from intruders, so I assume they had become too expensive to maintain in service, needing engine rebuilds and electrical system replacement. Daily loading cards inside the cabs showed last day of service for some around 2010. Other trains were completely wrecked, likely having crashed or derailed in service. Piles of engines stacked upon each other as wreckage and decay would easily pass as art if relocated to a museum. When advanced infrastructure like these engines become become uneconomic, so does their orderly disposal. Surely the parts could be redeemed, the metals recycled and the clocks, gauges and levers sold to train enthusiasts, but even that is uneconomic. Instead they just sit there, bits and pieces being carried off by visitors, but no plan for the future. Even the tracks they sit on have value, but not enough to recover them. Why here on this island to put a train engine graveyard? Galveston used to be a large freight hub served by a large railroad yard, but containerization of freight and move to inland ports left the huge rail yard unused. The port is still quite busy but has shifted to liquids which can be pipelined and cruise ships who's passengers could in theory arrive on rail, but drive instead. The rail yard today is surrounded by parking lots for the passengers. I managed to free up two headlights from one old engine, sealed beam 200 watt 30 volt each. Just as I arrived back to my car a police truck drove up, but didn't seem interested in my presence. The following day I twiddled off a digital speedometer, clearly a safety add-on to the trains, with alarms for overspeed. What I really wanted was the two analogue clock type speedometers, but that would have been a more complicated operation requiring tools I did not have. I'd gladly pay the train company for the parts, but if I don't take them someone else will. The trains are being deconstructed in plain view.

Piles of beautiful yellow sulfur caught my attention on the bridge to Pelican Island. Gulf Sulfur Services gathers the hot liquid sulfur in rail cars from the oil refineries in the region and solidified it. Sulfur is a big brother to Oxygen on the periodic table and has many strange properties. As a solid it is wonderfully and resiliently yellow and stable, which is why it sits in piled under rain and sun in Galveston not bothering anyone. Combine it with Hydrogen and you get a gas that smells bad and can kill in seconds. In my office are various bottles of solid sulfur from the many sulfur facilities I have worked with over the years.

Back in town I visited many of the mansions and minor sites which capture the old world of Galveston's past and remain remarkably intact for an isle that gets battered by the elements as it does. A shop there on the west side housed an array of industrial antiquities and salvage from the many buildings having been torn down over the decades. During my stay at Galveston I was constantly triggered of memories of Grand Isle and Louisiana, where I have also spent much time and have warm memories. There are similarities, but also strike differences, too much to go into. The French influence in Louisiana is dominant, ramped up by the French Canadians (Cajans) down the bayous where I used to live. While some French architecture made it to Galveston, little else of the grand culture made it. Departing Galveston I flew to Paris France for a few days before taking the train to England, so I got my dose of Francoise there. The Parisons are not Guld Coasters though, they let you know you are tolerated but not welcome.

907 Broadway Avenue J, Galveston

Menard House, 1605 33rd Street Galveston

Moody Mansion, 2618 Broadway Avenue J, Galveston

Old Falstaff Brewery of Galveston, 33rd & Post Office

Halls of Bishop Palace Galveston

Seeding Galveston Community Garden 33rd & Ave N

Bishop's Palace

Devastation of 1900 Storm

Swimmers at Galveston 1909

Ships Prow, Bishop's Palace

Surf Museum, Galveston

Old Sign survives from 1904

Trinity Episcopal Cemetery

Old Cemetery Galveston

Evergreen Cemetery Galveston

Surfers off 61st Street Fishing Pier

61st Street Fishing Pier

Playing Ring Frisbee on Galveston Beach

The Brains of Galveston

Port of Galveston

Houston Ship Chanel

Dolphin and Pelican in Gulf of Mexico

Dolphin in Houston Ship Chanel

Traffic in Houston Ship Channel

Stolt Tanker awaits orders

Ardmore Chinook arrives

25th Street Pier in gaudy glory

Beach Bar Galveston

Kites fly in sea breeze

Ardmore Chinook, Chemical Tanker of Marshall Islands

Concrete freighter sunk in Houston Ship Channel

Scarab out fishing in bay

Hakone Galaxy arrives

Hakone Galaxy flying Singapore flag arrives to load chemicals for Guayaquil

Glorious Yellow Sulfur awaits export

Cruise ship arrives in port of Galveston

Gulf Mexico renamed Gulf of America

Galveston to Bolivar ferry terminal

Wind Turbines imported via Port of Galveston

BSNF Trains retired from service in Galveston

Caterpillar Cat 797F built in Illinois for export

BSNF engines from 1990's

BSNF Control Panel driving 4400 hp diesel engine

Galveston, where BNSF trains come to die

Tulsa, Oklahoma

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 17 Jan 2026 17:32:00 +0000

Tulsa - Oil Wealth - Race Massacre - Woody Guthrie - Art Scene

Graffiti Wall, Tulsa Oklahoma

Traveled as I am, Oklahoma had been a pass through state for me regularly over decades. Finally I made a destination state with a trip to Tulsa and was well impressed. First thoughts on Oklahoma may be Senator Imhoff protecting his oil buddies with his climate change hoax anti-science, or the pain of the Trail of Tears on eastern native tribes, or maybe the pain on African Americans of the Tulsa Race Massacre, or on everyone from the Murrow Federal building bombing of Oklahoma City, or the Dust Bowl, or maybe better thoughts from the musical: "Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain". Well its all there, plus much more.

Mid January, needing a break and with a cold snap was on the way, I decided to head south for the weekend. All my regular routes from Kansas City wouldn't do, I needed some place new. Tulsa it would be. It sits slightly off the main cross country transport routes today and I had missed it on my travels. Well actually I had passed the city in 1990 driving my Renault Alliance "Switch Matic" from Dallas to St Louis and broke down along the highway nearby and a man offered me a lift to Tulsa (I declined and got the car working again after a nights sleep). Also, I did visit Tulsa briefly in 2000 to visit a client, Williams, the large gas company about a project. It was in their prominent office downtown. Nice people. They had seen my work in Louisiana for Texaco and sought me out to support their gas plant in Wyoming which I visited later. I was in and out in one day, so don't count that as a visit. Now I would be back to see it for myself, apparently on Tulsa time: it took me 8 hours to drive the 4 hours from Kansas City for the stopping at so many interesting places along the way. Along Route 69 south to Tulsa I crossed the Neosho River and came across the sad story of Vegetarian Creek, a settlement in 1856 by Henry Clubb planned for 60 families and based on Vegetarian (or Vegan to be more accurate) principles. Many of them died of starvation and disease and the colony failed. Nothing remains but for a memory of the idealism which settled Kansas in the mid 19th century. That included Coffeyville Kansas where I helped to start a nitrogen plant, plus a few scrap yards. The shell of a cement mixer strewn along the side of the road was painted silver and dressed up to look like a space capsule. It probably fell of a truck one day and rather than spend the money to remove it, it was cheaper to call it art.

It got warmer all day heading south, but as soon as I arrived at sundown the north wind started to reverse that trend. I picked an old neighborhood on the north side of town and rented a garage flat for three nights. A yellow pickup truck has crashed across the street and was strewn there from the road through the lawn. It looked like it had been there a while and lucky as it would my milestone to find home, a nice 1920's house on North Denver. It reminded me of my old neighborhood in Coleman Highlands, a good century old housing development near city center which lapsed with age and was saved by gentrification. The north side is a food desert so I headed into town. Trader Joes, Whole Foods and my regular healthy food options were way in south side of the city where the wealth migrated. Not being interested in the commute, I landed on Ruby-Ds and Lot-a-Burger for the first two nights and Mexican the last night. Not sure I would come to Tulsa for the food. I wasn't the only one hungry, an army of homeless live near the center of Tulsa and were lining up around 5pm at the Salvation Army for food and more so for shelter, it being cold. It's similar in most American cities and there are many resources supporting the homeless, but the problem run long and deep through mental illness, drugs & alcohol and a Dickensian belief by society that God has cast the rich up and the poor down and there's nothing to be done (there are no homeless in Netherlands - it's not allowed - so there are solutions). That it would be harder for the rich man to slip through the eye of a needle than be good was turned on its head in Tulsa with the arrival of Oral Roberts in the 1960's to setup a university on the south side of town. On wall next to the 1st Presbyterian Church was written in graffiti, "We made Jesus God and lost the love". America switches the story to "money is the new god of wealth versus the poor, keep them in their lace while hiding behind a god of the oldest testament", unrecognizable to the concept of Jesus.

Friday night was hopping on Main Street from Cains Music Hall down to The Tavern. The Tulsa Art Coalition was open late hosting a monthly show of local art for sale. Good art for a good price, but for the two I really wanted which were marked by a red dot, meaning they were already sold. "The Keystone … (It’s Your Heart) by Michael Springer for $300 was well worth it, but sold. An artist entered the gallery just then claiming his piece was setup backwards, a stone lentil topped with three bent steel rods. I could see his point as he rearranged the parts, but also sure no-one would have noticed. Mazen Abufadil painted a carburetor, which is probably the only painting of a carburetor in Oklahoma or beyond. I have a soft spot for carburetors and was tempted, but it was a bit pricy at over $1000 and being that I almost bought four carburetors for $50 recently I was in a rationalizing mode.

Saturday I spend the entire day walking around town, entering southward on Boston Avenue walking in the center of the road, no-one could stop me as there was no-one there. It seems that Tulsa suffers the empty weekend disease, at least to an extent. Busy Monday to Friday, or Thursday and tumbleweed on weekends. Kansas City used to too when I arrived in 1993, but has evolved since. I have a great picture taken in KC by a local photographer from the 1980's of a lion walking down and empty main street among the sky scrapers. You could actually get that shot back then without putting anyone's safety in jeopardy. Cold sunny Saturday in Tulsa was beautiful and empty, but for the homeless, one to a street usually, probably more visible only due to the absence of others. Railroad tracks run right through center of Tulsa, a small canyon under the overpasses built to cross them. The center of the Universe is marked on maps on the overpass pedestrian way of Boston Ave leading to the true center of Tulsa, the BOK tower, a large but miniature version of the twin towers of New York and by the same architect. The low winter sun cast stark shadows of the towers of Tulsa as I headed south to the Are Deco area of town. Tulsa developed late, fast and rich attracting capital and people from the east coast into a state defines more by hardship and misery. The timing hit peak Art Deco and the facade of many a grand building in Tulsa retains the art today. Some of these buildings which were offices are not apartments, indicating that Tulsa is on a return swing to urbanity recovering from suburban expansion. A few modern ugly buildings were thrown up in the mix, like the Petroleum Club on 6th Street. West of town stand two convention centers, Arvest and BOK, one a square, one a saucer.

Back in town I visited the Woody Guthrie museum, the significant being that he was raised there in Okemah south of Tulsa. The most prolific folk singer, he sponged in all the old folk songs he heard during the tough depression era and wrote thousand of his own songs. He wasn't about performance, guitar and words, and words counted most. The museum is impressive, mainly because Woody was impressive (best listen to the entire audio storyline there). There is a strong echo of the authoritarian force over common people today that he experienced in his time, but he picked the correct side, fighting for all people. He was disgusted to learn that his father was part of the lynch mob who hung Laura Nelson and her son a year before he was born. None of us chose to be born, but we can take a stand for our fellow humans and Woodie did that powerfully. One in three were Native, African & European American in north east Oklahoma by the account of Woody Guthrie of his growing up. He had a deep social conscious which comes out in his songs. He was suspicious of the self aggrandizing of Irvin Berlin's "God Bless America" song, so he wrote a much better more inclusive song "This Land is Your Land". Besides being a great folk singer, song writer, he was an artist and man of culture, one of his note books commented, "All things are transient, fleeting, destines to pass away" Budda - Woody Guthrie. He claimed to be a-political with quotes like "Left Wing, Right Wing, Chicken Wing, It Don't Make No Difference to Me!", but he clearly aligned with the most good for the most people, give the common people a chance against oppression by the wealthy, very much a Lincoln Republican or left wing in today's politics. He fell into the naivety trap of the left, supporting communist Russia to such a degree that he was against US support for western Europe. When Hitler turned and waged war on Russia, he switched positions and was an ardent support of the allies, painting anti-fascist slogans on his guitar. He was a good man, highly talented capturing the real world in folk songs, more skilled at content than performance, but well able to get a crowd going. His writing is honest to the core when within his life experience, but he got Russia completely wrong. Sadly he suffered later in life from inherited Huntington's Disease, which compromised his brain function. Bob Seeger was a close friend and supported to his death.

Bob Dylan had visited Woody as his mind declined in hospital as was portrayed in the recent film on his early life. A block west is a museum dedicated to Bob Dylan, also an impressive archive of his talent and which stands mainly on the strength of the artist. While people and the press read deeply into his songs, he articulates well in the museum that they are just songs, nothing more or less, dissuading the idolization which tends to take place. He combined lyrics, melody, timing and voice to produce in people a deep connection with their own human emotions. Yet he distanced himself from having directed that connection, rather the listener makes their own reality of the poetic songs and music. He won the Nobel prize not for music but for for Literature. He hated to be hemmed in, rebelling against the acoustic guitar dogma of the Newport Folk Festival in 1965 with electric guitar. It was not seen by the youth as a time of good governance in USA, similar to today, and he rebelled with a quote "It is not an old people's world. It has nothing to do with old people. Old people when their hair grows out, they should go. And I look down to see the people governing me and making my rules - and they haven't got hair on their head - I get very uptight about that". Dylan played at Slain Castle in 1984, there was some violence in the background in town I recall, unusual for Ireland at the time, driven by drugs and alcohol. There was no sign of trouble at the event, he played an amazing set. Maggie's Farm took on special resonance for Irish fans with Thatcher in power in UK.

A block south on 101 Archer Street the university had a photo exhibit by S.J.Tyler, an amazing set of black & white photos of all sorts from the first half of 20th century in the region of northeast Oklahoma. From his base in Afton along Route 66, he documented in high quality an amazing history of the people from that time, Native, African, Hispanic and European indiscriminately. Exposed on glass plates which were stored away after his death his photos were only rediscovered recently. One photo caught my eye, that of a Las Angeles taxi fueling up in Tulsa on Route 66 taking five soldiers from west coast to New York after the war ended in 1945. African, European and Native Americans were all in the portraits there.

A little east of downtown, north of the railroad tracks was the Greenwood District where in 1921 a white supremacist mob burned down the entire African American business district and commercial center. Brass plates on the pavement identify names of business and home owners, as well as occupation, along Archer Steet. Doctors, lawyers, agents and shops were burned down. Booker T Washington called it Black Wall Street, well off as the community had become with decades of freedom since emancipation. Out of the ashes of 400 years of slavery and in the midst of Jim Crow south, African Americans had freedom to prosper in Oklahoma after the civil war. Some of them actually arrived with the trail of tears, enslaved by native tribes and freed in 1862 with emancipation. Oklahoma was less structured with a diverse population providing some unique opportunities. The story of Sarah Rector provides fascinating insights into the fate of Native and African people under the governance of Europeans. Herself a descendent of Africans who were enslaved my Muskogee Natives in the east, who were relocated to a reservation in Oklahoma south of Tulsa, she was allotted rights to 160 acres of land under a treaty of 1866. Being low on the totem pole even with Natives, she was assigned the poorest land, the fertile lots having been assigned to Natives and often sold to Europeans for farming. Her father struggled to pay the land tax, but wasn't even allowed to sell the land by the state. All lucky for her, as a prospector found oil of significance. "The Meek shall inherit the earth, but not the mineral rights", said J.Paul Getty, and people tried to swingle her out of her wealth. Now that she was wealthy, the Europeans wouldn't allow her manage her own affairs, she was forced to have a European guardian. Guardianship by the people who have oppressed your people for centuries was hardly a smart move and led to corruption of her interests. A move to declare her an honorary "White Person" was entered into the Oklahoma legislature in 1914, but didn't succeed, nor would have it been a shield from Jim Crow laws. After getting educated in Alabama she moved her family to Kansas City, buying a fine house at 12th and Euclid. Many people don't survive their sudden wealth, but Sarah lived a full life and maintained her wealth until her death in 1967.

The story supports the portrayal of the African American community thriving in Tulsa at the time before the massacre. However, a powder keg of hatred was building in the white community against the freedom and success of African Americans in their midst. A rape which never happened ignited the bomb which destroyed Greenwood. The story is well told at the Greenwood Rising Black Wall St. History Center located appropriately on Greenwood & Archer in Tulsa. On the north wall a quote by James Balwin calls out for recognition of issues faced by the community, "Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced". While white supremacists brought destruction the Greenwood in 1921, but there were other tensions within the white community which Woody Guthrie witnessed and sang about, the age old struggle between rich and poor. In 1917 Worker's Union employees were tarred and feathered in Tulsa for exercising their right to exist against the powerful wealth of the oil industry.

One could tell Tulsa had a bit of culture about it when German lessons were being advertised on the local radio station. One can smoke in bars in Oklahoma and Cigar Bars are common in Tulsa, a welcome sight. Sunday exploring south of town I had hoped to visit the Tulsa Museum of History as well as the Philbrook museum of Art, both set on parklands in the old mansions of Tulsa's century old oil wealth. They were closed for winter break unfortunately. Further south were the newer well off Wholefoods & Starbucks neighborhoods and the giant campus of Oral Roberts University built on the charismatic evangelical movement well lubricated with money. West across the river is the industrial part of town and a few oil refineries still in operation. US Route 66 cuts through Tulsa and still retains that name today along the original path made famous by early automobile travel from Chicago to Las Angeles. A village west of town displays a few signs and artifacts and many business display signs and artifacts from the earlier era of road travel. A large Goodwill warehouse west of town drew crouds. The outlet Center there threw out stuff on large trays which could be bought by weight. In town the Salvation Army locations were active and supporting homeless and addition recovery. Meth is a big problem on the reservations of east Oklahoma. East of town in a modest neighborhood stands a house used as the home base for the film The Outsiders, which has become a bit of a cult classic with a hefty cast. People who were teenagers in the 1980's milled around outside sharing stories from the film.

Sunday evening after early dinner I walked into town along Denver Ave I came across many homeless people gathering in line to enter the John 3:16 Mission homeless shelter for the night. They were of all ages and backgrounds. Someone jumped line and there were some stiff words to get resolved. Not everyone was going to the Mission, too many rules and some had other plans to defend against the cold spell. Beds likely run out at a certain point. The week after I left Tulsa they got two feet of snow, quite rare and surely shut the city down, plus put pressure on the shelters. Across the street a young man stood by earing a granola bar waiting for the line to reduce. He generously offered the second one in the pack to me. Further along a lady asked me if I was eligible to vote, promoting a YES for Proposition 836 for open primary in Oklahoma. The advantage being that Independents are represented also, plus it tends to elect less extreme candidates more representative of the voting population and laws which more align with their will.

Tulsa is great for old world signage, from the Vault Restaurant housed in an old drive through bank, to the Mayo Motor Inn, and the Goodwill 66 sign out west, or the signs and statues out east on Route 66. The low winter sun cast wonderful shadows among the high rise buildings. A little east of town stands "Cliff House" fabricated to look rick like. Nearby is the oldest standing house in Tulsa from 1880's.

Origin Coffee Company had become my regular, but was closed Monday morning as I departed. Large tents and crowds gathered in the freezing cold on the plains north of town for some event which diverted my exit from town, but I was soon up in Bartlesville and Dewey, a quaint town with museums and antique shops. They were all closed Monday. Just inside Kansas I stopped at the open air Little House on the Prairie Museum. Laura Ingalls Wilder, who wrote the books which led to a famous television series about early life on the prairie, lived on the property at some point early in her life. My route took me through Independence KS where I stopped at Mr Reid's Music Workshop on Main Street. I bought a bugle there, thought I might practice and see if I could get to play it. The shop was world class and surprising to be in such a small town. Steve Reid was of Irish heritage long ago and had visited the country, relaying some stories of the trip. He was a manager at the John Deer plant at Coffeyville and has a passion for music. He started the store as a retirement project of passion and serves a broad part of Southeast Kansas and East Oklahoma for sales and repairs. Along the road home I stopped at Neodesha Kansas where in 1892 W.M.Mills of Pennsylvania drilled an exploration well on the land of T.J.Norman just west of town. He said the well was a failure, took some samples and headed back home. In the mean time, knowing that he had discovered what would become one of the world's largest oil fields, the Mid Continent Oil Field, he bought up a million acres of drilling leases in the area, returning 10 months later to drill further and sell out to Standard Oil.

Ammonia Plant, Coffeyville Kansas

Winganon Cement Mixer Space Capsul,

N Denver Ave, Tulsa (house marker)

Bok Tower Tulsa

Art at entrance Williams, Tulsa OK

Art Deco entrance, Tulsa OK

Vault Restaurant (old bank), Tulsa

Art Deco Bank, Tulsa OK

Friese over Equity Insurance Building

1st Presbyterian, Tulsa

Art Deco facade, Tulsa

The Petroleum Club Building, Tulsa

Mayo Motor Inn

Tulsa Union Depot

Bok Building, Tulsa

Woody Guthrie was quite an artist also

Photo Room at Guthrie Museum

Bob Dylan's infamous Electric Guitar incident 1965

S.J.Tyler shot of LA Taxi crossing country w/US soldiers

S.J.Tyler shot of three gamblers

Laura and L.D.Nelson lynched in Okemah, OK 1911

Greenwood after Tulsa Massacre against African Americans

Classic signs along Route 66

The Golden Driller of 1966 exhibition (Exploiting God's Abundance)

Hands of Oral Robert's University

Sinclair Refinery, West Tulsa

Goodwill along Route 66

Cave House

Statue along Route 66

Old Ford at gas station east on Route 66

731N St Louis St, The Outsider's film base

Car at The Outsider's house

Cains Ballroom Dancing & Music Hall

Wall recognizing musicians next to Cains Dancehall

Evening skyline of Tulsa

The Keystone (It's Your Heart), by Michael Springer

For Glenn, by Mazen Abufadil

Art Deco at Adams Building

Steve Reid @ Mr Reid's Workshop and Music Store, Independence KS

Atchison, Kansas

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 10 Dec 2025 14:52:00 +0000

Amelia Earhart - Benedictine College - Foundry - Railroad - River - Independence Creek

Haunted City on a Hill

We had the opportunity to visit Atchison Kansas regularly over a month late in 2025 to visit our son who stayed there. Our last visit was almost 30 years prior to see the Amelia Erhardt house and museum there on the bluffs overlooking the Missouri River. Back again with time available, we could explore more it's recent history. The river generally runs southeast from Montana headwaters to Missouri where it joins and becomes the Mississippi at St Louis. In two areas the flow runs directly southwards providing unique geographic opportunity for the towns of Arrow Rock, MO and Atchison, KS. Taking the riverboat up to these points, and head west overland from there made for an optimum route. The surveyors of David Rice Atchison, the US Senator from Missouri for which the town is named, spotted this geographic advantage when they platted the new town directly west of the inflection point of the river as it turned from southward back toward east and Kansas City. The town came late to the rush westward of the 19th century. St Josephs, Kansas Town, Fort Leavenworth and Weston were all well established river towns when the senator gathered the investment for shares in the new town, set on 480 acres, bought at a premium. These were not the first settlers. The Laurentide Ice Sheet had reached this area a few times over the last few million years, shaping the geography and fertility, and probably even the course of the river channel. Throughout the Holocene Epoch Native Americans roamed the plains following the buffalo. Trappers, traders and possibly even Daniel Boone had visited the area before the Louisiana Purchase which brought it under control of the United States as a territory. Lewis, Clark and their crew came up the Missouri on a fascinating journey of discovery, sponsored by the US Government. They made it all the way to the pacific ocean, returning the same route. On July 4th 1804 they camped overnight at Independence Creek near Atchison. The Kansa had migrated to this region from Ohio centuries earlier, possibly from the pressures of European expansion west. Known as The Kaw, they give their name to Kansas. They were partly settled, with villages and farming, but also roaming with the herds. Clark reports visiting a large abandoned Kansa town (more accurately left vacant while they hunted) in the area. One their men was bitten by a snake, experiencing a swollen foot requiring medication. He and Lewis describes wetlands packed with fish, geese, bever as well as plains beyond rich in green grasses. What they report finding is a natural landscape in equilibrium with the native practices of the time. Today, at the site of their camp stands a rebuilt example of the Kansa earth mound houses, well capable of withstanding the cold of winter and onslaught of storms. What the Europeans would bring is massive industrialization of this natural world, stretching the grasslands to their limit, eliminating the buffalo, beaver and much more. By the 1850's the Kansa and other relocated native tribes were put on a number of reservations in the area, many of whom died of disease brought from Europe, to which they had no immunity. They were eventually relocated to Oklahoma where traces of their tribe still remain. In fact the local museum curator had just returned from a visit there to the tribe in order share and learn historic information, but found there is sadly very little trace of their history since moving from Ohio earlier. Elimination of native heritage was government policy.

Back in the 1850's David Atchison was a slave owner and pushed hard for Kansas to be a slave state, a battle he lost, just barely. Since 1854 when the town was platted, three constitutions had been issued by the Lecompton government of Kansas supporting slavery in the state based on a limited biased voter pool. When the vote was finally put to the fast growing population, many of them German farmers, the outcome was that Kansas would enter the union as a free state. Slavery was a construct of the wealthy class, while the common farmer, worker and immigrant was against slavery because it destroyed their prospects, as much of a cause as the inhumanity of the institution. "Bleeding Kanas" fight between pro and anti slavery raged in the future state from the founding of Atchison, fueled by Missouri slavers and eastern abolitionists, before the free-staters won in 1861. Lincoln visited The Methodist Church in Atchison December 2nd 1859 to outline his views, within a few years he would go beyond what even he had aspired to with the emancipation of all slaves in 1862. While discussing this history with the curator at the local museum, he reported incredulously of a recent visit to Texas museum where they claimed that the civil ward was not about slavery, but about states rights - a lie propagated far too long.

From 1854 lots were sold for building houses, a hotel, post office and news paper formed, initially pro-slavery, but later free state as the population grew and diluted the views of the wealthy founders. During the civil war Atchison was solidly pro-union, with a number of militias. Charles "Cleveland" Metz lived in Atchison, a zealous anti-slaver who took his passion to profiteering and was eventually shot. The railroad came to town, forming the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, which dominated rail transport for over a century, but as it declined it was incorporated into Burlington Northern. US Railroads are always named after small towns, usually for a geographic reason, In Atchison's case because it is truly central and at an inversion point of the river course, allowing for optimum transport. However, it soon lost out mostly to Kansas City and St Josephs as they developed stronger connections north and south. The Pony Express mail service ran between St Josephs and Sacramento in 1860-61, but also operated out of Atchison during the last nine months of service. It took about 10 days with a relay of riders, moving some 35,000 letters during the year and half of operation. It was expensive, lost money and was attacked regularly on route. While it was a fun venture, between the Civil War and the lossmaking the full route closed in 1861, leaving only a western segment in operation. While Atchison became a "free-state" against slavery, they did not always treat freed slaves well. In 1870 George Johnson accidentally injured a white man, was jailed, then broken free by a town's mob to be lynched by hanging from a bridge in town.

That the town became wealthy in the second half of the nineteenth century is still evident today by the many grand mansions across the hills north of town. A haunted house theme has emerged in the town, some houses claiming supernatural activities. McInteer Villa up on Kansas & 13th can be rented (will will likely do in future) and boasts a ghost called Goldie. John McInteer was born in Donegal, Ireland, in 1827, emigrated to the US and migrated westward. He sold accessories for horses, the main form of transportation at the time, making a fortune and built the mansion which stands ghostly testament today. The modest Sallie House on the east side also boasts hauntings. We were able to visit the Cray House Museum, just a block from our house on 5th Street, built by WW Hetherington in 1882 who founded the Mercantile Bank in town. It was a find house already, but after a trip to Scotland they decided to install the round tower feature on the north east side, which cost as much as the original house. Like our house in Leiderdorp, it is red brick painted white. The woodwork is amazing throughout the house. The Crays moved to town to run the MGP Company (grain products) and bought the mansion which holds their name. Nearby stood my favorite house in town, 819 N 4th Street - The Bailie P. Waggener House, or John Adair House reflecting the current owner. A wood house there was moved to 415 Riley St to make room for the large stone house built 1884-1886. Waggener came to town to study law in George Glick's (future governor) practice there. He married one of Hetherington's daughters, of the mansion around the corner. Such grand mansions of the late 19th century are scattered across the mid-west USA, many available for relatively cheap price and worth moving there just for the passion of maintaining such treasures. Not far away is the Muchnic Art Gallery housed in a red stone mansion. The house and woodwork out shone any art work on display there, worth the visit just to see. At 5th & Parallel stands the Raven Hearse Mansion, a fine old house setup as a haunted house with a sinister back story.

The Museum at Atchison is housed in a fine old train depot at the center of town. A homeless drug addict emerged from the lobby there, the visitor's center, having warmed up briefly to steel himself against the frigid north wind which had descended the town into a freeze. Approaching our car seeking alms, his broken teeth revealing the pain and horror of his existence, he brough to us an all too familiar story. We were even there to visit the museum, but with some time available decided to enter. Two hours later we had only seen a third of the place. Steve, the curator guided us through with great discussion on the history linked to town. It didn't go unspoken that the county had defunded the museum leaving him to require a $5 entry fee rather than voluntary donations as in the past. Revenue tripled, which provides some statistical analysis on the philanthropy position of the general public. Still the sums don't add up well and the museum depends on generous people like the man who moved the two ton Glick statue from Topeka to the museum for cost. George Washington Glick stands at the entrance, having been unceremoniously booted out of the US Capitol, having been replaced by an Eisenhower statue in 2003. Glick had lived in Atchison and was a well liked moderate politician during the early years, well before Eisenhour. French presidents get to dedicate any project as their legacy, leading to the likes of the George Pompadour Center in Paris, an amazing modern art museum done in quirky industrial architecture. Not for US presidents, all they get are library's to store their papers and the smallest one is claimed by the museum of Atchison, that of Atchison himself who (they claim) was president for a day between actual presidents. He was never sworn in and passed no orders. At the back of the building display cases hold a large set of rifles from the civil war through WW1 & 2 and other battles in between. Technology is accelerated in war, as we see the Ukrainians do currently and teh gun collection tells this story well. They were donated by a local gun club seeking a home for the impressive collection.

Arriving in Atchison from any direction one can not miss the large campus of Benedictine College, a citadel on the hill, or in this case on a high bluff 200ft over the Missouri River. Just a few years after founding of the town, Catholic Bishop Miege of Kansas City (who still has a school named after him) recognized that many of the immigrants were German Catholic, so he send a few monks there to setup a boarding school in 1858. Initially focusing on education for Benedictine Monks, the school soon grew and broadened to general education. A few years later a number of sisters from St Cloud Minnesota arrived forming a convent. Building momentum, they eventually bought the Price Mansion and 28 acres of land in 1877 on the south side of town, well away from the men's college to the north. Developing a women's college on a large campus, they attracted students from across the states. Both the men's and women's Benedictine college campus at Atchison remind one of the quaint idealistic setting captured by Lake Wobegon, Minnesota, Garrison Keillor's fictitious town where everyone is above average, coincidentally located near St Cloud MN. Since the two colleges merged in 1971 to form Benedictine College, education has been taught to mixed gender classes at the college, but otherwise the institution sticks to a modern traditional view of male and female roles in society. Traditional view here means the view of an Holocene agrarian society where children are a necessary part of the means of production, and women need to be at home to have a large number of them, while men ran the farm. It's an inappropriate view from the perspective of a technologically advanced world (where women excel in many professions required to run it). Harry Butker was up on campus recently, lecturing the graduating class women to forego a profession and stay home to serve the family. How hypocritical then that his own mother is a successful professional psychiatrist who managed both a family and a real world job, a profession outside the home. We can do without football, but not without the medical field to which his mother contributes. Even the Benedictine Sisters were critical of his Taliban aligned views. In the mean time, back at the residents dorms there is no sex allowed, no contraception or condoms allowed, no masturbation, not even sex education. What could possibly go wrong with such a program. The result is that many race to get married so young or have secret abortions. Scientists used to be persecuted in the church and still are by many of the religious, but the church eventually had to yield to the pure truth and advances delivered by science, not superstition. An example on campus is the small but wonderful space observatory on the hill west of campus. Donated by Frankee and Joe Daglen, keen observers, Galileo would have been proud. One can only hope the religious evolve to adopt the full range of knowledge provides. The students come from every state as evident by a scan of the license plates in the parking lot, Maine to Florida, California to Texas, Washington to Illinois and many more. Twenty five hundred students add a youth, energy and breath to the town, as I witnessed by a number of engagements during our visit. People actually cycle bicycles around town, not for exercise but to get around, very rare in US. Children played in the evening on the streets and in the parks, also a rarity after Halloween horror movies scared people and later video games, internet and social media made people indoor zombies. My evening walks often took me through campus and across the mansions of the hill, the dark night interrupted by the sparkle of beveled glass, stained glass and chandeliers.

In order to encourage industry in the town, Atchison voted to finance a foundry along the river to machine the steel needed to develop the state. At only 22 a young machinist named John Seaton had already developed a foundry in Alton Illinois before the civil war. He served in the Illinois guard and had a good war record with commendation from General Grant. In 1872 he took up the challenge to build a foundry in Atchison. The foundry still operates today, producing the undercarriages for railcars and other complicated metal products. Another industry, MGP, was founded in 1941 to process grain into ingredients and distilled products. In 2016 a delivery of Sulfuric Acid from Harcros Chemical Company was accidentally unloaded into a tank of Sodium Hypochlorite, releasing a cloud of toxic Chlorine gas over the town. Many were treated for toxic effects and both companied were fined a million dollars each for the the incident. It was surprising for what should be a low risk industry. However, just south of town was the Bartlett Grain Elevator which experienced a dust explosion in 2011. Fine grain dust inside the partially filled elevator ignited, usually by static electricity or lightning, causing a deflagration. The flame front traveling across the space fast enough to expand the gas quickly enough to rip steel doors off the building as well as huge blocks of steel reinforced concrete to relieve the pressure shock wave. Four young men who worked for Bartlett aged 20 to 24 years with bright futures and loving families were killed by the flying materials, plus two more senior inspectors. Years later there was no resolution, OSHA proposing penalty of less than a million dollars, Bartlett fighting back hard blaming "unforeseeable employee misconduct". Grain dust explosions are a well known risk and the solutions well known: remove ignition sources, reduce the dust content in the gas to below the explosive concentration limit, install safer relief pathways and explosion doors. Bartlett are clearly fully responsible for the safety of their workers and should be held to account.

Division Street ran through town east to west which coincidentally aligned with a tendency for African American's to be living on one side of it and a reminder of segregation. I learned from the museum curator that the name of the street came from long before any people of African descent lived there. Understandably the evolved attituded of the townspeople led to an initiative to rename the street to reflect inclusive values. The Lincoln School was built in 1921 dedicated to African Americans on Division and 8th Street, which still stands today, although derelict. The school was the first in Kansas to be desegregated following the 1954 Brown versus Board of Education decision. Moving with the times, Division is now called Unity Street. The curator pointed out an inconsistency with the logic of the decision. If townspeople wanted to reflect modern values of inclusiveness they should rename the town itself. Atchison having been a slave holder and proslavery politician is the elephant in the room. Renaming the town was a "bridge too far" for the townsfolks. They could call the town Unity, that would be a nice name.

The best mansions of the late 19th century in midwest USA were those built by lumber barons. They sat right on the pulse of eastern wood traded westward for expansion of railroads and housing, while discovering the best aged hardwoods of the west were worthy of building the mansions of the east. One such mansion sits at 6th and Parallel. Now the Muchnik Art Museum, it was originally built by lumberman George Howell who accumulated the best timber, walnut and mahogany, and directed his talented carpenters to build a masterpiece, one of many in Atchison. Take a close look at the door hinges of at the entry way, these were from the days when hardware was also art. We were alone on our visit, but for the nice young lady attendant. An exhibit of structural drawings was on display, but the highlight was the house itself. Outside of town stands a few points of interest. On the slope above Warnock Lake is a grassland cut in the shape of the face of Amelia Erhardt best viewed from an airplane. Nearby the International Forest of Friendship was closed, appropriate for a time when international friends are being converted to enemies, enemies to friends, closed as a symbol of its time past. That evening was cold and we had tickets to a film at the historic Fox Theater on Commercial Street. The talented Josh O'Connor pulled off a great performance as lead for the third Knives Out, Wake Up Dead Man, made more smallest of their three theaters.

Amelia Earhart was what originally brought me to Atchison three decades ago to visit her childhood home and museum. Our first visit on returning to Atchison was an airport west of town and the Amelia Earhart Hangar Museum, which opened recently and a great addition to the town (successfully funded via STAR bonds). It is centered around Muriel, an identical Lockheed Electra 10-E to that flown by Amelia. Our last visit was back to her home. There is too much to say about how impressive she was and amazing what she achieves. She was attractive, but bucked gender norms of her day, driving her own development as much as she could, although she had to make some compromises along the way. I have large hands even for a man, and they compare in size to Amelia's when I checked the print at the museum. There was much packed into her short life: Nurse, Social Worker, Clothing Designer, University Councilor, Writer, Lecturer and Aviator. Making women's close more functional was one of her objectives which matched her lifestyle. That Butker gave his "women back in the kitchen" speech in Atchison is an insult to one of America's most amazing woman whose life work was freedom from a stone aged view of the division of gender role. The conspiracy theory's which evolved after her disappearance in the west Pacific have only grown weirder over the years, which tells more about the irrationality of the human race than the location of Amelia. Best use Occam's razor - that the simplest explanation is likely the true explanation. Between Papua and Hawaii she needed to refuel at Howland Island 1 x 1.5 miles in dimension, a spec in the vast ocean. With poor weather and communications she missed it, ran out of fuel and perished on the high seas. As we visited that day, there was a team from Perdue University waiting in Asia for good weather to check out a new theory that she may have landed on another island, Nikumaroro Island. Probably some grad student spending too much time on Google Earth. Her courage and drive were remarkable.

The highlight of our visits to Atchison late 2025 was seeing our son Conor at Valley Hope up on the hill behind Benedictine College. He wasn't quite in recovery as much as taking some time out from the cruel life of an addict. His wonderful humor was back during our time together, which we knew would be short. His pain was visible at the end of our last visit, like that of a soldier leaving his family returning to battle, his face revealed the anguish at his prospects ahead. His fate decided already, well knowing the consequences, he could make no other decision but to discharge prematurely the next day. He was heading to Marysville, Kansas, they told us.

Muriel Lockheed Electra 10-E

8 Cylinder Radial Aircooled Electra Engine

Bartlett Elevator (Concrete structure repaired post 2011 trajedy)

Benedict Flats wetlands

Sallie (Haunted) House

Woodwork of Cray House

Stained Glass of Cray House

Cray House at night

Bailie P Waggener House

Cray House

Benedictine College on bluff over Missouri River

View from Benedictine College

St Benedict Catholic Church

Steel Foundry of Aitchison still in operation

St Scholastica Benedictine Sisters

MGP Distillery

John McInteer House

Muchnic House and Gallery

Amelia Earhart childhood home

Craftsmanship of Muchnic House

Stained Glass of Muchnic House

BP Waggener (or John Adair) House at dusk

Dining Room of Earhart House

Amelia and her plane

Oxford, UK

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 29 Oct 2025 16:39:00 +0000

Oxford Town - University - Colleges - People - Gardens - Rowing

Trees of Castle Mound, Oxford

In autumn 2025 attending to some business in London I tacked on four days to explore Britain's oldest University Town, Oxford. I might not have a made it at all (skip to next paragraph to start on Oxford). It was stormy weather and turbulence threw the Embraer 190 plane in all directions midflight. "We might have some turbulence landing on London so buckle up", said the captain even as we departed Rotterdam. The crew put the drinks trolly up (strange they would even serve on a 42 minute flight). Everyone buckled up. "John's the best", I heard the senior attendance tell the junior, "he'll get us down". I had full confidence he would get us down, the question was in how many pieces. With a clear full view down the axis of the plane from my back seat I could see the body flex with the buffeting and outside the wings flapped like a bird. A view of London opened up at 1000ft meters and the turbulence got much worse on final descent. Short wave cycle turbulence vibrated the plane like I had not experiences in a million miles of flying. At 800ft we hit a particularly severe wind shear at landing speed of about 130 MPH which turned the plane so far sideways that the captain aborded the landing. My heart sank when I felt the engines spool up, which meant we would either go around or try another airport. Oxford Airport would have been perfect for me, or any other airport - a re-try at same airport is already banking in a certain failure potential. People were stressed around me. My global positioning info showed that we were making another attempt. Again, below the clouds we were in a violent shear zone where our 130MPH was met with air at 40MPH in any of three directions, up, down or sideways, requiring manual response by the pilot, who was surely under pressure (he had mentioned things were busy in the cockpit earlier). I had no cell reception, but sent a message to Annette in case this was the last. No regrets, I have had a good life and I wondered how a crash might evolve. Wings, engines or tail hitting ground due to turbulence are the main concerns leading to death due to physical impact, being burned or asphyxiated. The plane was thrown at all angles. At a certain point we were committed to a landing regardless and down we went. People shrieked and screamed, a child cried "Allah", while I braced for the landing, then we were on the ground, still turbulent, but soon slow enough for people to clap. My oyster card worked on the subway to Paddington, where I caught a train to Oxford. With a glass of wine to recovery from the flight, I found the train perfectly relaxing. I stayed at a little apartment in Bookbinders Court along the Castle Mill Stream under the shadow of the ancient Oxford Castle. The sound of flowing water was constant. A single solid tower there caught the morning and evening sun, a sole record of the original Saxon town, before the arrival of the Normans and Robert D'Oyly, who built a new castle in 1073. Moats were built and the earth removed formed into a large mound next to the castle for prominence in overseeing the town. Two grand oak trees grow from the mound, like an inverse of the single felled tree of sycamore gap. Much of his workmanship has since been destroyed, but what remains was later used as a prison. Round the corner on Paradise Street was The Jolly Farmers, a gay bar from the era when gay bars were needed due to societal ignorance, but which survives well today.

Oxford and Cambridge Universities are neither the oldest, nor the most likely historically to have racked up their level of status in the world of higher education today. Both are accountable of educating an impressive cadre of people who have contributed hugely to our global society, including some of my friends and colleagues. People in the sciences like Isaac Newton of Cambridge, or in the arts like Oscar Wilde of Oxford, all delivered so much to our lives. Education and Universities underpin the huge advances our species have made the past centuries. But how did we get to where Universities play such an important role in our daily lives. As hunter gatherers throughout the last ice age, knowledge was handed down, parent to child, within the community. Subjects included food, shelter, clothing, fuel, medicine, tools and art. Grandparents helped retain the knowledge too, which is likely why many mammals live well beyond childrearing age. However, there were no centers of learning through most of our evolutionary history. Agriculture emerged around ten thousand years ago, bringing surpluses and specialization, particularly in the metals, which required deeper knowledge transfer, most likely through apprenticeships and possibly an early version of guilds. The processes to produce the amazing gold heard of Varna Bulgaria six and half thousand years ago are not intuitive and would require more than casual training. Agriculture brought settlement and cities which emerged due to the many non food related tasks in a more complex society. Agriculture also brough capitalism, as food could be stored and traded. In order to manage the flows and stores of food from the countryside required accounting and, inevitably, taxes to fund the governance of modern integrated societies. Here came what looks like the first schools of scribes required to capture the money and laws on tablets as a record for the community. By the first millennium BCE schools were common throughout the known world. While there was always likely an aspect of religious belief involved, part of their secular nature continued through to the first millennium CE in the middle east with schools of math and science. In the mean time our religion evolved from a pagan polytheism, focused on acceptance of the uncertain and unpredictable nature of our world, to a more centralized command and control organization dominating society. We needed a way not just to understand and accept the tempers of nature, but to define how we share and divide our expanding resources and develop laws on how we lived together in more concentrated towns and cities. Religion stepped in to varying degrees to fill that role over the past few thousand years. As we can see from the temples of Rameses II (second millennium BCE) in Egypt to the cathedrals of Europe, religion took control of the excess capacity within society and provided a purpose for it's use. While schools of knowledge and skills started with secular functions, their purpose was eventually subsumed by religion during the first millennium CE, at least in the West and Middle East - Asia had a more formal governance structure within society, so depended less on religion to fill gaps. My family name comes from Saint Mochuda who lived in the 7th century monastery of Lismore, Ireland, by which time all education in Ireland was religious, similar to most of Europe. The Middle East still had math and schools which developed significant knowledge in math and science from the 8th through 14th century.

Ibn al-Haytham of Basra Iraq, later Cairo Egypt, sought to steered away from religious studies and instead pursue secular scientific inquiry which was his passion and exercised freely during his life (965 - 1040 CE). His foundational work and many others from the middle east of that time was built upon by European scientists in later centuries. During that same period Europe had fallen into a a malaise following the fall of Rome and education, besides the trades, was mainly focused around Roman Christianity. Things were brewing in Europe however which would progress it to the renaissance and enlightenment in the second millennium CE. Normal conquest came to England in 1066 bringing significant changes to society and complicating the language. One could argue this influence made English a more interesting language. Churchill disagreed, preferring old English words, or short English words, which tend to come from the German rather than the Latin influence, and even better to just use old short English words. It's a recipe for clarity surely, but sometimes it may be better to be nuanced, which the new words also allowed. It was a Frenchman, Theobald of Etampes, who setup the first recorded school in the village of Oxford in the year 1095. He taught philosophy and it operated for two decades. The early years of such educational houses at Oxford are sketchy. There was a boost when Rome finally started to take education seriously again in the mid 11th century. Schools emerged throughout Europe. By 1200 there were multiple schools operating there teaching religion, philosophy and law. Even back in those days, there was a rivalry between common townsfolk and the students, who would likely have been sons of the elite. Two Oxford students were hanged by the local magistrate in 1214, suspected of murder. Many students and teachers left Oxford in response, some even went to Cambridge, resulting in loss of income and prosperity in the town. Ironically, what almost destroyed education at Oxford eventually made it stronger, when in 1218 an agreement was put in place to bring the students and teachers back. They were provided independence from the local authorities, immunity from the courts and a say over the rates they were charged by local businesses. Oxford began to grow and prosper in the following centuries, with support of the church and crown. Disputes continued with frequent riots by the locals, but the university became stronger in governance, taking over jurisdiction of even these disputes. Not one from elite Education myself, I recall my time at Teesside University warmly and my decree in Chemical Engineering would follow the same laws of physics as those at Oxford, but another similarity was the tension with locals. There were often fights, usually initiated by local young men who had not fared well during the decline of the industrial north. These tension would continue in Oxford for centuries.

Oxford colleges are typically built around living quarters set in a square referred to as a "Quad" which are inward facing and protected from the outside world, an appropriate protection for the level of society which Oxford attracts, including future leaders - 12 future Kings, 31 Prime Ministers, 28 foreign leaders and 47 Nobel prize winners. Not the type of folks to be found down at the local pub eating pie and peas, no, meals served communally in great dining halls worthy of royalty. A chapel is usually incorporated on the grounds, plus a reception and often gardens. While the 40 or so colleges run independently as living quarters and community for the students, the actual education occurs offsite at academic departments located a little further from town center. The older colleges closer to town are clad in fine limestone of gothic style, most from the 16th to 19th century. Gargoyles and faces are everywhere if you look upwards to the trim near the roofs. Students typically live the first year or two in college, and later offsite. Obviously there are not enough ancient buildings in the city center to go around, so many colleges incorporate modern living quarters and newer colleges like St Catherine's College have built a modern campus.

So who get's into Oxford Colleges? High grades is the first hurdle. A strong personal case presented in application. A good performance at interview and in person, responding to tests and curve ball questions. My understanding is that affirmative support for hereditary enrolment is not practices in Oxford admissions, nor support for people who had experienced past civil rights restrictions. Consideration of socioeconomic challenges are factored in. This makes sense, as the danger is the elite echo the elite in setting entry criteria, barring top talent from other backgrounds and setting a college environment apart from the reality of the country. It sounds like a reasonable approach by Oxford. In the US context of college application criteria, while the case for a heavier hand in correcting past discrimination also seems to me reasonable due to the severity of negative impact on African and Native Americans, society has deemed otherwise and the elite are the ones with affirmative support, in hereditary admission rather than on the merits.

So how much does it cost at Oxford? Tuition is less than ten thousand pounds a year, standard for UK. International students pay four times over, which brings up a tension in whether any university can be impartial on admissions criteria when staring down that type of funding. However, there are advantages of having potential future leaders in the alumni ranks, which includes Indira Gandhi, Benazir Bhutto, and Bill Clinton. Low income high performing UK students can get financial support. Of UK Prime ministers 31, or half, were educated in Oxford. 13 from Christ Church alone. It makes sense to chose from the most academically talented, and surely the connections with others on the way up also helps, but some diversity also helps. The toff nosed elite University educated leaders of Britain acquiesced to Hitler, while it took Churchill, who didn't go to University to lead at the most crucial time for western peace.

It was cloudy dim the first day, not so photogenic for the few colleges I visited, but on Friday there was a clearing after the storm bringing blue skies and sun. Starting with the grandest, Christ Church, which stands on the south side of town overlooking a massive meadow stretching to the Cherwell River. I took my time to wander the complex with an audio guide. The south entrance was portrayed as the living quarters of Charles Ryder in Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. Founded by Cardinal Wolsey originally, it was subsumed by King Henry VIII when Wolsey got cut loose. Most colleges have a chapel, but Christ Church is build around a large Cathedral. Many fine stain glass windows light the alters during daylight hours, including the Samuel Becket, St Frideswide, St Michael and Jonah windows. The main quad at Christ Church is huge, with stone foundations around the perimeter set there to support cloister type shelter around the square which was never built. Above the stairs leading to the dining hall stands the most wonderful gothic arches roof. Carved into the stone walls was graffiti from the 1860's and on a door "No Peel" was hammered in deep with nails from the 1830's in protest to Peel's tolerance of Catholics (he later formed the police, who were called "peelers"). Another carving in stone there read "L P K April 1884".

"Brideshead Revisited" was a television series aired in Ireland early 1980's based on book by Evelin Waugh set between the wars in aristocratic England. Informed surely by Waugh's own time in Oxford, the early scenes are set around the Oxford Colleges. As a young teenager I absorbed the complexity of the work at all levels: privileges of elite, hierarchy of English society, pansexual relations, Catholic originalism in upper class Britain, the motives of Ryder himself and, my favorite, the vast expansive estate of Howard Castle. While Ryder and Oscar Wilde would be two completely different characters, I could not un-notice the similarity of Ryder's friend Lord Sebastian Flyte and Wilde's friend Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas. We had visited the Howard estate earlier (See Teesside Revisited).

On Saturday I switched to explore museums instead of colleges, which was appropriate as the weather was still not so photogenic. Starting with a long walk out to Headington (having missed the 400 Bus) to see the famous shark impaled in the roof of a house at No 2 New High Street. John Buckley designed and installed it in 1986, well after the 1975 Jaws film mania, as a protest against bombs being dropped on Libya by the Americans from a UK base nearby. Oxford Council did what councils do and acted to have it removed, but later relented and gave it recognition. Neither the Citgo sign in Boston, nor the Western Auto sign in Kansas City would ever get approval to be installed today, but are both now protected as heritage monuments. That status switches over time reveals something about our resistance to change, both coming and going. Walking back to town I wandered through Oxford Brookes University, a set of large modern and old buildings straddled across the heights of Headington Hill. There was an open day, so I was unhindered. Brookes is not part of Oxford University, but was setup in 1992 as a polytechnic with emphasis on vocational education. Their rowing club was target of some scandal recently, harassment, body shaming and of course, the coaches sleeping with the students. Another scandal has some roots also on the campus, their Headington Hall having been formerly home to Robert Maxwell, the news baron and father of Ghislaine Maxwell, partner in crime to Jeffery Epstein. Maxwell himself served Israel intelligence and money laundering during his life, while Epstein did the same for the US, while also having deep ties to Israeli interests. It is striking in a way that the three people suffering consequences from Epstein are all British; Ghislaine Maxwell, Andrew Mountbatten and Ambassador Mandelson. Surely there will be more after the expected "J'Accuse" moment, similar to the 1898 Dreyfus affair brought out by Emile Zola.

The Ashmolean Museum houses an amazing collection of recent human history globally mainly focusing on the past millennium. Most are familiar, but the extent of the collection is truly impressive and having studied related collections over many years, there is a clear arch on display of human ingenuity. The collection focuses on the art and craft of our species globally, less so on the tools, but includes some wonderful artifacts on early writing from accounting to literature. As wonderous the collection is, there is a dark undercurrent flowing from the birth of agriculture to accumulation of wealth concentrated in an elite who enslaved their people, warring with others, taking captives for their production machine and like a black hole of human modernity, destroyed the essence of humanity in the process. Thirty six thousand prisoners of war held captive to thresh the wheat harvest is on record from one of the oldest writing tablets. That humans have not evolved adequately to govern themselves with post agricultural success is evident with the proliferation of brutal dictators and autocrats, and most recently in the breakdown of governance in the US which looks on track to take the same route. In support of the great progress of our species in terms of tools and craft, the University of Oxford Museum of Natural History puts much on display, plus more specifically the Pitt Rivers Museum of Archeology at back. Pure creativity of humans is evident while walking the narrow packed corridors of the Pitt, plus a grand display of our cousins, the animals and fish of the main museum. The building itself is impressive with well structured support for a skylight roof. On the large greenspace of university parks were groups of students playing football, the late afternoon sun illuminating the red and yellow autumn tree leaves. On the way back I crossed the grounds and graveyard of St Giles Church, dating from 12th century. The History of Science Museum on Broad Street proved underwhelming, especially for a city of scientific education with the alumni the likes of Isaac Newton. Glad to have visited the colleges on a quieter weekday, often having chapels to myself, I could see that on Saturday there were many more crowds, which would take from the experience.

The central market is a sizable indoor market of items and food just off High Street in city center. There was already enough food in my house for dinner, but I could not resist buying a pork and black pudding pie and yes, it was sinfully good. Only 6 pounds and could feed a family. Down the street Laird Hatters runs a traditional business out of an ancient house at Cornmarket and Ship Street. Having gained a better appreciation for ceramics after visiting Herring Berlin, I found Kina Ceramics on Market Street original and impressive. Oxfam charity stores are always great for books. I bought a wonderful Ammonite from Madagascar for well below market value from a flea market at Gloucester Green Town Square. "Hello Gov'nr" is a regular greeting, plus "Are you rich" from a man sitting on the street. I had forgotten how friendly English people are, it's easy to talk with strangers, a bit of banter or even a long conversation is not unusual. Maybe not as friendly as Ireland, but more so than the reserve of continental Europe, also probably helped by having a common language in English.

Up early on the morning of my final day at Oxford, I walked south the west bank of the Thames to the sports grounds and boathouses of the various colleges. A wonderful old Gas Works Rail Bridge now functions as a pedestrian way on route. The route passes Folly Island where oxen could ford the river in ancient times, naming the town. A bridge replaced the ford and was later improved by Robert D'Oyly. In the thirteenth century a tower gate was built for defense and control of entry to Oxford from the south and occupied by Roger Bacon, an early scholar at Oxford. It is still known today as Bacon's Tower, although the tower was taken down in 1779 to build a wider bridge. Folly refers to the lack of functionality of such a 13th century gatehouse in later centuries. Standing there today is a wonderful house, Caudwell's Castle, built in 1849 in red brick, square proportions and clad in statues embedded into the walls. The route south is on the tow path for barges on the Thames, or earlier named Isis. It is lined with a series of poverty stricken barges and house boats which contrast with the general vibe of prosperity in the town. One of the more enterprising occupants of a barge there setup a small shed dedicated to "non-digital" products, which were small wood carvings. Across on the east side were the majority of the rowing houses of the colleges. Rowers rowed the Thames and runners ran the towpath as they did for generations in the city. A barge tied up across the water near the Kidney Stream caught my attention. Larger, elegant, and older in design, I learned that it was one of the original century old floating club houses the colleges used for the rowing teams to prepare for training. Returning to town I left my wonderful apartment and also my bag at a storage facility nearby to further tour the city before heading back to London.

The bells were wringing from the spire of Christ Church and the organ howled from Merton Chapel as I made my way to the meadow to the south, which took me along the east and opposite side the the Thames which I had walked earlier. The trees in the Oxford parks and green spaces are massive, helped by careful curation and protection, informed in species from the botanical gardens. Some have names; The Watcher Tree & Tumulus (in Christ Church Meadow), Joe Pullen's Tree (an Elm from 1680 in Headington Park), Bobart's Yew (planted 1645 in botanic garden), and more. It's a small window into what could be if we were better stewards of the nature around us. Limiting my shopping to picking up a small gift for Annette from Kina Ceramics on Market Street, I headed across to the west side north on Walton Street (coincidentally her maiden name). Heading north the colleges were housed in more modern buildings like those of Radcliffe College, which seems centered around a massive new building, the Stephen A. Schwarzman center for Humanities, which houses music and performance halls. Schwarzman's philanthropy is extensive around the world, but comes with a disturbing backstory, His real impact on society is decades of driving politics rightward making the US less fair to the majority of people while avoiding paying a fair share of taxes. His legacy will be inaction to climate change, huge government debt, transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich, authoritarianism, division all to pay for his pet projects. "It's a war. It's like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939", Schwarzman said of Obama's effort to raise tax on the wealthy and close the deficit. As a Jew he should know better than invoke Hitler to support his greed. That's how sick these people are, they want to leave the poor die without health care so they can have more money to give away in philanthropy! Green Templeton College next door provided relief from Schwarzman's ugly building in the ancient lines, rounds and curves of the Old Space Observatory. On top a statue of two strong men holding up a globe. Further along toward the east I found the impressive campus of Lady Margaret Hall, setup in 1879 for female students. A hundred years later they admitted male students also. Nearby the large grasslands of University Parks caught my attention and formed by return hike home. To my surprise I found a group of university students practicing American Football there in the fields, gear and all. On the way back I stopped in to Holywell Cemetery on a whim. It had an air of the ancient and to my surprise, a huge concentration of Celtic Crosses. I found a few Irish names, but mostly buried there were well off Protestants, many from the college. Research later indicated the crosses likely were inspired by the Celtic Revival of the late 19th century. Almost back in town I stumbled across the original site of the Morris Garage in Oxford. Morris and Austin were both iconic names in the UK car industry and inspired me as a young lad fascinated with car mechanics. Originally a bicycle manufacturer, Morris got into servicing cars and then manufacturing them in 1912 out of Oxford Town. My first memory of a car was the Austin Cambridge owned by my parents in early 1970's Ireland. Although Austin's factory was in Birmingham, he helped Cambridge develop an engineering college. In the early 1950's the companies combined, so the time I experienced the Austin Cambridge, it was essentially the same car as the Morris Oxford. I have wonderful memories of the unreliable Lucas Electronic systems and the wonderful hydraulic suspension in the Austin 1800 which followed our old Austin Cambridge, which was retired shortly after the exhaust pipe fell off on the way to the beach one day.

University experience is intended to be intellectually and socially expansionary, unconstrained by exclusionary groups. Clubs thrive at Oxford and some are quite exclusionary. The Bullingdon Club is an all male dinner and sporting group of wealthy students whose annual dinners have a reputation for debauchery and much damage. The all male Steamer's drinking group include running naked around campus as part of initiation and have a rating system for women on campus and have even dressed up in Nazi uniforms in the past. The Black Cygnet's chase college women in town. With the Piers Gaveston Society its more drink, drugs, drag and sex. Clubs are often banned by the University, but continue to operate in secret or outside their jurisdiction. Reservations need to be made under a false name or entity, as proprietors would rather avoid the mess. The Gridiron club has survived since 1884 due to it's maturity and better behavior. Quotes like "My castle is bigger than yours", "I'll buy your family (to bar tender who stopped serving drunk members)" indicate the privilege of club members. Many of these clubs provide space and security for a wealthy few to exclusive debauchery more fitting of the nineteenth century, and then go on to rule the country and businesses. What could possibly go wrong. Surely these people, protected by their wealth, would not do something so financially damaging to the common people and leave the European Union! On Michael Street I came across a more progressive club, The Oxford Union, whose debates I have watched for many years. Generally open to all views, the union hosted Charlie Kirk this year, Steve Banon earlier and even Holocaust denier David Irving was deemed within the free speech envelope, but not Philip Nitschke who fought for the right to die for Australians. That last one was too extreme for the Oxford Union, but Kirk, Bannon & Irving all OK. Better hear extreme views in a managed and challenged debate forum if possible, while avoiding being a conduit for lies.

Clubs aside, surely there are no cults at Oxford! Well actually, Frank Buckman was a driven and visionary young American Lutheran who had the foresight to break from the stogy old dogma of most established religions with a simple framework for being good: absolute honesty, purity, unselfishness and love. It was an electric message in a world of inequality, greed and fear, following World War One, and took on like wild fire. It didn't replace religion, but was a type of boost, or add on, to reframe what "being good" meant. At it's core it was hard to argue against, but resistance grew. It required open confession in groups, including on sexual activity (even masturbation was considered "bad"), and Princeton University took a stand to ban, what became known as Moral Re-Armament (MRA). Buchman was a worldly man and his MRA landed on more fertile soil at Oxford University, developing quite a following at Corpus Christi College in the mid 1920's. His message landed well during the interwar years, a cure for a dangerous and uncertain world. He even tried to make inroads with Hitler, hoping to gain a convert. Ultimately his "Oxford Group" failed to fix the world and faded. It was converted to "Initiatives of Change International" in 2001 with a main focus on cross cultural tolerance. Glenn Close looks back at her upbringing in MRA with dread, calling it a cult. Another ism developing at Oxford in recent years is the Effective Altruism movement, which like MRA sounds reasonable and logical, but the devil is in the details and implementation, not to mind the sponsors, like Sam Bankman-Fried. Basically steal money from society so you can give it back via specific charities of your choosing, rather than just tax people fairly and have the government provide these services.

A plaque on High Street recognized Robert Boyle for his law that was the foundation of my early science education, with a clear link between pressure, volume and temperature. He did much more in developing early natural science, but is known for his work on Chemistry. His assistant Robert Hooke discovered the microscope the plaque reports. The purity of one person discovering something is entrenched in the human psyche, but the reality is more nuanced, as others also discovered the microscope and real scientific discovery is usually a collaborative effort.

After four days wandering the streets and back alleys, quads, chapels, gardens, waterways, colleges and museums, it was time to return to London. I had hardly scratched the surface of this amazing city of education and left much more for future visits. I learned only later that one can rent rooms in some of the colleges, a great way to experience the town. Arriving at the station at 13:27 the London Train arrived and I was off.

Magdalen College

Faces of Oxford I

Faces of Oxford II

Gardens at Christ Church

Christ Church south entrance

Vaulted Ceiling at Christ Church

Stairway leading to dining hall, Christ Church

Quad at Christ Church

Dining hall at Christ Church

Stained glass at Christ Church Cathedral

It's not the dying, its the laying in the grave so long

"No Peel" graffiti from 1829

High Street Oxford

The Headington Shark

Earliest Writings (Ashmolean Museum)

Greek Male Lover (Ashmolean Museum)

Pitt Rivers Museum

Student Sculling on the Thames

Cecil Rhodes on High Street, not weathering modernity too well

Corpus Christi College

Radcliffe Camera University Library

Bodleian Library

Wadham College

The Bridge of Sighs over New College Lane

Cloisters along New College Land

Magdalen College

Quad at Magdalen College

Oxford Botanical Garden

Mob Quad at Merton College

Organist at Merton College Chapel

Corpus Christi College

Dining Hall at Balliol College

Quad at Saint John's College

Gargoyles at Oxford

Carfax Tower Clock, Oxford

Lions, Horses and an Unequal Irish Harp

King James I at Wadham College

Angel holding Shield, Oxford

Faces of Oxford

Gargoyles of Oxford

Two Boys Fighting, Oxford University

High Fens, Belgium

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 11 Oct 2025 17:26:00 +0000

High Fens - Hockai - Stavelot - Sart - Malmedy

Hautes Fagnes (High Fens), Belgium

Belgium is our "go to" place for short trips away from the Netherlands low lands, for something different. In just three to four hours on the road, geography, culture, language, food and wine all transform more so than between any two states in the US (except Louisiana maybe - joking, I'm a huge fan!). Except for brief visits to Bruges and Brussels in Flanders, our main away stays are in Wallonia, the French part south and east of the country, each time finding a new spot to explore. During a visit to Spa I had hiked in the high fens nearby. This long weekend in October 2025 we chose Hockai in the High Fens, just north of Malmedy as our base in a cottage on the High Moore Estate for a five day visit. Leaving the green heart of Netherlands we emerged above sea level to gentle terrain with contours, but the A2 highway south revealed little of the beauty of the mighty Meuse River, instead focusing on the industry around Geleen and bypassing completely the main southern City of Netherlands, which stands on a peninsula into Belgium and Germany. The border with Belgium at the tip of that peninsula hits with a shock, not just a change in road signs and more cars flaunting the speed limits, but everything changes. Geography is now of rolling hills and river valleys, the Meuse runs wide and calm there, lined with large solid stone built mansions and houses. There are trees everywhere. Our little Honda Insight regularly hits 5000 rpm trying to adjust to the hills. The route was familiar, we had nursed the Citroen CX along these roads when the radiator fan failed leading to overheating. This time we exited at Sart to collect groceries and took a wild route via Route de la Harotte to arrive at the estate. Delhaize is our regular shop in the region, owned by the same company as Albert Heijn, but with even better food. A stuffed chicken roast turned out to be at least two Michelin stars in our estimation, why would one go to a restaurant when one can buy such quality at the local shop. On to the cottage, via a diversion due to a road closure, through fields on narrow lanes making for an impressive arrival. Behind high stone walls stood an impressive estate with manicured gardens. Two fine stone barns once stood in the yard, one since demolished and one renovated and available for events. No weddings, though, they are too demanding, too rowdy, too tight with money. More upmarket events, maybe linked with the many events at the Spa- Francorchamps F1 race track located just a few miles away. The family of the estate lived in a fine three story stone mansion which was flanked with solid stone outhouses and workshops on each side, the east end being our cottage. The Germans powered through the Ardennes unexpectedly in May 1940, a blitzkrieg leading to the fall of France within just a few weeks. Four years later, in December 1944, the Germans made a second surprize invasion of the Adrennes, the Battle of the Bulge. A need for speed to get to Antwerp and the coast to split the British and Americans was the objective, but the war weary troops lacked the supply chain to maintain the offensive and were pushed back by the allies. A German prisoner of war, who was held by the American troops in the area until the war was settled, became attached to the high forests and fens. He returned many years later to buy the High Moor Estate which was run as a dairy farm at the time. The estate is now owned by his descendants.

Throughout the countryside stands fine stone houses and mansions, some ancient with walls a meter thick, or modern insulated with stone cladding. New or old, they are very solid and need to be for the weather on the highlands brings much more rain than lower ground, plus the wind and snow in winter. Wooden shutters for storm protection are common. Large stockpiles of firewood stand ready for winter heat. From the house I hiked east to the summit of the High Fens, some ten kilometers. A pointy bridge crossed the old rail line from Sart to Francorchamps, now a well paved bike path. Nearby another bridge crossed the Hoegne River, and then a gentle climb up 150 meters through thick pine forests, later birch and then the plain orange grass of fens. A mist hung over the trees and turned to drizzle making for perfect conditions for mushroom species of all kinds to push their caps above the moss carpeted forest floor to release their spored in the mild calm before winter. Beneath the moss were layers of twigs, branches and fallen trees being eaten by fungi. We diverged from Fungi early on, as single celled organisms some billion and half years ago. Fungi has since co-evolved with nature and perform a most important function in our forests, recycling dead wood and breaking down minerals, which are fed to trees as nutrients. Poisonous and psychoactive, bright red cap mushrooms (Amanita Mascara) were quite prevalent. Their large tops and striking bright color set off warning signs to humans and animal alike. Boiled and dried, the poison to humans is neutralized, while retaining the hallucinatory effects, something practiced by ancient tribes of Europe. Bright yellow shoots of Meadow Coral had sprung up from the most forest floor periodically. Apparently they are edible, but I was not about to try and I can honestly say I have just enough knowledge about mushrooms to be dangerous. Housed on the side of living trees was the Southern Bracket, starting the recycle process before the tree had died.

The forest is perfectly still and not a sound can be heard, but for the periodic rifle shop. Deer roam and are culled by hunters. More recently a few packs of wolves have been reintroduced. Black Grouse has been reintroduced also. In ancient history wolves and bears would have made the fens a place of danger, where one would not venture along as on my visit. Historically sinister things happen in fens. Surely the surrounding forest would have been a great place to hide out for anyone on the run. In the squishy soil one could hide things, many of which have lasted thousands of years preserved in the oxygen free environment. Human sacrifice, murders, or perishing in a storm were dangers, like the experience of Marie Solheid and Francois Reif, who died together during a snow storm in January 1871. Almost half way between Jalhay and Xhoffraix on foot stands a wooden cross setup in 1931 to the memory of two who perished there in the winter of 1871. I came across the cross on my hike east, located along an ancient trail along the contour of where the open fens and forest meet. He came to the region to help build the Gileppe dam which holds the largest body of water in the area and still stands today. She was a maid at a local farm. Lovers intent on a life together, they would need to go to Xhoffraix to secure the paperwork for their marriage. They were warned not to go by the innkeeper at Jalhay, who knew how brutal the highlands could be in winter. Ill-equipped for the conditions, they went anyway and died not far from the highest point in the fens between the towns of origin and destination. Having "carnal" knowledge of a woman outside of the marriage contract was not allowed under the rules and powerful dogma of the 19th century Catholic Church, which may have added to the urgency of their risky trip leading to their fate.

Stone markers stood periodically all the way up the fens, ancient guides to those traveling to Germany, or coming to cut turf for heating. These were set along a much older road, The Vecquée, built by the Romans. Bogs form because the ground became water logged due to the high rain amount combined with poor drainage due to a layer of clay soil. The wide plateau of the high fens stand at close to 700 meters above sea level. Winter can bring temperatures of -15C, solidifying the ground, making it easier to cross over. In summer it is treacherous with bog holes and most of the paths today are elevated wooden plankways on stilts. Even the Germans did not cross the High Fens during the war invasions. A solitary concrete gunner's bunker stands along the Vecquee route just west of the Hoegne River, built for defence against potential invaders over the highland route, but the German never made it, instead streaming through the thick woodlands of the Ardennes. One can imagine a line of tanks sunk in the bog unmovable. But why would the Romans traverse the High Fens? They didn't record notes on the subject, but the heights have some advantages. They sat on a geographic border even back then, they are relatively flat once up there, with great visibility, no deep rivers to cross or steep slopes. It was not an "Appian Way" stone road, but a few reinforcements with wood and stone to allow light travel over the bog.

A little way northwest of the cross of Francois and Marie stands a monument, The Gayetay Cross, memorializing eight American pilots who died when their two aircraft crashed into each other in fog above the fens, April 6th 1945. Nicknamed the "gooney bird", or Albatross due to its shape and flying resilience, the Douglas C47 was a workhorse of transportation and deployment of paratroopers during and after world war two. One was a C47-A15 was crewed by King, Ferguson, Lewis and Belcastro, and the other was a C47-A20 crewed by Hicks, Fraser, Bishop, Loughery. The three strong aluminum propeller leaves standing at the monument are bent the way one would expect when they, spinning at 1200 rounds per minute, had contacted the immovable ground. Further west from here the land descends gently and along the way is another memorial, this one to six English aviators who perished in a plane crash there in the thick of the war on June 29th 1943. The memorial appreciates their fight for Belgian independence, but there was little further information there or by my research. Seward, Sanderson, Lewis, Lawton, Smith, Monaghan and Horner were remembered there. Nearby another wooden cross marked the memory of Bruno Mayeres Bucheron who died November 26th 1990. My investigation on this person revealed nothing. A few years back a dead body was found by a hiker in the High Fens. A bare foot could be seen sticking out of the bushes, the rest of the body covered by a blanket. Police setup an investigation site there and the coroner was called, who upon inspection found a mannequin instead of the dead body to everyone's amusement and surprise. There are many other monuments, crosses and markers across the high fens to look out for. The old Roman road, The Vecquee, is marked with various stones and carved pillars which look ancient and hand carved, some since strengthened with steel plates. These Pilars were marked with numbers to help navigation. Roman numerals were carved on other markers, surely done in recent times. Leaving the fens and forest on the last day I noticed temporary warning signs facing back the way I departed of a hunting shoot planned that day. Gladly I departed.

Stavelot and Malmedy towns both sit low in river valleys surrounded by highlands which probably gave them strategic geographic protection, being away from the main thoroughfares and more difficult to get to. Governed together as a region under France since the Merovingian Dynasty, they avoided the Spanish rule of Netherlands and should have fared well from the Germans with the protection of the Ardennes forests, which failed twice. During the Battle of the Bulge Germans killed eighty four American's who had surrendered in a field near Malmedy and many brutal acts on the civilians, known as the Massacre of Malmedy. The Abbey in Stavelot dominates the center of town, a large red building complex in a square layout, founded in 651 by Saint Ramacle, the first Abbot there. Another Abbey was built around that time in Malmedy and forms a pretty part of the old town center, in contrast to the long road of uninviting shops and mega-stores which leads into town.

High above Stavelot in the hills stands a memorial to cyclist Eddy Merckx who dominated world cycling events in the 1960's and 1970's. Nicknamed "The Cannibal" because he won so many races and left nothing for opponents, many were envious, especially the French. Born into a Flemish family who lived in a French speaking town in central Belgium, Eddy grew up a sportsman. Seeking a sixth in row win of the Tour de France in 1975 proved too much, he came in second, helped with a punch in the chest from a jealous French rider along the way. Over the hill on the other side of Stavelot, half hidden in a small river valley is tucked the famous F1 race track of Spa-Francorchamps. Outside of F1 races the track is used regularly for other events, including a Goldtrack event during our visit there, racing regular cars like Lotus. An open public run was advertised for the following day - I'm not sure the Honda Insight would be up for that. Speed seems to permeate the surrounding countryside, with people driving their regular cars fast and aggressively on the narrow country roads. We were almost hit more than once. Go cart tracks also dot the countryside and often when high on the fens I would hear the sound of growling engines under strain, either from these tracks, or just weekenders out for a joy ride on the curved roads.

We had cooked each evening fantastic food from the grocery shop at Sart, but for our last night. Most of the well rated restaurants were a drive away and opened later, so instead we visited the hotel in the village nearby. Beau Site Hotel is located in Hockai and served the best food around, plus is open in the late afternoon. It would be worth returning just for that experience, but also the Big Moore cottage was excellent, set on a fine estate and gardens.

Southern Bracket (Ganoderma Australe)

Large fungi housed on dead wood

Meadow Coral (Clavulinopsis Corniculata)

Red Cap Mushroom (Amanita Mascaria)

A Blancs Moussis at Stavelot Abbet

Miniature pendant at Stavelot Abbey

Grand room at Stavelot Abbey

Ruins for the Cathedral at Stavelot

Eddy Merckx, best cyclist

Underside of Red Caps

Amanita Muscaria (Red Cap Mushroom)

Mushrooms of High Fens

Autumn leaves, High Fens

Road between aviation monuments, High Fens

Gayetay Monument to American 8 aviators

Gardens at High Moore Estate

Fiances Monument to Marie and Francois

Bunker guarding west High Fens along Vecquess Road

Elevated walkway above the soggy pete bogs, High Fens

High point of High Fens

High Moore Estate

Berlin, Germany

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 17 Sep 2025 16:44:00 +0000

Schaumburg - Berlin - Mitte - Hering Ceramics - Nordbahnhoff

Manatee Kandishman's Fallen Leaves reflect man's inhumanity in the holocaust

Berlin has long been a city stored in backlog for a visit, with much to be explored. My 2010 plan to visit was thwarted by Eyjafjallajokull's angry eruption closing air traffic over the Atlantic, my deposit on a riverboat hotel being favorably refunded due to "force majour". I had just run the Boston Marathon and was forced to return to Asia via the Pacific. We packed a huge amount in during a brief visit June of 2013, Liam, Conor and I. In September 2025 Annette and I visited Berlin (her first visit) for a week, staying on a wonderful apartment overlooking Nordbahnhoff station in Mitte area. Each way we drove the 700 kilometers over two days, staying overnight in Schaumburg, a village perched on a high ridge overlooking the central German plains. A castle tower stands there high on a bluff overlooking the Weser river valley to the south. One can enter for a euro and climb the many stairs to the top. Built for defence, or to intimidate potential enemies, one can imagine its place in a feudal German of the late Middle Ages. Large walls surround the compound and the gatehouse, worthy as a mansion in its own right, stands impenetrable from the outside, and a wonderful example of Middle Ages architecture form inside. The family now spends time in Scotland and has horses in Ireland we were told by a local. Even many of the century old mansions across the country and in the wealthy western suburbs of Berlin stand as fortresses reflecting the architecture of defense embedded in the history of Germany. The owner of one of those mansions in Berlin told me that by early 20th century that architecture started to change, becoming more open to the grounds like the British mansions, a change which may have been premature, being that Germans was twice the main belligerent in the world wars. My perception is that the entire history of Europe is war, as was the history of Rome, with moments of peace emerging periodically. Caesar wrote of the fierce German warriors, the only tribe in Europe who could hold the Roman's back at the Rhine through centuries of hostility. Geography matters in war and the power balance of the world. Feeling hemmed in geographically in a changing European power balance, and left behind in colonial and global ventures, Germany overconfidently throw it's lot in with Austria and hoped to make France docile while fighting Serbia-Russia. What happened next was a brutal war which supercharged killing to an industrial scale. I once heard Yann Mantel read through all the declarations of war across the globe from 1914 to 1917, it tells a chilling story. War reparations levied on Germany were also brutal, resulting in the collapse of its currency and effectively all of its wealth. The pain was exacerbated by the Great Depression and set fertile conditioned for the rise of Hitler in the 1930's. Like Putin claiming the Donbas, Hitler started with claiming the Sudetenland, a hilly band of Czech populated by German farmers - there's no German farmers there today, maybe Putin should take note!

World War Two. Organized and industrial extermination of Jews, Gypsies, Gays and what they considered non-normative people was executed by the cohorts of the Fuhrer. Another lost by Germany, a small suicide in May 1945 and a recovery plan which provided much more promise than the first time, at least for the parts of Germany governed by the western powers, USA, France and Britain. East Germany, governed by Russia, which fell behind the Iron Curtain for four and a half decades did not fare so well. I suppose one could look away from all this history, and likely many do when the visit Berlin, but it would dominate our visit to the city. The terror, horror, betrayal, surveillance and inhumanity all on display and well recorded. All in contrast with the wonderful people and country of Germany which we also witnessed during our weeklong visit. How could it happen? "History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes" were the words of Mark Twain, as we can see the seeds of Germany in 1933 rhyming with an executive power grab in the Unites States in 2025. Hitler was never really the problem, after all, there are Hitlers lurking in corner of society ready to take hold, like shingles lingering in the body ready for a point of weakness to take hold. Absolute power corrupts completely, and it is only a brake on power by the people and institutions which save us from tyranny. Now is 1933 in the Unites States, the Supreme Court and Congress are subservient to the emergent autocrat. Will the people take the country back, or will it rhyme with Germany's descent into madness in the 1930's? The path of Entropy increase in the universe is unpredictable at the local level so there is no way to tell if the rhyme will continue. Americans may well be advise to take council by walking the isles of the history museums of Berlin (either in person or virtually) to get an understanding of what they are up against and inform their actions to correct the current deviation from 250 years of success in constitutional democracy, or accept a bifurcation of the country - one part governed by rule of law and the people, the other by power politics driven by fear and patronage. To see what the latter part of such a bifurcation looks like, one can just look at Russia: Its economy of two trillion dollars annually is smaller than Italy, a fifth of it's potential under governance of rule of lay and the people!

Meanwhile back in Schaumburg we enjoyed the wonderful terrace at The Villa and two great restaurants, Paschenburg at the peak and Ritter in the village, served German food like I recalled living in Vienna thirty years earlier. German food is not found in the ranks of the global cuisine, but it's solid and good, the Wiener Schnitzel just as I remembered it. It must be special as German food does not travel well overseas, one must be in the country, or in Austria where they get the technique right. In Berlin we would find it harder to find genuine German food, but we did find a few restaurants including acht&dreissig, etc, and one evening friends invited us out west of town to the embassy neighborhoods, and Landaus Grunewald, an excellent German restaurant. Wine's always taste better in the country on visiting, and we had some great German wines during the week, including dry (Troken) Riesling, Grauburgunder and some solid reds (not the Noirs so much), enough to compete with the solid food. During college I gravitated to sweet German wines, Liebfraumilch and the like, which were cheap and I used to freeze before drinking. Realizing the freezing was subduing the sweetness, I evolved to dryer wines and by third year was over to French Medocs. A sweet wine ordered by my travel companion on a 2004 trip to a vineyard on the Rhine almost made me puke. Best no trace of sugar be left behind, but many German wines today are semi-sweet such that one needs be careful on the ordering. I turned one bottle back (before opening) on our visit as the alcohol was 11%, meaning probably 1.5% sugars remaining.

My 1988 Citroen CX would really have been the better car to round trio 1400 kilometers, much of it on the German Autobahn. It can cruise at 160 kmh like a bird through air and smooth as silk. Alas, it would not be. My mechanic had patched it together over the years (he even sent me a transaxle to Ireland when my CV joint failed), but he retired and my new CX garage was a stickler for details, having detailed more than I had originally paid for the car in repairs before even passing the APK (MOT) inspection. So it would be Annette's Honda Insight, a small hybrid car that had served us well over a decade, although it is rarely driven. It would get the cobwebs blown out on the trip to Germany. There were three lanes for much of the way - the slow lane doing 100 kmh, the middle land doing 140 kmh and the fast lane meant to be kept open with cars doing 160 to 250 kmh. We did find in the middle lane speed, but of course had to maneuver with traffic which is the hard part for the little Honda engine, which generates electric power to drive a motor, so little in way of acceleration. We managed, but one has to concentrate always, as cars emerge behind like bullets. At one point on our last stretch of German Autobahn I was up to 160 kmh to get by a slow middle lane before a fast fast lane closed in and the check engine light illuminated. We did no driving in Berlin, the trams, metro, trains and Uber worked great there.

Finally we were ensconced in our apartment above Nordbahnhoff. Sunday, our first fill day in Berlin was welcomed with beautiful end of summer weather, sunny, not too hot. As more of an anthropological experience and investigation we decided to make an attempt at visiting Berghain, the famous Techno club which emerged as a demonstration of freedom our the old east Berlin. We were dressed simple smart and darkish, but I knew as soon as we tagged on to the long lone at two in afternoon Sunday that we were missing a certain deviance which would be required to get in. Regardless we were glad of the experience to try and absorb the scene. The club opens weekends from Friday afternoon to Monday morning and is full all that time, with long lines and strict cool factor screening, such that many are turned away. What a business model?, revenue is essentially fixed and steady. Steam turbines and equipment were removed and two floors setup for Techno and House music, framed by the solid structure of the old industrial building. There's a small outdoor area, a bar on top floor and a male only sex club in the basement. Built around techno music, sexual fluidity and free expression, the bouncers choose the clientele and no-one truly knows the criteria, which can change morning to evening. Come in small groups, two or three optimum, arriving alone puts additional onus to impress. Loud or large groups don't get in. Locals favored, speak German to the bouncer if you can, tourists or just visiting for fun folks are specifically targeted for rejection. Some people complain about the writer and the "walk of shame" upon not getting in, but not us, we were exactly the people they should not be letting in. Not that we don't dance well and would have a great time, but while I love Techno music, Annette was explaining to two lovely gay guys from Milan in the line that she hates Techno/House and loves Tayler Swift. The boys laughed, but I told her to be quiet as "Swifties" are persons non grata at Berghain! We were also there just to explore for fun, not the hard core types they prefer. The couple in front of us were not to different in appearance, age and dress but for the lady had a see through top on. A wonderful South Korean lad, probably early twenties and out traveling in the world for the first time was dressed the part we thought, the most likely of the crowd around us to get in, but no luck. In his four days in town he seemed to have been to most of the other clubs. Poor lad just had his phone stolen by street scammers, so was likely going to cut him trip short. Two guis behind us looked arabic, slyly telling us they came from Tel Aviv, probably cautious regarding the death toll in Gaza. They were dressed in black and likely looked a little like drop in tourists for the experience. One of the two nice gay lads wore red pants, but while their dress looked conventional, they emitted a certain flair and they got in. People get quiet and split into their small groups as the line approaches the door. Everyone in the line has self selected to be there and also know they are ultimately like Schrodinger's Cat, both in and out until the bouncer makes the call, the wave function collapses and there is only one real outcome. We were in line for two hours, which was an experience in itself. When the bouncer looked at me I said "Zwei", meaning just the two of us. Instead of an immediate rejection, "Nein", as I had seen others before us, he hesitated, looked left to the other bouncer from whom he must have got a negative signal and then turned back to say "Nein". I take that to mean that we at least had a chance and probably with a bit more effort in sexually suggestive attire, we may have a chance next time!

The destruction of Berlin during WW2, especially in 1945 was extreme by any measure, having been bombed by Britain, USA, France and Russia. Most of the city was rebuilt with emphasis to save or mimic the classic older building architecture where possible, mixed in with a variety of modern architecture. Besides a few iconic buildings, Berlin would not rank too highly on the pretty architecture list, but the city was rebuild well, solid, simple and with great public transport, plus lots of green spaces.

Many mornings after coffee my morning run would take me north along the Sudpanke River behind the massive complex of the German Federal Intelligence Service, sterile but for two tall steel palm trees to distract onlookers. Venturing further out of the city center on these runs I observed some few classical buildings which were saved from war destruction, along with lots of dreary uninspiring apartment buildings, plus huge swaths of graffiti. While modest levels of graffiti might reflect societal decal, full on coverage brings back some artistic ambience and is a common sight.

My exposure to the German language is limited to a year in high school, where I mainly recall learning the "Our Father" prayer, and six months in Austria where I worked with German speakers at a gas facility who knew no English for the most part. Irish and English sound soft and squishy compared to the exactness of the German as I learned it, even more so if one listens to Hitler's speeches, but for the most part I heard a gentler side to the language we heard while visiting. I can't speak German or Dutch, but once trying to respond in Dutch (explaining that I couldn't speak Dutch) my stranger colleague switched to German - apparently I was speaking non-Dutch with a German accent, likely informed by the time in Vienna.

Monday afternoon we were invited to an art gallery, Hering Berlin, in the wealthy suburb near Mexicoplatz. I wasn't even sure I would take along with Annette, but I did and it turned out to be a highlight of our visit to Berlin. Stefanie Hering has been famous globally for her ceramic craftsmanship since 1992. She had collaborated with Pierce Brosnan on a set of ceramic vases recently, a limited production, one of which stands in our front room. The collection is called "So Many Dreams" set in three Hering vases, reflecting Brosnan's drawings called Mirage, Tryst and Solitude. The 1500 run of production was for charity. While Brosnan is world famous for his acting, his original training was in art, for which he maintains a passion. Coincidentally his father comes from my home town, Tralee, which is probably not a great memory for him as his father had abandoned the family when he was young. Stefanie also has a connection to Kerry. Seeking an internship in pottery in Ireland and not liking her initial Dublin option, she high-tailed it down to Ventry (Ceann Tra) in Kerry to spend 6 months with Sheehy pottery there. What an experience for a city girl from Berlin to be out in the wilds of Kerry. She describes it warmly along with many stories. Annette and I got a set of ceramic plates when we married, which we still use today daily. I can't recall ever breaking one. That's how tough ceramics are. Well, it is really a combination of tough along with some flexibility, so the shock wave generated when they hit a tike floor is dissipated rather than turned into destructive force. Being an engineer I asked lots of geeky questions which Stephanie and Tom answered gracefully, its art after all, not engineering, but the technical details do matter a lot to them due to the high standard they maintain in production. A number of plate designed with hundreds or thousands of holes (on the rim) caught my eye. A special drill bit is used and they are drilled manually, so it is up to the crafts person to develop a spacial cadence on the go to produce the goods. This is the type of plate you expect at Michelin start restaurants, many of whom are her customers. Stephanie's partner Tom Herr helps run the business end of the business and they both spend an hour and half with us, discussing all sorts of topics along the way. They run the business from the ground floor of a mansion in west Berlin, but the manufacturing is done a few hours away. A long oval table in the garden is also a Stefanie production, along with many other ventures in lighting, wine glasses in a modernization of the traditional German style. The Brosnan-Hering collaboration also resulted in a plate, which they could individually distribute (also for charity) and we returned home with one.

Each day Annette and I explored town at our own pace, by train an don foot, usually meeting up in the later afternoons at some venue, but we focused on museums of interest, which were many. Museum Ephraim-Palais, housed in a rare fine old mansion which survived the bombing, houses exhibits on Berlin history. Already in the first part of the twentieth century, the Berlin Dr Magnus Hirschfeld realized that gay and trans-sexuality was not a choice, nor a disease to be treated, but a core trait of such people which should be accepted and tolerated. Berliners supported the war machine, men working in munitions factories, women in aircraft and propeller factories. Historically the city was badly affected by spread of plagues due to poor sanitation and there was little the pointy nosed plague doctors could do. Improved sanitation helped. What brought me to the vicinity of the museum was another of more interest to me, Design Panoptikum, dedicated to 20th century industrial objects. Just the kind of quirky theme I enjoy, but it was only open Thursdays. Returning there I met the owner, who was a photographer and started collecting industrial objects as props and later out of interest. He had started collecting at the right time, when derelict old businesses and factories were selling off equipment at firesafe prices after the failure of communism. He encourages visitors to be inquisitive and imaginative on interpreting the functional purpose of the wide ranging objects. He held up two aluminum objects, mirror images of each other and potentially used in combination, noting that other visitors imagined them to be related to medical leg or neck braces. I was not fooled and called them out as they were, door handles, for which he was impressed. The Photography Museum on Oranienburg Street was well worth the visit. Take the stairs there, as the graffiti in the stairwells and landings are one of the most impressive features of the building.

Midweek we made it out east to the Stassi Museum, located in a grand complex of buildings from which the most brutal security police lorded it over the people of east Germany for four decades. A derelict building across the street was strewn with graffiti as if staged purposefully in contrast to the order of the Stassi building. An orderly concrete mesh masks the entrance. On the courtyard stand walls of posters outlining the horror of state security in the German Democratic Republic (GDR), which was neither a republic nor a democracy. Millions escaped so they finally built a wall, The Berlin Wall, across the city. Berlin is situated deep within East Germany, but its governance was quartered among the allies and Russia. The American, British and French parts ended up being West Berlin, free but an island in the tightly controlled communist east. Inside the museum rooms tell of the detained methods and tactics used by the security police to surveil the people. As many as 5% of the population were snitches to the police, telling on their neighbors. Police would disguise as maintenance workers and intrude in people's houses and apartments when they were out at work to find evidence of deviance from the party line. Polaroid cameras were used to instantly record the location of things, which could be restored on departure. The Minox miniature film camera was the standard for longer term surveillance. Phone tapping, sound recording in people's houses, invisible infra red camera technology, shadow surveillance on the street and more were deployed on the people to keep them in check under a system. People voted with their feet and left before being imprisoned or disappeared. The west welcomed them, a brain drain from the east who would strengthen progress in the west and beat witness to the horror show which was communism. Many leftists in the west too easily ignored the brutal methods used to control the people, instead seeing the potential for a fairer way to govern, but the escapees told a different story. Totalitarianism is a dangerous game even for those in the leadership, as suspicions could turn to purges in their ranks. In many ways we have sleep walked into a surveillance state globally in our modern world, cameras everywhere, facial recognition, video and cameras everywhere and it would be a lesson from the past which should guid us to put some limits on it's legitimate use. Erich Mielke, asshole in chief as minister for state security 1957-1989, claimed during a 1989 parliamentary hearing that he loved the people. He was laughed at by those attending, they'd had enough. He was imprisoned for murdering police officers in 1931, but not for his role in terrorizing the citizens of GDR.

Thursday morning I finally got to the Design Panoptikum Museum, the industrial objects museum mentioned earlier. I was the first visitor and was greeted by the owner, Vlad Kornveen, who asked how I found the place. Always looking for interesting (quirky) places of interest, on the internet of course. Kornveen was a photographer, working with film maker Werner Bokelberg, and collected various industrial objects as props for his photography, eventually forming the museum. It was my type of place I told him, so on departure he advised I visit the Medical Museum, the Technical Museum and the Luftwaffe Museum which would be of interest. On the way to the Technical Museum I routed my walk by the Jewish Museum, housed in a large complex of buildings which tells the horrific story of the murder of 6 million jews of Europe, plus many others. From the three revolts by the Jews in the first century against the brutal repression of the Romans, which scattered them across many lands of Europe and Africa, to the last centuries of cruel treatment across the lands of Europe, the Jews have had a tough road to follow. They thrives in the areas of business, commerce of labor in which they were allowed by the powers that were in cities and rural towns where they landed. From labor to professions, science and finance they have made a huge contribution to European society, progress and wealth and in thanks they were vilified, blamed and used as the scapegoat for hubris, incompetence and arrogant wars of Germany which ruined the country early last century. The destruction of the Jews was built on a lie and revealed the true vileness capable of the human being against himself. The Jews were again scattered, half today landed in the US and half in the Zionist state of Israel. Iran, Hizbollah, Hamas, The Houthi's all deserve blame for the horror show underway in the Middle East today. In response Israel is executing genocide of the innocent Palestinians in Gaza. The Balfour declaration by the British in 1917 was clear that the Palestinians rights on their land should be respected. The moderated on both sides have been assassinated or made powerless, leaving the extremists run the show. The Israeli people must recognize that an injustice is an injustice, whether it is Nazis murdering inocent Jews in Germany, or Israelis murdering innocent Palestinians in Gaza. My American Jewish friends certainly recognize this and take a much more balanced view on the situation in Israel-Palestine, plus support a non-violent and peaceful resolution. The Berlin Jewish museum is impressive and well worth a visit. A center piece of the exhibition is the floor of flat faces cit out of plates of steel, a start reminder of what happens when we dehumanize our fellow human beings.

The Technical Museum is built around an old railway maintenance year with a central rotating rail circle designed to redirect train engines to the maintenance bays set around in a circular pattern. A set of massive steam engines are housed there. Inside the main building is a huge exhibit of shipping, aircraft and engines. There on display (as in the Lawman Museum, Hague) was a Junker Juno 205 aircraft engine from 1932. Unusual in design, it had 12 double opposed pistons in 6 cylinders, requiring two crank shafts at opposite sides. It was a diesel two stroke, which helped it gain back dome weight spent on the extra cranks. One piston cleared the intake while the opposite one cleared the exhaust (i.e. no need for valves, the piston opened vents on the side of the cylinder and the intake. The engine room had my attention, but there was also an interesting exhibit on sugar at the entrance outlining the background of sugar cane and later the development of sugar beat production in Europe and the specialized machinery used to harvest them. A large collection of model sail ships in housed there along with early flight machines.

Walking back north along Frederick Street I came across the famous Checkpoint Charlie, one of many openings in the wall for official transit from East to West Berlin. Alfa, Bravo, Charlie mark the call out of the alphabet by the US military which landed the name of the small white cabin now thronged with tourists. A few blocks west is the Topography of Terror museum and a good stretch of the Berlin Wall on display as a reminder of the madness. The museum is free to enter and houses storyboards as record to the chillingly brutal and cruel terror machine implemented by the National Socialists. It came to an end in the summer of 1945 with the Russians capturing the city followed by the allies. Among them they agreed to split the city into four governed regions. It was the end, but also the start of the future which would be negotiated in the Potsdam Conference late July and August of 1945. Potsdam stands west of Berlin and was one of the few places undamaged and available to hold a conference of the powers, USA, Britain and Russia at least to determine the future of Europe. We passed it both arriving and departing Berlin, but saw little reason to visit the site of the imbalanced conference, Russia having been handed what it wanted, for which we are still paying the price today. Churchill saw the disaster for what it was, but was losing power at home and had little sway. France was missing as they had formally capitulated during the war, but would have had provided more balance in discussion of the future. Truman was new to the scene and narrowly focused on US interests at the expense of Europe's future. Stalin played them all like a fiddle. Truman did bring a few good concepts to the resolution, the quick punishment to senior Nazi's, rejection of reparations, and a plan to stabilize the country and allow prosperity to pull it forward, rather than the financial ruin of the 1920's which fueled Nazism. An exhibit at the museum explored what happened to the Nazis after the war. It is important to remember that Hitler never killed anyone, it was his cohorts and a large cadre of Nazi's who did the harassment, torture and killing. A few senior members, those who did not suicide, were convicted and some executed. The majority dissolved like water where they could, either in Germany, or across the continent. Many went to South America. Imagine you're a Jew like Stephan Zweig and you flee to Petropolis, Brazil, and you keep running into the Nazi tormentors of you people. While the Nazis sought to disappear where they could, they have been chased for decades and each year new links to past murderous deeds come to light. Rarely after such atrocities do societies accept responsibility, but the German's did and owned the guilt of the horrors which is an important part of recovery and inoculation from repeating the deviations. It's all laid out there in the Topography of Terror museum, a great treasure of information and must visit in Berlin.

Friday morning I headed west to the large Charite medical complex founded in 1710 and which has been an important contributor to the city's health and well being. There I was to visit the Museum of Medical History, a gem in the city which maps out so many of the advances over the years, from surgery to vaccines and antibiotics. Clear from the exhibit is how recent our real knowledge had been in medical treatment which saved more people that it killed. Vaccines and antibiotics together have had a huge impact. Small Pox, Tuberculosis and polio killed and deformed hundreds of millions of people, but are now under control. Yet there is a disturbingly dangerous force of antiscientific ignorance in the world today, especially in the US, working to undermine this progress. Is it consolation to anyone who dies whether it was by hatred in the gas chamber or ignorance of medical science?

We found Berlin an interesting open city, well run and practical, easy to get around. Each day brought new adventures. In the Friedhof Berlin cemetery large and ancient family graves stood, having survived the bombing and were still attended by the families, those lucky enough to have avoided purge from the city, and their duty of care revealed in tows of plastic watering buckets, each lovingly locked by wire to a fence post by key or number lock. I wondered whether they could not have joined up to have a few communal watering jugs left around for mourner's use, but no, the ritual of unlocking ones own watering jug was the evidence of commitment to those past. Further along the corner kick was well attended. A Berlin staple, these kiosks are where the magic happens. No pretense of special service, just a few tables and chairs where on grabs a beer or a sandwich, a smoke or the paper for a daily stopover. As we prepared for departure on Saturday the city was also preparing for the Berlin Marathon. Boats plies the Spree River and sun draped the Reichstag while the Tiergarden Park teemed with people. Never too far from pains of the past, there was an outdoor exhibit and monument to the victims of the holocaust, which extended much broader than Jews. A Roma family from Netherlands were captured and while being shunted on rail of to concentration camp where they died, Dutch soldiers offered an escape path to the son who fled, survived and lived out his life as a florist in Netherlands. Between the killing remembered at Tiergarden and the killing of Palestinians being protested against up on Unter den Linden, there was the Brandon Gate restored in all her glory from the bombing for World War Two. Beneath the gate was the starting point for the Berlin Marathon and the many thousands were already gathering to collect their bib numbers.

Entrance line to Berghain, Berlin

Stefanie Hering with Annette at their studio

A Hering classic ceramic plate, hand made

Garb of the Plague Doctor

Graffiti at the Photo Museum

Erick Mielke's quarters in Stassi building

Lads taking the wall down 1989

Industrial Objects Museum Berlin

Free still locker on streets of Berlin, good reuse policy

Junker 1932 Jumo 205 2 Stock Diesel Double Opposed Aircraft Engine

View across the Spree

Reichstag Seat of Power (Restored)

Brandenburg Gate (with Berlin Marathon setting up)

Memorial to murdered Jews Berlin

The Berlin Wall

Definitely costume for my next try at Berghain!

Nordbahnhof

Homo museum in Tiergarden Park

Schaumberg Tower

Museum of Medical History, Charite

Part of the Wall at Potsdam Platz

View inside the Homo monument in Tiergarden Park

Porto da Cruz, Madeira

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 12 Mar 2025 16:31:00 +0000

Porto da Cruz - Maiata Beach - Alagoa Beach - Nevada Trails

Maiata Beach

Madeira stands high above the Atlantic Ocean off central Morocco, a solid block of volcanic rock rising sharply from 4400 meters below the sea surface to 1800 meters above, a forbidding sight form the many ancient mariners who accidentally passed by, pounded and battered by a restless ocean and rained upon constantly. It's strength, resilience and isolation had made it a good place for our family to visit in March 2017 as we sought a remote sanctuary to recover from the dismal politics of the prior year, including the first Trump administration, Britain leaving the European Union and a general shift rightward globally. That visit was an action packed week, touring the island from our base, a waterfront mansion in Conical (see notes). In March 2025 we again chose Madeira for a week away after closing out another depressing year of geopolitical suicide from Russian to the USA. That same year (2024) Annette's mother had died after an unexpected cancer diagnosis, a number of friends committed suicide, my close colleague died unexpectedly, long covid affected Annette's health and we struggled to keep our younger son in the world. Like a return to safety in turbulent times, a sequel to our prior visit, we found a perfect sanctuary on the northeast coast of Madeira, a remote beach front house in Porto da Cruz. We had no agenda but to meditate ourselves back to normal, or whatever version of normal we could muster under the circumstances. The cloud of Trump again hung over our stay, but this second term would be without the seatbelts and airbags that cushioned the first. His love for Putin and the Russian way of life would guide his policies this time around, taking a wrecking ball to what American had achieved. Had Russia been governed as well as USA for the last century, it's economy would be well over 10 Trillion per year today. They have the intelligence and resources to achieve that benchmark set by advanced countries. Instead, due to Putin's brutal mafia style, corrupt, kleptocratic and autocratic model of governance, Russia can barely scratch 2 Trillion per year, less than the size Italy's economy. Putin's "Great Leap Backwards" was now being deployed in America. With this deeply depressing cloud hanging over the west Atlantic, it was time for us to switch off all news. It would be just Annette and me and our mission was as much as possible to sit on the covered terrace overlooking the Atlantic ocean in storm and sunshine of late winter reading books. We got a direct flight and walked past all the long lines at the rental car booths to the parking lot where we met Pedro and our car. It seems strange in a digital world that there be lines. The experience should be very fast, "here's my ID, give me the keys, next customer, average interaction time seconds". Luckily we were with a local company, much easier, he operates just three cars and insures them, an advantage on the tight roads of the island.

Madeira is not for everyone, its very local, really vertical, and while the sea is calm sometimes, it can swing into an angry swell quickly, especially during our winter visits. There is little sand, the roads are tortuous and narrow, unless on main roads which tunnel underground for a good part. One will be on the tiniest back road, winding vertically as well as horizontally in no clear direction at fifteen kilometers per hour at best, when a portal opens, a sign for the main road and whoop, you're at 100 kmh with tailgaters pushing you along in a tunnel, there's no in between, nor any pull offs to look at the map. No, Madeira is not for the weak hearted, it's cold and hot at the same time, just as one sweats and pulls off layers, the rains come pouring on, forcing another change of gear, before the wonderful warm sun comes back, illuminating full double rainbows across the rains which have moved on. Rainbows should be the symbol of the island.

All the surfers were out on the main breaks of Maiata Beach on the Sunday morning after we arrived. The main crew were center right of the beach where many good waves broke, but one surfer entered on the left side which I observed and made a good run of the odd combination of lifters there. The island is like a pin prick through the ocean surface from the depths, and is exposed to ocean energy from all directions. The combination of waves is not consistent. That waves turn corners was one of the first things I learned in physics, and the effect makes our world more interesting as well as the surf around the Madeira coast. The best average location of the break is not always the best location for the best waves, which may develop less frequently when multiple peaks combine from different directions, by a minor angle, increasing amplitude temporarily. Rather than a set of three every ten waves, one may wait longer, say every thirty or fifty, but the patient would benefit. Miguel Fernandez mostly surfed on the left side that week middle of March, usually alone, even after those friends with whom he had done warmups on the beach went to the right side. After studying for a few days I developed a theory. Conditions for surfing are dismal on Maiata Beach during low and high tide. Energy from ocean swells break further from shore and over a wider expanse of due to the leveling out of sea floor meeting the shallow waters at low tide. At high tide all that energy is carried up close, lifting rollers which break too quickly to catch before they crash on the steep rounded rocks risking limb and surfboard both. It's the mid tide, rising or falling, when ocean energy is dissipated into lifting waves which travel long enough for surfers to catch. The easiest place for a novice surfer to start is the right hand break, as it lifts higher typically, increasing the chance a board will lift up on plane with a little help from a vigorous breast stroke. A quick acceleration to plane speed, which varies by board and surfer weight. Typically the speed of a fast run will get one on plane. Then an agile step up to standing position while further acceleration to speed as optimized by position on the wave.

Surfers come in all shapes and sizes and ultimately it is the laws of physics which dictate how they engage with the ocean. At Maiata that week were all ages, but no-one was heavy by any standard. The skinny lighter surfers were able to keep going once on a wave, sometimes all the way to shore, kept going by pumping toward the end. Stockier surfers need higher takoff speed due to their weight, but often compensate by having greater upper body strength to drive that takeoff speed. Nilton was one of these. His physique stood out and looked impressive even under a heavy wetsuit at a distance of half a kilometer through the lens of my camera, as he surfed the precious waves of the left side. He was clearly an excellent surfer, able to tackle the more difficult wave sets, and with an upper body strength which could probably lift a surfboard on plane in still water. What dividend then did he get from these harder breaks? What I noticed was the easier, more numerous and high waves on the right side got more surfers moving, but then the waves tended to fizzle out quicker, or they changed form multiple times, robbing one of a full run. The more difficult left side had more running room once one found the right wave, and had the ability to get up upon it, a capability that Nilton had. Some days others would join him there, but only the best had a chance to get on a wave, the rest scurried away quickly. Nilton surfed every day, usually twice a day, except for stormy Monday, a day no-one surfed.

The true meaning of physique was revealed one day as Miguel prepared to hit the waves along with a female friend. Not his girlfriend I had picked up, but maybe a trainee surfer client I initially thought, but later determined they were just surf friends sharing preparation time coincidentally. Surfers and motorcyclists have a similar problem with clothing. The optimum gear for speed in air or water is too much when one is standing still in the sun, so on the way to the beach Miguel stripped off his upper suit to cool down. Bianca seemed OK with her own suit and it is not custom for women to go topless for some reason. They practiced stretching together before heading to the waves. While Bianca was in good shape, it was Nilton who stole the show, now that his real physique was on display waste up. Marco Mignot, the famous French surfer would have to be jealous. Nilton put on display a true specimen of human kind, any doctor would agree. During my marathon running days I had more than one doctor refer to me as a specimen, a term meaning it's the type of body a medical school would be glad to dissect to train students what a body is supposed to look like, or did look like during our hunter-gatherer years before the sedentary nature of agriculture and the office took over our daily routines. I was a different specimen though, one more like the male version of Normann & Norma, a body average of some 15,000 men and women made during world war two, defining the "norm" of the time. Unlike Nilton, Normann looks more like an endurance athlete, dominated with Type 1 low twitch muscles. Unlike my then self or Normann or normal was Nilton who cut the figure of the model Michaelangelo Buonarroti would like to have stood as a model for David. Michaelangelo's masterpirce comes with some abnormal proportions, the length of the arms, size of hands, smaller size of testicles compared to the massive height of statue, which is strange as David was the underdog in the fight with the larger Goliath. Nilton would have been a better model, being slightly shorter than average, well proportioned physically and supercharged with muscles throughout, clearly something he has worked hard on. The pectoral muscles stood out a few inches depending on whether at rest or flexed. Three huge abdominal muscles formed speed bumps down his front torso. Other muscles in the back and arms came out in full sight during stretching and hand stands. Many of the stretch maneuvers practiced by Nilton and Bianca were similar to ones I was trained to do for Yoga, while they look very graceful they can be quite tough to execute. Success at surfing requires huge flexibility, an ability to stand, squat and turn in milliseconds. While they finished stretching Nilton demonstrated a few full handstands which is an impressive feat. Later I would learn he could even do a single hand stand and a horizontal pole stand, neither of which I could achieve during my best days.

Nilton was busy then and there was always other people around, so I didn't get a change to meet him until Tuesday evening. As mid tide moved later each day, it was dusk by the time I caught sight of him running down the stairs to the beach. The beach was empty, even JJ at O Surfista had left early. He was in quickly, caught three or four great runs which I caught on binoculars (it was too dark for camera footage). He surfed the right side that evening, the only time he did so that week, so maybe he just likes to be away from the crowds rather than my theory of the waves. Greeting him as he emerged upstairs we chatted about his surfing, why he surfed mostly on the left side, but for this evening as the winds were changing. I learned his job was surfing essentially and also implicitly body building, something more difficult for people in non-physical employment. Asking advice about how to manage eyesight I learned he already suffers from surfer's eye (pterygium) and the stress of ultraviolet light from sun plus reflected from the water surface can damage unprotected eyes. I used to love surfing in Louisiana year ago, but my biggest problem was my poor eyesight. Glasses would get ripped off in the ocean swell and I never have worn contacts. Goggles get steamed up and even they get ripped from your face due to the force of falling in a wave. If a water jet can cut steel and a drive train transmission runs on fluid turbulence, then yes, diving in a wave can rip pretty much anything unattached from one's body. Dummy contact lenses may be the solution I suggested to him. While we spoke he pulled off his wetsuit revealing the physique which had impressed me so much on the first day and which had Annette almost falling out of the car as we drive past him on another day. A quick search of his name online revealed he was one of Madeira's best upcoming surfers with already a long surfing history based in Porto da Cruz, plus competitions overseas.

Surfers on right side of Maiata Beach

Maiata Beach

Stormy Monday, St Patrick's Day 2025 at Maiata

Maiata Left side break

The surfers path at Maiata beach

Preparing for the Surf

Pre-surfing stretching maneuvers

Surfer, right side Maiata Beach

Surfer makes long run on right side of Maiata

Surfers walk barefoot over rocky beach at Maiata

Busy right side of Maiata

Making the most of a shallow wave

Nilton on left side Maiata Beach

Nilton on top of a modest wave

Maiata Beach House stood alone with a large terrace overlooking the water northeastward. Rustic was the description in the rental, with modest sized rooms set with two bedrooms, a small kitchen and living room, and a huge outdoor terrace, half covered, overlooking the ocean just beyond the fig tree orchard and under constant scrutiny by the four cats, three golden yellow and one gray, black with flecks of yellow. Each room had a window, a meter squared, which was clad with robust shutters, blocking wind and rain, plus morning light, which extended our sleep well into late morning, a full ten hours of coma state sleep most days. The terrace furniture being moved around early Monday morning didn't bother us either, as a storm was forecast and we were kept safe and sound behind our shutters. Finally at eleven I opened wide the windows and shutters to an amazing view. Beyond the rearranged terrace furniture, the roiling Atlantic was hurling four meter breakers in our direction. The property was operated as a beach restaurant at one time and a larger terrace on the lower level revealed a set on wonderful covered benches, clad in marine paraphernalia overlooking the wide bay. A huge chimneyed fire place nearby served as a barbecue grill for us a number of days, well guarded by all four cats as they sought leftovers. They seemed well fed and I found a food bowl for them a level lower again, where stood a storehouse and garden tools for the half acre fig orchard which led down to the rock strewn beach. The terrace of the main house wrapped around L shaped, allowing us to sit protected from the wind and rain regardless of the angle under a large lean to covering.

Madeira is a baby in geological terms, having been formed only 5 million years ago, not long after our human ancestors split from our chimpanzee-bonobo relatives to chart our unlikely course. That was a lot of material for our molten earth to throw up, but ever since the sea, along with ice ages and biological action has been working to tear it down again. Ocean action has put a serious dent all around the island, but to an extreme extent on the north side due to the trade winds which dominate the island's weather. The prevailing wind arriving from the northeast has eaten back so much of the island along the north that cliffs and steep faces dominate the area, reaching 600 meters of higher. It takes only a few kilometers from shore to reach an ocean depth of 600 meters, but on the north side it is typically twice as far or more, revealing how much the sea has already taken back. At that rate the island will disappear in short order on geological terms and well before the oceans themselves are ripped away by the solar winds. Meanwhile the northeast side of Madeiria offers some of the most amazing scenery and the coastal hike from Porto da Cruz to Canical is so impressive I hiked it twice.

On a sunny windy day back in March 2017 we witnessed a huge swell on a visit to Porto da Cruz, the waves crashing against the basalt peninsula so hard the spray reached high in the air. The winds came from northeast that day and historically, but during our week in 2025 there was an unusual winter storm system moving north of the island, a low pressure system around 40 degrees north moving east and circling counter clockwise due to the earth rotation pulled a stiff 50 kph wind from the west over the island from Sunday to mid week, putting Porto da Cruz on the lee side of the winds protected by the ridge of the highest Peak Ruivo. Relieved of direct winds on Maiata beach one may expect some calm, but the opposite was true, especially Monday to Wednesday. Huge waves heading east across Madeira were forced to turn around San Jorge headland and as they entered Maiata bay they organized for better effect into a 10 second swell driving huge breaking waves on the beach. In comparison, buy Saturday the prevailing wind had turned back to normal, with a good wind direct on Maiata beach, but the surf decreased in quality, reverting to a disorganized mess of wash from which it would be hard for a surfer to find a good break. That day Nilton posted a great clip of him surfing at Paul du Mar, which had an organized swell while on the lee side of the island. I learned in Louisiana that wind driven waves are messy, but what I learned here in Maderia was that the best waves may be organized by being forced around the corner, i.e. the cornering of a swell can organize it for better effect.

I could barely read my books during the week, the ocean grabbed so much of my attention when surfers were out and during storms my time was taken studying the contours of waves. Breaking waves produce a lot of noise from the slapping of water and bubbling of trapped gas being pushed by the winds and energy of the swell rolling in from afar confronting dissipation of energy on the shore. My sound recorder caught an hour of it, but for the most part the decibel level was too high to achieve the quality I was looking for to use on video production. Listening to an hour of ocean noise or watching Maiata bay for the same period may seem a constant repetition of the cycle of wave frequency of the day in particular, but nothing in our complex systems ever repeats itself exactly. Each second of that hour may seem an echo of that of another, they will never be identical. Noise is something unintelligible to us, but we are organisms of perception and each evening as sound waves flooded our terrace, reflecting of the roof and walls my mind distilled them into some faint trace of Noam Chomsky narrative, or Indian music. One evening I made out a faint echo of Morse Code and wondered how many signals belong the ocean may be joining in my perception, or maybe perception alone was enough. All my life experience packed away and repacked in hours of sleep now reemerged in narrative, music and code, all of which I had real experience in the past. The ocean can bring these memorized patterns out as it did each evening as we sat on the terrace.

Maiata Beach House (Yellow)

The narrow road from the end of our drive way went down about the same distance to O Surfista Beach Bar on a headland overlooking Maiata Beach, with view back to the town of Porto da Cruz. I ordered a coffee the first morning while viewing the Sunday surfers, it was only a euro and quite good, but the shack didn't seem to be stocked too well other than drinks. Later in the day a number of tables were pulled out and a fine spread of seafood was served, a hidden gem of a place, unassuming but quite good food we would learn. There was quite a good local crowd supporting Surfista that sunny day, which was lucky because JJ was open all day Monday, rain wind and shine, but had no grill running due to conditions, no seating outside and no customers all day except for his two friends who sat at the only two bar stools available for potential customers. "It's a day for the high stool" was an expression for a rainy day on Ireland, and seeming also here in Madeira. Many customers open and close businesses at will due to conditions on the island, but JJ was staying and seeing it through to the bitter end of the day. I got the impression this bar was not his business but rather his living room over the ocean, and who could blame him. People did come to witness the storm at the head of Maiata Beach. A sign there in four languages indicated by national flag warned that the beach was not supervised, "Unbewatcher Beach" being the German translation, which was marked as English in a sign we cam across in 2017. After sundown each evening, strings of obnoxious flashing colored lights illuminated O Surfista, interrupting the light desert which would otherwise entice one to look at the clear stars above. Some evenings JJ gave up and closed early and on Wednesday, he didn't even open at all, which was probably for the best as it was horrendous weather. On Saturday we finally got down to the beach bar late afternoon and ordered two fish of the day, plus two glasses of while wine. The huge pouring of wine, at a euro eighty each were the bargain and tasted great, although the top heavy glasses found it hard to stop sliding down the slanted table. I put two squeezed lemon peals under the right side of my plate and all was well. It was a great meal of fish, potatoes and vegetables.

One may expect Madeira to be a rock desert, but millions of years of trees, grass, fungus and fauna have built up a good inventory of humus, which sits mostly in steep slopes and even the heavy rains have not washed away due to the complex networks of roots and sticky fat rich soil. Steep slopes and valleys of the north side were historically covered with trees and hardy bushes, which still cling to the earth and rock at all angles from cliff to valley. Australian Eucalyptus and Black Wattle trees were brought in for commercial gain and are still quite abundant. Agriculture thrives in small plots and cleared small fields, but there's not room for the large farms common on the south west. Every house has its own plot of vegetables which grow voraciously in the rain and rich soil. Root cover is effective at holding the soil together and avoid it being washed out to sea and they only till a narrow tow to open up for planting. Still, in the heavy Wednesday rains the creek ran brown with soil and minerals being washed to sea, and the bay ran a circle of brown counter clockwise revealing the currents. Sugar cane grows well on the island. At one point Madeira supplied Europe with most of its sugar. Truck loaded with can navigate the narrow roads making their way to the North Mills Distillery at the center of town. There the ancient conveyors and crushers extract the sugar liquor to make rum as they have done for centuries. Madeira Wine has been famous of centuries and comes from grapes grown on the south and west side of the island, where the lands are fertile, less steep and dryer on the lee of the prevailing winds. Wine was traditionally fortified to 20%+/- to reduce volume for shipping. Apparently some barrels of Madeira shipped to the US were mistakenly returned and it was found that the wine improved due to the heat and time, so a similar aging step was introduced to the production process. Trucks returned to the countryside filled with the husks of cane to spread on the lands, returning nutrients. Many houses grow their own food. Each morning and evening the neighbor lady came out the adjacent fields and cut long grass, filling a sack to bring home to feed some ruminant housed there, a practice I have observed in other fertile volcanic areas, like Java Indonesia.

We loved the stormy days, kept at home at the end of Camino Dos Muros observing the sheets of rain and waterfalls forming from the heights of Penha D'Aguia and the ocean turn brown with mineral runoff. The mood of waves, water and sky changed across the day during good weather, or by the minute in storms. After a dark windy rain we often had the sun come out, usually to the west, throwing up low arc rainbows to the east over the ocean. One rainbow landed on Nilton's head like it it was going to teleport him from the ocean surface from the left to O Surfista's Beach Bar on the right through a low angle arch, at least from the angel where I stood. Had I not had a good knowledge of the laws of physics and illusion, I may well have expected him to be sucked up any second to be delivered for lunch at JJ's. The evolving dance in late after need between mountain induced rains and sun let to rainbows lingering for an hour of more.

Up in Ports Da Cruz on stormy Monday the terrace restaurants were open seeking customers, but none attended while the sea swell at high tide drove a slosh of frothy seawater high in the air off the wall next to the tables, which were soaked, while a waitress kept wiping them down hoping for a customer to brave the seawall boundary. I recall in 2017, as we had early dinner at the upper restaurant watching in shock as a huge wave over run the seawall and inundate the terrace diners with a half meter of water throughout, some thirty people running or standing on chairs while the wash slowly drained away. Climbing over the barriers I walked around the Pico peninsula watching the sea-swimmingpools bring overrun with sea swell. Likely these pools were part of EU development grants at some point, but no longer open to public, nor were they last visit. Maybe they only open summertime. Further along, the tiny inner harbor has awkward aquadynamic during high swells. A whole underwater cave seems to be opening up on the east side, issuing a deep whale like roar each time a column of water thumps the impenetrable rock. Here is where the sea finally wins, by channeling its energy as a battering ram toward one point, breaking down even this hard volcanic rock. The small round bay there seems to concentrate the effect of the swell, holding a wave crest in reserve to join a second for increased force to blast a huge upward force of water some thirty meters or more. Waiting for the receding waters I ran past the demonic spot to safety on the other side. The peninsula at Porto da Cruz only survives as it is the hardest volcanic rock, pure basalt and there, on the outer terrace of black rock sat a bolder of sandstone, some three tons of it, rounded by the ocean swell like a sack of potatoes revealing the force of the ocean swell. Around the corner, Alagoa bay was getting full force of waves delivered to well above the rocky beach, but the conditions were poor for surfing that day. Nilton told me Thursday would be a good day for surf at Alagoa beach, as the winds shifted from west to north.

As I entered one of only two shops in town, ladies stocking shelves sang in unison to most beautiful effect. I managed the translation of whole milk to buy, but found little else in the shop to add to dinner, but a role of bread. The rural shops tend to be full on packaged foods, and most of the fresh food is sold out by noon. Next was the small shop nearby, which was even more packaged, so to support local business I bought a bottle of wine. Not being a "bank card" shop, I handed the lady a folded up Euro 20 bill, which she unfolded and it turned into two. Smirking, plus the lady nearby laughing, as she handed me back the extras plus change, who probably thought, "silly boy, he's not from the island!". Touring the little graveyard at center of town along the river front ancestors of the community were revealed. By far the most common name on the area was de Freitas, a name people from the rocky lands, who originally came from north Portugal an immigrated likely for opportunity as Madeira was developed. It was Nilton's surname, but for dropping the "de".

No surfers braved the waters that whole day Monday due to the storm, although there were fine breakers, especially later in the day. On other days surfers arrived predictable at mid tide both rising and falling. Tuesday mid tide rising the surfers were back making great use of the heavy swell left by the storm. Later in the week a young lady in town showed me video of the waves up at Porto Moniz that day, which were huge driven by the storm and unusual western winds. She said the island rarely gets such storms really, but I reminded her of the huge waves I had witnessed eight years earlier and she acknowledged that February and March can be stormy. Wednesday it rained heavily for most of the day and no-one surfed in the mud red ocean colored by two rivers entering the bay. By now I was getting the hang of operating my drone and during dry spells able to get it a kilometer across the bay to inspect the surf on Alagoa Beach on the other side of town.

Thursday I braved up for a long hike of 5 hours, the hardest part of which was the steep climb up "Vereda do Lombinho". Surveying the steep ridge from sea level I could not make out how one was to get up the tree covered ridge, but there was a path indeed, a bit slippery and very steep, testing my flatlander physique. The air cooled, winds increased, and soon the sun broke through the thick canopy as I made it to the top. The next four hours would be easy, flat or descending, as I made my way over the highlands to Boca do Risco. From there I returned along the most amazing coastal trail anywhere in the world. Cut midway up the steep 600 meter cliffs was a narrow trail running flat for the most part. At narrower sections rails protected one, but caution was due throughout. I had already hiked the latter half of the trail on Stormy Monday and the experience came to me in dreams, where the cliffs were impossibly higher, steeper and the trail narrower, inducing terror enough to steel up my caution on this return hike. At one point I had stopped on the outer side of the trail to let a hiker pass. One push and I could have been over the edge to death and I recalled advise from Ang Dorje Sherpa in Nepal on such narrow trails, when passing yak trains or hikers. Always stand cliff side for safety, in case a yak slips one could be pushed over. Heading the advise now, I played it safe for the rest of the hike. The heights of Madeira can be deceiving, even on the Levada trails which seem safe, there are sections where one could fall to injury or death. The mud trail was slippery. I watched an older rotund man in what looked like slippers walk with difficulty. I was glad to be wearing hardy hiking boots. One young fit man walking barefoot offered me wild fruit along the way, which I accepted. Looking like a small yellow plumb, it tasted bitter and I thought better to plant it in the mushy soil instead. Boots or barefoot, either was probably better than slippers I thought.

We had cooked at the house lots, great local food. On Thursday we had early dinner at A Pipa where we were lucky to get a seat outside. Metro (rental car) had recommended it and it was a coincident to be located in Porto da Cruz. An unassuming restaurant self identified as a "snack bar" which is deceiving, as the food was excellent, sea bream, squid and vegetables (Euro 50 for 2). Four locals, all cousins were having a reunion of sorts at the table next to ours and we noticed some commotion as the welcomed an elderly lady in purple coat over for a picture. That was Christiano Ronaldo's mother they told us proudly. On Friday we visited Funchal briefly for a flea market, but it turned out to be one pathetic stall, and we really preferred to be in out isolation back at Porto. As we left the house that afternoon to head for dinner at another amazing restaurant we found, Restaurant Gale, Nilton was preparing to surf and I hoped to get a change for Annette to meet him, but she was late and he was on the waves by the time we passed by. Located on the north slope of Penha d'Aguia, Gale specialized in seafood and it did not disappoint. We were served by the owner's son who spoke perfect English. A local boy who spend much of his youth in South Africa and then overseas until he returned to Porto last December. Octopus, Fish and sides plus a bottle of wine (Euro 85 for 2). Saturday evening we finally ate at O Sufista, the local bar, which has great fish and veg (23 Euro for 2) and really cheap. Sunday on the day of departure we hung out in Canical and had mid afternoon dinner at Restaurant O Recante, an amazing highly rated seafood place where we had dried tuna and swordfish (Euro 50 for 2). One can not beat the seafood and vegetables of Madeira.

By the end of the week in beautiful isolation we had forgotten about the problems of the wicked world. Washed clean by the warm windy winter rains, exercised on the beaches and dramatic cliffside trails, fed by seafood of the Atlantic, and vegetables of rich island soils, and entertained by, of course, Nilton!

Peak of Madeira

View to Pocarica Isle

Porto da Cruz harbor

Maiata Bay

O Surfista Beach Bar, Maiata

Giant fir tree at elevation 600 meters

View to Madera's highest peak

view to Porto da Cruz

Rainbows common on Madeira

Sea, wind and rain dominate Madeira north side

View west of Porto da Cruz bay

View east of Porto da Cruz bay

Sugar cane processing at North Mills Distillery

Motocross track at Maiata Beach

Bingham, Nebraska

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 27 Jul 2024 20:48:00 +0000

Alliance - Antioch - Bingham - Hyannis - Broken Bow - Stickley - Fairbury

Ogallala fed lake in Sandhills, Nebraska

My last real visit to Nebraska was in the summer of 1994 exploring the great western sandhills and the center of the country. A few years later I did a few short trips, mainly to Lincoln NE in order to sit exams for the Engineer-in-Training and Professional Engineering certification. The xenophobes at University of Kansas Lawrence would not accept my British 1st Class Honors Bachelors Degree, so I applied instead for licensure in welcoming Nebraska, a license still valid today. Returning from a wonderful motorbike trip to Yellowstone, Wyoming, crossing through Nebraska that summer, I arrived first at Scottsbluff, staying overnight. Cruising slowly into town a local biker with an identical purple, pink and black Honda CBR 600 pulled up next to me with a girl on back, daring me for a race. This was common on many long distance trips, to be challenged by local to race, but I never partook, nor understood the practice. The wind was so strong in Wyoming that my tires were worn unevenly on the left side due to the leaning, and a slow leak in the rear which needed daily air fill-up at the gas station. With no tang gauge, mileage for fuel tracking and high fuel rate due to the speed I would full the gas tank regularly to avoid going dry in such remote lands. Wyoming had eliminated speed limits not long before, but re-imposed them reluctantly by my visit, but rarely enforced them, so it was not unusual for me to cruise at 120 MPH in the wide pen stretches. Fatefully, a bike shop at Scottsbluff fixed my slow puncture in the rear tire. Their method I would learn later was to drill out the tubeless tire from outside at the point of the leak and force in a plus in form of sticky rope. Out of Scottsbluff heading east through the beautiful rolling sandhills I chose the remotest Route 2 out of Alliance. Under blue skies with a warming morning sun, I had the road to myself cruising around 120MPH on the free sections between Antioch, Lakeside and Ellsworth. Rounding a slight righthand curve just before Bingham, I felt the back end of the bike drifting, so I let off the throttle and let it coast down on the straight to stop on the narrow hard shoulder. The plus had blown out and deflated immediately, the back tire was flat. New rule, a slow puncture is much better than a external plus as a fix, I was very lucky not to have lost control and crashed. Now I had no way to go forward, but hitch a lift to the next town with services, Hyannis some fifteen miles to the east. A nice local young college couple gave be a drive there, but I found that the Sinclair service station there had no repair supplies. With no way to fix the flat in such a remote area, instead I would leave the bike at a farm nearby, hitch a lift back to Kansas City and return the next weekend with a U-Haul trailer to get the bike home. The return trip to Bingham was in an old mini camper van driven by a bearded preacher who was moving to west Nebraska to minister at a rural parish. He dropped me at the entrance to a farm on the north side of the road and railway tracks near the bike. Walking the long driveway, I diverted by the house to the large barn where a few old guys were working on some farm machinery. The farm, so remote, was equipped with everything they needed to survive, and the farmer guided me to a box of tire repair kit and tools to try a repair. Returning to the bike with some kit and a can for tire inflation I was successful in getting the repair and enough inflation to drive. Returning the kit to the farm, slipping a $20 note in the box for some beers, thinking them for the help and I was on my way, slowly due to the low inflation. Back in Hyannis I had a weird experience, after filling the tank with Gas, and pulling the air hose from the wall to fill the tire, the hose reel was pulled back through the wall and would not extend. Someone clearly did not want me to get air, the hose reel was locked in place upon inspection after walking around back through the garage doors, no-one in sight and it the middle of the day. I drove on to Mullen to air up and continued on home, lucky and happy to complete the trip, and with a new set of tires continued my biking trips.

Thirty years later, after a hiking and family trip to Colorado, I decided to return and retrace my earlier adventure, plus explore the sandhills a bit further, something cut short due to the puncture years prior. Coming out of Cheyenne the night before, where the town was all a buzz with "Frontier Days" festival, I drove through La Grange and the white chalk bluffs into Scottsbluff in the morning sun. What grass and crops that existed on the arid lands were arranged in massive circles irrigated from the Ogallala aquafer deep below, the west being some 5000 feet above sea level. Nebraska is essentially a ramp sloping down to the east at around 1000 feet. Arriving in Alliance past the car graveyards only found on the high plains, I visited Car-Henge, a wonderful circle of old card from the fifties to sixties stood upright in a circle, much like that of our Celtic ancestors. Heading west out of Alliance and half way to Antioch the landscape changed from irrigated circle fields to sand dunes covered with grass and interspersed with lakes. I was entering the largest expanse of sand dunes, now stabilized by grass, in the western hemisphere. Only after the last ice age 15 k years ago were these sands moved from the wash of the retreating glaciers to the east, collecting as the elevation and winds declined enough. In dry times, even as recently as a thousand years ago, these dunes become active and move around, but for most of the last 10 K years, they have been stabilized by thin grasses.

Stopping near Antioch at the ruins of concrete towers and foundations on the north side of the road, I witnessed the remans of the potash works operating there during world war one. Most people take food production for granted, but the reality is very fragile, with half of the nitrogen necessary to feed the world coming from human intervention (ammonia from fossil fuel) and much potassium. During world world war one, our the source of European potash stopped, leaving the USA in a bind. Two Nebraska chemistry grads developed a process to retrieve potassium from the alkaline lake waters of the sandhills, and processing facilities were installed around Antioch, driving it's population to 2000 people. Solid concrete towers, structures and foundations are scattered across the grassland a reminder of the production which ceased in 1921.

Entering the sandhills proper reveals a haunting landscape, not a person in sight for miles, cattle few and far between, allowing space for a diverse range of grasses and flowers, plus protection for migrating and local birds and waterfowl, marking the Nebraska Sandhills as a unique natural region. Such is the wind of western Nebraska, the same winds which originally spread the sands from the foot on the Rockies eastward, dropping them in here after the last ice age, that it also powers the old style tin windmills, pulling water from the ground filling low round tanks for watering the cattle. These mills are lower than typical in the Midwest as the wind is good and water high. In many places the water troughs are hardly needed, water of the aquifer reaching surface freely, forming thousands of lakes in the "sabkhas" between the original dunes, now stabilized by grass. A view from space of Nebraska sandhills would look very much like the active sand dunes of the empty quarter of Saudi Arabia, and some in Abu Dhabi which I used to visit in the mid 1990's. Between the large active dunes there stood flats, called Sabkha's which were dry of aquifer, but would flood and become march in the winter rains, carrying hardy plants and shrubs. Back in western Nebraska among the dunes stand continuous lakes fed by the Ogallala aquifer flowing beneath at a foot per day eastwards. There are no rivers there. but hydraulic equilibrium with the subterranean water bank keeps the lake waters fresh and salt at bay.

Taking local road 250 north from Lakeside the true beauty of the isolated windswept grasslands of the gentle dunes came into view. On the west side of the road stretched lush lowlands interspersed with lakes: Snow Lake, Nye Lake, Joy Lake, Diamond Lake, Twin Lakes, each supporting thriving ecosystems, lined with bulrushes protecting nesting grounds. Flocks of trumpeter swans, ducks and cranes settled on the water while bald eagles soared overhead rising the air uplifted over the dunes. On land in the sandhills is the home of the Great Prairie Chicken, which I was not fortunate enough to witness. Each spring the males put on an elaborate display of their feathers and orange air balloon to impress prospective females for mating. Back on the road heading east, stopping at Morgan's Cowpoke Haven in the village of Ellsworth, I found a gem of store selling western gear, ranching goods, leather gear and guns run by local Wade Morgan. Apparently the store was originally setup by Bartlett Richards, who used it to service the massive Spade Ranch from the rail supply line at Ellsworth. In these remote isolated lands, Richards had succeeded with likely the largest illegal land grab in history, some 6 million acres upon which he ran 350 thousand cattle. In a common misalignment among local, state and federal government, he was fined a pittance and 6 hours in confinement, which he did at a private club. Greed supported with corruption. He died serving a year in prison on follow-up Federal charges. Expansion of the west was always a a battle between wealthy power and control versus the rights of the common man to homestead on a reasonable allotment, 160 acres typically or 640 acres on rangeland like the sandhills. This concept was high on Lincoln's mind when faced with wealthy slave owners getting hold of the west and he quoted Nebraska as a potential slave state under the Kansas-Nebraska Act of 1854 “a violence…it was conceived in violence, passed in violence, is maintained in violence, and is being executed in violence”. He wanted opportunity for the common people to develop the lands, not the uber wealthy, he'd be considered a Democrat today in terms of his platform. Back at Morgan's the image of John Wayne and Trump rule, with some three quarters of voters supporting Trump in the county, and Nebraska consistently supporting Republicans mostly since Lincoln, but for a few cases. In the mean time, the party has changed platforms significantly and continues to do so. for the last fifty years Republican represented three main constituents, the Military, Business and Christianity, non of whom had been on conflict with each other, while the Democrats have a much more complicated and confusing set of stakeholders to bring along. Still, there is a large plurality, up to a third, who do vote Democrat in the Sandhill's, not that I came across any of them, they hide well. While the Republican platform is gone and replaced by Trumpism, the only constituent left intact in the party are the Christians, the Military cast aside by Tuberville, love of Putin and isolationism, businesses set aside by tariffs and culture wars, like Disney in Florida, where diversity, equality and inclusiveness has been replaced by discrimination, exclusivity and inequality. While farmers were hit by Trump tariffs, they also benefitted by a tripling of farm subsidies under Trump, although the subsidies are not broad, going mainly to wealthy farmers. In the Sandhills, the reality is that none of this politics really matters or has an impact to daily life - with plenty of water and rich natural grass lands, ranchers don't get government subsidies here like the crop landers, and ranches operate as independent fiefdoms with little need for external inputs but for fuel, another reason they support Republicans fossil fuel agenda. Just a week after my trip Tim Walz was chosen as nominee for Democrat VP 2024, an appropriate pick, having been brought up in rural eastern Nebraska and taught at a school in Alliance, from where I started my tour of Route 2. While the wind seems to always blow, and there are small water pumps throughout, there are no modern electric power generating wind farms located there. Poor soil, uneven hills and distance from the user grid probably explains that, but also some resistance as evident by anti-wind posters in some villages, usually near fossil fuel stations.

The late 19th century rail road was critical to siting the Ellsworth and supply to the famous Spade Ranch and the Sandhills. Two rail lines still traverse the Sandhills east-west run by Burlington Northern Santa Fe (BNSF) along the north side of Route 2. Coal from Wyoming heading east to power plants near population centers are a regular sight. Incidentally I heard a radio report on the way that a 17 year old boy tampered with a switch causing derailment of a coal freight train earlier in the year. I continued east toward Bingham, Nebraska and found the location where I had the tire blowout back in 1994 just before the tiny town. Lucky not to have been injured or killed by accident back then when my tire blow out, or of any number of risks in the intervening years, I was now back thirty years later to view the site, the years between seem to have gone in a breath. The farmstead who helped me get air back in the tire and on my way home stood across the rail lines to the northeast up a long driveway, the metal barn still standing. I would have visited the house, but no-one was home. I drove east the fifteen miles to Hyannis, the town I visited for help and the Sinclair gas station where I was refused air for the bike. Someone said to me recently that people are generally good and helpful in the country, not so in the cities, to which I objected in my deep and long experience of both - there are good and helpful people, plus horrid people everywhere, in cities and in the countryside, as I experiences there in the Sandhills thirty years prior. South of where my bike took a flat tire stands the grand Powles Ranch, run for decades by Don Powles who breed a black version of the golden Gelbvieh by crossing with Angus. Bingham nearby is a tiny remnant of a town, with unpaved roads barely noticeable from the road but for a few old buses and cars lining a single house on Wilson Road.

Leaving the sandhills a river finally started to form, the Middle Loup River and as the hills subsided to flat lands, the crops emerged, dominated by corn in and area well irrigated by the Ogallala Aquifer, and one of the few areas where the refill rates exceed usage. There are few roads through the sandhills, which protest it's natural state, but back on the flatlands, the familiar one mile by one mile unpaved road network took hold. Old cars and farm equipment are strewn across the western high plains of Nebraska, one of my favorite parts, often well preserved in the dry air, located in scrap years, back yards or in the fields. My first car in US was a 1976 Plymouth Fury which I bought in 1989 from Steve Minor of Melrose Massachusetts for $300 and drive some 25,000 miles over 9 months before scrapping it for a car with better gas mileage, Renault Alliance, to do a 10,000 mile tour across the country the summer of 1990. There in the Nebraska Sandhills I found a perfect version of the car, gold rather than green, but the same car. Staying overnight in Broken Bow, named for an arrow found at a native camp where the town was founded, I witnessed the annual festival. Among the many classic cars paraded was a 1957 Chevrolet which I had seen earlier that day 100 miles to the west in Hyannis at the Sinclair Gas Station mentioned earlier. A little antique store there contained all the artifacts from a hundred years of farmsteads on the central plains. I bought an old car jack, a tube radio and a wind up telephone. Along the road east the memory of Borglum brothers of Danish Mormon descent who lived briefly in the Mud Creek valley and other parts of Nebraska. They were famous for sculpture and art work, one brother carving at Mt Rushmore and the other on westers sculpted scenes.

Cutting south from Cairo through Wood River, across the wide natural flowing Platte River, I cut a path southeast on back roads and unpaved roads toward Marysville Kansas. Along the way on a remote stretch of unpaved road I came across the Stockholm Cemetery and Swedish Church between Ong and Stickley. It is a lonely isolated memory on the high plains of the Swedish immigrants arriving in the area in the 1870's. They raised $3550 in 1900 to replace the small church with the current. Sunday at noon on my visit there was not a person in sight for miles around, only the wind rustling the corn stalks and red cedar trees surrounding the cemetery full of Nordic 'sons and 'sens. Morris Manson born November 12th 1846 somewhere in Sweden married Natalie who was a year older than him and they immigrated to the area in their mid 20's. Natalie died July 1st 1876 and thereafter Morris married Betsey, ten years his junior and with whom he had a daughter, Nelse in 1878. Betsey dies sixteen years later and Morris lives on March 1930, dying just six months before his daughter, such is the cycle of life and struggles of an immigrant family as recorded on the stones of the Stockholm Cemetery. Today the sons and sens are spread throughout the local community which overwhelmingly subscribes to anti-immigrant cult of Trump as evident by the many signs one finds along the roads and in the fields of central Nebraska. Testing my new metal detector I was able to find only a rifle cartridge in the grass near the cemetery.

Having crossed the state, not is the southeast visited Fairbury before crossing over to Kansas. With a well preserved town center set around a large square for the Jefferson Country hall. A two volume picture book bore witness to over a century of the town's history, probably similar to many midwestern towns, serving an agricultural community with autos and farm equipment, advancing from steam engines to oil and gas, developing a county center for shopping. An anchor for the town was the Rock Island Rail Depot which served ad a control center for the western line. Even while the car took over the rail continued to advance passenger rail from steam engines to the diesel rock island rocket, before finally giving way in the 1960's. A few sowing companies in the area were consolidated into Swingster, a famous garment company still operating to this day and succeeding in certain products, like USA flags, against foreign competition. A museum is now present in the old Rock Island depot building run by local volunteers, one of whom, a retired truck driver, gave me a history of the town and rail. One story recorded there was about a toddler on the tracks who was swept to the side by a steam engine engineer who bravely climbed down on the front cattle ramp, risking his life, and indeed he was dragged along the tracks a bit before he could free himself and survived.

Accompanying my jaunt across Nebraska on Sunday was a sermon, lecture or rant of sorts by the swaggering Jimmy Swaggart who softened rural Nebraskans with a long story about his upbringing from poverty in Louisiana to how his mother and father were found to Jesus, born agaon and on to his career. He skipped over the prostitutes to get steam up for a lecture of fearmongered in abortion, immigration and gays before pushing for his audience to vote for Donald Trump at the upcoming election. He railed at the portrayal of Michael Angelo's Last Supper at the opening of the Olympics by a bunch of "queers" (his words), which is a bit ironic when considering that Michael Angelo was likely gay, as are many artists and the Last Supper itself could be seen as a little gay. The religious really seem to love their sinners, both, and rural Nebraska is peppered with signs for the cult of Jesus and Trump. After a great revisit of Nebraska Route 2 I slipped back into Kansas near Marysville and back to Kansas City, Missouri.

Auto Graveyard, Alliance NE

Early Road Grader, Alliance NE

Plymouth Fury (my 1st car is US), Alliance NE

Car Henge, Alliance NE

Potash works (WW1) Antioch

BNSF Line through Sandhills, NE

Wind water pump in sandhills

Lakes of Sandhills, NE

Lake in Sandhills, NE

Waterfowl, Sandhills, NE

Sign at 183rd Trail

Ducks on natural lake, Sandhills

The Powles Ranch

Beem Lake near Hyannis

Bird on a twig

Win Water Pumper of the hills

Windmill Graveyard, Nebraska

1957 Chevy at festival at Broke Bow

Empty Main Stret, Ansley NE

Burlington Northern Santa Fe line, NE

Windmill or the hills

Ogallala water irrigation, Nebraska

Cattle Feed Lot, Nebraska

Platt River, Wood River, NE

Water leakage on irrigator, Ogallala aquifer

Crop irrigation east of Sandhills

Swedish Chursh, Stockholm Cemetery, Stickley NE

Swedish Cemetery

Stockholm Cemetery

Fairbury Rail Depot & Museum, NE

Fairbury Depot rail control pannel

Saloon & Hardware at Fairbury, NE

Lola Y Manuel at Wallace, Kansas

Welcome to Nebraska

Snclair Gas Station, Hyannis NE (no air!)

Farmstead at Bingham

Storm front sweeps the plains

The week prior Nebraska was spent with family at a house rented in Dillon, Colorado, near the Loveland high mountain pass. Hiked Gray's peak, Mt Elbert and Mt Sherman over three days during the week, plus explored old stomping grounds of Leadville. The Climax Molybdenum which I have observed for many years has expended in the past decade significantly, the largest such mine in the world. Leaving the area I passed through the heights of Rocky Mountain National Park, a wonderfully scenic drive (slow and restricted without an online reservation to after 2pm).

My first Gray's Peak, 14278 ft

A goat on Gtay's Peak, Colorado

First NE ascent of Mt Elbert, 14,440 ft

Revisit of Mt Sherman, 14,043 ft

Harstel valley high plains, CO

Dillon Reservoir, CO

Climax Molybdenum Mine, CO

Fire damaged pined of Rocky Mountain NP

Rocky Mountain NP

Chalk Bluffs of West Nebraska

Motel Sign, Nebraska

Cheyenne Motel, WY

Evening light on high plains

Boston, Massachusetts

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 11 Oct 2023 17:02:00 +0000

Winthrop - Cambridge - Boston - Provincetown - The White Mountains, NH - Boothbay Harbor, ME

East House, McLean Pavilion Belmont, MA

The second tropical storm from the central Atlantic headed through the coat of New England as we settled into a house in Winthrop, Massachusetts for a few days. Thirty four years earlier I had arrived in Boston from Ireland for the first time and would live there for 3 years (1989-1993), returning only in 2010 to run the Boston Marathon - that visit was extended to ten days due to interruption of my return to Malaysia then by eruption of Eyjafjallajokull Volcano in Iceland, allowing me to explore many of my old haunts in the region. Returning now on a mission of sorts, with plan to avail of the psychiatric expertise of McLean Pavilion, Belmont, Massachusetts, for my fragile charge and co-traveler. Having devoured the book "Gracefully Insane: Life and Death Inside America's Premier Mental Hospital" by Alex Ream, I was looking forward to visit the institution, but we had a few days there in Winthrop by the ocean to prepare. Ten days earlier we had planned the same trip when the first tropical storm was headed to Boston, but a positive Covid test of my co-traveler postponed the trip. A full moon pulled the tides high drawing the tightly packed storm swells pounding high on the seawall where I would sit each evening. The current sea defenses barely withstood the storm pounding and would be no match for rising sea levels which will return the area to a group of islands eventually. A few weeks later the third storm would hit New England as I stayed on the coast in Maine.

Winthrop had always been my go-to place while I lived in Boston, whether to go for long melancholy walks, to photograph, or explore during storms, all moods are experienced there, the calm of autumn being interrupted regularly by 90 megawatts of thrust power being released overhead by aircraft ascending from Logan Airport nearby. Logan is an awkward and overstressed airport packed onto a stretch of reclaimed land close to the city. Two of the 911 attach panes took off from Boston Logan which may reflect the difficulty in securing the site. It was at Winthrop beach I took some of my most memorable photographs - one from the beach at night back to the lights of the seawall in long exposure, the stretched lights of planes taking off in background, the silhouette of a lone saxophone player sitting on the seawall, or a fisherman's rod nearby. It was from Winthrop I took pictures of the Tall Ships which visited in 1992. It was also at Winthrop that I experienced a terrible storm in fall of 1991 around Halloween when a Nor'easter combined with Hurricane Grace and pounded Boston with fully westerly force from the dirty side of what would later become known as "The Perfect Storm", a phrase formed by writer Sebastian Junger as title of the book he wrote on the storm. The term has since come to mean the combination of many factors to form an extreme situation. There was no work due to a stay at home order during the storm, but I was out in my four wheel drive Subaru exploring Winthrop and being battered by the wind, rain, snow and sea salt.

Deer Island was off-limits back in earlier times, but has since been opened up as a two mile hiking park. The island was used as a prison for natives in earlier times when conflict arose with European immigrants. Later it was used as an immigration hold for many of the Irish immigrating during the famine years - of 4000 who passed through, some 800 died on the island due to illness or as a result of the grueling sea journey. An Irish cross overlooking Boston harbor was installed as a memorial recently. Daily I ran or hiked around the periphery of the island (now a peninsula after a hurricane in 1938 closed the gap) which used to also house a prison and still is home to one of the largest waste water treatment plants in the world, whose six pack of egg shaped bio-digesters are iconic on the skyline arriving to the region by boat.

Marblehead was another place often visited in past, the house of Dr. David Crowley, his wife Martha an two sons, David and Kevin, who were close to my age. They visited us in Ireland when I was around 14 years old, and I recall taking them to a pub for drinks, we all arriving home well on it, their parents shocked (or actually in denial). Unfortunately David (junior) had passed away in 2017 from reports online and parents moved to Florida since. David senior was still listed an owner of a house in Lynn which I had visited many years ago, invited by his parents to hear many of the old stories of my great uncles, Jerry and Pattie McGillycuddy - one of them bought their first car and couldn't drive too well, circling the house numerous times until the car stopped (family folklore). David senior had driven me to Duxbury on south side of Boston to meet my second cousin, Ken McCarthy and his wife, Carol, plus two children back in 1990. Both Chemical Engineers working for Polaroid, one of the most innovative companies last century. Currently reading "A Triumph of Genius", a story of Polaroid and it's pioneering leader, Edwin Land. I sent a note to Ken via email found online, but no response and suspect the email vis consulting company no longer active. My charge laid on the couch day and night uninterested in exploring the north coast of Boston, but I did get us out to Revere to order food at the iconic Kelly's Roast Beef, established in 1953, and a regular haunt of mine for the fried clams, the best around.

We were up early, packed, coffee on the go and heading across the city during rush hour traffic for check-in at McLean Pavilion at 8:15am Wednesday September 27th. It was my first trip through the "Big Dig" tunnel on Interstate 90, a $2.8 billion which was under construction while I lived in Boston, evening having friends work on the project, but it was a disaster financially, running up to $22 billion eventually after facing some serious technical issues, plus a good share of corruption in contracts. For $22 billion we were still bumper to bumper in the tunnel and I wondered about the quality of the work on the tunnel with all that corruption and being stuck was not helping my mind go to imagine a catastrophic failure and flooding....maybe some contractor didn't but the expensive marine cement, but when to the much cheaper garden variety, and now after years of vibration, bacteria and salt intrusion, it would give way...but it held up and we were back above ground, again bumper to bumper, with accidents delaying us and worried about being later for McLean. A black pickup with hidden police lights whipped by, parting lanes - this amused my charge, who hadn't expressed amusement in weeks, that anyone old yokel could put lights on and cut through rush hour. Even more amusing then what the cause of delays, police having pulled over a black pickup truck - was it the police light cheater...or, no, but a concept worthy of a laugh. Soon we were on Mill Street, right on McLean Street, passed Bowditch and Wyman buildings, pulling up at the door of East House right on time. All these buildings were familiar to me from reading the history of McLean Mental Hospital by Alex Beam, "Gracefully Insane", a wonderful account of some two hundred years since the original institution was setup in Charlestown, well before moving in the 1890's to the enormous sprawling grounds in Belmont set in hills and forest. Met by Kathy McCool and given a brief tour of East House, which mostly housed treatment for obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), but whose third floor was partly set aside as residence for patients of McLean Pavilion program in the Wyman building next door. Dropping my patient there for two weeks of diagnosis led by Dr. Marc Zuckerman, I would tour New England from Cape Cod to New Hampshire and Maine, returning during a weekend for a visit, plus the last four days staying at A Cambridge House, where I had stayed during the Boston Marathon 13 years prior.

Although the grounds of McLean Belmont are smaller today than originally, as lands and buildings were sold to support the survival of the institute in 2005, it is still a large complex with many buildings and the surrounding forest, although public lands now, are still accessible. In facto one of the key principles of McLean is not to look like a high security locked down institution, anyone can walk the grounds and the patients don't feel too restricted. East House itself was once a high security ward for seriously mental female patients before it's current purpose. On each visit I would walk the forested grounds, often stopping at the old steel water tower on a high point near the Wyman building. Graffiti there was all of a generative nature by patients: "I'm having some anxiety" shouts a cartoon bear, "This is for everybody going through tough times, believe me, been there, done that. But every day above ground is a great day, remember that" reads another, "You deserve to get better", by Another Hopeless Patient, "I have to believe that healing is possible, Survival is Resistance!!!", "Future Niamh, I hope you got all that you wished", "we are all just walking each other home" Ram Dass. Besides the forests transferred to the city of Belmont for public use, some land was sold for housing developments, so there is essentially a regular (nice) housing complex unrelated to the hospital on the grounds. An old redbrick administration building lay abandoned and derelict at the edge of the complex, probably part of the transfer to the city and unmaintained. Exploring the empty rooms I imagined their function during the hay day of McLean, when the institute was a warehouse for long term care of the mentally ill wealthy and there was no shortage of funds to fill the coffers. As the old wealth dried up and the realities of modern health care required shorter treatment plans, McLean adjusted, opening the Pavilion diagnostic program as a comprehensive version of old McLean in two week period in late 1990's.

In "Gracefully Insane" Alex Beam outlines the history of treatment programs which were ineffective with no scientific basis, but worse, many would seem to us today like torture. One such treatments sounds very much like "water boarding" to shock the patient to get better! It was only in the 1950's that the first psychiatric drug, Thorazine, emerged with effective outcomes and many more since then have proven to help patients. Alfred Stanton joined McLean as Chief Psychiatrist in 1955 and transformed the institute from a holding grounds for mental patients to a treatment center with focus on improving and returning people to society. He advocated normalizing patients within the community, advanced and modernized psychiatric treatment, but the 1960's brought an additionally difficult set of patients, younger and driven by the drug experimentation of the era, some even still at school, necessitating McLean to setup a school onsite to allow patients to graduate while being treated. A string of suicides also became a concern at the hospital - some argued that these were due to the nature of attracting difficult patients, but these probably led to the decision by Stanton to move on from leadership of McLean in 1972. The derelict admin building was mostly stripped bare, but for a few artifacts left undisturbed in a dark corner of the basement. I recovered a framed record in recognition of of the "Alfred Stanton Lectureship", with a long list of associated psychiatrists, some of whom I recognized from Beam's book, including Shervert Frazier who took over from Stanton when he moved on to teaching and research in 1972. I also recovered two one page biographies of the first two chief psychiatrists, Rufus Wyman (1818–1837) and Luther Bell (1837–1855), which brought light to long history of the institute, originally called The Asylum. Bell was one of the founders of the American Psychiatric Society.

Having read about the odd psychiatric ideas of Freud and Jung, the torturous and ineffective treatments of McLean prior to the 1950's and even the ideas of the American Psychiatric Association, including the dubious definition of homosexuality as mental illness in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental up until 1973, one could easily be left with the impression that the psychiatric profession really has no idea, and is certainly not science based. Hearing diagnosis like "Borderline Personality Disorder", or "We don't really understand what's wrong with this person, but the act oddly" sounds like a medical diagnosis of "Failure to Thrive" for a new baby who dies unexpectedly, or like "Failure to get rich" by an economist for most of the population. Fortunately, the psychiatric profession has actually moved on and learned much about the mind and disorders in recent decades, and while there is significant room remaining to improve, the folks at McLean absolutely delivered on their promise to diagnose and understand the situation we encountered. It was odd for me as I had no personal experience with a mental disorder. Yes, Monday mornings can be tough sometimes, but I have a well regulated mind and body. Growing up my father would call "Depression" some weather system arriving from the Atlantic and the term "Bored" as only a piece of wood - he was exceptionally resilient mentality and that was my experience also, but upon reflection mental disorders were much more common in my world than I recognized. My roommate in Boston at 50 Wicklow Street suffered from serious depression, my colleagues for him after missing weeks of work. My best friend at college and also later in Kansas City both suffered from bipolar disorder. Many of the homeless people around the the cities I visit in the US are suffering mental illness while access to diagnosis and treatment is insufficient.

McLean Pavilion came up as the number one psychiatric institution in the US while doing research and has attracted many famous people over the years: Mathematicians John Nash, musicians Ray Charles, James Tayler and Steven Tyler, writers Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Robert Lowell and David Foster Wallace. Sadly Plath and Wallace were unable to live with their struggle, both committed suicide. James Tayler wrote "Knocking Around The Zoo" about his time there. Due to it's reputation, often the worst cases come to McLean and often complicated combination of mental disorders and substance abuse.

The fall weather was gorgeous, New England in blue skies, crisp air and illuminated in full foliage color and being cheaper to stay outside Boston, I toured around for a total of nine nights to different locations, but ultimately also spent nine nights between Winthrop and Cambridge allowing me to retrace memory lane from my time in Boston 1989-1993. Although that was only a few years, they were important, influential and impactful years which left me with a deep appreciation of New England.

The last three months of 1989 I had worked a second job as valet parker at the Copley Marriott, taking the lucrative evening shift Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, to help save money for a summer road trip I would take across the US in 1990. Nothing much had changed as I visited the hotel some thirty four years later. The ramp to valet parking and hotel entrance was as I recalled it. Sauntering back to the valet station brought many memories back, of the characters and incidents, enough to fill a reality television show. I mentioned to the office attendant that I had used to work there many years ago, I remember you" came the retort. Hamid had started there in 1986, having fled Lebanon with his family. It emerged that we had worked together in 1989 and proven as I relayed some key incidents. As I mentioned the time a valet took a tall van up the wrong ramp, clipping off the 400psi sprinkler system, flooding the garage, Hamid said sadly, that was the manage, from Sudan, he hung himself a few years ago. Another guy disappeared one night with a car, was found a few weeks later in Florida. We used to squeeze four cars in three slots, climbing out the window as the door wouldn't open - still do that, Hamid said. From the chaos of Lebanon, Hamid worked hard over the years to bring up a family of three children and the next generation is a highly successful daughter who is a lawyer in Washington, a son who struggles sometimes, a very typical story of immigrants. He has worked various jobs at the hotel, clearly a loyal employee. They live on Cape Cod and he commutes to Boston, pulling long hours on the job to save. It's also a story of Lebanese overseas, always successful, but at home the ineptitude is overwhelming, lamented Hamid.

It was an eye opener for me to revisit Copley after such a long time and be remembered, but this is a very Boston experience. Last visit in 2010 when visiting my old company, I met the receptionist from early 1990's at the front desk. Eddie Fredette told me that was his last week after 40 years a receptionist for Badger Engineers and he remembered me well from thirty years before. I had taken up inlay woodwork while living n Boston and visited the same woodshop in Cambridge, now called Rockler Woodworking and Hardware. In Cambridge also stood my favorite bar, The Plough & Stars on Massachusetts Avenue, still standing unchanged decades later. All the houses I had lived in were still present, 50 Wicklow Street, 18 Bristol Street, 49 Thomas Street, 550 Mass Ave. Up in Medford visiting Waitts Mount Park brought memories of my favorite spot to visit and picnic. Quite isolated with a steep drive up, it used to be fully accessible allowing me to drive up on the tough granite rock rounded and smooth during the ice age and now an excellent platform from where to view the Boston skyline. Up in Revere, Kelly's Roast Beef still served takeout food with essentially the same menu. One institute which did not survive was the Ebenezer Baptist Church which I had visited back in 1989 and walked by again on this visit near my first sub-let off Mass Ave. The redbrick façade was intact and to be preserved, but the interior was completely removed. A horrific fire I would have assumed, but learned later, that by late 2020 the congregation had declined and with rising maintenance costs, could no longer keep the 148 year old building, which was sold while the group found a new location to congregate. Another establishment closed down last year after a hundred years in business, Nissenbaum Salvage Yard in Sommerville, started by Jacob Nissenbaum who scoured the neighborhood for used and recyclable things on his horse and cart, eventually specializing in auto parts as the industry developed. Nissenbaum was a regular hangout for me while fixing my junk cars, the Plymouth Fury and Renault Alliance as they provided the cheap used parts for what could not be fixed with clothes hangers and duct tape. They sold the site for redevelopment in 2022 for a handy $150 million. Whether loafing around Boston exploring or fixing stuff I listened to "Car Talk" by Tom and Ray Magliozzi weekly not only from interest in mechanical knowledge, but more so for the comedy, humor and attitude of the brothers who had deep experience from running garages in Cambridge, and ran Car Talk from 1987 to 2012, but alas all good things must come to an end, which Car Talk did with the death of Tom.

Another aspect of Boston which seemed to have disappeared in the three decades since my living there, any sign of the McGillycuddy family. My grandfather lived on Boston from 1908 to 1919 with his brothers Jerry and Pattie. While he returned to Ireland permanently, the brothers stayed, having fifteen children between them and many further descendants in the region. Many came to visit in Ireland over the years, where I had met cousins, the Crowley's of Marblehead in 1984 and had then visited them up in Marblehead when I lived in the area 1989-1993. As I looked them up I sadly learned their son, or my same age, had died prematurely a few years prior. I tracked the parents name down to a house in Lynn, but found it was a rental and they had moved to Florida. It was in Lynn where the family had settled and I visited a house there in 1989 with a relative who lived to 106 years, possibly the same house which s now a rental. In 1992 I met a cousin with my same name in Cambridge, but searching for him or other cousins lead nowhere now three decades later, the McGillycuddys of Boston seemly having scattered to the winds.

Each day I walked extensively around Boston and Cambridge retracing my steps of decades earlier. The grandeur of the Christian Science Plaza and the reflecting pool was always an inspiring place to visit. Christian Scientists are just Christians who coopted the term science in their title probably to give some legitimacy upon its founding is 1879, as science was fast gaining ground against supernatural beliefs of religions, but the term (Christian Scientist) is clearly an oxymoron. At least they are not weirdo's like the Scientologists! Nearby the Berkley School of Music is always a good and inspiring place to hang out and hear innovative musical practice and interesting people. Crossing the Charles River (more like a lake) on the Harvard Bridge one gets a great view of the city skyline and view back to the iconic Citgo sign. Citgo's rise in petroleum development mirrors many of the successful American oil companies since the breakup of Standard Oil and places it's logo in Boston in 1940, making the sign more than an advertisement now, but a symbol of Boston itself and Fenway Park nearby. By the 1980's a failing company, Citgo eventually landed in ownership of the Venezuelan oil company and the sign could have been torn down in protest of Hugo Chavez brutal kleptocratic dictatorship, but was eventually voted in as a city landmark, protecting it for decades to come. Across the river along Memorial Drive is the Shell Oil Company "Spectacular" Sign, a large colorful and well lit logo from 1933 (located at current location since 1944). Although the Shell logo and even name have changed over the years, the "Spectacular" sign remains an icon in the city of Cambridge. I didn't get to Charlestown where I once also lived, but the bright pink neon Schrafft's Candy Company sign still towers over the Mystic River there, long after the companies' demise in the 1980's. On my way back to my house at Porter Square I often walked the grounds of Harvard Yard for inspiration among the student vibe, listening to a plater of passing conversations at the institute originating in 1638 with donation of the library of John Harvard. Many ancient artifacts survive in Boston, including the Kings Chapel Burying Ground where one can find gravestones from the 1600 and 1700's with beautifully ornate carvings representing death, skeletons and bones.

Boston is known as an innovation hub, with institutes like Harvard and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), but a search for "top universities in Boston" reveals over forty reputable institutes. Nearby many of these education and research centers are located spinoff businesses, especially in Cambridge. My own company, Badger Engineers, located across the street from MIT had historical origins in developing innovative distillation techniques for newly found oil minerals in 1856. Cambridge was the home of Edwin Land's innovation company Polaroid who developed light polarizers which were critical during World War Two and doubled down later with the groundbreaking work developing instant color photography. I got a tour of Polaroid's factory south of Boston in the fall of 1989 where two relatives of mine worked as Chemical Engineers, one on polarizers and one on film manufacture, both of which fascinated me, but the company was already in decline from it's hay day of innovation, however, it's legacy remains intact to this day with a nostalgic reemergence of the instant camera as a retro trend. "Innovation" is included in the title of a long list of companies in Boston and Cambridge, plus in the charter of many more. When I left Boston, as my company was in challenging times, many of my colleagues left for other biotechnology companies in Cambridge, which has been a biotechnology innovation powerhouse for decades. I recall my first performance review during a one year at Badger Engineers, One Kendall Square, when my boss admitted he had little knowledge of what I had delivered that year as he did not work directly with me, but what impressed him was my tenacity to rebuild an automatic transmission with parts from a hardware shore and rubber seal factory for cheap so I could drive across the country that summer - for my innovation outside work I got an excellent review! Boston Consulting Group, one of three big strategy consulting companies comes from the area. While many rural New England homes are heated by wood due to the abundance of sustainable forest, the energy short, with little access to gas, aesthetic resistance to wind, and with many urban homes heated with high cost and carbon fuel oil, one may be surprised that one of the most famous energy research entities, Cambridge Energy Research Associated (CERA) was founded in, you guessed it, Cambridge. Shell TechWorks is an innovation center located in Boston (formerly located in Cambridge) whose purpose is to solve difficult problems and develop new technologies. With staff hired from many local innovative institutions and a long list of successful projects delivered celebrated on plaques along the walls, there is an sense of novel thinking in air there and a hum of curiosity in the laboratories developing physical solutions to complex problems. I had only sports and hiking gear with me in New England, so I bought a pair of business shoes at the Goodwill store at Davis Square for $14 before visiting TechWorks - it turns out I didn't need them, they were very casual which you might expect from an innovation center. Later on my way to return the shoes to Goodwill, to be restocked on the rack for resale, price tag still intact, a lady pointed to them and said "Oh!, I bet that means (empty shoes) that you lost a friend! I too have lost many friends during my life, come walk with me and I'll tell you". After dropping off the shoes, she continued to talk to me specifically as I walked away toward my house at Porter Square, pushing her cart, likely with mental problems undiagnosed along with other challenges in life.

Alfred Stanton transformed McLean in the 1950's

Graphic gravestone at ancient Kings Chapel Burying Ground

Boston on the Charles River

YMCA, Wicklow St, Bristol St, Thomas St

Kelly's Roast Beef of Revere since 1953 - great seafood

Waitts Mount Park, Medford

Derelict Admin Building, McLean Belmont

Old Northern Avenue Bridge, Boston

The Plough & Stars, Mass Ave, Cambridge, MA

Christian Science Plaza, Boston

The Water Tower, McLean Belmont

McLean Pavilion, Wyman Building

Cape Cod

Escaping Boston from McLean Belmont I made it Cape Cod for three nights in Provincetown (P-Town) at Eastwood, an affordable motel, stopping at the Parnassus Book Services near Yarmouth along the way and well worth the visit. The proprietor guided me to an unusual Beech tree nearby behind the post office. Beech usually grow tall and straight with smooth bark and modestly sized green leaves, but this monstrosity grew in all directions with a sturdy twisted frame, supporting a massive canopy. Weather was beautiful with sun and blue skies as I explored the sea, marshes, sand dunes and beaches of the unusual sandbar which extends in a curled ark far out in the Atlantic protecting a shallow bay. In 1620 the pilgrims were pushed back by weather from their route to Virginia, pulling to for safety of Shoal Hope which became Cape Cod due to the large fish catch in the area. They eventually settled across the bay at Plymouth, but a small settlement remained. Native Algonquian and Nausets long lived on the fertile sea grounds of the cape, but sold the land by mid century for a pittance to the colony. Meanwhile, four hundred years later, my the time I would first visit in 1990 on a road trip with a friend, Omar, we learned pretty quickly that the town had become a free and safe haven for the gay community, being asked if we were a couple (laugh), or more to the point, having been assumed to be a couple, which couldn't have been more from the truth, but we took it in good spirits. Gay havens were probably more important back then due to broad societal homophobia, and although the town remains gay friendly, it's probably less defined by it today due to acceptance in society. Artists flocked to the area, with many fine art shops, ameteur arts and tourist shops from which to choose. The 90 minutes it takes for the passenger ferry from Boston directly across to P-Town is well faster than the two and half hour drive around the long way. One could almost commute from P-Town especially if availing of a flexible schedule. An old rail line now serves as a hiking path, beautifully clad with trees, and day or night would use to run or walk to town. "Only Lesbians drive Subaru's" I was once told by someone as a friendly ribbing, "I must be a Lesbian then" I responded, as I currently drive my second amazing modest, high ground clearance four wheel drive Subaru, The Outback, my first being a Subaru Legacy while I lived in Boston three decades ago, both silver. The Subaru's of P-Town did not disappoint, "Tree hugger", Bernie fans and lefty liberal bumper stickers providing evidence and in juxtaposition with the off truck with "Trump" signs.

The tip of Cape Cod is a wildlife haven, the shallow shoals being swept with tides twice a day revealing rich ecosystem supporting bird colonies and migrating flocks. A mile of granite rock causeway leads south from town directly across a shallow bay intermittently covered in water to a spit of land, a sand bank, which is home to both the Wood End and Long Point lighthouses. At high tide only the tip of the he causeway rocks peak above the water which can be unnerving during a storm. Upon the rocks are strewn broken shells smashed there for opening by the powerful seagulls jaws. One must be quick as gulls challenge each other for the prize inside the shellfish. At low tide sand pipers and oyster catchers pick through the wet and streaming sand for food. Over the days I walked all the outer sands of Cape Cod near Provincetown, observing the seal colony on the north side resting high on the sand during low tide warming in the sun. A friendly fox followed me around at one point, probably looking for food, likely having been fed by tourists in the past. A horseshow crab lay dead and upside down on the sand left by the tide, I learned they are not quite a crab, more of a arachnid, but ancient in design and from an evolutionary perspective are absolutely ancient, remaining stable for 250 million years. Inland among the dunes are amazing wetlands rich with a fall harvest of red cranberry bogs. Set in the dunes I found an derelict and decaying shell of the coast guard station located where they could access the north coast where many ships have crashed over the years. Graffiti somewhat revived the scene. Down the outer coast a few pieces of foundations were all that remained of the Marconi wireless transmission station from 1903, erosion having taken the rest bac to sea. Already sea level rise is eroding the curled cape cod peninsula and the long term future is beak. Nearby the Truro Historical Society-Highland House Museum was housed in old hotel building supporting early tourism to the cape, when people may visit for a whole summer with room and board.

Departing Cape Cod I spent two nights in Cambridge visiting McLean, Belmont, before heading north to the White Mountain region of New Hampshire for three nights.

The White Mountains, New Hampshire

The Kancamagus Highway from Lincoln to Conway was my entry to the mountains, named for "the fearless one", Kancamagus was a leader of Penacook Indians of New Hampshire, the highway is an impressive work of engineering crossing some of the most beautiful low mountains of New Hampshire with a high pass at 2855 ft. It was in full fall bloom of overfed deciduous trees calling it quits for summer and starving their leaves to discard them before winter snows come which would otherwise damage their structure. Just north of Jackson, NH, I turned left on an unpaved tree lined lane, Dana Place Road to my rural house rented there for three days. More of a sky lodge for winter sports, and fit to house 12 people, it was the perfect retreat for fall exploration of the region of the forests and mountains. The multistory house with balconies and terrace overlooked the forests and a stream valley to the west and up the the White Mountain foothills. A short trail brought one to the Ellis River where a hollow in the granite rock formed a deep cold swimming pool, the smooth waters there glimmering green, red and blue from the skies and fall leaves behind.

In the morning under perfect fall crisp blue skies I drove around to Crawford Notch from where many trails start and diverted along the most beautiful country road, Mt Clinton Road, to my chosen starting point at Mt Jefferson Trailhead, which I had first visited late fall 1989 for a hike. Marked there was a sign marked "Jefferson Notch, Elevation 3009 ft, This is the Highest Elevation Reached by a Public Highway in New Hampshire". Starting along a gentle trail under well shaded canopy, the trail eventually gets steeper, rising out of the thick trees revealing wonderful fall colors mixed with the silver gray of dead trees in contrast to the fertile red berries of the Rowan Trees. A bluff of rounded granite ricks, called Rock Bottom, made for a good stopping point for pictures of the colorful valley. The hard part was to come, the ascent of the Ridge of Caps, a steep rocky section requiring hands and come climbing. There is no one trail up the ridge, but many interchangeable pathways to chose from, some leading to nowhere. Further up another challenge was the ascent of the cornice and then a short steep trail to the peak. On the clear day, Mt Washington was in full view to the south, the highest peak in New England at 6288ft and known for it's brutal weather conditions during winter or during storms, when wind speeds up to 231 MPH have been measured, a world record outside hurricanes. puff of black smoke on a ridge below the peak revealed the coal fired steam cog railway on the ascent. In 1993 I had hiked (w/Steve Venables) across from Mt J to Mt W across that very railway as the train passed by belching smoke and found a whole group of leisurely tourists at the peak, accessible by road as well. I rathered the isolation of the empty peak of Mt Jefferson on this day, quiet and clear to the horizon in all directions. The granite crystals glistened in the sun white and silver, giving the mountain it's name, apparently fooling prospective mineral miners of potential treasure in early years. The formation of magma erupted around 100 million years ago as the continent moved away from Africa where it would have originally connected with Morocco and the much older Atlas mountains which once rivaled the Himalaya and connect with the Appalachian range. Glacial action has since shaped the hard rock to the contours on today.

Down the valley stood Bretton Woods where the currency exchange for many large economies worldwide were negotiated and linked via the US dollar to a fixed exchange value for gold, a system which lasted until 1971, after which the US dollar and many other currencies floated their value on their economic merits rather than on a commodity price like gold. George Soros made a significant fortune on the arbitrage of currency valuation in the decades since.

The following day approaching the mountains from the east side instead from the Pickman Notch trail head, until pristine weather conditions I followed the Tuckerman's Ravine trail, which was a constant grade and wide well formed combination of paved rock and steps, which made the technical hiking easier, but of course the elevation gain always a challenge. I had got into a good pace with no one else on the trail and in deep thought, when a hiker approached from behind, a younger version of myself, bounding up the trail as I did thirty years earlier. Still I kept a good pace and him in view a while. Missing my turnoff to the Lion's Head Trail, I found myself at a juncture whether to continue up the Tuckerman's Ravine trail, knowing there would be a very steep ascent at the end of the valley. The ravine is a large steep sided valley gouged out by a reoccurring glacier over many ice ages in the past million years. It is in a classic position on the east and lee side of the mountain ridge which would have increased the precipitation necessary to pile on the snow. While would find the prospect of hiking up the ravine walls daunting, some brave or crazy skiers have skied down the snowbound slopes in winter. Instead I diverted up the Alpine Garden connector trail which got me back up to Lion's Head Ridge high overlooking Tuckerman's Valley. Sitting and picnicking on the Ridge with amazing views across the mountains and east New Hampshire I talked with other hikers passing through from numerous other trail options for tacking the peaks of White Mountains. Not too far above stood the peak of Mt Washington which was less inviting with it's road traffic, rail crown and fall tourists, which I would leave for another day. The descent via Lion's Head Trail looked rocky and untraveled, so I returned via the steep but beautiful Alpine Garden, with sections of shear rock providing and exciting climb down. Each evening I walked to the Ellis River and watched the sunlight decline over the forests from my balcony at Dana Place House.

Boothbay Harbor, Maine

After a week of wonderful weather, there was finally a break with a tropical storm approaching New England and the rain as I left New Hampshire and drove across Maine via Bethel, Augusta, Wiscasset arriving in Boothbay Harbor. There was a mix-up with my coastal house, which was occupied by someone else who mistakenly checking into wrong property, so I took the house next door, negotiating a fourth night for free. The most beautiful part of the New England coast stretched from Bar Harbor on Mt Desert Island up to St John's New Brunswick and the bay of Fundy with it's 50 ft tidal range, but that was too far from Boston, so a compromise was the stretch of coast east of Brunswick, Maine, where a complex range of inlets form around the Kennebec, Sheepscot, Back and Damariscotta Rivers, forming many islands and protected havens with deep navigation, which brought me to stay at a coastal cottage on Lineken Bay near Boothbay Harbor. The mother and daughter at the next cottage, with whom I swapped, were from Michigan and had been out on a whale watch and didn't see anything in the fog, so were given a rain pass, but would unlikely venture back for a three hour repeat with the weekend weather looking bad. Instead I would take a shorter harbor boat tour the following day before the storm arrived. Most of the boats moored in the bay were lobster catchers, with wide low flat transoms and gunnels for lifting pots over and a high pointed front with a sturdy canopy over the captains seat for navigating rough seas. Some of the islands in the may has single or a few houses on them, a paradise of isolation in good or bad weather, each served with a dock and utilities from shore. My heart yearns for the romanticism of living on such an island, like Yeats on the lake isle of Innisfree, but my head sees it more as a prison, especially one like me who runs and walks many miles each day. Fog had lifted, but not far and the overcast was complete as we toured the calm bay accompanied by seagulls and held in check by the two second revolution of Ram Island Light to where we were headed. Located on a grassy island elevated enough to keep above the worst winter waves and located as far out in the bay as possible, The Ram Island Lighthouse was built in 1882 and being remote enough to require a homestead and attendance of a permanent lightkeeper. Even in dull weather the scene was idyllic, but my mind drifted to remember the psycho-thriller movie by Robert Eggers in 2019, "The Lighthouse", where Willem Dafoe, the head lightkeeper on a New England lighthouse puts a junior apprentice through his paces in a sinister manner. With a telescope and enough books, food and wine I probably could spend a winter on a lighthouse island.

Nearby seals lay above the high tide waters on a narrow ledge, the captain called The Hypocrites (or Smedrick Ledge). The air was clear enough to see the tip of the Newagen Peninsula where situated two small islands called The Cuckolds. Reading later the "United States Coast Pilot: Atlantic Coast. Eastport to Cape Cod" to get an explanation of the names of these islands I was successful fining them references, with a full description of their physical dimensions, valuable to any sailor, but not a word on their names. With further research I could not find any explanation and maybe no one knows, which is strange as the one googles "Cuckold" the first thing that comes up is porn, and no reference to this my the many couples who report to having stayed at the lighthouse on the island. Both islands are low to the water and exposed to the outer ocean, so very dangerous to mariners, especially in fog. Depths in the bay vary significantly from 120ft to zero with little evidence on the water surface, so navigators need caution. Lobsters also have favored depths depending on temperature, current and food availability so the skill of a lobster catcher is to locate the pots on the right subsurface ledge. There were no deep water trawlers located in the harbor, although it is deep enough. Sadly the cod fisheries have long ago collapsed dur to overfishing and with moratoriums or quota restrictions locals have opted to pursue nearshore lobstering or move on to new ventures.

The next day was wind and rain all way as a tropical storm landed mid coast Maine, but providing a wonderful atmosphere as I hiked the Lobster Cove Meadow up to the Pine Tree Preserve and later in the day the wonderful forest of the Lineken and Burley Preserves over to the Damariscotta River. That evening I sat dry under the picnic shelter in Barret's Park as the wind and rain whipped around outside in the dark and the waves lashed the shore. Sunday morning was met with a clear sweep into a beautiful sunny crisp Autumn weather as I sat lolling on the floating dock with my coffee. Light over the ponds, wetlands and the ocean was a mirror of fall blue skies, white clouds, green, yellow and red leaves over dark tarns or brown seaweed, the tides and breeze changing the picture constantly. That was the last of my exploration before returning to Cambridge for four nights before returning to Kansas City. As I walked the airport awaiting an connecting flight on my way home, dressed in black commando and hiking gear I was awakened to some girl shouting "Nice Pants Man", and turning around, "Nice Face Too Man, you can come back talks to me anytime!", as she crossed over in another direction. Life is good sometimes!

Sunset at tip of Cape Cod along Herring Cove

Sunset over returning trawlers, Cape Cod

Sprawling Beach Tree near Parnassus Book Services

Painter of the Salt Marches, Cape Cod

Rich sand dunes of Cape Cod

Derelict Coast Guard station, Cape Cod

Seal colony at tip of Cape Cod

Horseshoe Crab, Cape Cod

Cranberry bogs of Cape Cod

The Pearl Finder in Borneo

Treehugging Subaru's of Cape Cod!

Scenes from Kancamagus Highway, NH

Ridge of Caps Trail to Mt Jefferson, White Mountains

Fall in White Mountains

Mt Washington, White Mountains

View toward Kancamagus pass

View over Bretton Woods Valley

Color saturated leaves of Fall in NH

View along Mt Clinton Road

Tuckerman's Ravine, Mt Washington

Tuckerman's Raving Trail

Steel, Granite and Trees - what Maine is made of!

Linekin Bay, Maine

Boothbay Lobster Wharf, Maine

The Wharf, Boothbay Harbor, Maine

After the Storm, Linekin Bay

Last day of sun before storm, Linekin Bay, Maine

The Narwal, Boothbay Harbor, Maine

Skellig Michael, Kerry (Part 8) Ireland

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 06 Sep 2023 10:22:00 +0000

Glengarrif - Skellig - Parknasilla - The Mountains

Beehive Hut on Skellig Michael

The world baked in 2023 almost reaching 1.5 degrees Celsius above preindustrial temperature for the year (already reaching the target of limiting climate change per the Paris Agreement of 2015), partly driven by an El Nino cycle, but mostly by human induces greenhouse gas accumulated in the atmosphere. The impact on Ireland was a miserable and drenched summer of rain, often unusually dense even for the watery isle, causing flooding including in my home town Tralee. As a youth fifty years ago I recall major hydrological projects to mitigate the constant flooding of the Lee river through town - designed for centuries ahead, but overrun already in 2023, causing much damage throughout town center. Warmer climate puts more energy in the Atlantic ready to pummel Ireland and England with even more excessive rains, while many other parts of the world wither in draught. The future is unpredictable however, as the irony for Ireland in the longer term is that it may experience a different side of climate change, the negative side. With the gulf stream slowing and it's kinetic energy having maintained a meter higher sea level on Ireland's coast that at New York, our coast may get a reprieve of half a meter back, mitigating some effects of the global rise, and with the heat engine of the gulf stream also declining, we may become cooler. We times our visit perfectly for ten days in Kerry early September just as the weather broke for a beautiful late summer spell of sunshine and unusual warmth driven by a rare Saharan wind bringing high smog of red dust and orange sunsets (while these are common in mainland Europe, they are rare in Ireland).

Conor met us at Schiphol on his way from USA and we continued on to Cork Airport and a drive down to Glengarriff in Cork near the Kerry county border and a wonderful environment to see what Ireland would have looked like before the green desertification of intensive farming eliminated most trees and biodiversity. The gnarly woods there are temperate rain forest which never really dry out, even in good weather and maintain a whole range of trees, parasitic vines, insects and think wed of mycelia in rich humus made from recycles trees and leaves, pushing a range of mushrooms and fungus above ground to share DNA and reproduce and show they have conquered their latest prize, the ancient carcass of felled Oak.

Out on Garnish island, a short ferry ride away in the bay shaped ice carved Devonian sandstone, deep and shallow changing shape in the tides, there was a bit more structure put into nature than wonderful nature itself found in the nearby forrests. With Italian gardens, Grecian temples, Bryce House, a Martello Tower and many exotic tree and plant special imported to make it in the mild temperate climate of the south. Tons of soil and fertilizer were needed to build up the thin humus of the ricky isle, stripped bare from sea salt and winter storms historically before becoming. We swam in the deep cool clear seawater of Pol Gorm (Blue Pool) near high tide as the evening sun declined, still warm enough to dry us off as we viewed the bay from Deidra's Lookout. It seems almost anything can grow in the moist temperate climate special to the south coast. Nearby the Glengarrif Bamboo Park is home to an amazing range of grasses, tree ferns, palms, bamboo and exotic trees from around the world. Developed since 1999 upon a century old garden and modeled upon a park in southern France, Serge & Claudine de Tribault brought the exotic collection together over the decades and set upon a wonderful peninsula with great views of the bay. A more natural arrangement of native trees and plants exist at the Glengarrif Park a little north or town and a great place to hike, an example of what much of Ireland would have liked like before human habitation six thousand years ago.

I took a day trip up across the haunting Caha Pass through the impressive Turner Tunnel to Kerry and Kilgarvin, home of the famous Healy Rae political dynasty, the roads improving on the way. Nothing underpins political power like good roads without potholes and as a testament to Healy Rae power, there is a marked improvement on the way to town. Just south along the Slaheny River was the destination, The Kilgarvin Motor Museum. John Mitchell hosted my visit, I was the only visitor, so we were able to talk through the wonderful collection of cars at ease with no time pressure. John was born on a farm in Devon in 1945 and relays many memories from his time on a farm there in a book "Cornwall to Kerry". After a move to Wicklow, his parents eventually bought a farm in Kilgarvin which currently houses the car museum. They operated a garage out of the farm initially and eventually a full service garaage in town. A collection of cars ensued reflecting a genuine passion for mechanics and the innovation years of motor development. Most were bought and restored, a few donated. The collection contains many British models, some of which I had owned, from the Mini to Jaguar and Rolls Royce. We had a great discussion on the notoriously unreliable Lucas Electronics and the smooth Skinner Union (SU) Carburettors based on diaphragm and principle of constant velocity rather than constant Venturi, upon which most other carburetors are built. Returning to Glengarrif following the remote single track road over Priest's Leap pass was a wonderful experience. Fortunate to meet no other cars on the way I had clear passage on the narrow road with long sections impassable by two cars between rocky ledge and steep drop-off. At 463 meters the pass is the highest in Munster and brings haunting scenery.

Following our stay in Glengarrif we spent a week in Tralee staying at a house in the countryside near Chute Hall, which was coincidentally just a few doors from our one of my friends growing up and where I spend time. We often explored the woodlands and countryside in the area. Also nearby was the car-scrap yards of Tigh Dowd and his brother, where I also spent time looking for parts for my various cars from 1984-1986. A little to the west on the north side of the road stands grand gateway on the north side which was the entrance to the 19th century mansion of the Chute family, also known as Tullygarrin House, which later fell into disrepair and had been demolished. Nearby stands an ohm stone. Bronze Age artifacts were also found in the area by turf cutters indicating a history of population at least four thousand years ago. The house we rented was marked in town on the map, so it was accidental we spent the week staying in an old hangout of mine. Apparently the renter moves the location of the house to ward off the local party renters who emerged during Covid.

Our friends Freddie & Alice visited Kerry for a few says, staying on the bay at Barrow House. We had plans to visit Skellig Island, but on the first day we drive across to the McGillycuddy Reeks on the Lough Accouse side and hiked Carrauntoohil. It was a wonderful day but windy. Usually the wind comes from the west, such that when high on the mountain one can get protection by hiking in the shade of the ridge up to the peak, but on this day the wind came forcefully directly from the south. We made it to Cahar Peak on the south side, but decided not to go further after I had scouted down to "Howling Peak" over which the wind screamed and being that the traverse ridge was exposed to the wind we thought best not to proceed, especially as the could had descended and rain started. Regardless we had a beautiful day on the mountain.

The following morning we drive down to Port Magee for our boat to Skellig Island, but found departure was delayed a few hours due to the remnants of the strong south wind which affected landing on the island. We took advantage of the delay to drive over to Valentia to visit tetrapod tracks, two parallel tracks clearly visible on a slab of Devonian sandstone on the north coast.

Devonian Tetrapod Tracks: Dr Ivan Stossel was already a prolific fossil hunter in his youth and a difficult assignment in the summer of 1992 to survey for fossils on the Iveragh Peninsula from Caharsiveen, known for being a desert of sorts for the subject. On his bike in the August rain he toured Valentia Island, crossing over on the new bridge from Port Magee, getting drenched and finding slim pickings. One particularly rainy day before he returned home he came across a few small shallow holes arranged in parallel lines. Clearing some debris over the following days, with a break in the weather, he uncovered what was the oldest trace of sea creatures walking on land, some 400 million years ago and earlier than was thought possible.

Kerry was near the equator at the time and not a mountainous uplift as today, but a large river delta more like the Mekong today. Dr Stossel thought the creature evolved from fish living on riverbanks who developed their fins into arms and legs to maneuver water levels, interspersed with land and vegetation. They were salamander like creatures with more than five fingers and a belly which marked a trail through the mud (and a tail which may also have caused the markings). As humans, we can match every bone in our body to those in fish from whom we evolved and it is thought provoking to witness these special tracks on Valencia marking one of many lucky breaks we got on that journey, becoming land animals. It took twenty years for Dr Stossel's discovery to be accepted as standard geological science, supported by many more such discoveries globally supporting the dating of sea to land evolution to the mid Devonian period.

Being the last boat to depart from Portage was an advantage, as the 180 people allowed to visit daily would already be departing the island as we arrived. Sceillec may be derived from Norse for steep rock, which describes Skellig well. While the sandstone formed as a flat delta during the Devonian (420-360 million years ago), tectonic shifts pushed upwards forming mountains in the late Paleozoic era (360-260 million years ago), huge folds formed and the horizontal layers of sandstone were reshaped into vertical or angled rock which wore down under erosion and later glaciation to reveal pointy peaks, visible in a line from Carrauntoohil on the McGillycuddy Reeks westward to Puffin Island, Lemon Rock, Little Skellig and finally Skellig Michael. 15,000 years ago sea level was 100 meters lower, one could walk to Skellig, and it would have been an impressive sight, this angular peak pointing sharply upward from the flat land surrounding. By 8,000 years ago Skellig was an island protected in isolation by the wild Atlantic. Little is known of its early history, but for a few short references in the various Annals of Ireland. In 823 the vikings raided, taking away the the abbot, Eitgal, as recorded in the Annals of Inishfallen. Monks and some form of a monastic settlement probably grew organically on the island from many centuries earlier, but there is little direct evidence. By the tenth century it was dedicated to Saint Michael.

In all the annals of Rome one could be forgiven for missing the news that one more religious nutcase was executed in Judaea by the Roman Governor Pontias Pilot under the rule of Tiberias. Just a few days after the execution came the conspiracy theories, people believing that they had seen the very same Jesus in public (long hair, beard, white tunic - could have been anybody!) and the rest is history with some two and half billion followers some two thousand years later. Christianity seems to have spread like wild fire in the early centuries, although it was reframed regularly, famously by Saint Augustine of Hippo, few Christians today practice the beliefs of Jesus and the religion had quite some headwinds during the Middle Ages after the fall of Rome, it was lucky to survive. These were the golden years of Christianity in Ireland, from the 5th to 9th centuries effectively subsuming paganism completely and becoming a vast depository of it's practice in the many monasteries and learned monks who made Ireland home. The most famous was Saint Patrick to whom is attributed the spread of Christianity to Ireland in the mid fifth century, although there other monks also at the time it is Patrick who is best known due to his own writing, his Confessions. Hearing voices, repeating prayers a hundred times day and night, being a loner all indicate a certain psychiatric disposition common in the uber religious, and for which today he would most likely be diagnosed with schizophrenia and obsessive compulsive disorder. Ireland was a popular home for such religious loner types during these centuries and where better to find a place to dedicate yourself, but for an remote island eleven miles offshore, the Great Skellig, little more than a steep rock, barren but for an acre of grass and copious flocks of seabirds.

The monks of Skellig Michael would have lives off the birds of high and fish of the rich deep blue ocean surrounding its base, plus a few livestock grazing god's little acre on the saddle, one of the few flat places on the island. The monastery comprises a number of dry stone beehive huts for accommodation, plus two chapels, a graveyard and terraces with amazing view over the ocean and back to land and the hills of Kerry. For those who needed even more isolation, there was also the Hermitage, a small enclave located up the steep side of the south peak. The island was accessible during summer months via the traditional Irish rowing boat called a "currach", a long sleek wooden frame covered in cow hide, or more recently tarpaulin sealed with hot petroleum tar. These were used by all the islanders along the coast, including the famous Blaskets. Supplies and even cattle were transported on these currachs. Winter brings high seas, and sometimes even in summer also, and the islands can be cut off for many months or a whole season at a time. Apparently the weather was more benign in earlier years, but deteriorated in the past number of centuries, making Skellig more difficult to habituate and societal changes under British rule, including the famines, left the island uninhabited, but for the few summer visitors. Ownership has handed to the Butler family of Waterville for the rent of a few birds a year and by 1820 was taken over by the Port Authority, who built a lighthouse on the upper west side which was replaced later with a more easily accessible lighthouse on the southwest side which was manned for most of the intervening years until automated in 1987.

At the end of another great week in Kerry Annette, Conor and I spend three days in South Kerry in a townhouse at the Parnasilla Hotel, a grand old world hotel built by the railroad as a destination point. The grounds of the hotel is worth a visit itself, with extensive trails along the rock islands swept by daily tides.

Slaheny River

Seals of Garnish Island

Italian Garden on Garnish Island

Variety of Eucalyptus Tree, Bamboo Park, Glengarrif

The Iron Man, decaying transmission tower, Slieve Mish

Slieve Mish Mountains, Kerry

The McGillycuddy Reeks, view from Slieve Mish

View if Fenit from Bar Tai Gaum

Deep shaded ocean view from Brandon

View of Iveragh Peninsula from Slieve Mish

Hiking the reeks on windy day

Freddie & Allice on Cahar Peak

Dr Ivan Stossel discovered tetrapod tracks, Valentia

Island Walker, on route to Skellig

Skellig Michael

Harbor of Skellig Michael

View of Little Skellig (Sceilig Bheag)

Shard of Devonian Sandstone projects from Skellig Michael

Monastery of Skellig Michael

View from chapel of Skellig Michael

Monastery of Skellig Michael

Beehive Huts of Skellig Michael

Rocky steep slopes of Skellig Michael

Birds of Little Skellig

Little Skellig Birds

Skellig Walker boat to islands

Driving Skellig Waker

Blennerville, Kerry

Parknasilla

Labette County, Kansas

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 14 Jan 2023 22:52:01 +0000

Parsons - Independence - Cherryvale - Ladore - Oswego - The Benders - Big Brutus

Bender Mounds, Labette Kansas

With interest to gain more insights on the mind spinning transformation of the state over the past two centuries, we spent a long weekend in Southeast Kansas mid January 2023. The last few ice ages had dumped a fine layer of minerals over the region supporting thriving grasslands which fed roaming herds of buffalo and deer and for thousands of years in equilibrium with the native hunter gatherer tribes, the Osage, Kansa and Missouri. That equilibrium was brought to an abrupt halt in the mid 19th century with the arrival of well armed Europeans whose principles were extraction rather than equilibrium and lived by the spoils of war. Within a few decades the buffalo population were decimated and the natives removed to allow western expansion. For the next century the immigrants to Kansas thrived in the Southeast on high technology agriculture, oil production, natural gas extraction, zinc and coal mining, railroad arbitrage, munitions manufacture, plus a bit of drug dealing and murder, all under a strong veil of Christianity and a major leaning toward the Republican Party, the party of Lincoln which was so shaped by the fight for Kansas as a free state. A few gay flags in the towns we would visit provide some evidence of progress and tolerance, but they were neutralized with "F....the current president" signs and even a confederate flag in the countryside. Just six generations since the settling of Kansas has seen enormous development and change, which we witnessed on our visit. We rented a house in Parsons, a small two bedroom house from the 1940's painted an optimistic mid century light green, dated but in good condition, with an ancient GE electric stove modeled more like the dashboard of a classic car than a kitchen appliance. Tucked in a modest neighborhood not far from the main street, it was the type of house where one could disappear from the world, perhaps for someone on the witness protection program. Southeast Kansas even has it's own moniker, "SEK" which shows up on business names and other references. Having recently read "Hell's Half Acre" by Susan Jonusas: The Untold Story of the Benders, a Serial Killer Family on the American Frontier, we were interesting in exploring the locations in Labette, Kansas, so I'll start there.

The Benders

SEK is probably best known for the infamous Bender murders which plagued travelers on the Osage trail between Osage Mission and Independence in the early 1870's. In the all too frequent history of mass murders, this set of at least eleven stands out for a few reasons; unusual to have been executed by a family of four in full cooperation, carried out for profit using a brutal but standardized method of murder and, even with significant national attention, they got away. The name Bender was shortening for Fassbender, or cooper in German. John Snr and Ma Bender were immigrants from Germany, known to be cranky, speaking little English, they didn't fit the profile of people who would be naturally drawn to run a small inn on the trail. John Snr arrived in 1870 with his son in law, John Gebhardt, staking claim to 160 acres under the Homestead Act between Drum Creek and Big Hill Creek along the Osage trail. The Osage natives had lived in the area, but had since been moved to Oklahoma. Twenty Confederate soldiers had entered the area in 1863 raiding and recruiting, but the Osage tracked along Drum Creek, killing all but two that got away. With the natives cleared from Kansas, the land was free for the taking on condition that the new owner would make it productive in a number of years. After digging a cellar, they built a small cabin 16x24 ft before Ma Bender and her daughter Kate arrived. Kate and John Gebhardt spoke English well and were much more engaging than the parents, although John G would laugh like a half wit regularly, or talk incessantly, possibly a nervous disorder induced by the violence or fear of being caught or that which led him to be an ideal partner in crime with the Benders in the first place. Kate pawned herself as a (quack) spiritual healer which was common during that time, and was the most engaging, often seen as the brains of the operation, but at a minimum an attraction for bypassers, some of whom were victims. The term "Inn" is misleading, but being located mid way between Independence and Osage Mission, 15 miles each side, which was a typical day traveled by foot or wagon, it was an ideal place for travelers to stop welcomed by the sign "Grocrys" and promise or a warm meal. After dinner at the sparse table in front of the cabin "juicy" guests which the prospect of carrying some money or valuables would be entertained by Kate while likely one of the Johns would line up a sharp hammer blow through the canvas sheet guided by the shadow outline of the victim, then (the same John, or possible the other John) a follow-up blow in the temple would shock the victim, followed by a slit of the throat and jugular vein by one of the Bender women before being dropped through a trap door into the cellar for the shocked and helpless victim to bleed to death. Inspection of the victims later confirmed the consistency of their method. Almost a century later a traveler reported an almost identical legendary murder Inn from the border region of Austria and Germany replete with the canvass and hammer. There is no telling whether there is a link, but what is clear is that the Benders murders must have been practiced murders elsewhere before their arrival in Kansas, because their method was so sure and effective.

Their neighbors and townspeople though the Bender clan were weird, but nothing led them to suspect them of murder, even as over ten people disappeared in the area. They were weird, which likely gave them more cover - like it would have been too obvious that laughing John Jnr, grumpy John Snr, witchy Grandma and attractive spiritualist Kate who could talk to the dead could have been accountable. The Benders always inquired from where their guests hailed so they could assess whether it worth the risk, they would not bother locals, but those from further away.

George Newton Longcor, a homesteader west of Independence (apparently neighbor of Charles Ingalls of House & Prairie at one time) had lost his wife and son, he bought a horse and cart from a Dr. York to return to Iowa to leave the girl with family there. They stayed over at the Bender Inn and got the treatment, the 18 month old reported by autopsy on recovery to have been buried alive. Dr. York went in search of the disappeared Longcors a few weeks later and himself became victim of the Benders. That was their downfall, as York was well known and brother Alexander in the state senate was relentless in pursuit of the perpetrators, rounding up a team of 75 men on horseback to search the area along with his brother, Ed. They narrowed in the doctor's last sighting to the area of the Bender claim and interviewed the family, but with no explicit link of evidence, they rode on, not taking Kate up on her offer to find the doctor with her clairvoyant skills. Alexander was racked with guilt for the rest of his life for not investigating more thoroughly. Fort Roach, or Ladore Kansas was founded by James Roach about ten miles east of the Bender claim and although a little off the Osage Trail, it became the focus of harboring those who were responsible for the disappearances. Roach ran an bar and inn, presiding over the town known for it's hard drinking rough characters and outlaws. One evening in 1870 a group of drunk outlaws came to his bar for whiskey which he refused. They beat him up, took two barmaids for rape and left town. Well armed townspeople went in pursuit, catching five of the men in the countryside, hanging them on the spot. While the Yorks were searching for their brother, Roach gathered townspeople together to address the figure out what to do about the disappearances and resolved to do a search of all the homesteads along the trail in area. There was little access to state or federal police authorities in the early homesteading years, so local people had to take the law into their own hands, often forming "vigilance" groups for security.

It was all too late for the Benders fled the area after being spooked by the York brothers visit, abandoning their horse and wagon near Thayer Kansas, before taking a train to Chanute where they stayed overnight at a hotel before continuing on to Humboldt, from where the caught an interstate train south to Denison Texas, which was beyond the frontier in Indian country. The Benders may have hoped the abandoned wagon would result in their family being added to the long list of disappeared, but the starving animals on their farm caught attention and the property was searched. Finding the cellar drenched in blood, they searched the grounds, pushing rods into the ground until they identified the signs of a decaying body. Eleven bodies were unearthed, including Longcor's young baby girl. York sent a detective south to Denison and although he traced the family down, lacked funds and capacity to track them to capture. A haven for outlaws, the Benders fell in with criminals, like Frank McPherson, who had fled after murdering a man in Parsons. The Benders were never brought to justice and likely lived out their lives in Texas, or perished under Indian raids. Cash and goods stolen from the eleven people found would have amounted to $250,000 in today's money. For all they stole, the showed no sighs of opulence and seemed to be broke when traced in Texas. There is no telling how many more people they robbed and murdered beyond those found, but one must suspect there were more victims. The new owner of the property may find more, or others may have been scattered to the creeks.

Many people suspected there must have been collaboration with neighbors to hawk and move stolen property. Rulolph Brockman, a German speaking neighbor on the adjacent claim was accused by a mob of complicity. They tried to hang him from the rafters of the Bender cabin three times, but he survived, all the time protesting his innocence - they finally gave up. In a strange turn of events, Brockman was convicted of the murder of his own daughter in 1896 and sentenced to death. She actually died of gangrene due to neglect, having been banished to live in the barn under inhumane conditions. A petition for lenience was supported and he died of natural causes in February 1918, which may well have been from the Spanish flu which was raging through the country at the time.

There is nothing remaining today of the Bender cabin and marks on the earth. So popular and nationally renowned were the events that an army of souvenir hunters came and dismantled anything of note on the property, including the cabin, the cellar, stables, and orchard. The property has been farmed over for the past century, but recently sold to a buyer with interest in doing further investigations on the subterrain based on modern scanning technologies, but the land is private and the location not known. Arriving in the area we departed the main roads for 26000 Road east overlooking the "Bender Mounds" and the plains below on which the family setup their murder for money machinery. Turning south on Douglas Road we crossed one of the sharper mounds which shows up in background of photos from 1873. With a little further research on reported distances from various landmarks and also on perspective of the mound landmarks from old photos, I was able to locate within a few hundred feet the location, which we visited one cool sunny afternoon, entering over an unpaved ungraded road requiring four wheel drive. Standing on the still plains with the mounds as background I thought of the tumultuous wave of history which washed over Southeast Kansas in the past two centuries. Twelve thousand years after the ice age, during which the fertile grassy plains was home to sparse herds and a few hunter gatherers were a period of tranquility, the agricultural and industrial revolutions arrived together transforming the lands and in the midst, bringing along all the European societal problems, including the Benders whose legend still fascinated the world.

Few artifacts survived, but the murder weapons, three hammers, were found in the cabin and are on display in the museum at Cherryvale. Bender's Kitchen, a diner in Parsons was the only name reference we found remaining, but a number of the people involved are buried in cemeteries nearby which we visited. W.F. McCrotty, a veteran of the civil war was robbed of $38 and murdered by the Benders in 1872 is buried in the Antieta Circle No 2 at Oakwood Parsons Cemetery. Rudolph Brockman is buried in Harmony Grove Cemetery, along side the Dienst family, also neighbors of the Benders. Dr William York is buried in the Cemetery at Independence. We also visited Ladore Kansas, a bare crossroads at Meade and 20th Road - nothing remains from the 1870's when Roach ran a n Inn and bar there, most having moved to Parsons when the railroad came there, Levi Parsons being president of the Katy Railroad there at that time. The only remaining reference of the town I found in a new article reporting the lynching of five outlaws there in the spring of 1870. Charles Lynch had imprisoned British loyalists on behalf of the Patriots during the American revolution without formal authority and petitioned the congress thereafter for exoneration of guilt for extrajudicial punishment imposed by him, which became the Lynch Law, which would be used extensively against African Americans and was only corrected by congress in 2022 with the Emmett Till Antilynching Act. Following the civil war as the frontier expanded, without federal or state police present, Lynchings became commonly used by local townsfolks, mainly for controlling outlaws. In the fall of 1982 the Dalton Gang, four brothers who had been on the side of the law, but switched to bank robbery, rode into Coffeyville Kansas on horseback with the ambitious aim to rob two banks in parallel. Emmet Dalton and a brother were successful with one bank, but the other was derailed by a brave and intelligent bank teller who deceived the robbers by claiming the bank door had a 45 minute time lock for which they would have to wait to access the money. Word got around town in minutes that the banks were being robbed. These were the days before the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation and the people knew that money was theirs, so they armed themselves for a shootout. A hardware shop across the street from the delayed bank robbery handed out guns and ammunitions to the public. Soon they began firing and chasing the Daltons as they tried to get to their getaway horses, incidentally left in an alleyway due to road construction which was going on in town. They were all shot multiple times, only Emmet survived. It was normal for frontiers people to take the law into their own hands and usually Alcohol was involved, as in the case for Ladore and within ten years Kansas would vote in prohibition.

Manchester Guardian, May 26 1870

Graves of William York, Rudolph Brockman & W.R.McCrotty

Ladore, Kansas

Harmony Grove Cemetery, near Bender claim

Near site of Bender Inn on Osage Trail

Inspecting Cellar after Bender house was moved

Graves of victims in Bender orchard

Kate Bender

Bender Inn, Labette Kansas

Bender graves (distinctive pointed mound background locates site)

Bender cabin day of grave digging

Rudolf Brockman (arrested 1896)

Labette, Kansas

While investigating what to see in Labette Country I came across Big Brutus, one of the largest electric shovel in the world designed to strip overburden materials to access coal for strip-mining. Fascinated with everything mechanical and historic we visited the Big Brutus Museum near the town of West Mineral Kansas on a cool sunny day. Built in 1962 for mm$6.5, officially names a Bucyrus Erie model 1850B, weighing 5000 tons, it can shovel 90 m3 or 150 tons and move at 0.35KMH an dis referred to a "He" by the museum curator. There are four main coal regions in the US: Appalachia, Powder River Basin, Western and Interior, covering Kansas to Ohio and Illinois. It has been only 200 years since coal exceeded biomass (wood mainly) as a fuel of the industrial revolution. By 1900 coal became king of industry, and within tow generations, by 1960 it was being outpaced by oil, gas and other energy sources. Coal is cheap and today it still accounts for 20% of global energy use, but faces pressure to decline mainly due to it's high CO2 footprint. Furthermore, governments started requiring coal miners to reclaim the lands strip mined, which added expense. Not only does coal release more CO2 than natural gas per unit of energy, the power generation technology for coal is a third less efficient at producing energy to the grid, so natural gas emits less than half the greenhouse gas that coal emits. Coal has peaked and will be displaced by renewable (wind and solar) over time, but for a slight reversal due to gas constrained related the Russia's war in Ukraine. Mining has stopped completely in Kansas and the area of Southeast Kansas is strewn with wildlife areas which formed from the remains of unreclaimed mines, forming many lakes, wetlands and nature areas. Besides Big Brutus the museum houses a large drag line operated by the Wilkinson Coal Company and many other mining related machines. In 2010 a man died having fallen off the high boom of Big Brutus - he was setting up for a base jump. Nearby the town of West Mineral is a shadow of it's former self, having declined in population by 90% over the last century. "F.... Biden" reads an informative sign of the views of residents prominent near the center to town - the irony of rural poverty supporting tax cuts for the very wealthy at their expense. A few miles east of here the historic Route 66 ran from Chicago to California across the Rainbow Bridge which still stands today, but the route is gone as with the old wagon trails.

Rural poverty is common in modern America, but it seemed unusually prevalent as we toured Southeast Kansas which is surprising in view of the large extraction of wealth and resources from the region. Before arrival of Europeans in Kansas, the state product was grasslands which fed natural herds and maintained hunter gathering natives. The last century and half has brought high intensity agriculture "on steroids" fed artificially by supplemental Ammonia, Phosphorous and Potassium, plus industrial irrigation. Large corporate farms were by capital markets and direct payment and other subsidies. Huge wealth is being generated in Southeast Kansas, but does not seem to be shared across the communities. Oil was developed in Pennsylvania in the 1960s and spread to Kansas soon after the European and by the 1890's oil was bring produced in Neodesha, Kansas, just 10 miles from the Bender claim. In 1906 an oil refinery was built in Coffeyville, which has been expanded over the years to a capacity of over 100 thousand barrels a day. In 1998 I was sent by my company to assist a new fertilizer plant there - most Ammonia based fertilizer today is produced with Natural Gas as a feedstock, but Farmland Industries installed a Gasification facility which would use (waste) petroleum coke from their oil refinery as feedstock, thus making it a very profitable and wealth producing asset for the community. Oil and Gas has been a mainstay in Southeast Kansas every, as evident by the thousands of oil pumps we witnessed scattered across the farmlands, still pumping oil and producing huge wealth. Coal mining has stopped now, but has historically produced large wealth as did lead and zinc deposits in Cherokee County near Baxter Springs. Rail roads have cross-crossed the area for over a century as a fulcrum center connecting the entire USA, with large rail yards in Parsons and many other areas in Southeast Kansas, also providing employment. A little southeast of Parsons Kansas stands the massive Great Plains Industrial Park covering I estimate 20 square miles employing 18,000 people on a typical day across a wide range of industries. The park is a reuse of the government run Kansas Army Ammunition Plant established during world war two and decommissioned in 2009. Unfortunately the facility is restricted, so we could not tour around, but upon exploring the small town of Labette, just south of the industrial park and mired in poverty, we again had to wonder why all the wealth generated in Southeast Kansas does not seem to be showing up in the lives of local communities. There are many examples in Kansas where the opposite is true, for example Humboldt and Marion which we had visited earlier and with consistent majority voting Republican party since the civil war, one wonders what value they get for their political vote and the party has changed 180 degrees since the days of Lincoln.

The first white settler in the area was John Matthews, who setup as a trader and blacksmith serving the Osage native tribe who had a demand for European technologies in guns, tools and horsemanship. He brought slaves with him and they dug a well, or more accurately formed a well upon a spring which the Osage had used historically. Matthews was a confederate from Kentucky and tried to persuade the natives to their cause, which some did against their interests. He was killed by Union troops in 1861 and his well still stands in a park in Oswego we visited - they should change the name from a confederate to the native chieftain of the area at the time, Little White Hair (Pawhuska). The town population has been surprisingly resilient staying plus or minus 2000 for a century and a half, when so many rural areas have declined. Downtown Oswego looked a little neglected, but interesting and deserted on this New Years holiday. A wonderful derelict 1950's movie theater now served as the Ball & Claw Antique Auction. A model T Ford and other antique cars stood in the workshop on Commercial Street, along with an antique motorcycle workshop next door. Oswego also claims notables like Candy Loving, a playboy bunny, along with leaders in government and education as it's townspeople. An impressive public park stand on the north side overlooking the Neosho River.

The rail yard at Cherryvale was idle and the museum closed for the winter, so we missed the exhibit on the Benders there, a historic sign near the 169 highway being the only reference to the events. The motel was closed down and all the doors were open swinging in the wind, revealing rooms strewn with furniture and debris, being taken back by nature. Over in Independence we toured the history museum, a large collection of local artifacts and interests, including an original homesteaders cabin, displays on Langdon for President, 50 barbed wire patents, Technology on the plains, and rooms of life on the prairie, including The Benders and also The Little House on the Prairie. Laura Ingalls Wilder was only two years of age when her father Charles Ingalls landed a claim southwest of Independence in 1869 and lived there for two years, leaving in 1871 for Wisconsin at the age of four. She had clear memories of their time there which went into the novel, which was a popular television series during my youth. Apparently the claim was in Indian Territory, so Ingalls had no legal right to it, inducing him to move back north, but they had many adventures during the time there, including interaction with the Osage natives.

Among the towns of Southeast Kansas, Parsons, Independence, Coffeyville, one has a 4% chance of being victim of a crime and 1% chance of violent crime annually, ranking the most dangerous towns in Kansas. To be fair, Kansas is a safer than most states, people are friendly and not threatening, but there is clearly an opportunity to address crime and rural poverty. Alfred Langdon made a fortune in the oil industry of Southeast Kansas out of Independence and became Republican Governor of the state in the 1930's, running for President in 1936, losing by a large margin. He was a liberal Republican, recognizing the need for for the New Deal, but was also concerned on freedom for business. From Lincoln to Langdon to Trump, over six generations have witnessed remarkable change in policy and effect of the party, which seems disconnected to the needs of the rural areas we visited.

Departing Labette County we followed country roads north to stop in Saint Paul along the Neosho River. This was Osage Native territory in early 19th century when George Catlin ventures up the Missouri River to paint and assess the native tribes in the 1830's. A lawyer turned painter who tired of city life, he traveled extensively in Indian territory, painting their life and taking notes which would show up in a book "Breath of Life". Of the Osage he wrote "there are few men at their full growth, who are less than six feet in stature, an very many of them six and a half, and others seven feet". He went on to describe how physically fit and wholesome were the men and women, which he attributed to their adherence to nose breathing. A decade later, Osage Mission was a Catholic mission setup in Neosho County, Kansas in 1847 between the Neosho and Verdigris rivers to convert and subdue the Osage Indians. How arrogant were the religious Europeans then to break the strength of Native ways and replace it with disease, vice, degradation and disrespect for nature. The Osage were eventually moved to Oklahoma in 1870 to make way for European settlers under the homestead act and the mission changed focus to the settlers. Osage Mission and Saint Paul became a key stopping point along the Osage Trail.

Our last stop on the way home was Fort Scott, Kansas, one of a series of army posts setup to control the frontier between settled lands and Indian territory, which operated between 1842-1855. A fine fort was built, a set of buildings most of which still stand today. A town built up around the fort and the buildings auctioned off to townsfolks when the fort was disbanded. Approaching the civil war there were two hotels on the site located just across the main square, The West Hotel which was for slavery supporters and The Free State Hotel (on ease side), for anti-slavery supporters and needless to say, tensions often broke out between the two. The Kansas Nebraska Act of 1854 allowed these states and the west to decide by popular vote whether to be slave states or free states. While abolitionists like John Brown were driven by the rights of fellow mankind enslaved in the south and potentially the west, many more, including Lincoln, were also driven to block the wealthy power of slaveholders to eliminate opportunity for the common man, of any race, to benefit from western expansion. Allowing slavery in Kansas would result in wealth being concentrated with the capitalized slaveholders, rather than being distributed across all common men. This tension drove the passions of Bleeding Kansas and

Abraham Lincoln said in 1855 about the act "I look at the Kansas-Nebraska act not as a law, but as violence from the beginning. It was conceived in violence, is maintained in violence and is being executed in violence". Each side tried to pack the state to swing the vote in their favor and violence ensued in Bleeding Kansas. James Montgomery, a free state leader attacked the West Hotel and later came to free his associate, Benjamin Rice, during which John Little, a slaver, was killed during a shootout. Kansas eventually entered the Union as a free state on January 29, 1861, but tensions continued throughout the civil war. Fort Scott continued to grow after the army left and today retains an active downtown, more dominated by antiques than regular commerce. A grand imposing building along main street hosed the Scottish Rite, a freemason organization built upon principles of integrity, justice, toleration, civic service and devotion to god and country.

Big Brutus (upper) and Wilkinson Coal Company Drag Line

57 Chevy at Scrap and recycle yard west side of Parsons, Kansas

Red skies typical of Kansas dusk

Union Pacific Railroad, Parsons, Kansas

Rail scrap, Parsons Kansas

Railroad Signs, Parsons Kansas

Traditional chalk stone barn, Labette Kansas

Cherryvale Railyard, Kansas

Frontier Cabin on display, Independence Kansas

50 variations of barbed wire, all pattented

Rural poverty evident, Township Community Center

Our "Witness Protection" hideout in Parsons

Driving Big Brutus, Kansas

Cabin in West Mineral, Kansas

Garage in Oswego, Kansas

Theater in Oswego, Kansas

Beachner Grain Inc, typical in Kansas

Edsel at St Paul, Kansas

Osage Mission

Steam tractor, St Paul (Osage Mission), Kansas

Delivery us from Evil (plus some Oil)

Fort Scott, Kansas

Marion, Kansas

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Thu, 29 Dec 2022 22:46:01 +0000

Marion - Lindsborg - Pilsen - Diamond Creek - Goessel - Cottonwood Falls

Elgin Hotel, Marion, Kansas

The elegance of The Elgin Hotel attracted us to visit Marion in central Kansas for four days between Christmas and the New Year 2022-23. Harking back to my early years in Kansas during the 1990's when I used to explore backroads, ghost towns and the fascinating history of the state, I took Annette out to explore the the hinterlands of Marion County on the edge of the Flint Hills of her home state. Although quite familiar to me, this was unexplored territory for Annette, even thought it is only a few score miles from her birthplace. Bank robbers, Bonnie & Clyde Barrow liked Kansas due to the extensive grid of roads, mostly unpaved, set longitudinally and latitudinally on a one mile spacing, allowing for easy get-away. We were back on these roads to explore after so many years, and first stop was a ghost town of Bushong, Kansas, named after "Doc" Bushong, a famous baseball player after he won the 1886 world series, a town which started with a bright future, built on a rail road line, access to land and a growing population attracting schools, churches, businesses and a bank. A fire in the business district and the depression reversed fortunes and the slow decline in population from a height of 250 in early 1900's to 27 today is reflected state of the town today. A Veterans Memorial stands in the town as one of the few modern installations and is ground for gatherings for the many who have served in military from Lyon County. The rail line now serves as a long distance nature trail and bike path running 118 miles from Herrington to Osawatomie through Bushong. Further south the optimistically named railway town of Americus, after Amerigo Vespucci, is more lively and has doubled it's population over the last century. From there we drove along the north side of the Neosho River to the ghost town of Dunlap, named for the Indian agent for the Kanza tribe who lived there before being shipped off the Oklahoma. The town got a real boost with the arrival of Benjamin "Pap" Singleton, a freed slave from Tennessee who encouraged freed African Americans to develop the area. Many came after the civil war when they realized freedom in the South would not work in practice. Towns like Nicodemus, North West Kansas, as opportunity for former slaves, called "Exodusters", after the civil war and as Dunlap continued to grow there was some prejudice with white townspeople, nothing as severe as Jim Crow South, but which resulted in the African American community developing it's own facilities. The last African Americans resident of the dwindling town today was buried in Dunlap's segregated "colored" cemetery, which stands a mile away from the white cemetery today. We traveled to Marion across the remote country roads of gravel, mud and ice. Lake Kahola stood frozen but for a patch of open water kept by hundreds of geese. Crossing Buckeye Creek, I accelerated to ensure we got across the ice covered stream, but with the momentum the front left tire was punctured by some debris on the roadside. With the sun declining I got the car up on the jack, but it slipped in the icy rough terrain, a bit worrying with no cell phone signal, but I managed to get the jack unstuck and the spare on - it was almost flat, so we drove slowly for the 10 miles to reach an air pump, finally getting to Marion at dusk with the thermometer still sinking past -15C. During our days in Marion we would see a low of -20C rising each day to +17C on our departure. Marion Center established in 1860 was named for Francis Marion, The Swamp Fox, of revolutionary fame about whom books abound in the rooms of the Elgin Hotel and built upon he classic American hero story, part truth, part fiction and partly unknown.

Still being a national holiday, December 26th, there were no staff at the Elgin Hotel which was great, as we had a code for the door and as Annette ordered pizza at Gambino's around the corner, I got things moved to our wonderful room, Number 209. We had the kitchen and living room to ourselves to relax for the evening. Each of the three floors, served with elevator and stairs, also had an extensive open sitting area and full kitchen which made our stay all the more wonderful (note the 3rd floor is even better than the 2nd). The Elgin Hotel was an ambitious project intended to play a part in realizing the town's potential, but did not attract a developer, so the townspeople funded it's construction by issuing stock and it was completed in 1886. For a town of Marion's size it was and remains an asset for the community, and in many ways it is a miracle that it survived when so many 19th century hotels in rural areas perished. An oil boom in 1950's brought some life back to the hotel under ownership of Dick Lundgren, but it fell into dereliction by the 1970's when a church bought it to recycle the stone for a new place of worship - fortunately they ran out of funds and The Elgin survived as an apartment house for a few decades until bought for restoration as a hotel and residence for the Cloutier family (coincidence - there was a Cloutier family involved in regeneration of Humboldt Kansas also) in 2006. In 2016 it was bought by the Ensey family who returned the residence part to hotel rooms, expanding the capacity and have developed a restaurant, Parlor 1886, run by Kari Newell (who would come to worldwide attention a year later, see last paragraph). We met Tammy Ensey on our second day and had a long visit discussing the history and progress. We booked Room 209 as it was available and slightly larger, but also liked rooms 309 and 312 for a future visit - also the third floor kitchen is larger and there is a reading library there.

Across the street each morning we would get coffee Zera Coffee, a great resource for the town. Zera means seed in Hebrew and the the shop is run by a religious charity, Freedom House Ministries, from Denton, Texas. The Ensey's had a coffee shop there, but closed it down in Covid and encourages the folks in Denton to come and operate a café in Marion, which seems to be a great success. The owner shared their story and seem to be a solid addition to the community in Marion. The charitable part revolves around a men's home for down and out or those recovering from hard times in Denton, something they look to mirror with a women's home in Marion. While one can debate whether it is better for the state or religion to provide such services, it is clear Zera Cafe is a positive impact on Marion. Speaking of religion, there is seven churches in the town, all Christian, for a population of 1900, or 250 people per church allowing for a few atheists. Anyway, the coffee was good, from Galva up the road I was told, and with a good community atmosphere, with tables and games for entertainment and usually some locals hanging at the counter chatting to the owners about town affairs. Another great asset to Marion is the Taco's Food Truck on East Main Street. When rural food options are often limited to fast food or the gas station, I usually look for Mexican for healthy options and the food truck did not disappointed and not surprisingly when we learned the owner, from the area, had become a gourmet Chef in Kansas City, but when Covid hit decided to return and run this business. Across the street T.C.'s What Not Shop was less about antiques that display of about everything not town out from houses around town run by a friendly Asian American lady, an interesting tour of 1960's to 1980's. "Barely Making It Antiques" up on Timber Road west of town was a much larger collection in large barns and many of the large items outdoors in rows on the yard, but was closed during our visit and being holiday season we didn't bother going to The Copper Shed, a set of antique barns on a homestead six miles south of town built by Ernest E. Hett who was born in Aulne nearby in 1922. Little remains in Aulne, but a Methodist Church, a few buildings and the Aulne Bank, long shut down. Ern Hett built upon his farming and welding to produce sculpture art and became well known in the state, being nominated artist of the year in 1985.

I could make out on a sign at a derelict shop front west side of town on Main Street the name "JR Hatters Mercantile", harking back to a day when hats were standard wear and was encourages when we found another shop open in town center, JR Hatters Mercantile. We met the owner Johsie Reed who makes unique custom hats and leader goods. She mentioned having moved from the west side location recently and was now owner of the property which used to be a store run by her uncle where she worked when she was a child. She learned the craft in Los Angeles and worked for other hatters before staring JR Hatters a number of years ago based in Marion. She makes hats the traditional way with tools over a century old, but doesn't use some of the harmful chemicals like mercury, which was apparently the cause of the crazy hatter syndrome leading to the term "the mad hatter". Fitting a hat can take an hour, so she got a beer license so people can relax while waiting. Besides hats, Johsie also crafts purses, leather goods and jewelry. She had a large trailer and packs up to attend rodeos regularly, a great way to connect with customers. She mentioned a rodeo I Strong City and also a regular one in the small town of Canton, just twenty miles west of town, where she was even considering moving in future. Although things were quiet in town during the winter holidays, Marion has many unique and interesting business plus festivals in the summer time which is when more tourists visit - personally I like visiting offseason - we were the only visitors to the museum in town, plus those in Goessel and Lindsborg, having the wealth of history all to ourselves.

Four miles west and three miles south of Marion stands the Marion County Poor Asylum which voters agreed to build using county funds to provide welfare and a home to people with diminished capacity, either physically, mentally or due to old age. Situated on 160 acres it was intended the residents would farm and make a living from the 160 acres. A master stone mason, Fred Schaefler of Hillsboro crafted the enormous mansion an impressive investment for the poor, showing the caring side of society at that time to ensure people in need from the community were supported and in a manner equal to any in the community. Twelve residents, half men half women were living there in the earl years. Unwed mothers without means were also housed there, their children given for adoption. Although some were too disabled to contribute and work, many were quite productive and the house were able to return $200 a year back to the country treasury in the early years. By 1950 the home needed renovation, which was funded by sale of 120 acres and reopened as renamed Cedar Rest to remove the association with the prior asylum and the people called residents rather than inmates. In 1964 it was closed and auctioned off mainly for the land which had value and the house was rented out to tenants until the house and 2.5 acres was abought by Art and Virginia Miles in 1967 and converted into a restaurant, Cedar Villa in 1968, which didn't last too long, closing a year later. Pastor Bill Cowel bought the house in 1971 to develop as a youth center, which never materialized. As it became rundown it was again sold in 1973 to Nancy Marr and her husband, Wendell Hendricks, as a fix up project and get-away home from their busy lives with their four children in Wichita. The house was a country getaway for the Marr family in the early years, but they divorced in 1978 and Nancy got the house, where she has lived ever since. Besides a family retreat, the house has served as a youth hostel, Christian retreat, curiosity for tourists and target for vandals since then. I would like to have met Nancy on my visit as I had read she was open to visitors, at least those with good intensions, but I could see from the undisturbed snow a week old that no-one was home at least for the holidays, or she may have gone to the city for winter. Nancy is reported to be a lovely lady who just wants to live in peace and who has opened her home to so many over the past 60 years, but also experienced the damage society instills in vandalism and the property shows signs of such attack. Not wanting to intrude, I just walked around the periphery to get a view of the architecture and could see some doors wedged open and windows smashed, repaired with wood and cardboard. She had places some signs around the house making it clear it was not abandoned and should not be vandalized. Unfortunate that security, one of our most ancient needs, is not afforded to Nancy in her old age caring for an historic treasure. While there is a large impetus to extract from the land, it is a pity to see the same is not true in preserving these historic houses as Nancy would surely like to see. North of the main house stood a small well built stone house which was sadly going to ruin, it's finely carved solid sandstone blocks holding up well on at least three sides. This was the W.E. Glover house and was on the property before the county decided to build the poorhouse nearly. The Glover house is such a beautiful stone structure and sad to see it being let back to nature. A little further north a graveyard beside whose flat gravestones were invisible under the snow hid the names, including one marked "Negro Boy".

That afternoon we would venture further afield. In 1869 a Pastor Olof Olsson led a group of Swedes from remote Varmland, Sweden to settle in McPherson County, Kansas, along the Smoky Hill River, seeking to prosper on the fertile plains. Lindsborg in Smokey Valley was the town which emerged around them, named for the Linden Tree, common in Varmland. While many small plains towns struggle today, Lindsborg is thriving and is a gem in the center of the state. We started with a visit to Coronado Heights Castle northeast of town situated on a bluff 300ft, which is as good as a mountain among the flatness, with an expansive view over the county. Apparently the Spanish conquistador Francisco Vázquez de Coronado got a fever to search for the "Seven Cities of Gold" a 16th century rumor of wealth cities in the US continent, on his expedition from Mexico in 1540-42, which he had heard from an old native who had been held as a slave in his youth in Cicuye where he heard stories about Quivira, which he interpreted the city of wealth. About to kill "The Turk", as they called the old man, he offered to guide them to the location to save his life. They rode east north east and after nine days reached the open buffalo plains, continuing on from today's New Mexico, across the Texas panhandle into Kansas to the Arkansas River and Cicuye. The Indian guides disputed each other and they finally got "The Turk" to admit he was lying, but they continued anyway in search the Quivira, which the found. The Quivira were a tribe of natives in central Kansas, part of the Wichita tribe near present day Salina, not far from Lindsborg. Coronado's expedition was epic in nature, and all the found along the way were native tribes, rough terrain, and strife. Although no gold or treasure in Quivira, he did recognize the richness of the land, the food and the native people, their health good and height over six foot for the post part, described as "large people of good build". He surely would have stopped at Coronado Heights as it would have been a strategic viewing point on his travels, and some Spanish artifacts have been unearth in the area. During the depression a castle was built upon the peak under the Works Progress Administration, which was setup to provide employment to the poor and unemployed.

Just two miles south of the Heights on the left side of the road is the Hoglund Dugout, which was the first dwelling built by one of the earliest Swedish settlers, Gustaf and Mary Hoglund, from Fernebo, Sweden who made a claim on 80 acres and built the underground dwelling in the summer of 1868, using their wagon cover as a roof. They lived there for two years while the built a larger stone house above ground where the brought up their seven children for 20 years before building a larger wooden house. Imagine living in that dug-out through two winters when a cold sweep from the north brings 50 KMH winds at -20C and many feet of snow. These were hardy practical people and the dug-out was a common first year(s) dwelling for the earliest settlers, before towns built up to stock supplies to build a cabin. The last of the Hoglunds died in 1975 and the property was left to local charities, but for an acre around the dug-out, which was willed to the local historical society and now stands as a park.

Our first stop in Lindsborg was the Birger Sandzen Memorial Art Gallery, a wonderful resource for the town and an inspiration for budding artists of Kansas, many of whose works were on display and for sale at the gallery. Birger Sandzen was a Swedish painter who settled in Lindsborg and was professor or art and language at Bethany College there. We were the only visitors and the curator spent a good amount of time explaining the background of the gallery as well as viewing some exhibits not on display. Worlds Fairs were a way to bring international exhibits to people in USA, the 1904 Fair being held in St Louis, Missouri, from which the Swedish pavilion has ended up in Riverside Park, Lindsborg, alongside a number of museums, including the Old Mill & Swedish Heritage Museum which we visited. The mill must be one of the best preserves water wheel drive grain mills producing purified "Smoky Valley" brand flour. On the way back to Marion we picked up wonderful food at Pueblo Viejo Mexican in Hillsboro. One of the advantages of the Elgin Hotel is access to a fridge, microwave and full kitchen making food management easy.

A few miles northeast of Marion water spring from the floor of the low creek which would have been an important source for the Kanza tribe during dry periods. The new Euro-American landowner drilled for coal, but found nothing. Having spent his savings, he leased the springs out to a developer, Dr. Piper, who built a resort and marketed the waters as Chingawassa Springs, named for an Osage Chief killed by a Kanza Chief in the area. Mineral springs were all the rage for cures before modern science kicked in and reported cures included: rheumatism, paralysis, skin and blood diseases, kidney and liver complaints, chronic constipation, hemorrhoids, nervous conditions, and more. A rail line was built from Marion to the site and tourists came from as far as Chicago for cures at the springs. It didn't last but a few years and nothing remains there today.

Northeast of Marion stands an empty quarter parts of which probably look like the the land was before arrival of Europeans, buffalo and all. Traversing this area on unpaved roads tracking Diamond Creek northwest to southeast one can let lost in an old world, which I did, but first had to stop over in the village of Pilsen eight miles north of town, settled by Czechs and named after the famous beer and town in Bohemia at that time. Centered around a Catholic church, St John Nepomucene, large for a community of that size even back in 1915 when it was built for a handy $30,000. Emil Kapaun was a son of the area who studied theology in St Louis and became a priest, serving his first mass in Pilsen during world war two, followed by a stint in the army. He survived the war, but later on an assignment in Korea was taken prisoner and died under the harsh conditions of the camp. In the cool morning sun I walked around the peaceful village. A set of ancient gas pumps stood restored to their past glory at the road side entering town overlooking the plains. Hett Oil runs a facility south of Pilsen and owns over 200 wells in the region northeast of Marion, some pumping and many idle. Old cars and machinery were strewn across a field nearby living their weather beaten downfall in the elements

From Lost Spring I headed east along part of the route of the Santa Fe Trail toward Diamond Spring which was founded in 1830. The little town of Burdick along the way stood silent, the rail road long gone, the Diamond Valley High School having closed in 1957 and now destroyed by what must have been a tornado, the Burdick Meat Locker still hanging in there having been in business for over a century. As people made it west on the trails in the mid 19th century water was an important commodity, especially as the creeks dried up in summer months, so any natural springs were anchor points as became Diamond Springs on the Santa Fe Trail. West of the springs the trail was called "Gornada Del Muerte" or "Journey of the Dead" for the bones of men and animals alike, felled by natives or lack of water. The town was mostly destroyed by confederate guerillas during the civil war who killed the station manager Augustus Howell. A year or tow later a traveler Samuel Kingman wrote in his diary, “We passed Diamond Springs. The remains of three stone buildings two stories high tell their story of violence. A good monument for the builder. A small room used as a dramshop is all that’s left fit for use save a large stone corral surrounding 5 or 6 acres with a small supply of hay.”. A railroad finally came and there was a depot at Diamond Springs by 1890 helping provide transport for he large ranches which thrives from the fertile valley. The town never really thrived, but many homesteads were successful in the area including the Loomis, Rude, Rice, Harris, Phillips, Stanley, and Stephens families. Nothing remains of the town today, but a cross roads and a few stone ruins on private land. Nearby a graveyard is home to many locals who have passed, including homesteaders as written on a headstone there, "John Veal and Susannah Lee were both born in Ely Cambridgeshire, England, married in Ely Cathedral Nov 17 1866. They emigrated to Minneapolis Kansas in 1870 and homesteaded in Ottawa County in 1871 undergoing all of the privations and hardships of pioneer days. In 1918 they came to Diamond Springs where the remainder of their lives were spent." They died in 1934 and 1932 respectively. William Quentin Jr., a Sky Bum, was buried there in 1954, "a skier who spent almost the entirety of his life in sky resorts. The rest of his life sharpening, purchasing skies or is back home in rural Kansas". With sadness another grave marked only "Our babe born Oct 9th and died Oct 11th 1875". Half way down the valley I came to a large stock yard packed with buffalo. Hymer Station was an important location when a railroad line through the valley brought cattle from Texas for fattening on he flint hills grasslands in the late 19th century, but the line is no longer, the rails removed and a wonderful pathway to hike or bike is the legacy. On the hill east of the rail line the stone outline of decaying buildings which made up Hymer Station. My wandering of Diamond Creek ended near the ghost town of Elmdale which I had visited three decades prior. The ghost town of 40 people looks much worse today than then. The old bank, workshop and store at town center are still there as they were for the most part, but many of the houses were derelict and decrepit, their yards strewn with junk. Elmdale Trading Post - Antiques - Fuel - Food - Groc. - Guns - Ammo - Pawn looked mostly like a gun shop. A little west of Elmdale lays the vast expansive grasslands of Mystery foundation Clover Cliff Ranch, which maintains a large herd of buffalo who roam freely, a scene reminsent of pre-settlement times. I could have mistaken a three leaf clover in the emblem of the ranch as the Irish Shamrock, but learned it represented the leaf of young Alfalfa, a crop pioneered by the original range owner, Jacob Blackshere.

That afternoon we fond ourselves in Goessel, Kansas, a Mennonite settlement from the 1870's. The museum there was closed for winter, but I called ahead and would be met there by the curator. On the way we passed the grand white Alexanderwohl Mennonite Church, named for the town in Zaporizhzhia, Ukraine from where the original Mennonite community came in 1874, attracted by the new lands opening up, but also due to the immanent lapse of their exemption from tax and military service in Ukraine which was extended to them by Catherine the Great to attract them to Ukraine in the first place. Actually they were originally Netherlanders, but as Anabaptists who belief in baptism only upon coming of age (18 years old) and whose demand for radical reform, sometimes violent, of the Catholic status quo of the time resulted in their persecution. They included people like Menno Simons (1496 - 1561) who were in a hurry, as they believed the end of the world was imminent and only their lot would be gifted heaven. Many were non-violent and would not bear arms, as these would be irrelevant when the end would come. A group left and settled in Poland in the 16th century and moved to Ukraine at the invitation of Catherine in the late 18th century.

The town was named after a famous Captain Kurt van Goessel who perished with his ship after being rammed in 1895, but there is no direct connection with the town. Apparently they could not agree on a number of original names, so someone picked the Goessel name as a neutral option. We were met by Fern Bartel, who is related to a prominent Mennonite family, the Schmidts, and spent two hours generously walking us through the seven buildings of the Goessel Museum. In the main museum, each family had a slot for display in which important family heirlooms, including some items from their time in Ukraine. From some of the Ukrainian farm tools are on display, like a concrete grain thresher, farming technology from Zaporizhzhia from the 19th century was pretty basic. Within a generation of having moved to Kansas, farming was already becoming industrialized with fast paced technology development and engine drives, many of which are on display in building no two. Fern handed me a small glass jar of winter wheat seeds as a gift. Winter wheat they brought over from Ukraine and worked very well in the climate they settled in Kansas, planting in the fall to get a head start and growing fast early in the spring. Maps and pictured from the village near Molotschna, Russia (now Ukraine) show the names of original families who moved, along with the church in the old country. A "Non-Resistance" certificate on the wall dated from 1914 declared that the Mennonite could not take up arms for religious reasons. In the school houses were a lists of rules for teachers and students, mostly quite strick, but with some interesting ones:

Men teachers may take one evening each week for courting, or two if they go to church regularly.
Women teachers who marry of engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed.

On the way back to Marion we stopped at Hillsboro Cove Lake - there was a sign at the entrance "Due to the lack of gate attendant interest, we have unfortunately have had to move our parks to 100% reservable online". The lake was frozen which offered a good reflection of the evening skies from the west. The morning we departed Marion we stopped at the Marion Kansas Historical Museum which is housed in a wonderful old Baptist Tabernacle Church which was converted to a county museum in 1956. As other towns started their own museums in the intervening years, it is not a city museum and would normally be closed for winter, but the curator was there and welcomed us in for a visit. Many historic items have been donated from families who settled the area. A collector of tow tanks and planes had donated his collection recently and it was strewn across the museum to be sorted during the winter closure. On the way home to Kansas City we stopped at the Bichet School just east of Florence, a wonderful solid stone building on the plains, with two outhouses, one for boys and one for girls. Further east the village of Cedar Point stands almost deserted and rundown, but for a wonderful water wheel driven grain mill. On the way home we would stop at Cottonwood Falls, passing Chase Lake Falls on the way. A small dammed lake important to the wildlife in the area, I first camped over there on my way back from Colorado the weekend before my wedding, early October 1999 while riding my motorcycle. I recall sensing some of the neighboring campers to be a bit odd as I camping there that evening, like maybe they lived there homeless or had drug problems. Passing the night safely, I was glad to be gone in the morning, stopping for coffee at a local diner in Cottonwood Falls, where I met T.J. and his wife, a character of kinds who referred to himself as the Texas Jew and drove a large Cadillac, living in a ranch nearby, he invited me to visit there, but I needed to get home. Cottonwood falls is a well preserved town with an antique business on Broadway Street, which leads to the court house, which we were advised to visit. We seemed to have free access to all floors of the Chase County Courthouse until I was asked by a clerk as I poured a glass of water in the staff kitchen what I was doing there - "on a courthouse tour" I said as I left the scene. Behind the main court room stood the original jail house well decorated with markings, names and counting the days by marking off lines in a row. We had entered central Kansas in brutally cold conditions, but conditions warmed to balmy by the time we departed, which is typical of winter weather due to the erratic jet stream. Great visit as always.

UPDATE August 2023: On Friday August 11th 2023, the offices of Marion County Record, home of the newspaper owners (Eric & Joan Meyer) and home of vice Mayor (Ruth Herbel) were searched by police on a flimsy warrant issued by Judge Laura Viar on the basis that a DUI record of restaurant operator of Parlor 1886 at the Elgin Hotel, Kari Newell, was procured and shared illegally, something which was already discussed and denied at a prior town council meeting. Coincidentally, The Record was investigating police chief, Gideon Cody, for sexual misconduct during his prior assignment. Why would he throw his entire police department under the bus and pursue an illegal raid in support of Ms Newell's claim, after all, shouldn't he be investigating the crime for which there was evidence - that of driving on a suspended license? One line of investigation could be in the relationship between Cody and Newell, but another more plausible scenario would to leverage such a spurious claim to get access to the investigation and sources from Cody's time being run off from Kansas City police department on sexual harassment claims (as reported in the Kansas City Star). The comedy continues when considering that Judge Laura Viar is reported to have her own DUI's, so should have recused herself from signing off on the warrant (for which she filed no reasoning), or should have rejected it as there was no basis for authorizing such a raid which would set precedence for erosion of journalistic freedom which is a foundation principle separating USA and countries like China, Russia (see how that works out). Tragically, Joan Meyer who was elderly but in good health dies the following day, reportedly due to stress from the raid. Back to the comedy, in step the Kansas Bureau of Investigation (KBI) who narrow their scope of investigation to the claim by Cody/Newell, rather than take a holistic approach, which will require the FBI to intervene. The country attorney finally stepped up and rescinded the warrant, requesting the raided property be returned. How a simple liquor license application (which should of course be granted) turned into such a tragedy and comedy involve at least three errors of judgement, by Newell, Cody and Viar, and resulted in all of their secrets being revealed, from DUIs to reports of sexual harassment. I subscribed to the www.marionrecord.com as a way to support local newspapers and freedom or press and look forward to a full investigation by the Federal agency to make lessons on over-reach by enforcement clear.

Bushong, Kansas then and now

Abandoned mobile home, Bushong

African American cemetery, Dunlap Kansas

Natural Prairie Grasslands in the Flint Hills

Wonderful stone house decaying in the fields, Marion KS

Marion Country Poorhouse Asylum (Cedar Rest)

Marion Country Poorhouse Asylum, 1901

W.E.Glover House prior to poorhouse, Marion

Old Trucks on plains of Kansas

One of thousands of oil pumps in central Kansas

Maxwell Wildlife Refuge

Coronado Heights Castle, Lindsborg KS

Hoglund doug-out home, 1868, Linsdborg

Marquette 1 - painting at Lindsborg Museum

Birger Sandzén Memorial Art Gallery

Rosberg House B&B, Lindsborg

Smokey Valley Flour

Doug-out House on the plains, 1870's

Smokey Valley Four Mill (Old Mill & Heritage Museum, Lindsborg)

Marion, Kansas

Horse hitching post, Marion Kansas

Pilsen on the Plains, Kasnas

Standard Oil Pumps, Pilsen, Kansas

Old Plymouth, Pilsen, Kansas

Plymouth in Pilsen, Kansas

Old Gas Pumps at Pilsen, Kansas

Lone tree along Diamond Creek

Horses roam along Diamond Creek

Dutch style barn, Diamond Creek, Kansas

Decay of Elmdale, Kansas

Alexanderwohl Mennonite Church, Kansas

Map of Alexanderwolh Village, Molotschna, Ukraine

Advancing Farming Technology on the plains

J.R. Hatters, Marion, Kanas

Flat as Kansas

Marion Kansas Historical Museum

Bichet School, District 34, Kansas

Cedar Point Mill

Elmdale Bank, 1896, Kansas

Plombieres, Belgium

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Fri, 25 Nov 2022 15:44:00 +0000

Montzen Abandoned Station - Henri-Chapelle Cemetery - Plombieres

Abandoned Montzen Station

On my own for Thanksgiving holiday 2022 I headed for Belgium to hike in the countryside, this time in Plombieres, at the tri-border region among Netherlands, Belgium and Germany, staying in a wonderful farmhouse, Gite des étangs à Montzen, outside the village of Montzen next door to the Chateau de Graaf. Just three hours drive south east from Leiden driving Annette's Honda making the drive a breeze, no hydraulic fluid leaks, axels broken or gear box issues with the hybrid Honda, just easy driving (my Citroen was in the shop being fixed from the Prague trip). My days were spent walking the woodlands and farmlands of this rural gem of an area under cool blue skies and sunlight flowing almost horizontal to the contours of the land, illuminating the yellowing leaves in sharp contrast with the sky and blue fields. As in much the Ardennes, there are extensive trails throughout the area, allowing me to roam through the empty forests and cross farmlands to link up the some of the sites and parks. The Staatsforst Hohnbachtal forest, where wolves once roamed as reported by Philippe Vandermaelen in 1831, was now planted in conifer trees like a farm, while the hills and ridges were a more natural range of beech, oak, alder, some quite ancient.

Although French is the official language of the Walloon region, a dialect of German is widely spoken in the border counties like Plombiers. Thought I had crossed over to Germany on one of my hikes when I saw the black, yellow and red flag, but only realized it was a Belgium flag and I had to wonder why the German and Belgian flags are so similar - apparently it is just a coincidence, the Belgian flag being based on the ancient colors of the Duchy of Brabant, while the German colors are from the uniforms of the soldiers who freed the country from Napolean's war in 1813. The countryside was dotted with hunting stands which stood silent on this weekend, allowing me to hike at ease. Catholic statuettes and shrines appear at junctions along the way, or a single cross nailed on a random tree. Vending machines are widely used - along one hiking trail was a caravan which housed a coffee machine and snack vending machine, meat could be bought from another machine at a nearby farm house and bread was on sale 24-7 outside the bakery in town, all innovative ways to serve customers in such a rural area.

The tri-border, Netherlands, Belgium, Germany sits near the town of Gemmenich which is the location where Germany invaded Belgium in 1914. Monument Via Dolorosa, representing the sorrowful route Jesus was supposed to have taken to the cruxifixation, also marks the German Belgium border on the hill above Gemmenich with a cube of rested compressed rusting munitions from world war one. The Vaalserberg woods and hills stretched southeast and made for a great hike. To the west in the valley stood the Henri-Chapelle American Cemetery and Memorial for many of the American soldiers who advanced to enter German territory during world war two, staging a siege of Aachen, for which the Germans fought forcefully, but unsuccessfully, surrendering on October 21st 1944, the first German city to do so. Under ferocious weather, the Americans battled on to take Germany to the Roer River by mid December. During the interwar years, Belgium knew trouble was brewing so they built defenses in the area. Thirteen concrete bunkers were constructed in the mid 1930's in the Plombieres area for the protection of Leige. The advanced positions were manned by an elite troop of machine gunners, The Frontier Cyclists of Hombourg.

Always attracted by abandoned places, I had found a set of pictures of a rail station in the area online. Montzen Station is a sprawling complex with many shunting lanes, built by the Germans in 1917 during WWI by Russian prison labor, it was intended to connect the German rail system via Aachen to the Belgian network with fast access to the ports of Belgium and Netherlands. The station itself is a flat plateau appropriate for rail, but interconnecting the rail lines was an engineering feat, crossing the deep River Geul valley to a depth of 60 meters with a 1200m meter span of rail viaduct and tunneling through the highlands to connect Aachen to the west. Back in the day, locomotive engines would be switched at the station between German and Belgian for cargo trains crossing countries. In Belgium trains and signaling are on the left track, while in Germany it is the opposite, so there is a switchover at the border. More recently the line has been electrified, again with a different standard in Belgium and Germany. Parking on the street in Gare Montzen, the town built for rail workers, I dashed behind the warning sighs and protection of bushes to access the railyard. Some of the rail lines has been removed, but the main station hall stood derelict and suffering the effects of entropy production, as is typical of abandoned places, windows smashed, rooms destroyed, everything cracked and broken by vandals over the many years since the station operated. Over eight trains a day still pass the station on new tracks to the west, not disturbing the abandoned yard. Passengers used to travel through, but since 1950's it was a freight only line and I understand the station has been abandoned for two decades. There used to be a few old engines and freight carriages on the long train hanger, but have since been removed. Besides all the destruction evident at the site, there are many fine graffiti walls on display. Up on a hill behind the station stood the water tower to feed steam trains originally, which has recently been converted into a holiday house.

Besides daily hikes in the country, followed by exploration of various local points of interest, each evening I watched episodes of Brideshead Revisited, a television series based on a book by Evelyn Waugh. It was a throwback to my teenaged years having then watched the original, a complex story of a long lost world set at Howard Castle in Yorkshire. A wonderful quote as apology for getting sick on wine, "the wines were too various, it was neither the quality of the quantity which was at fault, but the mixture, to know all is to forgive all?

Chateau de Graaf, Montzen, Plombieres, Belgium

Healthy cows of Plombiere

Perfect Autumn in Plombieres

Countryside around Montzen

Ancient forest around Montzen

Autumn leaves in Staatsforst Hohnbachtal, Montzen

Elite Frontier Cyclist Troup of machine gunners manned bunkers

Montzen Station, engineering feat of 1917

Viaduct of Moresnet, connecting German & Belgium rail

Goat at Gite des étangs à Montzen

Henry Chappelle American Graveyard

Cadillac Eldorado on the wall in M&T Bar Retro, Plombieres

Ancient house in Montzen

Montzen Station, Plombieres

Windows into windows at Montzen Station

Graffiti at Montzen Station, Plombieres, Belgium

Gemmenich WW1 Monument at tri-border

Trailways of Ardennes

Sycamore leaf paling in Autumn sun

Fresh eggs from farm at Gite des étangs à Montzen

Water tower of Montzen Station converted into holiday home

Meat, Coffee, Treats and Bread all on sale 24/7 in vending machines

Prague, Czechia

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 19 Oct 2022 15:30:01 +0000

Wernigerode - Prague - The Castle - Hann Munden

Franz Kafka, Metamorphosis by David Cherny, Prague

Somewhere in Germany we took a wrong turn, after taking an energetic U-turn my 1988 Citroen CX started to splutter on acceleration - I guessed some debris lifted in the fuel tank and may have plugged the filter, but driving gently we were able to make it to Wernigerode and Hotel Erbprinzenpalais where we had booked an apartment for the night. We were on our way to Prague for a week to visit Liam who was studying there for a semester. The German countryside is beautiful in autumn, so much of the land remains forested and the golden leaves fluttered in the breeze. As long as I accelerated gently we were able to drive at 120KMH on the highway, trying to avoid the Germans going twice that speed. Crossing the highlands (600-700meters) into Czech we crossed what was politically called the Sudetenland, a ring of Czech border highlands which were settled by Germans many centuries ago and which Hitler annexed in a runup to World War 2. In the 1938 Munich agreement Britain, France & Italy conceded the territory to avoid war, but war came anyway - the allies won, restored Czech borders and the German people who had lived there for centuries were expelled, eliminating Sudetenland and settling the area with Czechs. The lesson learned is relevant for Ukraine who should not cede any of it's territory to Russia today as it would only lead to further over-reach.

We settled into a wonderful ground floor apartment with garden in the center of Prague off Wenceslas Square, parking the Citroen below for the week, retaining it's strength hopefully to get us back to Leiden. Each morning I say relaxed with coffee on the street side along Wenceslas Square for an hour watching Praguers of all sorts go by their daily lives. My last visit to the city was in winter of 1996, just a few years after independence and the dissolution of Czechoslovakia, a name I still sometimes inadvertently use, probably to the consternation of the people. Visible then was the poverty and drain four decades of communism had levied on the country: "If you put the Communists in charge of the Sahara desert, there will be a shortage of sand in five years", a quote from Churchill we read at the Communism Museum has been proven. Although the Czechs are of Slavic origin, centuries of integration in central Europe and a long history of wealth resulted in their chafing under communist rule and their push to liberalize in the 1960's was met with an invasion by Russia, The Prague Spring. Eventually the Velvet Revolution brought the collapse of communism in 1989. With the Sudeten crisis in memory, along with the Prague Spring and Velvet Revolution, the Czechs are squarely in the Ukraine camp as can be seen by flags and support throughout Prague. Although Slovakia and Czech split in 1993, they remain close in political and cultural perspective as our Slovak guide reported at the Cold War Museum. During the week we would witness the historic wealth of the City of Prague which screams from the facade of every ancient building to the heights of Prague Castle, and the modern buildings like Frank Gehry's Dancing House. Such a history puts even more starkly the depth to which the city was thrown under communism, as evident in many of the city museums, and the Kafkaesque nightmare people experience under a totalitarian autocratic tortuous surveillance state. That battle between freedom, individual and human rights versus the person as a surf to a totalitarian state is evident in Russia's invasion of Ukraine. How could a kleptocratic state like Russia who has siphoned off trillions of dollars from the people for yachts and personal retain their grip on power with a free and prosperous Ukraine next door who has the potential to be as wealthy as Czech, twice that of Russia, which has changed from communist totalitarianism to fascist totalitarianism under Putin, neither of which adds to the prosperity of the Russian people.

Speaking of the Kafkaesque, I had been lured in by the writings of Franz Kafka who lived much of his life in Prague and looked forward to exploring how the city influenced him. Not that Kafka's writings make any specific references to places, but on reading "The Castle" one can imagine it being set in some central European region, to where a land surveyor K has been summoned, on arrival finding an intrigue embedded in absurd bureaucracy. K could have just left and I could have stopped reading, but one of Kafka's strengths in writing is leaving enough unsaid, one can't help but explore further, which we both did. Our first outing in Prague was across the Vltava River to Malá Strana, where we visited the Kafka Museum, appropriated located in Lesser Town, which one could imagine being the village in The Castle and The Prague Castle itself being The Castle, but I rather imagine another more remote location for the setting of the novel as there are references to a more rural aspects. There were only a few people in line for tickets, but twenty minutes of fumbling through procedures by the teller was an appropriate reminder of Kafka's focus on weighty bureaucracy. Surely he had good insights from his first job after graduating in Law with Assicurazioni Generali - he left after a year as the demanding hours interfered with his writing, but his longest employment was as an insurance adjuster which suited his passion for writing as he had afternoons free. The museum charts his life and works and best visited after reading some of them.

One gets a sense that there is deeper meaning to everything Kafka writes, or multiple meanings and each will take their own meaning. His study in The Castle of hierarchy, bureaucracy and helplessness under it's weight is something everyone can relate to at some point in life, but none so extreme as that under communism where policy is set at the top, people are surfs run with stamps and rules rather than any free will. Prague was not under communism when it was written, but there was likely enough proxy for the concepts for him to pickup from the leftovers of the Austro-Hungarian empire. To understand Kafka one has to see his as an amplifier of concepts to extremes, which is quite effective, but also the real way he experienced the world. His father Herman was hard working, but his bombastic, self aggrandizing, domineering, judgmental and critical demeaner, which may have been brushed aside by most sons, was picked up in amplitude by the sensors of Franz' psyche, which was full of neurosis and insecurity, requiring a more supporting relationship. In "Letter to Father", which was never sent, he does not blame either of them for their personal characteristics, but makes clear the effect of their interaction results in an absolutely destructive outcome for him, and perhaps for Herman also in a way. There are similarities as a father figure between Herman Kafka and Fred Trump, both of whom have had potentially distorting impact on their sons. Another theme Franz Kafka explores is the elimination of the separation of private and public, a core tenet of communism. He seems to write not from a political perspective, but building on his own insecurities and perceptions. For example, K with fiancé Frieda accepts a job as janitor at the school, but on the basis that he lives in the classroom, moving things out each day for classes, and along with two young men assistance, whom The Castle has sent as helpers, or spys (we don't know which), they all sleep together the first night, but being exhausted for various reasons, they slept in and woke, all four of them surrounded by a classroom of gawking children - very funny. Kafka's happiest time seems to be the year he spent in isolation up in The Castle grounds in a little cottage at No 22 Golden Lane where he write short stories, including A Country Doctor, a dream-like tale of being called out in a snow storm to see a patient, ending in tragedy and betrayal. Golden Lane is located within the castle walls and served home to gold merchants historically, today No 22 is a book shop, where I bought a copy of The Trial. Prague is strewn with places of Kafka's life there, his birth place, the home Minute House where they lives 1989-1992, etc. He attended Charles University to study Law and associated with German-Jewish intellectuals of the day, including Albert Einstein who lectured at Charles University 1912-1913. Rainer Maria Rilke was born and spent early years in Prague, but left before likely overlap with Kafka. Antonin Dvorak, author of Slavonic Dances, lived in Prague.

Kafka has attended performances at the theater in Lucerna complex around the corner from our apartment, which was built in 1910 by the grandfather of Vacslav Havel. It is hard to describe the wonderful architecture of Lucerna, but to say "old world modern" well lit and appointed with modest art novena features. An elevator there ran without any doors, one jumped on of off which seems like an planned accident, but they seem to work. The complex is home to a jazz festival, where Louis Armstrong played in 1964. Passing through the passages of Lucerna as many times during the week to explore the antique camera shops, lights, reflections and atmosphere. Challenging society's reverence of historic figures, a proud Saint Wenceslas sits on a dead upside down horse hangs in a main hall, sculpture by David Cherny, famous for his many statues throughout the city. As an art student he and friends painted a Soviet military tank pink (The Monument to Soviet Tank Crews) one night in 1991 for which he was arrested and the tank repainted green upon protest by the Russians. A few parliamentarians with immunity repainted it pink in protest at Cherny's arrest, which worked and he was released. The tank was repainted green and pink alternately a few times before being removed to a museum. "Metamorphosis", a massive bust of Franz Kafka comprising disks which rotate and transform the head in steps stands on Vladislavova. He used the disk structure also in Piss, a statue of two life size men facing each other and pissing over a pond in the shape of Czech, their bronze penus' flowing pond water for effect - they're even capable of pissing out a text in pattern of the pond. Climbing babies and men hanging from wire are strewn around the city. Two large male asses and legs stand in the Futura Gallery where one can climb a ladder and look into the assholes to see a video of Czech President and Art Director eating to the tune of "We are the champions".

"The Physical Possibility of Death in the mind of Someone Living", a living art display of four cars blown-up in eastern Ukraine in the early days of the latest invasion in February 2022. Tatyana, a young lady who had finally bought her dream car, a brank new Mini Cooper fled the area to a family safe haven, and was heart broken to learn her car was destroyed by Russian bombs - however, she said her loss was nothing compared with the human damage of Russian brutality on Ukrainian people. The Russian playbook is centuries old, foment unrest in Russian speaking populations of foreign countries, send military support for to grow their resistance and run a sham election to annex the region, as they did in the Donbas in 2014 and in Crimea - hopefully, like the Sudeten Germans in Czech, the Russian sympathizers will be expelled from Ukraine and the border restored.

We started a mid October week warm and sunny (22C) and ended cool and rainy (3C), but mostly the weather was good and dry while yellow leaves carpeted the parks and sidewalks. While not visiting museums, of which we must have seen at least twenty, we explored the city streets of Prague 1, Letna and Holesovice. There are two numbering systems for each house we would learn, one is the street number on a blue plate and the second representing the numbered building in the area on a red plate, the second number usually being larger, as the area has more houses than a street. Florence also has two numbering systems, the red for business and black for residents. We had no numbering for houses in rural Ireland, just a house name, like my parents house, Avilion, but Ireland recently introduced location specific zip codes which are individual for each house or business, leapfrogging the area code plus street number approach used in most countries. Prague is packed with monuments and symbols, including artistic building facades, plaques, graffiti and statues which are dominated by the works of David Cherny, but with space for others. The monument to victims of communism shows appropriately hollowed out partial bodies of dead people walking, which represent the system itself as well as the victims. Founder of the Nation, František Palacký has a grand monument near Zitkovy park. A temporary exhibit on cigarettes was just installed there and the crew filmed a banner "don't let 19 million people die", but was not sure where the figure came from - apparently 0.5 million die of tobacco each year, so maybe they refer to a longer period. Nearby a Pagan shop intrigues me and a quick tour revealed a mixture of legend, lore of pre-Christianity mixed with middle ages armaments, plus some Celtic items from early Ireland or Scotland culture. Also nearby was the Frank Gehry dancing house - an interesting museum to Kaja Saudek, a famous comic artist from the 1970's to 1990's who was mostly banned by communist sensors during the peak of his career, catchup up on publishing in the 1990's after independence.

Headwaters of The Vltav river emerge in the hills of southern Bohemia, Czech and gathers to quite a wide force of water by the time it reaches Prague on the way north to the Elba. Numerous grand bridges connect Mala Strana with Prague 1, plus some pedestrian bridges and river boats. In old town the six century old Prague Astronomical Clock attracts a crowd each hour as it chimes and figures pass by open hatches above. City of sciences, Johannes Kepler lectured here for a decade as well as many more scientists, including Einstein. Trickle, sweet and glitter marks shops of the old town touristy areas, plus a slew of drug shops which have limits of the strength of their offerings (as of 2022, word is that more legalization is being considered).

Museums were our entertainment for the week. Horrors the Czechs suffered under the German during WWII were presented in the Heydrich Terror Museum. The assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, close friend of Hitler, a key designer of the Holocaust and fully deserving of his fate, was bravely carried out by Czech resistance in 1942 under code name Anthropoid. Their gun jammed, but a hand grenade did the job. Hitler retaliated with even more brutality to find and executed the perpetrators, murdering thousands in the process, but silence held until Karel Curda, dissident turned collaborator, revealed the safe locations for money. A vault under Ss. Cyril and Methodius Cathedral provided shelter and hiding for the perpetrators, where they were found and are now memorialized in statues with their brave history reported. Painful consequences for the Czechs, but a glorious mission to show the Germans they were not invincible.

More terror was revealed in the Museum of Communism. One may start with a 38% vote for the party post war in 1946 and a coup in 1948 cementing the communists for the next four decades. Czechs were more liberal than Russia and move in that direction in the 1960's which was sharply reversed when the country was invaded by Russia - as usual the Russians thought they would win in four days, but lasted eight months with much resistance, until Czech fell back in line. Political student Jan Palach burned himself alive on the steps of the National Museum in protest, showing how horrific communism was for the Czechs. They finally prevailed in the Velvet Revolution, 1989, but what stark evidence of the decades of poverty under communism when compared with the wealthy history and future of Czech.

Sarah Bernhardt was one of the most famous stage actresses in the late twentieth century as evident in so many writings of the day and her collaboration with famous Czech illustrator, Alphonse Mucha, who collaborated with her for a portfolio of advertising posters over a decade or more. Mucha absorbed the heights of Art Nouveau in Paris and reflected it back in his posters, which combined with the fame of Bernhardt, made for powerful advertising for many front running brands. A number of museums display his works, including the Mucha Museum and National Gallery, but also a temporary exhibit of collection by Ivan Lendl (famous tennis player) housed in the Art Nouveau masterpiece, Municipal House, which is in itself worth a visit.

Sex, that which is thrilling, terrifying, disgusting, beautiful, unfair, exciting, abused and definitely the most powerful development in biological history, deserving a great study, which could have been taken up in the Sex Machine Museum in old town Prague, but unfortunately not. On display were a history of awkward clunky looking machines, like the steam engine penis driver, maybe a little over industrial for interacting with the sensitive human body. Missing was any context or explanation of how these fit in the big picture - save your money! One can walk into any sex shop in Amsterdam for free to view a much better modern collection of sex accoutrements and read great books on the biological history on the subject. Kafka had a number of potential marriage partners, non up to Herman's standards, but viable prospects all the same, however, he could never land the deal for one reason or another. He often visited brothels of Prague while between partners. It only dawned on me after a few days in Prague there was a brothel around the corner from our apartment and then I noticed them everywhere, Darling Cabaret, Hot Peppers, Goldfinger, all serving the oldest trade.

Communist museums of Europe have a similar theme in that they are like watching a train wreck, but each country experienced the "ism" differently. Czechs are Slavs, but not Surfs, and with their wealth and integration in central Europe had them itching to break free, as outlined at the Museum of Communism in Prague and very much an inspiration for the Ukrainians today. The informative lady at the Saudek Museum had put me onto the Retro Museum which I found located on the fourth floor of a department store. I wasn't sure if this was a gathering of throwaway goods from cold war households or an inspiring analysis of what means of production was delivering under 1960's communism, but upon departing I felt the articles for sale on the third floor may well have been included in the museum, so not sure what to make of that visit. Far more interesting was the Cold War Museum,

On a small grass park along the Vltava River at the end of the Manesuv Bridge there is a memorial to Jan Palach, who self immolation at the invasion of Czechoslovakia to put down the Prague Spring in 1968. Jan wrote letters to politicians calling for the abolition of censorship, eliminate the Soviet propaganda newspapers, for the people to go on general strike and the resignation of pro-Soviet politicians. He proposed that there were many resistance fighters prepared to self immolate to reach these demands, and said "these demands are not extreme". He confirmed on his deathbed that he was protesting the intolerance of Soviet occupation. A month later Jan Zajic followed suit, burning himself to death with petrol, followed by a number of others, including in Hungary. Czech-American architect John Hejduk designed a memorial to Jan Palach "The House of Suicide and the House of the Mother of Suicide" two boxes with spikes reaching to the sky.

An example of the repulsive tactics of the Soviet machine which repulsed Jan Palach was on display at the Cold War Museum, one of the better experiences on our visit to Prague. Housed in the basement of the Jalta Hotel basement the museum if by guided tour only. Recognizing the tour guide in his green Soviet uniform waiting in the lobby, I asked him to register me for a tour as I could not do online which he helped me do. I was the only person for the tour, so to give him some time off I offered to join the next tour, for which Annette was also able to join. Built in the mid 1950s, The Jalta was a grand project on a bombed out site and built to specification of a cold war Soviet Union to house important Soviet officials on official business and also foreign visitors. As such the basement was built into a grand bunker for Soviet spy network who lived behind giant steel doors with backup ventilation system to help outlive a nuclear war. Gas masks and chemicals to cleanse the air of the officers offices and living areas. There were rooms for interrogating people, a war room for monitoring the nuclear armaments and the iron curtain and a weapons room. Most interesting was the surveillance room, which had a network of listening and sensing devices and recording equipment for all the rooms in the hotel.

High up in Prague Castle in an alcove off the great hall stands a window facing east and high over the grounds below making it an ideal conduit for the defenestration of tow Catholic regents by Protestants which started the brutal and destructive 30 years war in 1618, a battle for power between Catholic and Protestant, the Hapsburgs and Bourbons. The two regents survived, an act of god claimed the Catholics, but war raged regardless. The castle complex is huge, with churches, halls and towers, gardens, squares and lanes. Reinhard Heydrich made the castle his home during world war two before his assassination in Prague. We had a wonderfully sunny autumn day to tour the grounds having walked up the steep hill from town.

We had great food and bar scene in Prague, Hanoi Square Restaurant Saturday, Restaurace Le Xin Takeout Sunday, Istanbul Kabab Monday takeout - great food, salmon. Visited an American lady who is friends of Liam in the suburbs near Sarka National Park Monday evening, had great discussion. Tratoria Cicala, with A, Liam and Harlan - many celebrities pictures who had visited there as shown by the owner - followed by the Dog Bar, best venue in Prague, sprawling basement with bands, nooks and crannies - one can even smoke there, very unusual. Friday we laded in Namaste Indian restaurant for final dinner in Prague.

As much as we saw and experienced in Prague, there is so much more to explore and remain unseen in a city that offers so much and worth a return. With the Citroen loaded up, we departed Prague on a rainy Saturday for the drive to Leiden, stopping for one night at a house in Hann-Munden, a city known for it's half wooden houses. The Citroen ran well, although with slower acceleration. We stopped in Soest Netherlands to collect an antique wine rack from the 1890's which we fit on the roof rack.

David Cerny's St Wenceslas on a dead horse, Lucerna, Prague

Old world halls of Lucerna, Prague

Facade at 158 Husova Street

Tatyana's precious Mini Cooper, bombed by Russians in East Ukraine

Facade of City Hall, Prague

Piss by David Cerny, 2004

Crawling Babies, by David Cherny

Man Hanging with Umbrella

Antique Camera Shops at Lucerna, Prague

Velvet Revolution Monument, 1989

Vaclav Havel monument

Vlava River, Prague

Memorial to the Victims of Communism

View of Prague from Petrin Gardens

Strahov Monastery Library

Strahov Monsatery Library, Book from 1300's

Four Muscians Statue: Músicos Checos

Reader in an Armchair by Jaroslav Róna

Prague Metronome, Holsovice

Printing Press at National Technical Museum

1928 Indian 402 Motorcycle, Springfield Massachusetts

Scoeity's struggle plays out on facade in Prague

Monument to František Palacký - Father of the Nation

Anti-smoking campaign, Prague October 2022

Life, Kaja Saudek

Oh Americat! Kaja Saudek

Muriel & Andele, Kaja Saudek

Dancing House, by Frank Gehry, Prague

Vault of St Cyril and Methodius Cathedral

Steam driven penis sex toy, Sex Museum, Prague

Astronomical Clock Prague

Flying Reindeer Prague

Sara Bernhardt by Alphonse Mucha

Meran Hotel, Wenceslas Square

Ligna Building, Wenceslas Square

Wenceslas Square

Hotel Zlata Husa

Adam’s Pharmacy (Adamova lékárna)

Koruna Palace

Ministerstvo pro místní rozvoj Building

Church of St. Salvator

U Salamouna Building, Prague

Tram of Prague

St Vitus Cathedral

No 22 Golden Lane, Franz Kafka's writing house 1916-1917

Head gear of Knights of The Castle

Battle sticks of middle ages

Battle Armor of The Castle

Gaol practices in dungeon of The Castle

Defenestration window, Prague Castle

Grand hall of The Castle

Important Family shields on roof of room in Castle

House of the Mother of Suicide, memorial to Jan Palach

Closed Ventilations System for nuclear fallout

Gas masks for nuclear fallout

The War Room, blue dots are nuclear weapons, redline the Iron Curtain

With my kalashnikov

Communist party meeting attendance stamps

Surveillance room in basement of Yalta Hotel, Prague

Art of Surveillance under communism, Museum of Cold War

Assicurazioni Generali - where Kafka Worked

Male Nam.2/3 on Little Square Minute House - Kafka home 1989-92

Cairngorms, Scotland

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 17 Sep 2022 16:44:00 +0000

Balmoral - Luibeg Burn - River Tilt - Ben Nevis - Braeriach - Inverness

Cairngorm's in rain, wind, snow and sun

Back to Scotland mid September 2022, coincidentally on a three year cycle since visits to hike in 2016 & 2019, and my hope for a repeat of the excellent sun and blue skies experienced on that last visit being dashed with a forecast much more typical - cool or warm wind rain and sun, sometimes all together. With tent and rain clothes packed for five days our of Inverness, last minute I booked the first two nights at the Youth Hostel in Braemar as a break against the heavy rains predicted those evenings. After stocking up on supplies on the outskirts of Inverness, I stopped by Culloden before taking the "Old Military Road", a more rural road for scenery via Ferness, Dava, crossing the whiskey fames Spey Valley, on to Tomintoul, Ballater and Balmoral Castle, where there was a huge outpouring of grief by the public on display in the form of flowers, cards and letters for Queen Elizabeth II who had died there the week prior at the age of 96. She loved being at Balmoral which the family acquired in 1852 and set under the Cairngorms in the Dees River valley near the village of Braemar where I would stay.

Personally in favorer of egalitarian and republican governance without the need for a monarchy, I also recognize how well liked the Queen was in the UK and if it helps keep Britain stable, especially when compared with the delusional political practiced in US, or the Orwellian echo chamber of lies leading Russia currently. The history is a bit nuanced though - there is plenty of ambivalence or challenge to the monarchy from former colonies, but also enough intrigue to fill many volumes of books. Today lineage is accepted determinant on transfer of monarchic power, but it wasn't always the case, especially for the Scottish who used a pragmatic "council of elders" to transfer power to the right person, similar to Irish tradition - i.e. if the oldest son was a bit of a dope and the third son a genius, grant powers on a merit bases. The advantage should be better leaders, but the outcome was constant conflict and confusion about who should lead, MacAlpines, Balliols, The Bruce or the Stuarts and for a good spell power was delegated to regents to rule the land. After the Tudor line ended with death of Elizabeth I in 1603, James VI of Scotland became James I of England, the first unified king. Their line would end with King James II & VII being deposed in 1688, after lengthy tensions between his Catholicism and the Anglican majority in the country and accusations of excesses in authority. King William of Orange was invited to intervene and James relented without a battle, fleeing to France. William and Mary, James' daughter, became King and Queen of England and Scotland. James landed in Ireland whose parliament retained him as King, but William attacked and won over James at the Battle of the Boyne in June 1690. Over two hundred years later, tensions still flare up each June as the Orange Order of Unionists in Northern march through Catholic areas celebrating the fall of James II. James had a son, James Steward was was born the year of his disposition from the throne and was recognized as James successor by the King of France. He was brought up in France and seeking to reclaim the crown he aligned with Scottish resistance to William and Mary who organized a rebellion which failed. Later his son Charles Stuart organized a more successful rebellion in Scotland built upon Jacobite resistance of the highland clans and desire to return the Stuarts to the monarch, but again failed with the slaughter of the Jacobite army at the Battle of Culloden in 1645. Fluidity ad flexibility in the shifts of power in England and Scotland seem to have been key to long history of seeming stability, besides the odd rebellion. Today's monarch has no formal power, not even allowed to weigh in on major policy issues like Brexit, nor with freedom or movement unauthorized by the elected government, as evident when the Prime Minister advised King Charles not to attend the climate summit talks, COP27, in Egypt, by which he abided. With such limits on power, one has to question where the value of a monarch remains, besides tourism, patriotic paraphernalia and fodder for tacky newspapers. Letters sat dripping in the damp weather over a large swath of flowers at the gates of Balmoral outlining the love and respect her subjects held for Queen Elizabeth II who sat with fifteen Prime Ministers in her reign, most recently Liz Truss who traveled to her beloved Balmoral as she was unable to return to London before her death.

Continuing west along The Old Military Road along the River Dee flanked by castles of Abergeldie and eventually Braemar, which marks the town where I would stay I found the Youth Hostel housed in an solid stone mansion on a hill. With a large and well catered kitchen and dining rooms, plus large common areas the hostel provides great and affordable accommodation for hikers and a sense of community as while I cooked dinner each night.

Muir is a region just west of Braemar along the River Dee. Ninety years after USA established it's first National Park at Yosemite inspired by John Muir, his birth country established its first National Park of Cairngorm in 2003 covering 4500 KM2. Muir was an inspiring and self taught naturalist who discovered that Yosemite Valley was a glacial valley, unlike the incorrect assumption by the professors of geology who mistook the valley as a rift valley. Starting from the Linn of Dee at Muir in mixed weather I was hoping the afternoon would clear up to allow me reach the heights of Ben MacDui in good conditions. Soon out of the thick pine forests an expansive view opened up of the boggy grasslands of the Lui River valley interrupted by a few enormous Caledonian Pine trees which are clawing their way back after having been cleared during the wood harvests of the industrial revolution, having originally populated the area after the last ice age. Thick boring stands of non-native Sika Pine were planted in the 1970's before there was recognition for a more natural diverse approach - they are being thinned today and mixed with Scots' Pines and other native species. Bob Scotty's bothy stands along the Lui River near the Derry Burn branch point. Bothy's are basic shelters or huts set remotely in the lower highlands where hikers can stay overnight for free, which I have yet to try, but look forward to mapping out a multiday hike route via bothy's in future. One elevated bothy on MacDui massif was removed after the a group of teenagers perished in 1971 on the premise that its presence could lead hikers to take more risk reaching elevation rather than returning to lower ground for safety in inclement weather. A few derelict stone buildings mark the fork in the river branching to Derry Burn, but I would continue to pursue the Lui westward to the Luibeg Valley where I would turn north on a single path trail. Water from the scrub saturated my shoes and wet by feet, but I continued on as a series of weather fronts descended on the valley. My rain gear held out the heavy bursts which descended from over the massif pushed hard by wind channeled between the valley walls. Suddenly a clearing, sun, blue skies and rainbows would open up rising my spirits and with view all the way up to Sron Riach ridge under Ben MacDui. The rains returned upon reaching the river crossing of Luibeg Burn which was swollen after days of deluge on the massif. After attempting a crossing at various locations up and down the way, and assessing my sodden feet and by now leaky jacked and wind chill from the cold heights, I decided to call it a day and return which would still make it a full 20 kilometers and a worthy first day out. An additional layer of fleece helped steady my body temperature as I navigated the rocks and boglands cut with water streams. Rainbows brightened the gray valley and at times full sun which brought warmth and I could see from clearing skied snow on the peaks.

A break in the weather westward lured me over to Ft William to hike Ben Nevis, UK's highest peak. Taking a day to get there while exploring the highland countryside and hiking a few hours in the forest near Blair Atholl along the River Tilt, I admired mostly the mature trees spread from the old estates on the area. Stopping at Dalwhinnie Distillery, I found (as in general in Scotland) the whiskey is more expensive than in my local store in Leiden, but I remember affectionately the Dalwhinnie as one of the whiskey's I used to buy for a work hospitality suit in Oklahoma many years ago. The drive south from Braemar to Glenshee is one of the most beautiful haunting countryside in the highlands. A stone circle revealed Celtic roots at the Spittal of Glenshee. Redundant red telephone booths dot the countryside, harking back to the early days before cell phones, one being converted into a voluntary library. Checking into an AirBNB I took a room in a house in the suburbs of town, got fish and chips and sat on a bench up in the hills overlooking town and country watching the evening light navigate the water and clouds. Weather was good for Ben Nevis and I left around 10am while they setup for an ultra-marathon which was being run over the peak, which I would meet along the way. Well into my stride I would make it up and down in 3hr 37 minutes, my fastest time if I recall. A sharp shift to the cold occurs always on Ben Nevis above 1100 meters, but all was OK as I layered up. Wrapped in a hat, gloves and rain gear against the cold wet I met the first two ultra runners, then a third of whom I shot a picture. Number 1266, that would be Jack Oates of Fareham UK who would go on to win the race that day, as I found later when entering his race number. There was a deep chill on the peak, which made me marvel at those in shorts and exposed arms to the elements. A few shelters and ruins scatter the peak around which people rested - I ate a sandwich and got back on the trail down soonest.

Finally I got to set my tent that evening, after driving back to Aviemore and the wonderful Loch an Eilein, around which there is a beautiful hike which I took that evening after a dinner. Great night sleep, a little rain, and I was off early to the Whitewell trailhead for Braeriach. Pine forests, bogs, streams and ponds mark early train, then a gentle rise in elevation along the Altt Druidh River, which eventually one crosses at a point where it magically emerged from a giant rock pile surely gathered from a glacier along the Lairig Ghru. Then the real climbing begins to Coire Gorm (meaning blue) and Sron Na Lairige at above 1100 meters where the clouds closed in and the trail flattens for a while and turns right, descending slightly to cross a saddleback. Navigation is easy from here as the trail ends at a ridge, where one turns right again and tracks the dramatic features up to the peak. After a quick sandwich and chat to two other hikers there I was back returning across Sron Na Lairige in the clouds - there a deceptive false trail leading off the side of the mountain which confused me in the past, but I was able to catch on this hike to my relief. Great fourth day out hiking and the last. I drove back to Inverness Youth Hostel and was glad to find a room to myself for less than forty pounds and great facilities, kitchen and hangout areas. I left my remaining unused provisions including a bottle of wine on the free food shelf there, another great initiative.

On the way over I had visited Leakeys Books in Inverness, a must visit when in the area, one of the most extensive used book shops one will find. I had been looking for an ancient book available only in UK: "The O'donoghue: A Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago", by Charles Level first published in 1850. My mother's family are O'Donoghue of Glenflesk, Kerry, where the book is set. Encouraged to find a set of books by Level, but not The O'Donoghue unfortunately, I bought another book "Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon" as well as a book on "The Irish Registered Magistrate", made famous by a television series in the 1980's illustrating how the local Irish out maneuvered the English magistrate.

Balmoral Castle - Flowers for Queen Elizabeth

Peak of Braeriach

Peak of Ben Nevis

Ben Nevis

Camping at Loch an Eilein

Free food at Inverness Youth Hostel

Braemar Youth Hosten

Black sheep at Balmoral

Highlands skies, inspiration of Ingrid Bergman

Highlands cottage, Alta Ghlinne Bhig valley

Alta Ghlinne Bhig river valley

Alta Ghlinne Bhig valley

Stone Circle at Spittal of Glenshee

Lonely Phone Booth, Glenshee

Phonebooth Library near Kirkmichael

River Dee

Contrasting sky of Highlands

Rain and Sun in Cairngorms

Sron Riach ridge (center)

Upper river Dee

Linn of Dee

Jack Oates, 1266, winner of Salomon Ben Nevis Ultra

Jack Oates, winner Ben Nevis Ultra 2022

Eerie trio of cairns near Ben Nevis peak

Peak of Ben Nevis

Lairig Ghru valley under the mists

River Dee emerges from rock bank, Lairig Ghru

Leakey's Old Books paradise, Inverness

Easky, Sligo

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 17 Aug 2022 12:05:00 +0000

Easky - Sligo - Drumcliff - Lisadell - Benbulben - Achill

Easky Pier, Sligo

We stayed in Easky, Easkey or Iasaigh depending on the numerous spellings for the village at the mouth of the minor river by the same name, meaning "fish", on the north coast of Sligo along the wild Atlantic for a week of blue skies and warm sun. In the unusually dry summer the water flow was reduced considerably to a stream running over the layers of rock leading to the sea, where it dissipated along the pebbles too shallow to float a boat and a challenge even for fish to navigate. All would be restored by winter with enough flow to allow the salmon journey upstream to spawn. Having stayed in the grandeur of Ashford Castle for one night on the trip from Kerry, we were spoiled and no accommodation could compete, but we landed in a comfortable apartment in the old police station of the town, which was recently restored after being derelict for 40 years. A family from Clonmel stayed at the larger main house for the week. Their son had brought a school friend along who looked like myself from my mid teens, with shoulder length blond hair and face glowing from too much sun.

We had a great week exploring, but found ourselves each evening picnicking at the waterfront Roslee Castle, chatting to the surfers and tent campers. An Englishman from Cornwall had been coming to Easky for 25 years and brought his son for a week, surfing 3-4 times a day. Offshore are a number of reefs which form like large steps which lift waves depending on tidal level, which make Easky famous. Not the largest waves in the world, but neatly predictable when conditions are right, wind from the north and tide level just a meter or meter and half over the reef. Our old Citroen CX was a hit with the surfers, an eclectic crew, some weekenders, others out for months on the road following the waves. An attractive young man with greased face and penetrating eyes met me as he emerged from the cold ocean of Easky Right. We chatted as I photographed the others our there lifting predictable over the reefs. "You'd want to be careful all-right, but usually there is enough depth to recover when you fall on the reefs on a day like today", he answered my inquiry on reef danger, "watch your feet too and avoid when the waves are too high, you could get pummeled". He had an easy Northern Irish accent and had been out for months chasing the waves, great work of you can get it. All the surfers were out in the great weather of our week in Easky, but he mentioned being out months earlier in miserable conditions, surviving on meager rations damp in his tent.

O'Dowd's Roslee Castle stands solid and tall on Sailors Bed overlooking Easky bay since 1207 when built by Oliver McDonnell and has seen a fair share of history. "There's a stairs in there to the top, you know", said a surfer with whom I had chatted as I approached the castle, "don't use the ladder, by the way". Avoiding the ladder, I searched inside for a stairwell but found nothing. Then, sitting at the picnic tables where we lounged each evening I saw a family who had entered the castle perched on the battlements and concluding that they certainly did not climb the ladder, there must be a stairs, which I found on my next visit. Crawling through a small entrance way low on the east side I climbed the narrow stairs enclosed in the castle walls which emerged on the top, with an amazing view over the ocean to the north.

A number of fine country houses existed in Easkey in late 19th century, most since destroyed, but for the skeleton of Templeview which still exists, a mansion built by Peter Hale in the 1850's, and fast on decline path to nature. Wealth in Ireland was most exclusively held by English Protestant families in the 19th century, so quite unusual for Peter Hale, a Catholic to have such power and be an landlord in the area. Having emigrated to Mexico earlier in 19th century he had made his wealth in land and cotton and maintained presence in New Orleans. His nephew Joseph P Hale joined him in Mexico and US, inheriting his business interests. They both invested back in Ireland, building the Templeview mansion, buying land and developing the community in schools and support for local activities. The house still stands, but is falling to ruin and a shame it hasn't been restored. Great blog by David Hicks provides much more information.

"That's the Walsh's bright red fishing boat trolled back and forth in the distance", said a local girl along the beach one day as I walked by. It was the only trawler on the ocean to the horizon each day. Another day a motor sloop towed a surfer on long board away out across the calm sea. I kayaked along the coast from Munnelly's Cove to Easky Pier, avoiding the breaking surf which lifted predictably over certain reefs. Laying by on calm waters gently, rising and falling on a deep ocean swell, filming surfers only 50 meters away riding waves breaking consistently made for a great day out on the water. Sunlight penetrated the clear water illuminating sand and rock, shell fish and long strands of seaweed roiling in the swell. Poll Gorm (meaning Blue Pool) is a popular swimming pool along the Easkey coast formed by the installation of a wall at one of the rock inlets, filling the pool during high tide and retaining the waters during low tide. Low tide opened up a large shelf of ancient carboniferous limestone rock formed when Ireland was in the tropical zone and home to a coral coast line. Nowhere is the coral history more visible than the coastal shelf of Easkey at low tide where caninia and lithostrotion coral fossils are visible. Thousands of sea slugs lay there fossilized and clearly visible from 330 million years ago. Nearby a massive boulder stood exposed above the flat rock shelf at low tide, having been dragged down from the Ox Mountains behind during the last ice age. A kilometer south in a field stood a similar boulder neatly split in two, called Split Rock.

One day I drove through Sligo town north to Luke's Bridge, the trailhead for Ben Bulben, to hike the famous and distinct mountain which dominates the landscape of north Sligo. It's flat top at 527 meters is flanked with steep cliff edges which drop vertically 100 meters before entering a gentle curve descending to the low lands. A relatively easy hike and under clear blue skies I had an excellent view north to Mullaghmore and south to the Ox Mountains. All I could see from the peak of Ben Bulben was the country of William Butler Yeats, famous writer and poet who captured the moods and trials of a country in the turbulent throws of becoming independent of British rule, plus much much more. Before his death in France he advised "If I die, bury me up there and then in a year's time when the newspapers have forgotten me, dig me up and plant me in Sligo". With the war between, it was ten years later that his wish was granted. By then my father was an up and coming junior banker based in Sligo town and he attended the funeral and burial of W.B.Yates in Drumcliff churchyard, which stands in the shadow of Ben Bulben where I now stood. That his remains may have been mixed up matters little, he wrote his own epitaph:

Under bare Ben Bulben's head

In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.

An ancestor was rector there

Long years ago, a church stands near,

By the road an ancient cross.

No marble, no conventional phrase;

On limestone quarried near the spot

By his command these words are cut:

Cast a cold eye

On life, on death.

Horseman, pass by!

Yeats writing was prolific throughout his life and one poem stands to my memory, dedicated to Major Robert Gregory, son of his friend Lady Gregory who was killed in the war, and articulating the well bleak futility of it all:

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

Below the peak of Ben Bulben along the coast also stands the grand and misterious estate of Lissadell, which we would visit and about which Yeats wrote in his poem - In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markievicz:

The light of evening, Lissadell,

Great windows open to the south,

Two girls in silk kimonos, both

Beautiful, one a gazelle.

But a raving autumn shears

Blossom from the summer's wreath;

The older is condemned to death,

Pardoned, drags out lonely years

Conspiring among the ignorant.

I know not what the younger dreams –

Some vague Utopia – and she seems,

When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,

An image of such politics.

Many a time I think to seek

One or the other out and speak

Of that old Georgian mansion, mix

Pictures of the mind, recall

That table and the talk of youth,

Two girls in silk kimonos, both

Beautiful, one a gazelle.

Dear shadows, now you know it all,

All the folly of a fight

With a common wrong or right.

The innocent and the beautiful

Have no enemy but time;

Arise and bid me strike a match

And strike another till time catch;

Should the conflagration climb,

Run till all the sages know.

We the great gazebo built,

They convicted us of guilt;

Bid me strike a match and blow.

Written for Eva and Constance Gore Booth, the poem captures reflections on two friends of Yeats' from Lissadell, and their exceptional legacy. Their father, Robert Gore Booth, inherited the estate, married well and inspired by travels in Europe set out to build a grand mansion. Located on a hill above the ocean with forested backdrop, built of cool gray limestone in simple square-rectangular outline, Lissadell stands confident, purposeful, imposing, and austere. Functionality was important in it's architecture. Only one exterior door exists, and that located protected under a porch on the lee side of prevailing winds. No doors open on the front gardens. The basement would have housed the servant's quarters and many functions of running the house, which was typical of the time, but the entrance for servants was via a long tunnel, such that they were effectively kept separate from the visible estate. The Gallery forms an impressive large room a the center of the building for entertaining. Two full stories high with skylights in the ceiling, the long room had excellent acoustics, as our tour guide demonstrated with a clarinet rendition of The Salley Gardens. Gas lighting was provided in the house supplied from a gas generator on the estate, a first for Ireland at the time. Wonderful light flows through the drawing rooms on the souths overlooking the gardens and seafront. The prior estate house to Lissadell stood on the coastline, but was demolished, while the garden walls still remain and house a wonderfully diverse range of plants. To the east of the house stands a memorial garden to Leonard Cohen, who played a concert at Lissadell in 2010 and opened a gallery as memorial to W.B.Yeats. Constance fell in love and married a Ukrainian noble, Casimir Markievicz, while studying art on Paris, but a traditional marriage it was not to be. Now Countess Markievicz, she took up the fight for independence of Ireland, was sentenced to death for her role in the 1916 Easter rising, was pardoned and entered politics.

There was an exhibition at Lissadell for another fascinating Irish person, Roger Casement, who was honored for his human rights work in Congo, knighted for his human rights work in Peru and hanged for his fight for Irish independence. He was an idealist and a homosexual, which didn't help his cause. He was captured after landing in Kerry on a gun running expedition in support of the 1916 rising. His executioner said of him afterwards that he was "the bravest person he ever had to execute". His body not returned to his native country for nearly 50 years. "Self governance is our right, a thing born to us at birth, a thing not more to be doles out to us, or withheld from us by another people than the right to life itself" - Roger Casement.

We took a road trop west across Mayo to Achill Island and stayed one night at Bridget's Cottage in the remote western village of Achill overlooking the Atlantic. We met the usual colorful characters in the Gielty's bar, a man from Achill had left to work as a carpenter in many interesting projects, including the seed back on Svalbard, and was back between jobs to visit his son who tended bar. Three generations were there, his aging father slipping in a pint to two over his daily allowance of two and feeling better for it in a happy chatty way. He didn't say it explicitly, but the lingering pain he mentioned was likely terminal, but why not make the most of it in the mean time. The evening light showed in from the west illuminating a theater of clouds white and orange which dances with the blue of the sea and gray of the distant land across the bay. Clare Island, home of Grace O'Malley who captained ships on these waters in the 16th century, commanding respect, power and a share of the takings in trade, push back on the encroaching power of the crown on the west of Ireland. Nearby the beach of Keen was a setting for film, "The Banshees of Inisherin", which captured the haunting beautiful scenery, and the characters of Western Ireland well, but adopted a strange premise which I didn't really understand, the finger cutting.

On a house near the Vermillion Gas Plant was a protest of the facility and pipeline which had been operated by Shell, the developer of the Corrib field offshore Ireland. Officially called the Ballanaboy Bridge Gas Terminal, it was the site of protests during construction, which started with the rejection of pipeline landing route at Rossport by a number of local landholders. Not having been exposed much to the Industrial Revolution, Ireland had little experience managing resolution of issues in support of developing critical infrastructure. The criticality of gas supply came into focus after Russia invaded Ukraine and Nordstream 1 & 2 pipelines were blown. While Corrib supplies 60% is Irish gas, Kinsale is declining (5%) and the remainder comes from UK, who are themselves connected with the EU gas network and under pressure to cut Ireland supplies when short. Corrib is already in and although wind and solar share is growing, that is not fast enough, and against huge resistance as occurred in Clare wind farm developments. The gap in coming decades will require further gas imports putting Ireland's energy mix in a precarious position and dependent on gas developments in the UK. There was already talk during our visit of gas rationing during the upcoming winter as the UK made it clear their priorities when gas is short.

Further along the north coast of Mayo we visited the Céide Fields, an archeological site of Neolithic farming settlement likely 3000 years of age. A turf cutter in the 1930's found orderly stone walls buried in the peat. Two things were evident to him, a school teacher. Firstly the stones were clearly orderly and placed there by humans and secondly, they were covered by growth of bog thereafter, meaning they were very old. Bog grows slowly, a meter or so per 1000 years, dating the approximate period when they were operating as enclosures for animals. His son became an archeologist and decades later started to investigate properly, finding houses and tombs besides a large network of walls. Long thin T rods, used locally to locate bog oak, were dropped through wet soft peat to locate the contour of walls without having to uncover them - some were uncovered for display. Located remotely on high ground overlooking the ocean the area was woodlands when the settlers arrived with their livestock, cattle mainly. Clearing the trees for pasture, the built houses and enclosure walls of the ample stone available in the area. The weather was warmer then and they seemed to thrive over a period, later abandoning the land which, depleted of nutrients, turned to bog, possibly also due to a change in weather.

After a wonderful week in Easkey we departed southward through the haunting scenery of the remote Ox Mountains on a narrow road until we met the main highway. All running great with car on N17 highway at 100 KMH until notices a vibration and some pull on steering. Upon inspection I determined it was the left drive axel, after rising vehicle to H and driving a meter, click occured and was able to drive on at 80 KMH (often on hard shoulder) without vibration. We stopped at Coole Park for a break and learned that the car could not turn corners without making mechanical noise, so we drove on trying to keep in straight line. Made it 210 KM to Listowel, but lost CV joint completely while stopping at a gas station to buy wine. Perfect place to break down as I had parked in protected space o roadside. Mike came to tow car to Tralee where we had Gerard Clifford install a replacement transaxel sent over from Le Garage in Wassenaar, NL.

Reef waves lift at Easky reefs offering unique surfing experience

Water Skiing Easky Style

Templeview, built by Peter Hale, 1850's

Boulder dropped by ice sheet on coast f Easkey

Surfers of Easkey

Surfing Easkey

Full Moon over Sligo Bay

Protest of Corrib Gas Development

Seastack at Downpatrick Head

Surfer at Easkey

Sea Slug Fossils, Easkey

Lithostrotion coral at Easkey

Ford on the Easkey River

Split Rock, Easkey

Evening at Easkey picnick area

Ben Bulben, Sligo

The Gallery at Lissadell

Etched words on window at Lissadell

Kitchen in Lissadell basement

Lissadell

Epitaph for W.B. Yeats

Coast at Ceide Fields, Mayo

Front left CV Joint sheared leaving us motionless in Listowel

On the way up to Sligo we stayed one night and spend good part of both days at Ashford Castle and 26,000 acre forest located at the head of Lock Corrib near the town of Cong. We rolled in like the Beverley Hillbillys with our old Citroen loaded down and with kayak on the roof. "You're money is as good as anyone's" the doorman responded when I noted our presence at such a luxury property more used to Land Rovers and Rolls Royce. The castle complex emerged originally as fortification built by the Burke (De Burgos) family who arrived during the Anglo Norman invasion in the 1200's. Three centuries later the property was lost to the British under Richard Brigham and later was inherited by the Browne family. Significant additions and upgrades occurred over the centuries as it passed through the hands of others, including Guiness before being sold to Noel Huggard in 1939 to be opened up as a hotel. He grew up in Waterville, County Kerry, where his parents ran The Butler Arms Hotel, so he knew the hotel business. The hotel has had it's ups and downs over the years, later having been sold for just $20 million in 2013 to the current owners.

Oscar Wilde's parents had a home nearby, Moytura House, and he visited Ashford Castle in 1878. When the Lady asked whether he liked her garden, of which she was clearly proud, he said, "No, its very dull", apparently she had her initials outlined in bedded plants which she inferred was better than her family crest, a pig, "Oh, you should have, it would have been the perfect culmination of absurdity". He was probably not invited back!

We walked the grounds and that evening ended up in the village of Cong, where we had dinner at the pub of Pat Cohan, famous location of the scenes in the 1950's movie, "The Quiet Man". West of the castle are a wonderful set of walled gardens which were in full bloom during our late summer visit. The forest had been planted with a fine stock of pedigree trees centuries before which make the forest special. The Cong canal was built in the 1950's to control the level of upper Lock Mask, draining via Lock Corrib to the sea.

Ashford Castle on Lake Corrib

Pat Cohan pub, scene of "The Quiet Man"

Cong Canal entering Lock Corrib

Sitting room at Ashford Castle

Grounds of Ashford Castle over Lake Corrib

Oscar Wilde (right) at Ashford Castle

Gardens of Ashford Castle

Waterville, Kerry (Part 7), Ireland

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 03 Aug 2022 10:55:00 +0000

Dieppe - Waterville - Caherdaniel - Ohm Stones - Ring Forts - flowers - Pottery

Derrynane Bay, Caherdaniel, South Kerry

We spent the first week of a month long visit to Ireland in a rented house between Waterville and Caherdaniel, county Kerry. The getting there was quite an adventure made more interesting driving a classic 1988 Citroen CX which was welcomed with nostalgia as we drive through Belgium and France to Roscoff for the ferry to Cork, Ireland. Avoiding the eternal traffic jam around Antwerp, we opted instead for the slower but less frustrating coastal road south through the delta-works in Netherlands through Belgium on route to Normandy where we stayed overnight at an auberg in Dieppe, France, about half way.

During a stop on the first day the exhaust tail pipe was found handing to the ground and I removed it without hindering our way forward. On the second day, a red check engine light emerged just as we were about to pass a large highway rest stop, so we pulled in to find a leaking hydraulic hose. We would miss the ferry with only hours to spare, but a swiss army knife came to the rescue cutting back 2 cm of compromized hose and halting the leak. There was no special Citroen hydraulic fluid for sale there, so I used brake fluid to top up and we were off, making the ferry in good time after a wonderful seafood dinner at Roscoff town center. In the little town of Adinkerke, Belgium near France we came across many large illuminated tobacco shops gathered there to offer low tax products to the French and UK smokers on route to the ferry. Dieppe was half way which made for a good stopover, but it was also the town to which Oscar Wilde moved upon release from Pentonville prison, England at 6:15am May 19th 1897. That evening he took the overnight ferry from Newhaven to Dieppe. Little remain of his time there, but a few cafe's he frequented; Cafe des Tribunaux, Tout Va Bien and Le Cafe Suisse. Being the closest seaside town to Paris made Dieppe a chic place to visit in the nineteenth century with many well know English and French there, many of whom struggled to avoid the disgraced Wilde. Although he took a new name, Sebastian Melmoth, it wasn't in his style to live in-cognito and soon he was well recognized and his parties the talk of the authorities, so he moved up the coast to Bernaville, where we visited on the way. The hotel since bombed and his house Chalet Bourgeat consumed by the sea, there is nothing left of his time there, but the beauty of the chalk rock coastline. We stayed at Auberge du Vieux Puits on the heights overlooking the ocean and known as much for its excellent restaurant as the location.

Embarking a large car ferry at Roscoff after a great seafood dinner at the harbor, we departed at 11pm for thirteen hour passage, for most of which we slept sound in our cabin. Arriving with view of the colorful terraces houses of Cove, Cork, the ferry slowed down while navigating the narrow channels on route to Ringaskiddy. In persistent rain we drove a few hours to Waterville and a wonderful house we had rented for a week overlooking the bay. The weather improved and we had a great sunny week to explore Catherdaniel and the Iveragh Peninsula, marked with ancient Celtic remains, colorful wild blooms of flowers, clear sand and crystal waters and peaceful calm.

Staigue Stone Fort stands high up the valley from Castlecove, near Sneem, Country Kerry. Dating from the third century it was built very solidly in dry stone which had preserved it over the centuries even with visitors walking around the upper walls. A visit offseason or early morning offers the opportunity to explore Staigue alone, but even with the dozen visitors on the peak summer day of our visit, ones mind could easily drift off to a time long past and imagine life there 1700 years ago. Hills above the valley provide protection on three sides and a well fed stream nearby water access, an ideal location for the chieftain who built the compound. Gone are any signs of the buildings and livestock pens which may have been built of wood and thatch which long decayed or could have been burned down by raiders. The stone craftsmen formed thick walls in a perfect circle 24 meters diameter, the stones big and small carefully interlocking forming a stable lasting structure. Interior terraces form steps to the wall tops from where one could survey the valley all the way to the bay. A small underground chamber exists as a reminder of the security sought out from robbers or raiders from ocean or land. A few fine Irish wolfhounds were likely a support to securing the valley. No Ohm Stone stands today to identify the chieftain and his clan, but nearby in Catherdaniel stands one marked in honor of Llatigni, son of Minerc.

The walls of Kilmalkedar church still stand since the 12th century, the entry door clad with ornate carvings. Christianity likely overtook an earlier pagan site as evident by the Ohm Stone and standing stone on the site. Surely older still was the Cathair Deargain Ring Fort nearby, a set of five round buildings build of thick dry stone walls with fine lentils forming entryways. In one of the buildings a stone conduit used to drain water is visible. Not far away stands Gallarus Oratory,

Loher Stone Fort stood s short walk from our house set on high surrounded by hills on three sides overlooking Waterville Bay. It dates to early Christianity in the region and likely shelter for a local farmer. On the way into Waterville village stands Eightercua Stone Row on a ridge, an imposing presence marking a burial site from 1700 BC. An Ohm stone stands in Catherdaniel a short drive south of where we stayed - one of my favorite places in Ireland. Typically a tall standing stone of up to 2-3 meters with a square or slightly irregular cross section, as offered by nature, and carved with lines and crosses which represent the pre-Christian Gaelic alphabet. There are hundreds of these stones scattered around Ireland and Wales, but the majority are in south west including in Kerry. The seemed to spring up between 1 and 4 the century AD, but may have been preceded by wooden poles which have been lost. From what is known one may suspect the Ogham writing was parallel to ole Gaelic and possibly based on Runic or Latin. Regardless, it is clear it was symbolic nature to the grand stones, mostly carrying the name of the chieftain or clan of the area which it marked, a claim of territory of sorts. Up on the Dingle peninsula visiting the Aglish cemetary I discovered a unique Ogham stone showing two ancient swastikas, which demonstrated that the symbol of peace prevalent throughout Asia had traveled to ancient Ireland and what a shame it was perverted by Hitler and the Nazis. Two standing stones and a great Ogham stone stand on the dunes above the Wine Strand, Dingle Peninsula. "Discovering Kerry" is a well known resource for finding ancient artifacts of the county as well as many resources online.

Ogham Alphabet - attribute to Runeloge (CC BY-SA 4.0)

McGillycuddy in Ogham

In the 1970's we would come to Lamb's Head and camp in tents at the head of the lagoon there not far from Catherdaniel. With the tide out we had the run of the clear sands of the lagoon. Our friends rented some caravans there and I recall one night of heave rain, sleeping in puddles and we upped camp first thing in the morning to go home to dry out, not without Sunday mass, walking in barefoot for lack of dry shoes. At the end of the road west was Ballyvohane harbour, a natural rock inlet protecting small boats from the wild Atlantic and a great place to explore. Across the bay north is the home of Daniel O'Connell, the great liberator, leader of Catholic Ireland lifting them from British repression, gaining emancipation and a seat in Westminster where we sought further reforms, but failed at gaining a parliament in Ireland. The house is open to tour and the gardens abloom in exotic plants and ferns which grow huge under the conditions. It is worth exploring the forests on the hills over the grounds, a diverse ecosystem of temperate rainforest and a picture of what Ireland would look like if humans never arrived and nature left unhindered - in contrast much of Ireland is a green desert and needs space to regenerate the grand old wood forests like that at Glengarriff in Cork. Nearby is one of the most beautiful beaches and harbor of Derrynane and Abbey Island where stands an old graveyard worth exploring.

Kerry became a terminal for transatlantic cables in the 1880's and a cable station setup at Waterville, the iconic solid row houses visible on the north side of town housed the cable operators. Charlie Chaplin, an English actor became very famous in the early days of movies in the US, but eventually after becoming rich, fell foul of the McCarthy era repression and returned to Europe. He loved holidays at Waterville, staying each year during the 1960's. Out in the countryside of Teeranearagh we found the unsignposted house and grounds of Fermoyle Pottery - too many visitors with a signpost, Stephen O'Connell said, people will find you if they are really interested, and we were on recommendation from a lady running an antique shop in town. Stephen and his Australian wife, Alexis Bowman, decided to return to his home ground and setup their own pottery business, leaving behind the stress of day jobs and in hope of bringing up children in country quality of life. With a long history in the arts, he gains a foothold in supplying Michelin star restaurants with unique dishware, going well beyond the "every glaze possible as long as it is blue!", exploring a more nuances set of designs and earthly colors and textures. One of two large electric kilns which was was on cooldown, felt already cool from the outside, showing how well insulated was the vessel still some 850C inside. Kilns are well used, fully stacked to leverage all available space, but they are still the bottleneck in production and he has plans and room to build out and maybe add some renewable power to balance the high demand and cost of electricity. Hard work surely, but an inspiring story made even more so upon touring the gardens and glass houses, which are planted with all sorts of exotic species and a great place to give the children a sense of the value or respecting and working with nature. That afternoon we drove over the hill westward to St Finian's bay, a wonderful pocket of beach and harbor fasting west to the wild Atlantic and view of the Skellig Islands. I kayaked out of the harbor and even in the calm summer day felt the long swell of the ocean lift me and the seaweed. We had family visit a few nights during the week and besides exploring ancient Kerry, really enjoyed a quality week before heading to Sligo for a week, then back to Tralee and Glenflesk making a month long tour of the country.

Eightercua Stone Row marks tomb from 1700 BC

Eightercua Stone Row, Waterville, Kerry

Ohm Stone at Caherdaniel (Llatigni, son of Minerc)

Staigue Fort, 300 AD

Loher Stone Ringfort, Waterville, Kerry

Square and Round houses set in ring fort of Loher, 9th century AD

Replica (original in museum in Dublin), Ohm Stone with Maltise cross and two swastikas

Celi of Avi, Aglish Ohm Stone

Cathair Deargain Ring Fort, Murreagh

Kilmalkedar cross and ohm stone, Murreagh

Kilmalkedar Church from 12th century, Murreagh

Ohm Stone at Wine Strand

Standing Stones at Wine Strand

Skellig Michael and Small Skellig

Montbretia of Kerry

Sunflowers of Kerry

Ferns thrive in cool moist and cloudy Kerry

Giant Thistle

Sunflower at O'Connell's garden

Flowers of O'Connell gardens

Purple pigment on plant at O'Connell glasshouse

Fuchia of Kerry (from Chile originally)

Jellyfish in Catherdaniel

Kayaking on Lough Currane

Kayaking off Glen Pier

Clear seaweed of Glen Pier

Sundown over Waterville Bay

Stephen O'Connell Pottery kiln in slow cool down

Stephen O'Connell Fermoyle Pottery workshop, Kerry

Home of Daniel O'Connell in Cathardaniel, Derrynane

Charlie Chaplin felt at home in Waterville

Bernaval - Dieppe coast

View from our front lawn, Waterville Bay

Durbuy, Belgium

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 16 Apr 2022 13:10:00 +0000

Durbuy - Belgium

Ursel Castle of Durbuy

People were crashing everywhere Good Friday afternoon of 2022 adding an hour and half to my drive from Leiden to Durbuy, Belgium, but I got there safely and my old Citroen CX was greeted with smiles and waves along the country roads making a nice end to the trip after turmoil on the highways around Antwerp and Brussels. Luminous yellow fields of rapeseed along the way set off against a clear blue sky reflecting Ukraine's national flag on the 52nd of Russia's tragic war in the country which was on everyone's mind in Europe. Les Roques Monastery was my destination for long weekend, met there my Marcel, the apartment manager who explained the conditions of the lower floors, molded and water damaged from severe floods July the prior year. Lacking a fluency in common language did not hinder the passion with which Marcel showed me the water level reached on the ground floor walls, all in a matter of 10 minutes, dwellers having to run from their rooms, clothed or unclothed as they were at the time, the water rising so fast. July 2021 brought unusually severe flooding in The Ourthe River which rund through Durbuy, but also throughout Europe, as I monitored the news then from my hiking in Colorado. Now I heard the evidence based on Marcel's surprise at the speed at which the water rose putting residents at risk. The weather now was good and forecast dry for coming days, but Marcel advised not to park in the lower parking area in fear of the risk of flash flooding. Much of the town was flooded then at least to the ground floor, but there were few signs of remaining damage, but for the renovation work in the monastery.

Old town Durbuy is shaped by water, the Ourthe river having carved out the rock and exposed 300 million years of geology in the famous anticline structure which buttresses the compact city. Like the Meuse, it is likely the Ourthe originally formed as a south flowing river, but reversed after ice ages. The original village and castle there stood on an island between two tributaries of The Ourthe, but the eastern side has long since been filled in with only a small lake at the anticline as a reminder.

Saturday, after coffee in town my day hike started northward up a steep incline to the high green plateau, the Bronfort Damien, a popular hiking area and continued into woodlands thereafter trying to navigate around the private holdings. Eventually I found a clear long route west toward the town of Tohogne, a wonderful mind clearing hike through forests emerging through spring, with green shoots expanding, but not yet enough to block the light. Emerging eventually on the grasslands over Tohogne, I descended through the quiet village and on down the riverbank woods to the trail along the Ourthe which would bring me back to town.

Durbuy was important enough to be elevated to status of a city by 1331 - today the city claims to be the smallest in Belgium. On a rock above the river stands tall Durbuy Castle, held by the Ursel family today. A prominent location on The Ourthe River along with an advantageous geographic layout was recognized back to Roman times. A castle was destroyed in 900AD, rebuilt and destroyed by fire in 1156, rebuilt and attached by the people of Leige in 1237 and 1317, when the town was positioned as the northern flank of the Duchy of Luxembourg. In 1492 the castle was destroyed by war, rebuilt and by 1628 was acquired by Anthony II Schetz, a commander under the Spanish military, who passed it on to the Ursel family whose line still own the castle today by Comte Jean-Michel d'Ursel. Again destroyed by war later in the 1600's the castle was rebuilt in 1731 by the Ursels and modernized in the 1800's. The castle is open periodically for visits, but not during my visit.

There was a holiday weekend vibe in the town buoyed along by warmth and sunshine and for some, the men swimming naked in the river below, copious alcohol. Across the river people ignored them as families wandered the topiary park stood in full bloom of spring. Saint Nicolas Church nearby stood silent and empty, but brightened by the afternoon sun rays colored by tall stained glass windows. In town the facade of the historic Corn Exchange building stood as it was when built in 1540, reflecting the importance of commerce in the town then. The building today houses an art exhibit in which the visitors seemed to have little interest, allowing me to have the place to myself. Nearby in the town plaza was a weekend market of products from Normandy where I bought wine from the Loire Valley, a Saint Nicolas de Bourgueil which we had visited many years before. Mornings or evenings were best to tour the town of stone buildings and cobblestone streets with fewer people and angled light.

On my second day hike starting up the peak of the anticline, heading south into vast woodlands, which I had mostly to myself but for a few deer, and tadpoles in the ponds hoping to grow quickly enough to depart before the ponds dried up, I turned westward, eventually emerging to cross the river to the town of Deulin. I was attracted there by a grand chateau on the hill, Chateau Duelin, built in 1758 by Guillaume Joseph de Harlez and still owned by the family and run as an event center. From there I turned back to find another forested route back to Durbuy covering about 20km, another beautiful day in the woods. I took country roads on my departure the following day, rather than the highway, hoping to absorb as much of the wonderful countryside of the Ardennes, which I had started exploring during the lockdowns of Covid pandemic, when I could manage to reach by car and a welcome break from the flatlands of the low-country Netherlands.

Les Roques Monastery, Durbuy

Bronfort Damien

Wood framed brick houses of Ardennes

Art museum of Durbuy

Scenes of Art in Durbuy

Topiary Gardens, Durbuy

The Market & Corn Exchange, 1530's, Durbuy

The Durbuy Anticline

Durbuy, Belgium

Château de Deulin

Ursel Castle of Durbuy

Streets of Durbuy

Gravestone from 1726

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Wed, 23 Mar 2022 10:00:00 +0000

Hanover & Gettysburg PA - Appomattox, Lynchburg & Manassas VA - Kitty hawk NC

Battlefield of Gettysburg, June 2nd & 3rd 1861

The fall of 1993 was my last visit to battlefields of Gettysburg, one of many of the civil war, but most were in Confederate territory, and the exposure of the Union with Confederate troops entering Pennsylvania made the battle profound, plus the uncertain outcome and enormous casualties. I was 23 years old then, visiting with my partner of the time, having driven over the wintry Pennsylvania highlands to meet our friend from South Africa who had driven much further from Boston. Young, optimistic and with an illusion of a static peaceful world at the time, I looked on with emotion and empathy for the deep toll of the Civil War, with 620,000 casualties, 51,000 at Gettysburg alone. recalling being very moved, spending hours walking the battlefields, but also with a view to the Civil War as an historic event - something from which the US and world has moved on. Returning to Gettysburg in 2022, with a war raging in Ukraine and with many wars in the intervening years, my view of the Civil War became much more current and real in todays terms, both in the tensions and belligerence in the governance of human earth, and in the unresolved outcome of that war which have become evident during the intervening years are so real and core to the United States today and need to be addressed or risk of another civil war in future years. There was a move in the 20th century to reposition the civil war as a quarrel among powers over states rights and broader problems and a dilution of the problem posed by slavery. This myth has been debunked in the case put forward at the Gettysburg National Park & Military Museum - the Civil War was always about Slavery.

Abraham Lincoln was such an unlikely person to become the great emancipator for which he s known today, not due to lack of personal character and discontent with slavery, but due to modest position in a sea of powerful factions operating in US governance of that time. He has returned to private law practice after a stint as congressman for Illinois, but it was his concern that new western states may adopt slavery - the Missouri compromise barring slavery north or 36 degrees was overturned in order to placate the southerners in agreeing to form new states from territories and the Kansas-Nebraska act of 1854, allowed the new states right to choose themselves, but in reality becoming a proxy war for continuation of slavery. The two states were flooded with influencers, along with voter fraud to swing state decisions. Moderates like Lincoln weren't even trying to roll back the slavery which was entrenched in southern states, many of whom has over half their population in slavery, but saw it as anathema to allow new states to form on the basis of slavery. At the time the Democrats were for small government and low taxes, while the Whig party which Lincoln has led earlier was for more active government in developing the country, however, the Whigs were split on slavery and when Lincoln considered the emerging Republican party, he was concerns it was a mixed bag of extremes - he was a moderate to the core, fighting against slavery in new states, but not intending to flight slavery in the south, not because he didn't hate the concept, but did not see success in such an endeavor politically. He was technically correct on that point, especially as the south was gaining strength politically, so Lincoln was supported by northerners on the basis that he was anti-slavery, but a moderate who would not overplay his hand with the south. His taking a "compromise" negotiating position was surely the correct strategy, had he been successful in reaching a "compete" negotiating position to drive slavery from the south, he would have lost power to the south politically - this was a very shrewd strategy as it turned out. Ultimately it was the south who overplayed their hand, taking an uncompromising compete negotiating position, with South Carolina, the largest slaveholder, seceding from the union in reaction to Lincoln's very election, attacking the Federal garrison at Fort Sumpter, SC and starting the American Civil War - their uncompromising position resulted in great lost from their objectives. Unlikely a president as he was, he had unique political abilities to manage the many powerful and opposing factions and was re-elected in 1864 as the tides of war turned in favoring the Union. General Lee became trapped during the battle of Appomattox and surrendered to General Grant here on April 10th 1965. Lincoln was assassinated just days later, April 14th 1865. by John Wilkes Booth a confederate sympathizer who did not want to see slavery abolished.

History too easily reads as a sequence of events which were predetermined in hindsight, but in reality any number of these events could have gone differently. Had the South not over-reacted to Lincoln's election they would have preserved their status quo at least for eight years, maybe decades while Lincoln would have prevailed in barring western states from adopting slavery. It was not pre-ordained that the Union win the war, the Confederates put up a strong fight, bringing the battle to the Union states, a potentially disastrous outcome prolonging slavery. Slavery would have eventually fallen one way or another, probably with external pressure, but unlikely peacefully. Terms of surrender by the Union to Confederate troops couldn't have been better or more generous. Reconstruction the following decade was an attempt to rebuild a war ravished south, which soon fell by the wayside.

Slavery was abolished, replaced by a century of apartheid and the south never accepted their defeat, nor owned the immorality of their position on slavery, instead shifting the narrative instead to "states rights". Victims, the slaves, have become re-victimized on the journey which continues to this day. Thirty years ago I read a simpler story at Gettysburg, today I read a much deeper role of the Civil War in American presence today and a sense that more could be learned from the ultimate sacrifice put down by those 620,000 men of North and South in order to heal a country with deep scars from the horrors of slavery. The confederate flag flies all too commonly throughout the country and even overseas - the kinder explanation, that it represented the "service, sacrifice and heritage" as noted by South Carolina Governor, Nikki Haley, but the facts are clear that at the time of the Civil War, it represented treason, slavery and apartheid - little has been done since then to reclaim it's representation for better purpose outlined by the Governor. Had there been a genuine effort to reflect and go forward with renewed purpose and egalitarianism among it's citizens, as the Germans did after WW2, then there may be a case for gathering all citizens of the south under a new flag, but not the Confederate flag - that has been taken by neo-nazis and racists, which means it can't also be used as a benign cultural symbol unless the former is rejected. It would be like Germans claiming use of the swastikas' for nostalgic reasons unrelated to the holocaust. Views across America including the south are mixed, with a large plurality believing the flag represents racism, especially the younger generations, while there is also a large plurality believing it represents heritage, dominated by older people, which means its only a matter of time before it becomes left to the neo-nazis and racists. Upon the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers in a small graveyard in Appomattox stand small Union and Confederate flags for those who has fallen, probably the only genuine use of the flag, but certainly not on the public square.

The first decisive battle after the attach on Fort Sumter, was the (first) Battle of Manassas on Bull Run which I stopped to visit having a few hours to space before my flight out of Dulles Airport, the battle grounds and Bull Run River laying just south of the airport. Although the US had a military and experience fighting in Mexico and earlier against the British, by the start of the Civil War many or most of the regular troops were new and undertrained - many learned on the job there at Manassas - letters home by soldiers indicating shock at how war was actually fought, canon to canon, gun to gun, man to man in the battle field. These sound similar to Russian conscripts unexpectedly sent into Ukraine February 24th 2022, one of whom texted his mother: "Mama, I am in Ukraine. There is a real war raging here. I am afraid. We are bombing all of the cities together, even targeting civilians. We were told that they would welcome us and they are falling under our armored vehicles, throwing themselves under the wheels and not allowing us to pass. They call us fascists. Mama this is so hard". The Union initially gained an innovative upper hand crossing the Bull Run and circling into battle against the Confederates from the north instead of directly from the east. Confederates retreated to a low ridge and after being strengthened by additional troops under the command of Thomas Jackson, they were able to hold the line and conferred on him the nickname "Stonewall". With a strong defensive line, the Confederates made a strong flight on the field and won the battle. So fast was the Union retreat that spectators, which had come out from the City to watch the battle found themselves in live battle and had to flee. Hundreds of further battles would follow over four years until the final decisive battle of Appomattox and the surrender of General Lee.

Before visiting Appomattox and eventually Manassas, I had started my trip with a stay in Hanover followed by a day in the museum and on the battlefields of Gettysburg. General Lee had been in high spirits marching Confederate troops up the Shenandoah valley, breaking north through Maryland, across the line surveyed by Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dickson, demarking the north-south divide, into Pennsylvania in hope to spook the Union into terms for surrender. President Lincoln responded with a push by the Army of Potomac under Major General Hooker with strategic aim to focus battle in Gettysburg as many roads converged there which would help access and supply lines. Confederates had circled clockwise from west to north of the town, eventually marking in from the northwest, while Union troops arrived from east sending scouts out to perceive the Confederate position. Communication was very poor compared with today's standards and the ability to get messages across the battlefields and surrounding region was often the difference between winning and loosing. At Gettysburg Union Sickles troops went further west than Grant had communicated and were pushed back to form the "fish-hook" which helped win the battle, while Lee had communicated for Pickett and Pettigrew to charge early in the day, but found they hadn't too late and then they had to charge in the afternoon - both examples of the difficulty in getting clear communications to the right place - the horrors of battle I hope never to experience, but if necessary to participate I like to think the position of communications runner is where I may best contribute.

Chief Engineer, Brigadier General GK Warren was out scouting and found the heights of Little Round Top unguarded, so he sent for Union reinforcements to the position who were instrumental in the battle. Below Little Round Top a field stood peaceful and in full bloom wheat the afternoon of June 2nd 1861, between the Confederate troops arriving from the west and the Union emerging from the eastern ridge. The battle raged across the field with little geographic protection for troops on both sides staring at 4:30 pm. The field changes sides six times over the following two and a half hours. There were many Irish soldiers from New York and Boston and today one will find many monuments to these Irish fallen during the battle to the west of the field. Colonel Patrick O'Rourke commanded New York 140th Division, graduating first in his class from West Point, led his men to the battlefield below Little Round Top and lost his life there, "I would have died to save him", Warren said.

June 3rd Pickett's troops charged the Union on Cemetery Ridge, a brave but devastating battle ensued and although they broke through briefly at one point, they were forced to retreat, only half surviving. Referred to as the "high watermark of the Confederacy", a high point for Confederate military achievement, they were turned bac and lost the battle of Gettysburg and the war a few years later marked by the battle of Appomattox. It is hard not to have a tear in one's eye absorbing the the battle at the museum, or when surveying the fields which are preserved and strewn with artillery and monuments. Battles were mainly fought by infantry lined up against each other on open fields without protection of trenches like the Napoleonic war. Lines of artillery would slug it out which seems like a very crude way to fight. By the 1860s rifles became more accurate, so a sniper leveraging any geographic protection could cause significant damage to a troop and when the artillery ran out, troops would proceed with hand to hand battle, guns, bayonets and fists in action. Troops had little training in earlier battles and wrote home incredulous at how infantry fight. Some 200,000 African Americans fought on the Union side, while the Confederates did not consider enlisting slaves early on and debating the topic as the tides turned. They understood slaves fought, they would never return them to slavery, and Lee even proposed freedom as a condition of service, which was rejected. One politician pondered “If slaves will make good soldiers, our whole theory of slavery is wrong", which is a very telling statement and provides insights into how distorted was the understanding of humanity by Southern owners. Finally a few thousand slaves were enlisted in 1865, but it was too late already for the losing Confederates. Twenty thousand Native Americans fought in the Civil War on both sides of the conflict, not that they gained anything politically from their service. General Grant's secretary was Native American General Ely Parker of the Seneca tribe who wrote the articles of surrender at Appomattox during which Lee said to Parker, "I am glad to see one real American here," to which Parker replied, "We are all Americans".

June 3rd Battle of Gettysburg

Kitty Hawk

After a few days exploring the civil war from Gettysburg to Appomattox and touring the Blueridge Mountains over the Shenandoah valley down to Front Royal and Lynchburg on the St James River, I headed to the coast of North Carolina for a few days exploring the outer banks our of Kitty Hawk. It was a coastline I had toured before in the late 1990's and recall a fascinating maritime history, having read at the time a great book, "The Graveyard of the Atlantic". My interest in staying at Kitti halk on this visit was to explore the aviation history for which the area is also recognized. Otto Lilienthal had been an inspiration with his gliding experience from hills in Germany. Alberto Santos-Dumont had already been flying lighter than air dirigibles around Paris by late 19th century. and also had aspirations for heavier-than-air flight. Many others had aspirations also to achieve flight, and with engineering and technology advancing at a rapid pace, it was a matter of time before it would be achieved. This was part of the reason for selecting Kitty Hawk, so far from their home in Ohio, as they sought isolation and privacy during the multi-year experimentation period - besides the potential distraction of reporters and observers in the fields of Ohio, there was a need to avoid leakage of technology developments to competitors. There were other valid reasons for choosing Kitty Hawk - sandy and with few obstructions improved safety, the steady sea breeze would allow flight with shorter runway - their research led them to an inquiry of the weather station there and a James Dosher replied he thought it a great place to test flight - surely he would say that, but the midwest has some great windsurfing due also to consistent winds in summertime.

The missing link is human flight from the concepts of Leonardo da Vinci to the Wright brothers was providing light weight power. Top athletes can put out maybe half a horse power. The wrights took advances in four stroke spark ignition engines and built a four cylinder in aluminum for light weight. They analyzed and developed controls for the critical dynamics of flight, pitch, roll and yaw and built the plane from light materials - wood, wire and cloth. They delivered proof of concept with four flights on December 17th 1903 reaching some 180ft in 59 seconds. Powered by a 12 hp 4 stroke 4 cylinder lightweight aluminum engine driving two propellers by chain to spread the thrust, the wright brothers had spent years designing, testing and improving their lightweight cloth winged aircraft which flew that day. Key element of flight was mastering control of pitch, roll and yaw. Pitch was controlled by two forward flaps, roll by moving the weight of the pilots body left or right and yaw by aft flaps. Although having barely finished high school, the Wrights intelligent, intellectually curious and driven having become self trained engineers, absorbing as much as they could of published knowledge, including the learnings from Otto Lilienthal's gliders. Later Alberto Santos-Dumont flow 10 feet above ground over a distance of 180 ft in October 1906 and the French aero club claimed it as the first flight as it was officially recorded, but a poor attempt to unseat the original Wright brothers flight and pity the rivalry rather than collaboration.

Nearby in the sound protected by the barrier islands lay Roanoke Island of whose geographic situation should be of little consequence or interest to anyone, but it was this small low easily floodable island that Britain chose as its hope for for a settlement to expand colonial territory in Americas without getting in conflict with the Spanish. In 1564 Sir Walter Raleigh landed there setting claim to the lands and making note of how friendly and unrebelious were the native Secotan and Croatoan tribes. Having set claim for Britain over the region, Raleigh returned to England with two natives, Mateo and Wanchese. The following year an armada travel out to setup a military base on Roanoke under Governor Ralph Lane, a foundation of their new colony to be called Virginia. The voyage was challenging with poor communication among the ships, some left to go privateering against Spanish ships, one got stuck on shoals entering Pamlico sound, spoiling provisons for the colony. It was a vessel named Tiger, the first ship to sink in what is known today as the "graveyard of the Atlantic", where 2000 more ships have perished in the intervening years due to difficult shoals, tides, navigation and weather. Low on resources, they left about a hundred men on Roanoke to setup fort, while the remaining ships returned to England to gather supplies. Lane and his men were short on supplies, gaining supplemental food for winter from natives, but tensions grew over the winter and the failed colony was mostly evacuated by Sir Francis Drake in 1586 on his way back from plunder in the Carribean. In 1587 Sir Walter Raleigh returned with 115 colonists to setup a City of Raleigh, but understood Roanoke Island was too insecure now and a settlement further up the Chesapeake on the mainland was planned - the prize Raleigh thought, was the potential discovery of the pacific coast just across the horizon - he had sadly underestimated the size of the Unites States. They landed on Roanoke Island anyway and found the camp deserted, apparently killed or chased away by natives from the mainland led by Wanchese, who had visited England in the past. Mateo had also visited England twice and was interpreter for the colonists - the main city on Roanoke is names after him. The plan was for the colonists to get another resupply the following year, 1588, but tensions with Spain grounded any further ships from England until 1590 - they arrived to "The Lost Colony", as there was no sign of the 115 colonists on Roanoke, but one clue, "CROATOAN" carved into a tree at the encampment. There was no evidence of a massacre of the colonists on Roanoke and most likely is that they moved to Cheasapeake mainland, with a waiting party based on Croatoan Island, hence the carved sign - Croatoan is Okrakoke Island today, very isolated and exposed, so unlikely a place for the entire colony, unless maybe they hoped to catch passing ships for return to England. Assuming the colonists lived and remained, it is likely the assimilated into the local tribes. Raleigh kept up hope for survival of the colonists for years as it allowed him claim to Virginia, however, he couldn't even bother to drop in and search on his later voyages past the area.

During the civil war the Union invaded the island taking three Confederate forts and holding the island for the duration of the war. With access to rich fishing ground in the sound and out to sea, Roanoke became a fishing hub out of the town of Mateo. George Washington Creff was a master wooden boat builder who designs were specifically suited to the sound - long, shallow with wide gunnels, aquadynamic fore and aft to maneuver the wind, water, waves and current of Pimlico Sound and much sought after by local fishermen. A few examples are housed in a museum there, which still operates as an active shipbuilding workshop.

Hanover

On the first night of this trip having driven up from Washington DC, I stayed a night in Hanover Pennsylvania, with convenient access to Gettysburg, being attracted there our of curiosity of the snack company "Snyder's of Hanover". Since living in the Netherlands I had started consuming snacks from the company, originally assuming they were a European company, maybe out of Hanover Germany, but had since learned they were based here in Hanover Pennsylvania, where I would their factory and store. Since Covid their snacks were no longer on shelves of Dutch stores, there have been some supply chain problems I was told at the factory. Recently they had also updated the packaging and I would also learn their formulation, as I stocked up well at the shop there. Flavors seem less intense, possibly also a response to supply chain or cost pressures during Covid. Named after the city in Germany, settled by Germans in a fertile agricultural region, the town prospered and in the 1920's Grandma Eda and Edward Snyder began selling potato chips locally, which eventually developed into a business, later merging with Olde Tyme Pretzels and focusing on snacks under the name of Snyder's and other foods under Hanover Brands. The town was a hotbed of food innovation and known as the “Snack Food Capital of the World”, with companies like Utz Quality Foods, Wege Pretzels and Revonah Pretzels.

Rendering of casualties of war

Battlefield of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Battlefield at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Chief Engineer, Brigadier General GK Warren - scouting Little Round Top

Colonel Patrick O Rourke, Commander of New York 140th

Wheat field switched sides 6 times on June 2nd 4:30-7pm

Many Irish brigades fought at Gettysburg

Appalachia Mountains over Shenandoah Valley

Appomatox, Virginia

McLean House, Appomatox, Virginia

General Lee sat on left side, General Grand on right (reconstructed)

Residential house, Appomattox, Virginia

Battlefield of Manassas, Virginia

Rare photograph of casualty at Manassas, Virginia

Wright Brothers first flight at Kitty Hawk

George Washington Creff boat builder of Roanoke Island

Bodie Island Lighthouse

Hatteras Island

Flight at Kitty Hawk

Snyder's of Hanover, Pennsylvania "Snack capital of the world"

Ralph is looking for a new home, Hanover, PA

Washington District Colombia

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Sat, 19 Mar 2022 16:17:01 +0000

Washington DC - Georgetown - Foggy Bottom - The National Mall - Smithsonian

Abraham Lincoln

Departing Netherlands on a fine spring day, my driver and friend of many years and I discussed the war in Ukraine. Always good for a discussion on world affairs, and well informed from discussions he has while driving many executives and important people with valuable insights, we analyzed the politics and potential scenarios and outcomes in this high stakes conflict, by then in it's third week and the failures of autocratic leadership clearly on display. While politics in the democratic west is the ugliest affair with factions flinging mud and lies in the hope of survival, at least leaders are kept weak and changed out regularly, the really worst form of governance, that of autocracy an dictatorship shows it's true colors in the miscalculations of Putin's invasion of Ukraine - in the echo chamber of his administration he overestimated the strength, coherence and motivation of his military who did not expect to invade, so were even more ill-prepared, he underestimated the resolve, resistance and desire for freedom of the Ukrainian people and he underestimated the reaction of the West who put a premium on freedom and human values, but really just woke up to Putin's real ambition with shock. The problem with autocracy is that it fosters "Yes" people who can not communicate reality, resulting a large "perception - reality gap" which helped mislead Putin and it didn't help that his own circle, military, or supporters like the Chinese did not expect an invasion - had they known, they may have been brave enough to hold him back rather than egg him on.

Anyway, we are where we are and the discussion continued within minutes of of being picked up by my driver, Ndubuisi, on the way from Dulles Airport, to an apartment in Georgetown, Washington DC. Ndubuisi, a nice and engaging African American man around my own age was emphatic that Putin needed to be stopped for once and for all. We talked through potential scenarios: (1) Putin takes all Ukraine, Zelensky sets up government in exile in Poland, resistance in country continues, Russia is bogged down and under-resourced to really hold the country, economy is destroyed and people suffer famine and atrocities from an increasingly frustrated military, sanctions continue Russian people suffer but are suppressed, or (2) Putin takes East, South and connects them, plus maybe up to the Dnieper River, while Zelensky takes the west Ukraine setting up government in Lviv, sanctions remain plus continued hostilities across line of divide, flaring up periodically, or (3) Putin is overthrown by military of uprise of his people, which is very unlikely as those with access to do this need his protection, and the people are too suppressed to act, however, it would allow a reset and negotiated resolution, unless Russia descended into civil war among factions, or (4) Putin finally sees reality rather than the perception upon which he made war, assesses the cost and risks to his reign are too high to continue and works out a reasonable compromise while saving face with his people - this scenario, we both agreed, was impossible for Putin, or (5) Putin escalates with chemical and small ballistic nuclear weapons, UN, NATO, EU gets pulled into world war three and intercontinental nuclear war - a worst case scenario. Ndubuisi made the point that whatever the outcome of this war, we will have to live with the broader consequences for our own freedom and other potential conflicts in Asia or Middle East, which is very observant. Ndubuisi asked about my trip from Amsterdam and we got onto a great discussion on travel, he had traveled the world extensively, which probably helped inform his politically, and was looking forward to traveling again after Covid, assuming we don't end up in WW3. He had traveled in Serbia during the war, attending a U2 concert dedicated the Sarajevo and throughout the Ariatic, Northwest Europe and southern Africa, giving me some thoughts and inspiration for future destinations.

I had traveled to Washington DC to spend a week vacation with my Wife, Annette, as we had been living long distance due to circumstances around work and school and she had arrived a few hours before me. The political discussions also continued with her driver from the airport. Yuryi, a Belarusian who had won the Green Card lottery years ago, he had moved his family to USA and could not return now to Belarus as he and his 15 year old son could be conscripted in the military or held for some trumped up changes. He used to be called "The Last Dictator in Europe" before he was joined recently by Putin, the Belarus leader Lukashenko had tried to keep some independence in earlier years, playing Europe off with Russia, but Russia finally roped him in after his was threatened by his people angry over a stolen election in 2020. Belarus is now a vassal state of Russia, and Putin's ambition is to add in Ukraine, Georgia and more - some argue that it was Nato expansion to Baltics, Poland, Romania which caused the current debacle to which there is some truth, but the alternate would be Russification of the eastern parts of these countries and conversion vassal states of Russia - it is Nato expansion that saved these states. It is true, however, that the aggressiveness of pull westward of Ukraine and Georgia may have reduced the number of negotiated outcomes, if any, in current war. Yuryi was sad for the fait of Belarus, but had moved all his family out except for his mother, but the stranglehold of Russia over the court does not looks to abate any time soon.

Settled into our apartment, we looked forward to a week exploring the museums and sights of the political capital of the USA, hopefully not for the last time before Putin puts the city in the sights of his long range nuclear weapons. We are not alarmists, but do believe in being informed and prepared in all the scenarios of war - 100 million people could be killed in the first day along in the event of a full out nuclear war, with many more from fallout and we had developed a contingency plan involving a getaway to a small town in southern Chile for our family in case of such an escalation. In the mean time we would explore Washington DC and hope to learn how best to keep someone sane and informed at the help of US politics.

My first visit to Washington DC was brief and inadvertent - my flight from Kansas City to Abu Dhabi in January 1996 was truncated in Washington Dulles due to Nor'easter snowstorm rated 5 on the NESIS scale. Traveling light for warm weather in Abu Dhabi I was ill prepared for the snowstorm through which I made my way to a hotel in Georgetown for the night, so I bought a warm fleece top marked with "Washington DC" in rainbow colors which I wore for years later. The following day I was flown to New York and handed a boarding pass for the Concord flight to London, but weather again intervened, so eventually made it on coach and having long since missed by connection flight there, had to spend another night on Covent Garden (partying with Urve & gang) before making it onwards and arriving in UAE well hungover. My main memory of Georgetown, besides the cold and snow, was old world charm and the warmth of nice bars and restaurants which hasn't changed. My second visit was over a decade later for a business conference at a grand hotel just north of the White House - the rooms were overbooked and they were forced to put me in an enormous four bedroom suite with grand living room and kitchen, what a wonderful stay!

A nor'easter was again on its way upon arrival in Georgetown in March 2022 bringing snow on our first full day and while resting through jetlag I did manage to get out for a walk along the Potomac River and The Watergate Complex, an sprawling business-residential development of curved and rounded buildings with balconies marking advancement and optimism of the 1960's when it was built, mixed with a jaded dullness of age, which under a wintery sky and snow seemed more fitting of an eastern European project of state. The storm passed and Sunday opened to a cold beautiful sunny day and an hour less jetlag with the hour jumping ahead due to daylight savings during the night, so I was off early again around the Watergate Complex which looked much better and upmarket under sun and blue skies. On the evening of 17 June 1972 a security guard at The Watergate 2600 Virginia Avenue called the police who apprehended five burglars targeting the 6th floor Democratic Party headquarters. It was an election year and Gordon Libby and John Erlichman, key staff of incumbent Richard Nixon planned a tactical infiltration of the opposition involving secret recordings and burglary of their offices, highly illegal activities would eventually undermine Nixon after his reelection such that he had to resign in disgrace for covering up the burglary and bringing a new word to the English language "Watergate", meaning a scandal, or the addition of "gate" to convert any term into a scandal.

It is hard to imagine today the impact of Nixon's the breach of trust with the public as in current politics we such tactics are common, for example Trump's pursuit of Hiliary Clinton emails via the Ukrainians, but fifty years ago the public had a more idealistic view of the intent and behavior of their politicians. I recall being mesmerized by the stories or Bob Woodward explaining how he and Bernstein broke the story on Watergate for the Washington Post and then followed up with tip-offs by a secret source they called "Deep Throat", a wonderful moniker with inferences to a deep secret source, but also a risqué reference to a famous porn film of 1972 (worth checking out - hilariously tacky!). Finally after over three decades Deep Throat was revealed to be Mark Felt, deputy director of the FBI at the time, doing his civic duty to ensure there was enough information leaked to take down Nixon.

Nearby out of the snowy haze emerged the imposing hulk of the Kennedy Performance Center, built around the same time and originally in same style as the Watergate, but in contrast to the curves adopted a clean rectangular shape clad with grand columns. A Ukrainian duo, Solomia Gorokhivska and Andrei Pidkivka of Gerden traditional music played at the center that day, starting with the Ukraine National anthem followed by traditional music accompanied by accordion and cello. An exhibition on climate change, Ice & Coal, was being setup which exposed in large projected photographs the impact of coal production, pollution and declining ice globally.

Descending on The National Mall from the Potomac River I climbed the steps to the Lincoln Memorial and read the Gettysburg Address which Lincoln gave after a key battle won in favor of the Union at great cost to both sides, but with a significantly challenging war left to pursue for another two years before the Union prevailed. "world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here". The following week I would explore the battlefields of Manassas, Gettysburg and Appomattox and learn much more, but what is clear from my visit to Washington museums that week is that Lincoln was clearly driven by a desire to halt slavery in the expanding western territories, which was the reason he came back to politics and led the Republican Party to win the presidency in 1860. He was a practical moderate, with ambition to limit expansion of slavery, but didn't think powerful enough to overturn it in the South at least at that time, but the South seceded starting the civil war and ultimate overthrow of slavery nationally. Within fifty years the story was reframed as just a quarrel among friends, not about slavery, but about states rights - the record of the 18850's nd 1860's tells the true story. A large marble statue of Lincoln sitting looking our over the Lincoln Reflecting Pool towards the Washington Monument is fitting to his stature and character which embodied idealism to fight for the freedom of all men, but also the pragmatism to compromise politically to achieve results. If Lincoln were alive today he would lament that the party he helped form and for whom he was the first president has changed over that time from the party of freedom and progress for all people to a party projection confederate ideals - he has effectively lost the war in a political sense.

"Drain the swamp" is a common refrain in reference to clean up the political establishment of corruption, but it also was geographically necessary to from The National Mall which was swampland along the Potomac estuary. The eastern terminus of the Chesapeake-Ohio canal originally came to the foot of The Washington Monument, the Lock-keepers House standing witness to that time. The Mall was filled in and work started on building the massive column of the Washington Monument upon fragile foundations, but construction was halted by lack of funds and turmoil of the civil war as evident in the change of stone texture about a quarter way up. Grandeur of the mall and the alignment of the Lincoln & Washington Memorials with Congress and the north alignment with The White House was deemed important, but the soil was too weak to support location of Washington Monument there and it was moved 120 meters off center - maybe indicative of the type or pragmatic compromises to be expected in a political capital. Continuing eastward toward the Capital Building of Congress the grand institutions of the Smithsonian Museums, which we would visit during the week, lined the mall. The Capital building stood grand and silent that weekend day illuminated in sunshine, a stark contrast to the conditions of January 6th the prior year, when insurrectionists under the influence of Donald Trump stormed the building, the Capital Police standing by, a corrupt political movement to try and steal an election, something common around the world, but a shock for a country built upon democracy, rule of law and fair representation of the people. Behind the Capital stood the Supreme Court, empty and silent also basking in sunshine. Has the capital been laid out representatively, the Whitehouse, Capital and Supreme courts would be set on equal terms in a triangle, but nothing is ideal in DC - nor is the interplay among these institutions, none of which today are an accurate representation of the people - few presidents will on popular vote in my lifetime, the senate is structurally skewed to favor low population states, the house of representatives gerrymandered to the hilt and the Supreme Court packed and politicized (a president who lost popular vote nominated 3 judges - one of which just months before an election, while another who won popular vote was blocked from nominating a judge in his last year). It being the weekend before St Patrick's Day an unofficial parade gathered in front of the Capital before being escorted by the Capital Police, who must have gained their confidence back in handling crowds, on a short route which ended up in an Irish bar.

The Inn at Little Washington Patrick O’Connell three star Michelin with set gastronomical menu priced $308 per person, along with wine pairings at $208 per person. Reservations at 5:15 March 17th, Saint Patricks day were open and we thought "why not splash out?", our money to be worth nothing if WW3 breaks out anyway. My better half running the numbers with 10% dining tax in D.C. and 15% tip which has become customary in USA came to $1305.48. Furthermore, any restaurant with reservations staged at 15 minute intervals must surely be a conveyor belt, with set menu dolled out in a certain cadence, allowing little time to relax, go to the bathroom or have a smoke. And what about the wine pairings?, the implication being that they control the bottle at all times, no topups, like, "have you met us?" Just when you are getting into the Sauvignon Blank, they have moved on the Chardonney, and keep changing the glasses, taking last sip away. Tap water? "No such thing at this restaurant Sir", "our water is flown in business class from a pacific island", really climate friendly! Getting the hint, our ancious waitor would be hovering around to get the table back by 7:15 and then would ask "was there something wrong with the meal tonight, Sir?", in that way waiters signal the tip is inadequate, the norm having increased to 20% these days - fully support proper wages for wait staff, but if I am to become their employer and pay their wages directly, then it's only faire we start the evening with a performance contract and end with a performance review and I'll need to bring my HR manager along. And what's with the $8 over one fixed prices, it almost seems like there is a complicated calculation behind the total, but suspect the overage being the same for both food and drink, which may mean the prices are arbitrary - and furthermore, if you have to ask the price, how vulger! And what about dress code, I had traveled light for outdoors activities, so had no formal gear with me, would they accept jeans and hiking boots? My memory going back to a visit by Conor and me to an elegant bar and hookah club in Baky, Azerbaijan among those dressed in suits and the weighter shouldn't stop staring at my hiking boots, like he had never been outside the city. My only experience at a three star michelin restaurant was in 2006 at La Grande Cascade in teh Bois de Bologne, Paris. My father was visiting and I had rented a boathouse on the Seine anckored at the Bois de Bologne. We had an excellent meal there, my father treating us at a cost of $600 I recall, probably similar to The Inn when factoring inflation and probably the benchmark price needed really to maintain three Michelin stars - I do remember the waiters being exceptionally arrogant and condescending, implying we didn't know our wines at one point, I should have told him that I worked for the Michelin Company! I'm sure it is a wonderful restaurant and experience, but our imagination guided us instead to a little french restaurant in Georgetown, Le Chaumier, for which we made reservation on our last night, Saturday.

The Capitol Grill caught our attention as we toured town, a well known steakhouse a branch of which can be found in most large American cities, but this was the original on Pennsylvania Ave and one of many schmooze dens of political in the city. Now that we have realized that cows are our cousins and cause global warming, we were not about to dine there, but regularly used it as an Uber pickup address. While waiting there we heard from there doormen, both immigrants, that it was a den of Republicans. Nearby an impoverished African American nearby sold hats, laid on the ground in a matrix, half of them with "Trump" emblem, customer tastes rule over ideology in both cases. Annette asked where the Democrats schmoozed and lobbied? They couldn't think of any place - Wholefoods, or some Vegan restaurant well off Penn Ave we may guess!

On our first full day we had ordered takeout from Taj of India nearby, the weather was horrible and we jet lagged, but by Tuesday we ventured out for early outdoor dinner at Angolo Restrante Italiano nearest the apartment in Georgetown, which filled quickly with the after work crowd. Calamari, fish and eggplant were wonderful and among our reflections of visits to museums that day, I picked up a vibe on the large group nearby, some thirty people, dressed formally as a Washington press corps, but looking younger. "Undergraduate" I picked up with potential for masters of PhD, "Engineering" and "Systems" were there too and someone's badge giving away "Georgetown University Engineering". A number of professors were there and as we departed I asked they were "Engineers"? "Yes, indeed" came the reply from a professor, happy with the question, and of all disciplines. Asked of my "Scottish" accent, I outlined my background and interest in Engineering - one of the students was of Mayo heritage and I left them with an emphasis that Engineers are the foundation of society, to which the professor said he would quote me., it was a nice engagement. During the week I toured the Georgetown University campus which stands upon a high bluff over the Potomac River and brings much life and attitude to Georgetown today. A Catholic exodus from England founded the Maryland colony and Bishop John Carrol founded the university in 1789, almost coincidental with the founding of the federal district by George Washington and has been a pillar of education ever since. Apparently there is a crucifix in every classroom and an aura of Catholicism in the institute, but most scholars are not Catholic and non-religious attendees are have free reign. There was a good vibe on campus, with many people out-doors in the good weather of spring, and a sense of optimism in the future, but also the challenges yet to be faced by each and a slight guilt on the disparity of wealth and opportunity so close to those at the center of power of a great country with the ability to have an influence to improve.

District or Colombia people are friendly we found on our walks around the city, easy to give a nod or salute, and readily engage in conversation, unlike their repository of political leaders in residence there. Whether for business, tourism or politics, the "non-state" D.C. attracts people from all states and countries in the globe, which probably encourages their welcome and openness. A well dressed man entering Trader Joes speaks familiarly with a homeless man who is a regular in the neighborhood, whereby in the absence of support in health or basic needs the small donations keep his tent provisioned under the viaduct nearby. With so many photogenic sites throughout the city, one is routinely asked to take pictures of visitors, which sparks a routine engagement "where are you from, why are you here, Oh, I visited there once, have a nice trip". On day two I was considered a regular at the coffee shop already, "Hi Mr Patrick, want to usual?". Running or walking in the vast parklands and trails around D.C. I would get multi-word salutes, rather than the typical ultra minimal nod or flip of the eyebrow customary around the world.

The architecture of the city is distinctive. It is not unusual for a capitol city to capture a sense of grandeur, but many cities struggle to impose such architecture due to historic constraints, only lately realizing the space needed and reluctant to upset residents with major updates like Haussmann's nineteenth century renovation of Paris. Unites States has a clean sheet to work from with the 1790 residence act approving development of a capital along the Potomac River, measuring 10 miles by ten miles, carved out of a donor state with the provision that the territory be independent and self secured. The result as selected by George Washington was a square of land, rotated by 45 degrees to make a diamond on the north-south axis, adjacent to Georgetown along the north side of the Potomac River. The western part of the square diamond which would have extended across the river into Virginia, perhaps a third of the land available to George's 10x10 grant, was left out of the capitol as to involve two states would be too complicated. The National Mall, a wide expanse of land making centerpiece of memorials, museums and libraries on the east-west axis from the Potomac to the Capitol housing the congress and the Supreme Court on the far east side. To the north The White House for the executive branch of government. Typical of American towns and cities, the main road grid is on a north-south axis and east-west, but Washington also incorporates a number of diagonal arteries, like Pennsylvania Avenue at a 30% angle off east-west axis, which incorporate grand circles at major junctions, which all being a bit more character to the city. What Washington DC really missed was the opportunity to set the layout of the city in a neutral triangle around the three key institutions, the Whitehouse, Capitol and Supreme Court. The good aspect is that they limited the height of buildings and there are no skyscrapers in the city. There was heavy security around The Whitehouse, but many monuments seemed unprotected which seemed at odds with the turbulence and tormoil of a terrorist resistance in the world.

Each morning I would run along the towpath alongside the Cheasapeak & Ohio Canal from Georgetown westward. By the time the canal was constructed all the way to Cumberland, Maryland, it was obsolete as the railroad had taken over transport, but it was a good effort and now supports canal tours and is a great bike and running track. Cupcakes were popular at Baked & Wired around the corner on the weekends with long lines waiting - I waited until a quiet time during the week but was not impressed, partly as a delivery man repeatedly overturned his wheel dolly, like 5 times, sending boxes flying - I thought of advising him to turn the dolly to let it down the step backwards as a more stable method, but left instead. We loved our apartment, but on the balcony it was the loudist ever, with trash collection for hours, construction, beeping horns, and even a car with broken strut such that wheels screached as he lumbered along walking pace, but absolutely the busiest airspace anywhere with helicopters constantly overhead and low flying aircraft. When looking for a diamond ring for engagement present in 1999, being unimpressed with the tacky sales pitch of the retail shops, like Helzberg Jewelers in Kansas City and what I call the Wedding Industrial Complex, I decided to buy on specifications online from Washington Diamond Wholesalers (now Washington Diamond) who delivered a very high quality diamond on a solid platinum ring, perfect for the occasion and much more than on offer locally. We take it for granted to buy online today, but those were the early days and well worth it, still a great business from whom to buy. We learned to be careful crossing streets in Washington as people seem to run red lights routinely, with such important politicians to tend to maybe police ignore the minor misdemeanors.

Tents of the homeless pervaded city parks, a stark contrast to the wealth and power projected by the city and a reflection of policy failure of those who govern here. One homeless man would setup on a bridge nearby every few days with a large cadre of his possessions, some twenty shopping carts full potentially for sale, but would be gone by the evening - querying him, he told me that he moved all those goods to a greenspace parkway nearby as they don't allow him keep them on the bridge. The has been a long tradition of protesting at the Whitehouse on Pennsylvania Avenue between Layfayette Park and the Whitehouse lawns. From noon to 6pm the public is allowed there, many protesters with signs or chanting and many tourists. Some protesters seem to be institutionalized there, showing up at the same place each day protesting homelessness, black lives matter, war, healthcare and a series of seemingly unsolvable problems by the most prosperous and powerful country's politicians. Many more protestors showup spontaneously. "Beer is Good" one sign claimed, Truth Conductor - Stop hating each other because you disagree, Support for Russia Position, Support for Ukraine, Anti-Vaccine, "Low IQ Qanon, this is the White House, not a movie set in Culver City", Antinuclear, "Help Stop Bloodshed of Americas Foreskin by Satin's Circumcizers weakening our immune system", "No Rulers - Government is Slavery - You Own Yourself". The Ukrainian National Anthem was drowned out by a boombox playing political satire and another which loop played quites by Donald Trump in his own voice, his own words being satire uneidted. On St Patrick's day Irish Prime Minister Michael Martin was visiting Washington DC staying in Blair House across the street from the Whitehouse as evident by the Irish Flag over the door. Unfortunately he has contracted Covid so had to quarantine there and meet President Bidan across the street via teleconference.

"Where is the FBI located?", a lady asked me on the street one day. A little startled as I have never been asked that question before and I had no idea. A block or two down the street I came across the imposing fasade of the J. Edgar Hoover F.B.I. Building. Hoover served the FBI under eight presidents, becoming an over powerful institution himself, harboring compromising materials on many famous or influential people as means of power over them, as well as for his own pornographic use, using illegal tactics. Many reports and circumstantial evidence came forward that Hoover was a homosexual in a world which was so terrified of homosexuality President Eisenhower signed an order barring them from Federal jobs, ensuring Hoover would remain deeply closeted and direct his power to quash rumors. Federal agency buildings are scattered all over the city inside and outside the Federal Triangle. American and global institutions all seem to have a home somewhere in the city, like The World Bank or the EU Embassy to USA on Penn Ave which we passed every day, the EU flag at half mast in recognition to the invasion of Ukraine, whose flag was flown underneath.

"Taxation without representation" read an inscription on a Washington DC license plate, a common phrase referring to an existential dilemma for the governance of the District of Colombia - as a compromise for being the home to federal government, the district does not have voting rights in the Senate, although voters do have representation in the House of Representatives and can vote for President and even one Senator who can contribute to drafting legislation, but without voting rights. Has the district two voting senators currently, both surely Democrat, Joe Mansion's power would subside and Democrats would rule congress, allowing Joe Biden's program to progress at full speed. DC will never get such representatives, but is highlights how narrowly balanced the country is politically. Indeed we can all claim "taxation without representation", as my vote is under-representative due to the electoral college, gerrymandering and unfair geographical definition of the Senate, not to mention the packing of supreme court and corporation funds being granted human rights - my vote is only worth 85%, while political opponents get 115% - my taxes should be adjusted accordingly.

Between the Francis Key Scott bridge and the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge, both grand in scale, lay the Theo's island, a respite of nature enveloped by the Potomac and accessible from Virginia. The trees there were still bare from winter, but the Cherry Blossoms started to flower during the week throughout the city. I crossed the river on foot to visit Arlington Cemetery, an enormous parland set sloped toward a gentle hill once owned by the family of General Robert E. Lee, who abandoned the estate at the start of the Civil War, which was seized by the Union as a strategic site to protect the city of Washington. It became a cemetery after the war and has been burial ground for 400,000 veterans marked by standard white marble slabs with curves top and many marked with a Latin cross above name and details of the diseased. Families of the diseased can choose from religious 67 symbols, or leave blank or request for a new one as long as the belief if deemed genuine. Besides the main religions, there are also Atheist, Humanist, and Infinity symbols, but not yet The Flying Spaghetti Monster. The tomb of the unknown soldier stands on a hill under the constant vigil of a lone soldier marking back and forth periodically. John Kennedy is buried in Arlington marked with an eternal flame, and along with some of his family including Jackie and his brother Robert. As I left the hill of sadness and sacrifice a ruckus on the Richmond Highway caught my attention, a convoy of truckers beeping horns, flying Trump flags and signs, absorbing the fast land on the beltway would the city in protest of Covid mandates - really, when so many sacrificed so much for country up on Arlington, these idiots burn diesel and block traffic because they are asked to have a vaccine or negative test to cross borders. Three times as many Covid deaths have occurred in Trump's top five states when compared to Biden's per capita - keep it up and win the Darwin awards, and maybe shift the political balance.

During the week of pristine sunny spring weather, Thursday March 17th was a stark exception, mist an rain straight from the Irish playbook of weather in honor of St Patrick's day. As I rested from a day touring museums at Pershing Park I heard a bagpipe player across the way from inside grounds of the Treasury, starting we a very familiar song, The Rose of Tralee, followed by other Irish tunes, surely a nod to St Patrick's day. A while later the lulling bagpipes were overtaken by a haunting tune of Taps played on bugle by a lone soldier standing high in a ledge facing a statue of General John J Persing. As always in the Capital many themes compete for attention and that evening I was going to dig a little deeper into Irish roots around the Capital with a tour by author Ed Moser. We started at the Lockhouse on the Mall, one of the few early buildings left standing there and a marker of where the Chesapeake & Ohio canal terminated. Aspirations for the canal are carried in the name with "Ohio" planned to be the other terminus, which never happened and the railroads took over. I was more familiar with the New York and Boston Irish history, but Ed was a treasure trove on Irish influence in Washington DC, on which he focused his talk this St Patrick's day. The Whitehouse architect was Irishman James Hoban who won against nine competitors, but Washington seems to have been impressed with his work on the South Carolina capitol - I mentioned to Ed that there were some architectural features similar to the Irish Parliament (Bank of Ireland since 1803) building which would have been standing while Hoban studied in the city. Irish laborers were attracted from catholic Maryland to build the C&O Canal with backbreaking work during the 1830s, with many of them dying under stress and poor sanitation conditions, rioting periodically in protest against their employers. As we wandered up 17th street toward the Whitehouse the grand Corcoran School of Arts building came into view - William Wilson Corcoran, son of an Irishman developed from a merchant business into banking and eventually his own bank which made him quite wealthy, which was spent in philanthropy and art collection which eventually formed the school. Ed continued with the stories, which became more sensational than historiy, but we did learn that General Robert E Lee was offered charge of the Union army before he decided to join the Confederates.

The first museum we booked in DC was the Museum of the Palestinian People as it was only open on Saturday afternoons and our noon slot on our last full day in DC proved to be one of the most educational and engaging visits during our time in the city. Arriving slightly late due to a missed turn, our guide Ahmed had started with a positive message - if Germany and Berlin was split just thirtysomething years ago and now unified, there is hope of for the Palestinians and Israelis to settle things also, which is true, but Israel-Palestine conflict is more parallels with Northern Ireland "troubles" on steroids, rather than the imposition of the Iron Curtain. We moved on the a map of the region after WW1 and the carve-up of Arab lands after the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the British Mandate & French lands split up based on their national interests and supported by the League of Nations, the flight of Jews from Russia, Ukraine and Europe after centuries of Anti Jewish attitudes there which erupted into pogroms during the Russian Revolution. The setup of Zionist state of Israel, war with Arabs, the history is well known, but the causes not agreed upon and explained in an understanding way by our host and other quite knowledgeable people attending as onboarding to offer the guided tour in future. Following the 1 hour tour we stood there for 45 minutes continuing the discussion. My experience is that no-one is allowed neutrality in discussing the state of Israel ad plight of the Palistinians, discussions get tense and polarized typically and the term anti-Semite being thrown around quickly, which shuts down any reasonable study of the situation - both sides are Semites, making the term meaningless anyway. What is clear is that the Jewish people deserve a secure and safe place for them to prosper and thrive, Europe undermined that objective - later to the extent of the holocaust, so the Jewish people sought a place that was under their control to secure their future, which would become the state of Israel with the support of USA and Europe, the latter having to take on accountability for setting up the need for such a state in the the hereditary lands of the Jewish People. It should have been a success story, however, there were non-Jewish people on there, The Palestinians, who were driven off the lands like the British drove the Irish from the arable lands of Ireland for the rocky soil on Connemara. An injustice is an injustice regardless of the case for setting up the state of Israel, so the foundation of the state has an original sin from which it is unable yet to emerge. There seems little room for compromise on both sides currently and and relentless slights continue to enflame the tensions, very sad outcome with enough blame to go around geopolitically.

One of the reasons to visit DC was the Smithsonian's large complex of museums, which we were glad to learn were free to visit, but we needed to optimize our visit time as it was spring break week for schools and quite busy. Still we only got to six or seven out of a much wider range, but could not get into some important, The African American Museum and Air & Space Museum, as they were always full - best to get tickets online beforehand where possible. Museums we visited (lots more for next visit):

Smithsonian National Museum of American History
Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History
National Gallery of Art
National Museum of the American Indian
Dumbarton Oaks Museum
Museum of the Palestinian People
The Phillips Collection

Thomas Cole - Voyage of Life, Childhood, Youth, Manhood, Old Age

Lincoln Reflecting Pool under The Washington Monument

Lincoln Reflecting Pool under The Lincoln Memorial

Flags at the Washington Monument

The Capitol Building of Congress

East side of The Capitol Building of Congress

The Supreme Court

The Watergate Complex (6th Flr 2600 Virginia at center left)

The Capitol over Washington Monument

The Whitehouse

Protester at the Whitehouse

Homeless Camps of Washington DC

Death of a bicyclist, Washington DC

Relaxing on the River

Stormy Seas for the Dutch

Marine Corp Memorial: Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima

MAGA Sucks Putin!

Shoes of Dorothy, Wizard of Oz

Taras Shevchenko, Ukraine Independence Supporter

Homeless doesn't mean empty handed!

Humboldt, Kansas

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Mon, 31 Jan 2022 23:11:00 +0000

Humboldt - Neosho River - Allen County - Kansas

Humboldt, Kansas

Having moved to Kansas City in 1993 for a new job and without knowing anyone in the area, I savored my weekends exploring remove and rural parts of Kansas, ghost towns, farmlands, oil history and capturing in photography scenes from a state with a somewhat fascinating history. Many place names are Native American, Kansa, Wichita, Osage from original tribes, or Shawnee and Ottawa having been moved from the east. For shorter trips from the city I focused on South East Kansas, land of the Chippewa, Pottawatomi, Miami tribes who were moved there in the 1830's prior to European settlement which started in 1854. Today Kansas evokes many associations: Wizard of Oz being one I heard more internationally, my Aunt in Ireland thought I had moved to the set of some western movie, there's the Basketball and March Madness, Kansas City Chiefs (even through the are based in Missouri), Reverend Phelps quirky obsession with homosexuality in protests against Military funerals, Dinosaur Bones, Religion of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Overland Park girls who used Mercedes emblem to protest nuclear weapons (the spokes are arranged differently), John Brown the abolitionist, Tornados and much much more - needless to say, Kansas has a reputation for being a conservative state, so conservative in fact that it seems the state regularly votes in a Democratic governor for balance and seeks to gerrymander out the only Democratic state representative. While the population of the stats grew in the last decade, population decreased in 80 counties, meaning the state population is becoming more urban and many rural counties and towns have been in decline for many decades. One of these towns is Humboldt in Allen county, and having visited it on my wandering travels in 1994, I would return for a visit in 2022 having heard a radio piece on the New York Times 52 Places to visit for a Changed World.

German migrants from Connecticut settled the town in 1857, ambitiously naming the town after Barron von Humboldt, famous explorer and scientist after whom the famous University in Berlin is named. Kansas at the time was in the throws of low level civil war over it's position on slavery and a proxy war was underway to sway the vote referred to as "Bleeding Kansas". John Brown has sparked a bloody conflict between pro & anti-slavery groups the year before with the Pottawatomie Creek massacre, where he killed five slave hunters not far north of Humboldt. The war over slavery was less about overturning the entrenches "South" at the time than halting the expansion of slavery in new territories, which is what brought abolitionist John Brown to the area from the east with his five sons, including John Brown Junior. Her would later serve in the Kansas Cavalry during the civil war and resided in Humboldt February 10th through March 25th 1862 as recorded in letters to his wife Wealthy Brown - much of the content related health issues of his own or his fellow soldiers, the cold weather, news of the war, minor administrative matters and the like, but a few interesting excerpts written from Humboldt are provided below:

Humboldt Kansas

Sunday March 9th 1862

My own Precious Wife:

(excerpt of an execution)...... Yesterday afternoon one of the men of the Regiment was publicly shot. The circumstances are briefly these. About a week since two men of Company "H", Irishmen, one by the name of Driscol and the other McGinnis, got partially drunk. A dispute arose between them about a revolver, which they agreed to settle by a fist or knock down fight, during which, Driscol getting the worst of it drew a knife and stabbed McGinnis in several places. The knife in one place entering the lungs. McGinnis was taken to the hospital, where he yet lies, barely alive, breathing through the opening in his side whenever the bandages are removed, and Driscol was ironed by Dan Williams the Regimental Black Smith - and put under guard in the guard house. - - While in the guard house he was informed that McGinnis would in all probability die, and that if a Court Martial did not sentence him to death, the men of Company H would lynch him. One night last week he succeeded in drawing off his boot and the iron from his ancle and crawling under the guard tent made his escape taking with him Col Anthony's horse. In the morning several squads of men were sent after him stimulated by a reward of $200 offered by Col. Anthony for his capture. He was caught about forty miles from here and brought into camp on Friday evening - He was again heavily ironed, and next day in the forenoon a Court Martial was ordered where he was convicted of desertion under agravating circumstances and sentenced to be shot at Dress Parade last evening. He was informed of the sentence only about an hour before the Execution. When told of his fate he cried and sobbed like a child and begged for two of three days or at least twenty four hours. He wanted he said at least time to write his wife in St. Louis. In short time the music sounded for Parade and them men came out without arms and formed the usual line in two ranks I managed to get a rod or two from the house where I stay, where I could see the whole line and all the proceedings - As soon as the Band had ceased "Beating off", an ambulance drawn by two mules brought the prisoner on to the ground, preceded and followed by a number of men as guards Bostwick being "Officer of the Guard" yesterday took command of the guard - The ambulance was drawn in front of the center of the line about fifteen rods distant and the poor fellow was brought out, his wrists shackeled in front. The men about twenty in number who who had been detailed to shoot him where then marched to with ten paces of him and brought into line. The guards then left him standing alone. He would not have his eyes bandaged. Oh how awfully alone. He then said that liquor had brought him to this, and warned all to let it entirely alone. He then told them to take good aim", and crossing himself in Catholic form as well as he could with shackled hands, turned his face to the sky. "Ready" - - "Aim" - - "fire" - - and he fell backwards on his left side- turned on his back, then on his right side, the fell back, and his conscious existence in this sphere was closed. - - - - - - - There are very many of us who feel that there were after all, many extenuating circumstances sufficient at least to have justified some regard to his request for a few days or hours time - - - But the men who have been in the habit of killing disarmed men in cold blood, are not those to whom a convict ever need look for mercy or any mittigation of punishment. Cowardice and blood thirsty cruelty are inseperable companions - - - - - - It is now almost night again. I have had several spells writing this, being obliged to change my position every few minutes. ....

John Brown Junior

Humboldt Kansas

Tuesday March 18th 1862

My Precious Wife:

(exerpt).... The news has just come that Gen Hunter has been transfered to the Potomac and that we are now in the Department commanded by that pro slavery Gen Halleck who refuses to allow fugitive slaves to come within his lines. Of course this news creates a great deal of excitement among us. Almost every one has some opinion to express, but the general belief is that since Gen Halleck does not like our Regiment that he will either put us where we can't hurt slavery, or drop us out of the service among the other Cavalry Regiments which have been ordered to be mustered out.....

John Brown Junior

Born of turbulence in removal of native tribes, of Bleeding Kansas, and of the Civil War, Humboldt was burned down by the confederated in 1861, but survived and thereafter developed on farming the newly tamed lands, harvesting the woodlands and Neosho River and eventually connected with a rail line the population grew to 2500 people by early twentieth century. C.W. Campbell House is a great example of the earlier dwellings built in Humboldt, hewn of rough planks of local wood, built for his wife and himself, simple in design, but surely secure an comforting against the elements for the time. Larger towns like Yates Center, Fort Scott, Chanute and Iola, which took over the country seat from Humboldt in the early days through trickery the locals would say, would limit further growth to the status of a city, but the town became prosperous and by the 1870's had a vibrant town center with business, shops and hotels. A mill was built powered by water from the Neosho River. Many businesses sprang up in town by the turn of the century - Central Grocery, Nysinger & Co, Hiawatha House, a Gymnasium, Leman's Clothing, Clark Lumber, Lymons Cafe, Osborn Lumber, Humboldt Brick & Tile, Redfield & Cannon Insurance, Wilcox service station and the typical business of a thriving town. Walter Burtiss, born in Illinois in 1878, moved to Humboldt Kansas by the turn of the century and by 1906 owned and ran the Star Livery and Feed Barn, there. He married Ina Wood and had three children there, remaining in town until passing away in 1950. Walter "Big Train" Johnson, who was inducted in the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1936 was born in Humboldt in 1887.

Other businesses emerged in the 20th century, including Monarch Cement Company which became an anchor business and employer in the are, but as farming became more efficient and mechanized and more industrial opportunities opened up in large cities after the second world war, the population began a slow decline which accelerated in the 21st century. By the 1980's the town was in fast decline the mayor told us with many young people departing without plans to return, a death knell for any rural town. We had met him as we departed Opies Family Restaurant after lunch and talked for half an hour standing in the park across the street, as he told us about progress in the town which landed it on the 52 best places to visit in 2022 by the New York Times. Recognizing the need to catalyze and drive change in the town, a group of volunteers formed "A Bolder Humboldt" to encourage renovation of buildings in town, generate new businesses, meet the needs of modern life including sports, exercise, connectivity and make the place attractive to returners or newcomers. Paul Cloutier was one such newcomer whom I had heard on the radio outline his reasoning for moving from an expensive and crowded west coast city to bring a family up in Humboldt. Since 2016 the group has certainly had an impact as the mayor pointed out the various new businesses developed or planned. A brewery was under construction, the owner working hard on the interior across Bridge Street. Bijou, a confectionary looked enticing nearby. Unfortunately Opies, where we had lunch was planning to close, but the momentum had shifted in the town and many more projects were underway. Seven churches serve the faithful in the small town, allowing 250 congregants per church, or less if allowing for a few atheists and maybe less again as one church is being converted into a music hall. Apparently some photographers were in town staying at Base Camp and has made the connect with the New York Times, but the town's progress can speak for itself.

A modern and inviting Fitness Center north of town is also a differentiator for a town of its size. Nearby the large production facilities of B&W Hitch company were thriving, with parking lots full and "We're Hiring" signs outside. Out of the decline in 1980's B&W was born Humboldt men who applied their skills to the problem of a gooseneck trailer hitch - it sticks out awkwardly from the pickup bed - instead they designed and produced an inverted hitch, the Turnoverball Gooseneck Hitch, which proved a massive success in the market place and grew their business from garage to factory, providing significant employment to town and region. Joe & Roger are town legends and also help fund progressive projects in support of A Bolder Humboldt.

My first visit to Humboldt was in the fall of 1993 while I explored the backroads of Kansas for exploration and photography. Although warm for the time of year, it was a cool day under clear blue skies and bright sunshine that I returned, again entering through the vast network of unpaved roads which link Kansas up in square grid pattern, the dust rising behind us as it did almost three decades before, passing the ghost town of Neosho Falls and arriving eastward across the Neosho Rover into Bridge Street, Humboldt. Much had changed over those years and for the better. The story of Humboldt is the story of so many rural midwestern towns, and it is hard to imagine now how energetic and progressive was the settlement in Kansas in the second half of the 19th century, but great to see a town recognize the challenge and put the effort in to adapt. The Covid pandemic has also changed how American's work opening up the opportunity to live and work remotely from towns like Humboldt, which will hopefully provide a better pace and cost of living for next generations.

Long gone is is the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Rail Road line through Humboldt today, having being replaced by an excellent cycle path stretching for many miles north-south and one of the key attractions for a rural town for next generation residents for whom exercise is an integral part of life. The railroad was for much of the town's history a key artery of transport as illustrated in a letter to Governor St John from Samuel Price advising how best to get to Humboldt Kansas for a visit in 1880:

Humbolt Kans. May 10, 1880

Hon. J.P. St. John

Sir.

Yours of 6 recd. We will make arrangements for your visit to us Thursday evening, May 20th at 8 o'clock, and at Iola at 2 P.M. of same day. By coming on the M. K. & T. R.R. from Emporia, you arrive here just in time to transfer to K.C. Le. & Southern, which will take you to Iola. There you will have time enough to make your address, and return on the down train to Humbolt. Or should you prefer it, we can take you in a carriage from this point to Iola and return. If you take the route by Lawrence, and down the K. C. Le. & S. you will have to come the day before, or else take a freight train on the latter road, which is often uncertain as respects time. You had better come by Emporia. Please inform me in due time in reference to your route. We expect a large crowd of people to attend.

Yours Truly

Samuel Price

New Your Times Article 2022:

In 2016, a group of Kansas locals who had left decades ago began asking themselves, “What would it take to move back home?” The answer lay in tiny Humboldt, two hours southwest of Kansas City with a population of fewer than 2,000 people. With the support of the local community, the group established an organization, A Bolder Humboldt, to revitalize rural living, with the town becoming an unexpected and affordable oasis of cool surrounded by fields of wheat and soybeans. A Bolder Humboldt has already opened shops, community gardens and co-working spaces, with a boutique hotel, a honky-tonk bar and a bookstore all in the works. Outdoor movies are screened on the town square, and the whole town participates in an annual water fight. Base Camp is a collection of lakeside rental cabins at the edge of town, and cyclists can ride a 60-mile trail to nearby Lawrence and the University of Kansas. Humboldt is betting these elevated experiences will draw both locals and tourists to the glories of the Great Plains.

— Gabriela Herman

New York Times top 52 places to visit 2022 - Humboldt Kansas

Barbour Shop, Humboldt

Pixley's Millinery, Humboldt Kansas

Fussman's Drug Store 1905

Bridge Street, Humboldt, KS

Shopfront on Bridge Street

Confectionary Shop, Humboldy, KS

Union Brewery Under Construction

City Park, Humboldt, KS

Neosho Valley Woodworks

Fitness Center, Humboldt, Kansas

B&W Trailer Hitches, Humboldt Kansas

Oil Production, Allen County

Bridget Street, Humboldt, Kansas

Unpaved Roads of Kansas

Tin Roof Panels, Humboldt Kansas

Remnants of Kansas Oil Boom

Further historic documents and photos can be found at www.kansasmemory.org:

Neosho River Flood 1951 Humboldt KS

Bridge Street Humboldt KS 1900

Bridge Street Humboldt KS 1970

Humboldt Association Band, late 19th century

Humboldt Brick Factory, 1960

Humboldt Hotel, 1870's

Humboldt KS late 19th centry

Central Grocery, Humboldt late 19th century

Bridge Street, Humboldt 1870's

South 8th Street, Humboldt KS 1870's

Humboldt Readymix 1962

Monarch Cement Humboldt 1960

Monarch Cement Humboldt 1920

Humboldt Society River excursion, 1870's

Humboldt 37th Anniversary Parade, 1894

Texaco Gas Station, 1930's

Walter Burtiss & Co, Humboldt 1870's

Walter Johnson of Baseball fame, Humboldt KS 1912

Humboldt Mill, 1900's

C.W. Campbell House, Humboldt, 1855

Hargnies, France

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Fri, 26 Nov 2021 16:36:00 +0000

Hargnies - Charleville - Ardennes

Town Bell in Vierves, Belgium

Some quarrel between the polar and equatorial airs off in some distant part of the world left northern Europe in a windless damp malaise of clouds, strange for what is usually an energetic and blustery November. Under a gray crystal sky and still wintry air, barely holding back snows or rain, the desolate season's moods were revealed in the high forests of the Ardennes above the Meuse. The criteria was simple - where on the map are there the most forests in the region and it turned out to a peninsula of France which protrudes into Belgium north of Charleville-Mezieres. This is where I would give thanks late November 2021, hike the winter forests and regenerate over a four day weekend at the little town of Hargnies, picked at random based on it's central location in the most forested area I could find. As if to provide contrast to the persistent cloud cover which added mood to the weekend, the day of arrival was with the most blue sunny skies which was a great way to view the high walled Meuse river valley after a brief stop at the 13th century church under the citadel of Dinant. Reflections on the still waters of the Meuse River duplicated mansions of brick, stone and wealth across the way. Dams and lock gates hold the waters still along this section of the river. Why the Meuse flows through the high Ardennes is a complete mystery, as it should have taken an easier and lower route to the coast via North France. There is no case for a water dam high enough to force water slows across the Ardennes, which would require a few hundred meters of elevation, so I can only conclude the river valley was originally carved from waters flowing southward due to ice dams of the glaciers to the north and then reversed at some point.

Hargnies village of 500 residents sits 300 meters elevation with surrounding hills up to 500 meters resulting in harsh winter conditions and giving the area the name "Roof or Ardennes". Hargnies is isolated and would be a perfect place to hide for someone "on the run" or in some government witness protection program, so it served for a perfect base for a weekend in the forests. The few shops in town, a boulangerie and delicatessen, had closed permanently and the one restaurant was empty each evening as I passed on my walk, mainly serving takeout to the villagers who seem to live secretly behind closed shutters and curtains. Still, dark and silent, but for the wind and water flowing in the gutters, was the extent of a Friday night in Hargnies. Saturday night brought a bit more life to the village with a community dinner at the hall near the park. I gladly spent my time there un-noticed, but for a few dogs barking and a horse I made friend with at the edge of town, coming running to meet each time I passed.

Gone was the sun of the day of arrival and I settled into three days of hiking under clouds, in mist, rain sleet, some snow and some dry. The first day out I followed a 30 milometer loop east into Belgium and then south, but was halted by a section of private property which was not marked on my map, so I diverted north and made a good day out of it. The maps generally proved fickle and I had to do some dead reckoning and navigation of my own to make my way. Periodically, stands of planted conifers arranged in a grid grew thick, blocking skylight from brown needle carpeted forest floor. Elsewhere natural forests of Oak, Birch and Beech trees stood leaf bare for the winter and spaced enough to easily navigate when off trail. One could easily get lost in the vastness of these forests and I was glad to have navigation support if global positioning system at my disposal.

The second day out I made it further, heading North along the upper ridge all the way to meet the Meuse River at which stood the enormous cloud generating machine of the Chooz Nuclear Plant. From the heights above the deep river valley, my eyeline aligned with the top of the giant hyperbolic cooling towers, a grand view of the facility opened up. The evaporative coolers take water from the Meuse River and sent clouds into the sky which merged with the low overcast of the day. Giant power transmission lines cut across the high Ardennes forests south to the population centers. While numerous countries moved away from nuclear, France has embraced it and has one of the cleanest power generating grids in the world today, with over 80% from nuclear. While many environmentalists object to nuclear and many countries including Germany have moved away from it by policy, the result is more fossil fuel use and dependence by Europe on Russian gas. A new wave of nuclear should be embraced to help move off coal and gas power globally. Turing eastward, descending toward the La Houille River, I hiked south along the France-Belgium border through a variety of terrain, trying to keep my feet dry and not lose the trail which disappeared in places. Not one person did I meet along the 26 kilometer hike, but for a few cautious deer and inquisitive wild dogs I had the forests to myself. Still in the forests, but not far from Hargnies my presence startled two gnarly Alsatian dogs who came to attack. I had put a rock in my pocket earlier in case I had to protect against the wild dogs, but they were friendly and I threw the rock away. The first Alsatian came lunging at me, barking, nashing teeth and I poised myself, waiting until he was close enough and got a full on kick into the side of his head, my heavy hiking boot giving enough force to send him scurrying, while the second came for attack - just then a lady came running and shouting to get her dogs under control and I walked on, having grabbed a stick for defense.

Day three departing town westward to the edge of town, a hunter there on the trail ahead dressed in winter green, rifle over shoulder, walks along a path toward the woods. I follow a different trail through the fields descending into a forested valley. "tkucfoo" came report of his first shot not far away and too soon to have encountered a red deer who would not have ventured so close to town, maybe a bird then or just a test shot - I am sure the deer know the routine already, the hunting dates are posted at the woods edge and they've seen enough of their comrades downed on day of "tkucfoos" that they know to be alert and away in the woods too deep for truck or village footmen. A few more shots report across the valley and my lucid mind couldn't stop wandering through the potential events of the day. Mistaken as a moving target, becoming a casualty of mistaken hunting pray kept me alert on the trail, but could it be worse? So remote these woods and so few the people, could not a rogue gunman take me out at point blank range, some slaughter of the innocent without defense. My mind went to a dark place, imagining what execution by gun would be like. The trail worsened to rock and mud, eventually mixing with a stream descending lower into some abyss under gray skies, soon there was a trail no more and I was battling the wet, bushes and rocks of an uninviting valley floor, but recalled a parallel trail higher up, so climbed the steep leaf strewn valley-side to join a much better marked trail. Soon I was full on a steady hike, the gunshots gone and my mind back and elevated to the nature for which I had come.

Descending along the Le Risdoux river valley I came across the old mill house Moulin Limbourg which housed a water wheel long decayed. Further along as the stream gained volume some beavers setup dams to hold back ponds for their habitat. Some tall trees near the water has bark removed for a section near the base, the beaver's work, these trees would die and fall at some point, providing structure for there dams. High above the river stood bluffs of gray Devonian sandstone which form the foundation of the Ardennes. Eventually I emerged from the forest in the grounds of a grand estate along the Meuse River, Domaine Château le Risdoux. Numerous dams hold back the waters of the Meuse, making it smooth wide and navigable. Arthur Rimbaud would have walked along this bank in 1870 and witnessed a different scene, a more industrialized river front as water, wood and rock of the Ardennes came together with the tough life of laborers and the industrial revolution. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of fish swam in the clear Meuse waters at the mouth of the La Risdoux. I would circle back westward, but for a sign warning of a hunting session in those woods, so I gladly avoided the guns and returned via the Le Risdoux valley a ways until found another way around westward to the heights of the Ardennes hills over the Meuse. On the return to Hargnies, the trail disappeared, but I continued by dead reckoning and a little navigation eventually seeing buildings of town to my relief as the afternoon snows came.

The happiest days in the short life of Arthur Rimbaud were spent as a teenage vagabond on foot wandering the countryside of Belgium. He hailed from Charleville just half hour drive south of Hargnies and I like to imagine he would have walked north through Montherme and the highlands of the Ardennes through which I had hiked as he headed to Belgium, maybe even passing the village of Hargnies, but it seems he walked along the Meuse River deep in the valley from Montherme to Givet and on to Charleroi in Belgium. May 24 1870 he wrote to De Banville, "These are the months of love, I', seventeen, the time of hope and chimeras, as they say, and so, a child blessed by the hand of the muse (how trivial that must seem), I've set out to express my good thoughts, my hopes, my feelings, the provinces of poets - I call all of this spring", which reflects all the progress hope and optimism. His wanderlust started that year as he would run away from home regularly - that summer to Charleroi, a reflection of which he wrote to Leon Billuart later that year "...I suppered on odors rising from the cellar windows from which wafted aromas of roast meats and birds in the god bourgeois kitchens of Cherleroi, then went off to nibble bar of Fumay chocolate under the moonlight..."

Having been drawn to his writings around 2005 while learning and reading French (also the 1st year I ran the Marathon in Paris), I was enthralled his verse, The Drunken Boat, Seasons in Hell, Illuminations - as with any talent his writings seemed to hit the page effortlessly which masked the enormous level of focus, work, commitment and extensive reading he had done already by his mid teens. One of the numerous houses in which Rimbaud had lived stands centrally along the Meuse in Charleville. Across the street elevated on great stone arches over the river stands the Arthur Rimbaud museum which I visited one afternoon where they scrabbles together what we have on his life, besides his writings, a few photographs, some letters and some tributes. Rimbaud was always restless and driven, but at the age of 21, having delivered so much, pivoted away from his passion of writing and traveled with focus on developing business, eventually in Africa. This pivot, the little we know of his life in Africa and his painful tragic death from knee cancer at thirty seven bring a sense of loss to any Rimbaud scholar and of sadness. "The suffering is tremendous, but one must bear up against it, to be born a poet" he writes to George Izambard during his poet years. "It's torture" he writes of his leg amputation, pain and immobility in his last half year. Having read his poetry I now started reading his letters which provide great context for that we know of Arthur Rimbaud.

Another writer from Triegnes nearby, Arthur Masson, famous for his character Toine Culot and writing some 30 novels well known in France. A museum and statues of a trio of his characters stand in the town today. The village of Vierves nearby is home to prominent Castle of Viroinval which was host to a group of hunters clad in orange jackets the day of my visit.

Crosses common thoughout Ardennes

Stand of conifers shade moss of Ardennes

My horse friend of Hargnies

Rock Gate to Dinant, Belgium

Dinant Belgium on the Meuse River

Crooz Nuclear Power Plant

Presbytery house of Hargnies

Arthur Rimbaud

Writing of Arthur Rimbaud

Museum of A.Rimbaud, Charleville

Moulin Limbourg

Foundation of Roman Villa near Tiergnes, Belgium

Body Bell of Vierves

Characters of Arthur Masson, Tiergnes, Belgium

Castle of Hierges

Bare trees of November, brown carpeted forests

November Snows of Ardennes Highlands

Everyone shares the forest, but some have guns!

Florence, Italy

noreply@blogger.com (Padraig McGillycuddy) — Thu, 21 Oct 2021 13:16:00 +0000

Florence - Uffizi - Stibbert - Galileo - Leonardo - Michelangelo - Dante - Machiavelli

Arno River through Florence

Trains are such a wonderful way to travel, especially when you have your own private cabin as we did on route from Venice to Florence, not quite the Orient Express, more of a modern fast train reaching our destination in just two hours after having tunneled underneath the Apennines. An easy walk to Via Faenza brought us to our apartment for six nights in the city of culture. Our first visit to Florence was on a few wintery days November 1999 where we recall visiting Bolobi Gardens and the Ufizzi Gallery. Our second visit was a day trip during a week staying in the sunny summer countryside of XXXX at an ancient chapel converted into a country rental, La Chiesina Di Vittorio, near San Gimignano, city of towers.

The Uffizi Gallery is one of my favorite places to explore and what a history it unveils, originally built as an administrative building for Cosimo de Medici, who used the top floor as a display gallery for his art collection meaning that the Uffizi has been an active gallery since the 1580's, open then only to friends of Cosimo, but later to the public by appointment and finally in 1765. During the intervening years nudity has taken on a new taboo with a particular stigma in exposure of male genitalia in public, but here in the Ufizzi one will see the highest concentration of penes anywhere today and a reflection of the openness during the 15th an d16th century art world. Much of that was itself a reflection of classical Greek and Roman sculpture from almost two millennia prior. The renaissance was funded by powerful patrons, like Cosmo de Medici and whose artists refashioned the art and myths of classical times for the modern world, nudity included and without hang-ups which would come later. When John Ashcrost became USA Attorney General in 2002 one of the most egregious cover-ups occurred at the Justice Department, the partly naked statues male and female would be clad with cloth, statues whose generals were not exposed, but whose bare chests and breasts insulted the sensibilities of a conservative - a true conservative would have taken Greek and Roman sensibilities over modern restrictions. In many ways it was modernism which brought around the resistance to public nudity - up until the 15th century public nudity was common on unisex bath houses necessary for sanitation of the people, but as Europe became wealthier as growing middle class with private baths and well cloth removed the need for public nudity and changed the norms of society.

David of biblical report was sculpted by Michelangelo Buonarroti between 1501 and 1504 as a commission to be placed on the roof of the grand white marble clad Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. What he produced was too beautiful a work to stand so aloofly and the city council decided to place it prominently in Palazzo Vecchio, where a replica stands today, the original having been moved for protection from deterioration by the elements and pigeons to the Galleria dell 'Accademia where it stands today.

Sitting on the marble floor the view up has an angle one may have looked at it on the cathedral roof to get an insight into how Michelangelo portrayed the massive statue, over 5 meters tall, robust in proportions overall, but with particularly large head and hands, probably due to it's intended elevated location. The Ufizzi is full of statues of the time carved to reflect classical renderings of historic scenes found in Rome and Greece, but Michelangelo took a radical departure, carving David with sling in anticipation of battle, rather than the traditional pose after winning, standing on the head of Goliath. His forehead reflects prebattle worry, while his eyes reflect determination and his stance the confidence of an athlete in his prime. Michelangelo carved an uncircumcised penis at rest, which was typical of the classical portrayals, but has been received with reservation over the centuries, having been covered up at times - while governments typically leverage wars to keep the people docile, churches typically leverage sexual restrictions and indeed it was the city council who made a secular statement against the warring pope to place the statue in the public square, nudity and all. Only one council member objected, Leonardo da Vinci. Famous for killing his Philistine opponent Goliath who towered over him at a height of 6 cubits and a span (9'9"), we may assume the Israelite David was average height of the day, 5'9", so the story of David & Goliath is a parable about the underdog who prevails over the greater enemy aggressor. Little is really known about David but that which is written in the bibles, which take on some mythical context and it is today understood more likely that Elhanan killed Goliath, but the writers repositioned David in that role to make his feat commensurate with his prominent position as King of Israelites. Michelangelo took further license with size, portraying his at an impressive height of 17 foot.

The Greek myth of Laocoon, a Trojan priest who cautioned Troy to burn the wooden horse, suspicious of a trick, but angered the gods who sent a serpent to kill him and his sons. The scene is depicted in a dramatic statue Baccio Bandinelli from 1506 based on the Greek original as described by Pliny the Elder and stands today in the statue corridors of The Uffizi. Here, we have the entire story of the Renaissance in microcosm: an artistic commission from a powerful leader based on a work of antiquity, which is then refashioned for a contemporary audience by a master craftsman.

Besides the arts were the scientific advancements of some of the great men of Florence, including Galileo Galilei to whom a museum of scientific instruments is dedicated nearby The Uffizi. Since my teenage years I have always had a fascination with scientific instruments and the museum houses a great collection, many of which inspired by his works, including the movements of planets, which he concluded was around the Sun, very much influenced by the great German scientist, Nicolaus Copernicus who died just a few decades before he was born. Galileo engaged in debate with the counter argument by the Catholic Church which provoked a hearing at the Inquisition in 1615, after which he decided it best to lay low for a period, but the debate would not die down, and encouraged by the Pope to write down a neutral set of arguments for and against (with aim to allow the church maintain it's position), Galileo wrote the book "Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems" published in 1632. Arguments for the church were put forward by a character called "Simplicio", which was received as "simpleton" and an insult by the church. Brought before the Inquisition, he was found suspect of heresy by advocating that the Sun stands at the center of the Universe and the Earth, not at it's center, moves around the Sun. Imprisonment he avoided, his sentence being commuted to house arrest. Part of his sentence required he testify against the claim the Earth moved around the Sun, which he did, but later attributed to have said "but yet it moves!". He continued science in house arrest, writing a book "Two New Sciences" on kinematics and strength of materials. He died in 1642 having provided a vast contribution to astronomy, engineering, physics and mathematics. The museum displays a large number of instruments typical of what he used to make observations confirming his belief of how the universe worked. In today's world for science our instruments are far more advanced, but look mundane and artless structures of steel, aluminum, glass and plastic, but the instruments of the 16th century were beautiful works of art carved in wood and clad in brass, with elements of glass, copper and alloys of the day. That one could develop such an understanding of physics and our world with such basic instruments speaks to the potential intellect of the human mind to creatively built upon basic observations, develop theories and further test by observations.

Another famous contributor to science was the artists Leonardo da Vinci to whom are dedicates a number of museums in the city, each displaying modern models of the amazing machines he sketched during his lifetime. Not an experimental scientist like Galileo, but more of an imaginative artist who conventionalized how things could work from observation, helicopters, water pumps and human flight all sketched out many centuries before becoming reality. He was an amazing student of anatomy and physiology, drawing sketched of the skeletal and musculature systems of the human body. Most of all he is known for his iconic paintings.

Science has brought so much to human progress, but Investments have been modest relative to what we have spent in security and military as was evidently on display at the Stibbert Museum. Frederick Stibbert was half English, half Italian and inherited enormous wealth from his grandfather who was a commander in the British East India Company. He specialized in Military Armor from the 15th to 19th century from Europe and Asia and gathered up sizable inventory which are on display in the large mansion which was formed by combining two mansions, which are set over wonderful gardens open to the public and a nice walk north of Florence in Statuto district. I had the museum to myself for the most part and witnessed the largest collection of weighty steel armor of knights and cavalry troops in northern climates. In warmer climates, lightweight and more breathable materials were used.

With little understanding of maladies which affect the body at the time, the Dominicans sought to medicate with essence of flowers and developed perfumes for sanitation since the 14th century. Since the 16th century they have operated a perfume pharmacy, Officina Profumo - Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella, Via della Scala, 16, whose scented rooms are well worth a visit.

Each day we explored Florence on foot discovering many of the arts and crafts which are still actively produced in the city, with even an exhibit of Native American crafts. Florence and Italy remains a powerhouse in arts, crafts and small businesses making things and many small shots around the city caught our attention. Near our apartment on Via Faenza stood a mask makers shop, Studio d'Arte di Agostino Dessi, which was closed in afternoons as we passed by, but one day I staked out a visit during opening hours and was mesmerized by the face masks on display. Masks are a long tradition in Venice, but also apparently in Sardinia, from where Agostino Dessi came to Florence, drawn by the artistic culture of the city, and started making masks in 1979 and later his daughter, Alice Atellier took up the craft and now runs the workshop. Agostino was there on the day of my visit and signed a beautifully crafter clown's mask I bough there.

I recall visiting a creative and crafter paper and pen show along Piazzi de Pitti across from Boboli Gardens in 1999 and buying beautiful leather-bound notebooks and revisited the shop, but found the prices had escalated too significantly, so declined to buy but peruse instead. Shoes and cloths are made or repaired in little workshops across the city. Statues are made of marble resin these days, unless hand carved in marble, which is quite expensive - for inspiration in my home office, I bought seven small marble resin busts of Florentines I respect: Dante, Cosimo, Michelangelo, Leonardo, Galileo, Machiavelli and mythical David. Italian food if of course one of the world's great culinary traditions and we a great range of local restaurants during the week, but one of the best was another tradition, one of the best was Crown of India, a restaurant near our apartment on Via Faenza. Great visit and staying near the main rail station also allowed us get a tram out to the airport on our departure, b=very convenient.

David by Michaelangelo 1504, Galleria dell'Accademia

Ajax holding Achilles killed by Paris

Hector lays dead as Neoptolemus carries Polyxena to her death

Palazzo Vecchio

Loggia dei Lanzi

Statue of David at Piazza della Signoria

Neptune at Piazza della Signoria

Body armor at Stibbert Museum

Uffizi reflects more open attitude to nudity in 16th century

Dante's Inferno mapped

Public water basin, Florence

Studio d'Arte di Agostino Dessi

Loggia dei Lanzi at night

Piazza della Signoria at night

Dante Alighieri

Palazza Vecchio

Street Art, Florence

Perseus with the Head of Medusa, Loggia dei Lanzi

Davids of all colors in Florence

Boboli Gardens

View from Boboli Gardens, Florence

Boboli Gardens, Florence

Grotta del Buontalenti - Boboli Gardens

Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore

Leonardo da Vinci Museum, Florence

Dyonisis & Ampelos by Pierino da Vinci (Leonardo's nephue) 1553

Room Nr. 18 (The Tribune), Uffizi Gallery

Federico da Montefeltro & Battista Sforza, Duch & Duchess of Urbino

Young man with medallion of Cosimo de Medici

‘Laocoön and his Sons’ by Baccio Bandinelli

Stibbert Museum of military armor

Il Porcellino, based on Calydonian Boar of Greek myth