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Southern California’s Coachella Valley
I will not be posting to this website for a few days as I will be in the desert visiting my brother Dan. On Sunday morning, I will be doing a tour of the Annenberg Retreat at Sunnylands, “The Camp David of the West,” where many world leaders convened. Then, on Monday, because Dan will probably be at work, I will be on my own. I haven’t decided where I will go, but it will invariably be a photogenic place which will result in future blogs.
Scene on a Bangkok Canal
Because Martine and I usually eat at different times, there is a pile of Lonely Planet guidebooks at my right elbow on the kitchen table. Recently I picked up the Lonely Planet guide to Thailand and have been devouring it with interest.
I have never been to Asia, mostly because of the language barrier. In Thailand, the language barrier is even more pronounced because they have their own alphabet, which resembles tightly circumscribed insect tracks. Despite the difficulty, I find their culture fascinating—not to mention their cuisine!
It’s fun to fantasize about future trips, even if one never takes them. In fact, you can call me an armchair traveler who just happens to have visited some fascinating places around the world in Europe and the Americas. Martine seems to be uninterested to joining me in any distant travel (unless it be to Hawaii and, perhaps, Canada); so I would have to go it alone.
As long as I am physically able to travel, I would be happiest if I were able to indulge in my wanderlust. Right now, the biggest problem is not health, but lack of money.
Straddling the Yellow Line Indicating the Equator
When I was in grade school, I couldn’t tell the difference between Ecuador the Country and the Equator (Latitude 0). In November 2016, my brother and I traveled to both the country and the zero latitude. Just north of Quito is a park called Ciudad Mitad del Mundo, or “Middle of the Worlkd City.” Dan and I took in the exhibits and spent the night at a nearby hotel perched atop a crater that hung over a heavy fog prior to driving to the cloud forest town of Mindo.
Actually, the equator as currently defined is 790 feet (240 meters) north of the yellow line. Like many similar geographic markers, it tends to move around. Take, for instance, the Tropic of Cancer. According to Wikipedia:
The Tropic of Cancer’s position is not fixed, but constantly changes because of a slight wobble in the Earth’s longitudinal alignment relative to the ecliptic, the plane in which the Earth orbits around the Sun. Earth’s axial tilt varies over a 41,000-year period from about 22.1 to 24.5 degrees, and as of 2000 is about 23.4 degrees, which will continue to remain valid for about a millennium. This wobble means that the Tropic of Cancer is currently drifting southward at a rate of almost half an arcsecond (0.468″) of latitude, or 15 m (49 ft), per year. The circle’s position was at exactly 23° 27′N in 1917 and will be at 23° 26’N in 2045. The distance between the Antarctic Circle and the Tropic of Cancer is essentially constant as they move in tandem. This is based on an assumption of a constant equator, but the precise location of the equator is not truly fixed.
How Far Do We Have to Move This Thing?
You know, I can actually feel that wobble sometimes. But then, if you’re going to sink millions of dollars into a park, you can’t always be re-drawing the line.
Street Scene in Iceland’s Capital City
It’s not a terribly large city, only about 140,000 residents as of 2023. But when you add in the outskirts, it becomes 248,000, more than half the population of the entire island. It’s one of the most expensive cities in Europe, but one of the most approachable.
No, you don’t have to speak Icelandic—a version of medieval Norse—to understand the people, most of whom under the age of 80 speak English. One of the most beloved eating places in town is the hot dog stand pictured below:
Bææjarins Beztu Pylsur: The City’s Best Sausages
Its most famous customer was Bill Clinton, who famously asked for a hot dog with mustard only. To this day, if you order a Clinton at BBP, that’s what you get. I’d rather order the works, which include mustard, remoulade sauce, ketchup, raw onion, and fried onions.
If you like American fast food, you will find plenty of it not only in Reykjavík but around the island as well. That includes pizza, hamburgers, and hot dogs (pylsur), to name a few. There’s no McDonalds or Starbucks, but you will find Domino’s and Subway.
Where Are All the Skyscrapers?
Above is a view of central Reykjavík from a boat on a harbor puffin cruise. You can walk the heart of the city from one end to the other in about forty minutes. But I’ll bet you can’t do it without stopping a dozen places for coffee, books, souvenirs, ice cream, or beer.
I’ve been to Iceland in 2001 and 2013. I hope I can visit it again. It’s fun. It’s low key. And the fish is effing fantastic.
Weird Ice Floes at Jökulsárlón in Southeast Iceland
My mind keeps going over the places I’ve seen In Iceland duri9ng my two trips there in 2001 and 2013. One of the most amazing was the glacial lagoon at Jökulsárlón between Vík í Myrdal and Höfn. The lagoon was full of hundreds of ice floes that had broken off the giant glacier of Vatnajökul. Some were white, others had strange blue highlights; and some were coated with debris picked up en route to the lagoon.
The lagoon at Jökulsárlón is probably one of the top ten sights to see in Iceland. It’s too far from Reykjavík to do in a day trip (though it is offered by some tour operators). Usually, it’s a sight that only travelers who are doing the Ring Road (Route 1) around Iceland get to see. It is possible to take a boat ride around the lagoon.
Equally worth seeing is the black sand beach called Breiðamerkursandur that is just across the highway from the lagoon.
Glacial Ice on Breiðamerkursandur
As you walk along the black sand beach, you see chunks of ice from broken-up ice floes scattered along the sands like diamonds. Travelers have to be careful, because the area is known for occasional “sneaker waves” that could carry travelers off to an icy and wet death.
Place Denfert-Rochereau in Paris
My last name is Paris, although I have not a drop of French blood in my veins. In Hungarian, my last name is Páris, pronounced PAH-reesh. On my father’s Czechoslovakian passport when he emigrated to the United States in 1929 (bad timing), his last name was shown as Parisej. When I asked him about this, he said the dominant Czechs always messed with Slovak last names.
There was a time when I was anti-French. This reached its height in 1976, when my Laker Airlines flight to London first stopped at Paris’s Orly Airport. We were all deplaned and made to go through security by the French police. When one of the officers wanted me to open up the back up my Olympus OM-1 camera and expose the film that was loaded, I refused and remarked rather snootily, “Je ne suis pas Carlos le terroriste!” Somehow, the officer smirked and let me continue without sending me to the guillotine.
Since then, I began to admire France more and more. My girlfriend, Martine, was born in Paris. My favorite novelists (Honoré de Balzac and Marcel Proust) are French. Subsequently, I visited Paris twice with Martine, staying first near Place de Clichy and then on the Left Bank near the Eiffel Tower.
I fell in love with Arthur Rimbaud, Blaise Pascal, Paul Eluard, François Villon, Emile Zola, Albert Camus, Patrick Modiano, Jean-Pierre Manchette, Nicolas Poussin, Antoine Watteau, Claude Lorrain, Auguste Renoir and his cinéaste son Jean, Jean-Luc Godard … Oh, hell, the list goes on damn near forever! In the end, I did a 180.
Public Transit Map of Paris
Now with the opening ceremony of the 2024 Paris Olympics, I am more impressed than ever with the French. In a handful of brilliant images, France reminded us who and what they were, and what they meant to the world.
Whenever I read a French novel, I am never without a copy of Paris Pratique Par Arrondissement in my lap, so I can follow the action street by street, neighborhood by neighborhood. It’s almost as if I considered Paris as more than just another city: It is a city I revere, a world city.
An hour south of the Mexican border is the city of Ensenada, which along with Tijuana and several other locations in Baja California has become a foodie hotbed. And we’re not talking sit-down restaurants with white tablecloths and snooty sommeliers, but food stands where crowds of standees munch on world-class Mexican food. Ensenada is famous for having invented the fish taco and the margarita; and Tijuana is home of the Caesar Salad.
In September, my brother and I will drive to Ensenada for a few days and indulge in some serious street grunting. To get an idea of what that might be like, check out this video from Anthony Bourdain’s “Parts Unknown” show:
The little lady in both the photo and the video is Doña Sabina Bandera, whose stand—““La Guerrerense”—is famous for seafood tostadas. In fact, Bourdain called it the best street food purveyor in the world.
I have long felt that something interesting is going on in the Mexican food scene, especially in those parts of Baja so close to Alta California. It will be fun to have some of the best seafood dishes on the continent, and not have to pay a king’s ransom for the privilege.
Plaza de Mayo with Jacarandas
In my mind, Buenos Aires is forever associated with Jorge Luis Borges. It is my love of the author’s works which led me to Argentina three times: in 2006, 2011, and 2015. God knows, I would welcome a fourth visit. It’s a huge city (17 million population in the metropolitan area); it’s difficult to get around in; but I love it nonetheless.
What does one say to a city whose biggest tourist attraction is a cemetery? Each time, I visited the Recoleta Cemetery and viewed the crypt where Evita Peron is buried. Yet, poor Borges is buried in Geneva, Switzerland.
Funerary Monuments at Recoleta Cemetery
Borges taught me that Buenos Aires is a city of neighborhoods, of which my favorite is Palermo. At Borges 2135 in Palermo is where Jorge Luis spent his boyhood.
Palermo is also home to some of the loveliest parks in the city, including the Botanical Garden and the zoo where he visited the tigers that appeared in so many of his poems and stories.
Palermo’s Jardin Botanico
One thing that impressed me was the large stray cat population of the Jardin Botanico. While I was there, a local resident came and fed them. He then folded up his bag and walked toward the exit.
I think I would probably choose to stay in Palermo the next time I visit.
The most incredible street in the British Isles has to be the Edinburgh’s Royal Mile. At one end, it is anchored by the looming hulk of Edinburgh Castle and, at the other, by the Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse. In between lies the whole pageant of Scottish history.
Along the way are St. Giles Cathedral, the High Kirk of Scotland; the tolbooth, or prison, described in Sir Walter Scott’s The Heart of Midlothian (1818); and the house of John Knox. Short dead-end streets known as wynds contain Europe’s first high-rises.
Gladstone’s Land, an Early High Rise Building
England, Wales, and Scotland are all rich in history; but in Scotland there is a particular awareness of history that permeates the culture and literature of the Scots. You find it in the works of Robert Louis Stevenson and the historical novels of Nigel Tranter. You can hardly step out of your hotel without finding yourself in the middle of it.
I’ve been to Edinburgh four times in all dating from 1976, the first two times alone, the second two times with Martine. If I had the money, I would dearly love to go again. There is something about reading one of Scott’s Waverly novels while eating a steaming bowl of cullen skink. And yes, I actually like a plate of haggis and neeps (mashed turnips), probably because haggis tastes like Hungarian liver sausage, or hurka.
Poster Celebrating the 185th Anniversary of the Town
Now that I am retired and living on a fixed income, I like to remember some of the places I’ve been that impressed me. I spent only one night and part of two days in Coporaque, Peru near the north rim of Colca Canyon, but I wound up liking it more than Machu Picchu.
The area is split betweeen three ethnic groups: the Cabanas, the Kollawas (Collaguas), and the Ccaccatapay. The Canyon at its deepest point 3,400 meters or over 11,000 feet , almost twice the depth of Arizona’s Grand Canyon. Curiously, it’s not even the deepest canyon in Peru: nearby Cotahuasi Canyon wins that honor.
What comes to mind when I remember my visit to the area is that it is surrounded by volcanoes, one of which—Sabancaya—is in a permanent state of eruption. The terracing for agriculture goes back to the Incas.
Agriculture Terraces Going Back to the Incas
I wouldn’t mind going back to Colca Canyon, even though its 11,000-foot altitude requires that I chew coca leaves to avoid keeling over. En route to the canyon, we went over a mountain pass at Patapampas where the altitude was over 15,000 feet (4,572 meters). As I stepped out of the van to check out the view, I started to fall flat on my face, but was prevented from doing so by our Peruvian guide.
Tarnmoor 
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