Tag Archives: movies

Connemara

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view of Ballynakill Harbour and Barnaderg Bay from Diamond Hill

Connemara, the wild, remote wilderness of Irish-speaking Galway. Just the name conjures images of The Quiet Man, which was filmed not far away in east Galway. We looked forward to seeing what glories Connemara National Park had to offer. Reading up on it before we got there, we didn’t see anything mentioned other than a walk up Diamond Hill. Well, there had to be more than that. It’s a national park, for Pete’s sake, and one of only six in the country. We’d just go and see what else they’ve got.

Diamond Hill surrounded by typical Irish grassland

We asked at the visitor center and found that the hike up Diamond Hill really is all they have to offer. No exhibits in the visitors center. No informational plaques outside. Just a walk. 

An interesting note: No matter how taxing the hike, the Irish (and Brits too, we observed when we were in the UK) called them walks, as in a walk in the park. You can ascend 1200 feet over two hours (e.g. Diamond Hill) and it’s still called a walk, although they do acknowledge it’s a “strenuous” walk. That’s one difference between Americans and the Irish. In the US we’d be plastering bumper stickers on our cars saying “I climbed Diamond Hill.” In Ireland they tell their friends “I went on the loveliest walk this afternoon. It was grand.” I just love their understatement!

We opted out of the strenuous part of the walk, but hiked up far enough to get great views of Ballynakill Harbour and Barnaderg Bay, and it was still a good stretch in the fresh country air.

We started to encounter marshy wetlands.

And as we walked, we gradually began to realize something about the park that we hadn’t seen mentioned. The area surrounding Diamond Hill is all bogland. We noticed the reed-filled ponds and the lumpy tufts of grass that we had seen in Killarney National Park’s bog. After gaining a bit of altitude, we saw fields below us where peat was being harvested—the telltale plateaus of turf where vertical slices of peat were being removed like slivers of dark chocolate cake, one layer at a time. The water running in the streams was brown from the tannins leaching out of the peat. And much of the walk was on boardwalk to prevent people from walking on the bog and destroying the fragile habitat.

The color of the landscape changed from vibrant green to rusty brown.
multiple layers of turf in peat fields
peat, or turf, on the banks of this tannin-brown stream

The walk was a series of “aha” moments as we put it all together. Why hadn’t they said something about the bog, talked it up, showcased it for unenlightened visitors, used this beautiful park as an educational opportunity? Perhaps it was another case of Irish understatement. Just get out there and walk in it, and you’ll see what you see. Isn’t it grand?

Connemara ponies

This Connemara pony and her foal grazed amid the midges, annoying flying insects that will suck the blood out of your flesh and the wits out of your head. The mom’s tail was moving non-stop to keep them at bay, and her foal took refuge under her fan. Smart little lad!

Even Connemara lambs have horns. This one can’t be more than a few months old and already has quite a bit of growth.

The Smoke at Dawn

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Chattanooga’s manhole covers

My first thought regarding Chattanooga, when I started planning this trip, was the Civil War battle that occurred there that some would argue was the death knell for the Confederacy. A year or so ago I read a biography of Ulysses Grant (a distant ancestor, I’ve since learned), and the Civil War battles in the western theater became more than just names of remote places. I began to understand the significance of Grant’s victories, not just in terms of land acquisition and enemy soldiers killed and captured, but also of gaining strategic control of the Mississippi River, closing off supply lines to the Confederacy, etc. It was an eye-opener.

Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park

To better understand the battle in Chattanooga, and read it from a different author’s perspective, I chose Jeff Shaara’s The Smoke at Dawn. You may have heard of The Killer Angels, an historical fiction about the Battle of Gettysburg written by his father, Michael Shaara. It was made into a movie, Gettysburg, in 1993. It’s safe to say that that movie forever changed how I viewed the study of history. It transformed vague names in a textbook into people who once lived and breathed, loved and hated, and felt so compelled to preserve the way of life they valued that they went to war for it, sometimes against their own dearest friends and family members. It made history personal for me.

Chickamauga

After Michael Shaara’s death, his son Jeff wrote over a dozen novels about the Civil War. The books are based on extensive research into the politics of the times, the battles, and the men who orchestrated and fought them. For additional readability, Shaara added undocumented–but credible–dialog; hence his books are considered historical fiction.

Civil War memorial on Lookout Mountain, Chattanooga

So, back to Chattanooga…as we approached the city I started scanning the horizon for Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, key geographical features in the evolution of the battle. When we went downtown for dinner that night, I looked again and was horribly confused. I kept looking for the mountain and the ridge across the Tennessee River from the city, but they were behind me. And then my nephew explained that after the war, they moved the city from the north side of the river to the south. I had so closely studied Shaara’s maps that I struggled with the orientation of the “new” Chattanooga the whole time we were there.

amazing views of Chattanooga and the Tennessee River from Lookout Mountain

When exploring the Battle of Chattanooga in situ, it’s best to start at Chickamauga, Georgia, just ten miles away. The Battle of Chickamauga happened just prior to that at Chattanooga, and the National Park Service has created one park to commemorate both battles. There wasn’t much to see about Chattanooga at the park, aside from an excellent movie in the visitor center that linked the two battles. After touring the park, we drove up Lookout Mountain. Point Park, on the mountaintop overlooking the city, is little more than a scenic overlook with very little information on the battle. I would have loved to see some informational plaques pointing out strategic landmarks of the battle. Ah, well, I’ve got vivid images in my head, thanks to the gift of a wonderful writer.

Familiness

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Rarely in our travels do we get to visit family. It’s not intentional, it’s just that we’ve been focusing on knocking off the foreign countries on our bucket list. We’ve been traveling internationally every other year, and only this year decided to use the years in between for domestic travel, which gives us the opportunity to visit more with family and friends. 

For our Niagara trip, we decided to fly into Westchester County Airport, just north of New York City, an easy, direct flight from West Palm Beach. This would allow us to add some places to our itinerary that we’ve been wanting to see in upstate New York and begin and end our Grand Loop of Lake Ontario with Marcus’s brother, Elliot, and family in Greenwich, Connecticut, only eight miles from Westchester.

Our “easy” flight got in four hours late, and it was after 9:00pm when we rolled into Elliot and Christine’s driveway. Their kids, Alex and Sascha, ages six and five, were supposed to be in bed, but materialized at the bottom of the stairs as we came into the house. They were too excited to sleep. They escorted us to our bedroom where personal notes of welcome lay on our respective nightstands. Throughout our visit, they followed me around like ducklings, never more than a hug away. Well, except for those times when decorum dictated that I excuse myself. And even then, upon opening the bathroom door I would find them just where I’d left them. I loved it!

Over coffee in the mornings, I taught them how to solve kenken puzzles, and they reciprocated by helping me time my dry-eye therapy. I was the “mystery reader” in Sascha’s kindergarten class and attended Alexandra’s piano recital. I climbed the playscape with them at school and cheered them on during their running time trials around the cul-de-sac. We celebrated the weekend with “pizza-and-movie night” in the basement and munched on delectables out of a picnic hamper at a polo match. We (and a stuffed monkey) explored deep space in our rocket ship on the couch before dinner and, after dinner, played board games at the table. (The monkey excused himself from board games, however, saying he had an early start the next day.)

The days were packed with activity, but I vividly remember one quiet moment after Alex and Sascha had both rehearsed their upcoming recital pieces with their parents. I looked up from my spot on the couch and was struck by the familiness around me. Elliot and Christine were still at guitar and piano, enjoying some time together to dig into their own music. Sascha constructed skyscrapers with Jenga pieces in the light from the piano, stopping now and then to capture his creations with the camera on an iPad. And Alex and Marcus played chess at the dining room table in the room beyond. It’s been too many years since we’ve been this intimately engaged in the dynamics of a family. I miss it, but am so thankful that we had this opportunity to experience it again.

Thank you, Elliot and Christine, Alex and Sascha, for inviting us into your family, and for reminding us of an often-forgotten benefit of travel.♥

Hike to Val-Kill and Top Cottages

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the trail to Val-Kill and Top Cottages

There’s a very cool hike through the woods from the Roosevelt family home of Springwood to Val-Kill Cottage, where Eleanor Roosevelt chose to live, and then farther up the hill to Top Cottage, where Franklin intended to live after leaving the presidency. Both cottages were on the vast Roosevelt estate in Hyde Park, both small by Springwood standards (especially Top Cottage), both entirely independent of the other, and both the source of great comfort and isolation to their residents.

Let’s back up a bit. Why did Eleanor choose to live at Val-Kill, when Franklin was living at Springwood? We’ve all heard the rumors of their supposed infidelities. I won’t comment on them because I know nothing about them, but according to our park-ranger guide, Eleanor never felt at home at Springwood while Franklin’s mother, Sara, was alive. (She passed away in 1941.) Springwood was always her mother-in-law’s home. She and two friends had originally developed the Val-Kill property as an industrial site where locals could learn handicraft skills. It became Eleanor’s getaway when she was in Hyde Park with her husband, but became her full-time residence after his death in 1945 when she had the factory converted into her home. She lived there until her death in 1962.

Cindy, waiting for her hot dog at Top Cottage

Top Cottage, or Hill-Top Cottage to be precise, was designed by Franklin, an amateur architect, and built during his second term in office. It was his retreat from the world, but they–both he and Eleanor–used it for family picnics and entertaining guests as well. In 1939 King George VI and Queen Elizabeth of Britain attended the famous “hot-dog summit” at the cottage. (The King’s Speech, anyone?) It was Roosevelt’s desire that the king and queen see how the American commoner lived–and what he or she ate. Note: The queen ate her hot dog with a fork and knife. The king enjoyed eating his by hand!

furry friend in the forest

So, back to the hike. The woods were beautiful. We had them almost to ourselves on a Wednesday morning. The hike to Val-Kill was mostly level–piece of cake! The hike to Top Cottage from Val-Kill was a pretty rugged climb up muddy paths cut through the leaves by heavy rains a few days before.

Here are some of the guys we met along the way.

Mr. and Mrs. Mallard

 

A very long rat snake. We never saw his head, but his body went on forever as he slithered into this rotted log.

Ronda

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view from the new city

view from the new city

Ronda, one of the oldest cities in Spain, is also one of the most dramatic mountain towns. Nestled deep into the mountains, it has this crazy gorge – a dizzying 380 feet deep – that separates the old Moorish city of La Ciudad (dating from the 8th century) from the new city of El Mercadillo (15th century). [Interesting to think that “new” for Spain is before Cristóbol Colón set sail from Spain to discover the Americas.] The gorge features so prominently in the topography of the city that they gave it a name: El Tajo, or The Pit. Uh-huh….

Moorish minaret/Christian belltower in the old city

Moorish minaret/Christian belltower in the old city

Ronda was a headquarters for bandeleros from the 18th to early 20th centuries, bandits who would prey upon travelers passing through Andalucía. I remember Washington Irving mentioning the notorious bandeleros as he traveled to Granada in his Tales of the Alhambra. I wonder if he was passing through the mountains of Ronda.

We loved the views of this verdant valley from our vantage point in the new city, but crossing the narrow gorge into the old city was spectacular. We crossed on the Puente Nuevo, the New Bridge, built in the 18th century. Its design really accentuates the depth of the gorge as the supports extend to the bottom. Prior to its completion, the citizens of Ronda had a choice of the older Puente Viejo (not surprisingly, the Old Bridge) or the even older Puente Árabe (Arabic Bridge). After viewing El Tajo from the Puente Nuevo, I can’t imagine crossing it from an older bridge. My knees were weak enough as I looked through an opening in the wall to the Guadalevín River below!

Puente Nuevo

Puente Nuevo

Ronda has one of the oldest and most prominent bullrings in Spain, thanks to the Romero family, local matadors who were instrumental in defining the modern style of bullfighting. Ernest Hemingway and Orson Welles, both bullfighting aficionados, spent quite a bit of time in Ronda. In fact, Orson Welles’s remains were buried on bullfighter Antonio Ordóñez’s property in Ronda.

at the bullring

at the bullring

The city was a haven for other artists as well, and not just for the bullring. Many poets and writers, or viajeros románticos (romantic travelers) as they were known to the locals, spent time in Ronda inspired by the beauty around them. I am in complete agreement, as long as I have firm ground underneath my feet.

Puente Viejo

Puente Viejo