Top of the Rock

Someone I respect immensely once said to me "do one thing every day that scares you." It sounded crazy. Why on earth would I want to do something that scares me? But watching him, watching how that adage changed him and made him stronger made me wonder if he wasn't on to something. So today I took that to heart and did something that scared me. I went to the Top of the Rock, which is the top floor of Rockefeller Center.

I am no fan of heights, I can rattle off a long and distinguished list of famous buildings I have not ascended. The Eiffel Tower, for instance. The Stratosphere in Las Vegas. I don't like heights. But today I managed to get myself into the elevator and then out of the elevator and out then out the doors and.... WOW. What an amazing view! I even went up to the upper deck. New York is an amazing place, and at ground level it is hard to appreciate the scale. The view from the top gave me a completely different appreciation of this city. The park, the river, the buildings that mark our history, they tell a tale from that height.

New York has been a revelation to me. I have toured the UN, the New York Public Library, Rockefeller Center and Grand Central; I have watched an amazing series of thunder storms pass over the place, done some people watching, a little shopping, a little gawking. And it has only been two days! Tomorrow it will be museums and the park, I think. And to top it off, I get to spend part of this with one of my favorite people.

It has been an amazing trip, I feel fortunate to have had the experience. Time to clear my head, face some fears, come to a better understanding of what I want to do next. I have learned that home is not a physical location, but rather a traveling feast of the people you want to spend time with. I have met some really wonderful people, seen some pretty wonderful things, and feel a new energy and purpose. And I promise to keep doing one thing every day that scares me.

Speed of Life

I love trains. I love the view out the window as the countryside passes before me. I love pulling into train stations and wondering about all the people getting on and off. I love eyeing little towns, random houses, glimpses of rivers as the train passes over a bridge; even the long stretches of nothing but bushes or walls that hide the view are intriguing to me. Right now I am on the train between Edinburgh and London, having just pulled into the station at York.

There is time to think on trains, there is time to be leisurely. There is no rush to see something, or do something or be somewhere. It is enforced leisure. Even the business people who have stepped on board today, dutifully unpacked laptops, unfurled “work” from briefcases, and tucked into their tasks seem to eventually slow down. The tapping of the keyboard becomes less frantic and soon you notice that they are taking long periods to stare out the window. I have to believe that they have stopped pondering the work dilemma in front of them and instead are lost in some daydream.

In the seat across the aisle from me, a woman has traded a journal she had clutched from the moment we left Edinburgh for a pink and white piece of knitting. Two rows up, the nattily dressed man (dark chalk stripe suit on a Saturday!) has turned away from the business section of his paper and is now concentrating on a crossword. Both have smiled almost apologetically to me when our eyes have met.

As for me, Jimmy Buffet is on the iPod, a half full bag of cashews and an empty can of Fanta orange are sitting on the tray next to me, and I ponder the sheep, the cows, the horses and the fields of lavender that are now zipping past. York is somewhere behind me, London lies somewhere in the distance, and I have another hour of this blissful confinement.

Edinburgh

The last three days have been spent in Scotland, in the most amazing town of Edinburgh. I have to love a place that has a huge castle looming over the city. It is just awe inspiring. It has been, wet, gray and windy - the perfect setting for exploring such a place. Yesterday I braved the crowds and saw the castle itself. I t is huge, formidable, just what a castle should be. The tourist hordes drove me away after two hours, but it was incredible. The sun broke out just so I could get some decent pictures. All in all, a pretty memorable experience. One of these days I am going to attend the Tattoo, which they are currently setting up for.

The Gathering of the Clans is taking place this coming weekend, and the result is that the place is packed. Tomorrow (Saturday) there is to be a March of the Clans up the Royal Mile from Holyrood (the Scottish Parliament) to the Castle. They are expecting 60,000+ to participate. The little guesthouse I am staying in is currently filled with Clansmen from afar. I feel a bit out of place ("So, yer here for the Gathering, aye?") I have met some really wonderful folks. There was the lovely woman who got me off the wrong bus and onto the right one upon arrival. There was Candy the recently retired nurse and her husband who hail from Sacramento. Lisa and Rob, brother and sister traveling - she too is a product of the failed economy; however she has the best line ever - she was downsized by Weight Watchers!!

In any event, things are winding down. I am still having a blast, but I am looking forward to time in New York with The Kent, and then back to Vancouver and the hospitality of Beth and George. Well - time to head back into the downpour. There is a city to explore!!

Always Walk on the Bright Side of Life

I have to admit that there has been a bit of a pity party in my head as I have undertaken this trip. Worries about jobs, worries about money, worries about family have cast a greater shadow than the storm clouds that have followed me from Lyon. What if's rain down like a monsoon and inventories of my failings blow about me like a newspaper in a windstorm. Not that I haven't had fun (thanks again Erik for your comments on changing your narrative!), not that I haven't enjoyed every day I have spent on this adventure. Still, and still.

Yesterday I had given in a bit to the PP, I was out wandering around the city kind of grouchy, kind of irritated with the world (damn kids, watch where you're going!) when I happened down a side street. Intermittent rain had driven most of the tourist hordes inside, but at an outdoor table under a little awning sat an elderly couple. They had to be in their 80's. She was dressed in a bright red dress with a matching jacket, he was nicely turned out in a dark suit with a gorgeous dark wood walking stick. A voice from behind me cheerfully called "Mary, there you are! And how are you today?" to which the elderly woman answered quite cheerfully "Grand, darling, just grand - and yourself?" the reply was "Aye, I'm grand." At which point a young woman, maybe 25, came around and sat at the table with these two. I went on my way, thinking of that greeting. Just grand.

Sure, it is easy to be down and worried and depressed and all of that. It is easy to play that endless loop of how bad things are at the moment (and easier to follow that down the rabbit hole of how much worse they are going to get in the future). But right now, at this moment, I'm just grand. I am in Ireland with all of its rich green grandeur. I have meandered the streets of Paris and Lyon. I have seen a stunning Celtic cross from the 11th century standing in the middle of a field. I have been to mass at Notre Dame and walked around breathtaking sculptures in the Petite Palais.

Soon I am heading towards London, and then home. And more grand experiences to follow both here, and there, and wherever I end up landing. This has been an amazing trip, and more over an amazing journey. Oddly, I don't feel like it is coming to an end, even though I will be back in the States in a little more than a week. I actually feel like it is just beginning. And that is just grand.

Putting a Cork in It

This afternoon I arrived in Cork. It is a lovely little town on the River Lee, that is a nice mix of old and new. My hotel looks right over the river, and is quite comfortable though labyrinthine in scope (the lift is a bit frightening, it makes an amazing array of noises that just don't sound good!). I had asked about Cork at the Tourist Information center in Dublin, mainly because I couldn't find a room in Galway (yes, I know, I am a bit bitter). The woman smiled at me and said "Well, yes, I suppose. But it's just another big city now isn't it?" "Oh." I thought "Another big city, hmmm." Then I consulted my Lonely Planet Ireland which tells me that Cork has a population of 119,000. Dublin has half a million. So I'm not sure if it qualifies as "another big city!" But I am learning that there is a bit of a rivalry between the two places, and it is amusing.

When I left this morning, the gentleman at the hotel asked where I was off to, I said Cork. His response? "Oh, really? It's a lovely place, quite a bit like here you know." When I arrived, the woman at the front desk asked (after establishing that I had been traveling in Ireland) "Where are you coming from then?" to which I said Dublin. "Ah" she replied, "Nice place, if you like that sort of thing." The Irish, it appears, are the masters of the backhanded compliment.

So after a very scenic and pleasant train ride, I grabbed a taxi at Kent Station (everywhere I go, that name appears); okay, I grabbed the taxi after I headed off in the wrong direction for the hotel and ended up having to turn around and trundle back to the station...), settled in at my hotel and then went out to explore. Cork loves music. In any way shape or form. In the short walk from the hotel to the tourist information office I passed a half dozen music shops. I was tempted by two absolutely beautiful mandolins. No, I know I don't play the mandolin. But still. I passed no less than that many buskers, and two different groups of dancing teenagers. Pretty wonderful.

I am told that the pubs here are filled with traditional music and I hope to sample some of that as well in this trip. Currently, however, I am sampling another wonderful aspect of Cork. Cheese. Yep. Cheese. Cork was the major butter producing center of this part of the world at one point. They even have a museum - the Cork Butter Museum. And now, all that dairy know-how has been applied to farmstead cheeses. YUM! Good stuff, highly recommend it.

Tomorrow I am off for some sight seeing. At the moment I am debating between a trip to Bantry and one to Kinsale. Monday I am on the road again. Still thinking about Belfast, even though the recent events have made me wonder if this is the right time. The 12th of July, Orangemen's Day, is the beginning of the traditional and political "marching season' in the North. This year there numerous skirmishes, some of which turned into riots in places like Omagh and Belfast. This has continued for the last few days, but seems to be settling down. It is sad, considering how hard so many have worked to bring peace to the area. Some folks just can't let it go, I suppose. So fingers are crossed that I might just be able to make a quick trip before heading back to London.

The Emerald Isle

So we have left sunny France and landed in Ireland. I am in Dublin, and have been for a week. Things got off to a rocky start but have since been just amazing. Dublin is an interesting place, full of contradictions and surprises. It is an odd mix of traditional and modern, both cosmopolitan and small town; tourists flock to the Temple Bar and Trinity, overflowing on O'Connell Street and the banks of the Liffey; locals grin and bear us with a warm smile and patient voice.

Little gems of parks seem to appear out of nowhere, and it is sometimes hard to tell if the "trad" pub you are passing has been here forever or is an overnight tourist concoction. It is a young town, filled with eager 20-somethings and world weary 30-somethings. It is easy to feel old here, but only for a moment as it is easy to feel young here as well; there is a timeless quality to the place.

Two day tours down, one an excellent Celtic Heritage tour run by the affable and knowledgeable Paul from Over the Top Tours. His day trip north of Dublin to the Sacred Valley of the Celts was perhaps one of the best tours I have ever taken. This man has the gift of gab, a natural story teller who loves what he does. It was fun, funny, and I learned more about the Celts and Celtic Christianity in one day than I ever thought possible. I have now been inside an iron age tomb, walked on the Hill of Kings and touched a breathtakingly beautiful stone Celtic Cross sitting in the middle of a field. The other was today, a tour of Wick low and Glendalough. Steve was lovely, and tried hard. Part of it was his audience (a mixed bag of young adventurers more interested in exchanging emails than history, and a family group from the Midwest. Oh, and me) part of it was just that Paul is a tough act to follow.

I am staying a couple of extra days, as there are some things I still want to do. Then possibly on to Cork. I have the misfortune of arriving at a time when a number of music festivals are on, so that my trip to Galway may have to wait to another time. There is literally no room at the inns (or the guest houses or the hotels I can actually afford). Then I will take a fast ferry across the Irish Sea to Wales and work my way towards London.

Roaming the Rhone

The Rhone region is just gorgeous. I have been spending some time exploring outside the confines of Lyon, and having a blast - so much so that I am staying a few extra days. Yesterday it was an exploration of the Croix-Rouisse where the silk workers lived and created gorgeous tapestries. It is now very much a working class area, a little worn at the edges, but with amazing views over the valley.

Today it was a venture to Vienne. Vienne was once the capitol of the Gallic Roman Empire. A massive town that straddled the Rhone within a massive wall built not for protection but for show and intimidation. Parts of the wall are still visible, especially where the cling to the hillside. The place was chosen probably because it was reminiscent of Rome - surrounded by five hills with a large river passing through. In the mid 1960's a new school was being built and during the groundwork a veritable archeological treasure trove was found. They are still excavating, all these years later, and are only about a third of the way done.

A Roman amphitheatre is still in use on the eastern side of the Rhone, and a lovely museum and archeological complex are the jewel of the right bank. I spent a very pleasant couple of hours meandering. The town is also home to two ancient churches, a large ruined castle that towers on a hill above town and a couple of huge chateaus that date back to around the 1300's. It is an interesting mix of ancient and modern (and a little of everything in between).

The town itself is charming, and I arrived on Market day - a street market that winds through the heart of the town. Everything from meat to lingerie are for sale. Fruits, vegetables, butchers, cheese sellers, book sellers, toy sellers, kitchen ware - you name it, it was there. And just because it was the fourth of July and I am an American abroad, I had my very own fireworks show in a spectacular thunderstorm. I decided to watch the spectacular from the vantage of a lovely cafe, enjoying a plate of carpaccio of beef in olive oil, a nice Cotes du Rhone and a salad verte. I could get used to this!

Stairs, stairs, and more stairs

Ah Lyon. It is hot, is muggy, it is glorious. Yes, as usual, I am traveling during a European heat wave. Thankfully I decided against the charming hotel that had no air conditioning and went for the charming (and somewhat more expensive) one that did. It has been a life saver.

Today I decided to head up to the Basilica Notre Dame de Fourviere. It perches high over the old town (Vieux Lyon), it's golden angel gleaming in the summer sun, the white walls seeming to almost sparkle. The funicular to Fourviere is not working, but the one to St. Just is. Hooray! On the map it isn't that far, and heck, you can take in the ruins of two Roman amphitheater on the way. Well, it wasn't exactly that close, and there were more stairs and hills to climb - but well worth the effort. The ruins are amazing and the museum built for them is pretty spectacular. The amphitheater, the larger of the two (the smaller was an Odeon, a theater used exclusively for musical performances) is still being used as a venue for performing arts. I watched a group of young dancers rehearsing for a bit.

Then on to the Basilica - more stairs, more hills and then this absolutely huge church. There are no less than four chapels - one downstairs (think basement), one upstairs - each with the vaulted naves, each with gloriously painted walls, spectacular stained glass, marble altars, and scores of renaissance paintings donated by grateful parishioners. It was stunning. But then - oh my. The view over Lyon, over the region really, was unbelievable. I doubt my pictures will do it justice, as there was a mighty humidity haze lingering over the area. Still. Wow.

With all this glory in front of me, and the notion that it was, after all, downhill; I decided to walk back. That too was pretty wonderful. The area below the Basilica is all in garden. Lovely little paths switchback down the hill, small arbors, little areas that lead to statues and benches just begging for you to sit and enjoy the sounds of birds, cicadas, and the rustling of the wind in the leaves. Stands of lavender, roses, other flowers; cheeky little birds that completely unafraid pop out of the bushes at odd points, it was just beautiful. Eventually you come back to civilization and are faced with the longest downhill flight of stairs. Ever. By the time I got to the bottom, I was ready for the Cafe Fichelle, their quiche Lorraine and salade verte, and okay, yes. A beer.