I’m speaking of Zion National Park, of course. The driving distance from Sedona, AZ to Zion in SW Utah, is 266 miles, about 4.5 hour driving time if one doesn’t have to stop every few miles to gape in wonder. We met very little traffic, had a sunny, clear day, and an incredible variety of topography to appreciate. We kept imagining the early travelers west, those in covered wagons, who must have been stunned daily by what they had to contend with and saw yet ahead. They were awesome people; we were just awestruck people.
Tag: Travel
My Kind of Perfect Christmas Holiday
Many years ago, as holiday stresses overwhelmed my enjoyment of the season, I decided to change how I participated in it. It was relatively easy to eliminate chaotic mall visits, most gift buying, card writing, fevered cooking and decorating and entertaining, but then what? We had moved halfway across the country and friendships had not yet developed, so we decided to try a trip away from home to divert our attention from old habits. That decision began our experience of Mexico, and the Virgin of Guadalupe festival that precedes Christmas celebrations in that culture. The gifts of fruit and flowers that are carried into the parish church, the mariachi music that rattles windows and rolls down the street through the processions, the tolling bells, the children’s faces, the aromas of food vendor stalls, and pleasure of witnessing expressions of faith entwined with national pride was a complete change from our old customs. For more than twenty years now, this has been our preference for the perfect Christmas holiday.
If the festival itself isn’t enough, placing this experience in a natural environment that only engenders awe, and sharing it with friends, makes it the kind of spiritual holiday I choose over all others. It is replete with gifts that never end.
Mystical, Magical Mexico
I visited San Miguel de Allende for their Dias de los Muertos celebrations this year, not for the first (nor hopefully the last) time. San Miguel is a beautiful small city in central Mexico, a UNESCO World Heritage site known for its preserved 17th and 18th century town center and many lovely churches. The Centro area a feast for the eye, colorful and very walkable; no car is necessary or desirable to fully enjoy it.
The Day(s) of the Dead festivities may be underway much in advance of their observance, but evidence of preparations become public on All Hallows Eve (Halloween) as private altars (oftendas) appear in homes, stores, and on the streets around town. In Mexico, All Saints Day (November 1st) and All Souls’ Day (November 2nd) focus on the remembrance of family members and friends who have died, and the bonds that continue to be held between the spirits of the living and the dead. Families go to cemeteries to clean and decorate the graves of the deceased, covering them with marigolds (the flowers of the dead), muertos (bread of the dead), and favorite foods, drinks and possessions of those who are gone. Some grave adornments are incredibly elaborate, some very simple, and it is common to see family members surrounding a grave site, accompanied by a mariachi band to help celebrate the life of their loved one. A priest may be summoned for graveside prayers, and picnics permit staying and visiting with the dead for as long as one wishes.
The private altars that are built around town encourage a visit from those living in the spirit world, and include elements important to an invitation to return: water for the soul’s thirst, salt to purify the soul and frighten away bad spirits, candles to guide the soul to its old home, flowers, sugar in the form of skulls or favorite animals, cut paper decorations, fruits and nuts, traditional foods, and photos of the deceased. The altars are all very personal, and quite beautiful.
These festivities are said to be based on ancient cultural practices which have become blended over time with local religious traditions. I loved the observance, and admired the sense of celebration offered as an affirmation of the mystical experience connecting life and death, in contrast to the tradition of cultural denial with which I am most familiar.
More photos are available through Flickr link.
Surprising Scotland
As was the case in Ireland, I have to give the weather lots of credit for our wonderful experience of Scotland. Our tour guide (a native) commented in the Highlands that she had seen such clarity in the notoriously harsh weather challenged mountains less than a half-dozen times in her life. Even without being told how lucky we were, we knew it, and were bowled over.
Scotland has everything: mountains, lakes, seascapes, big skies, desolate ridges, lush glens, gardens, ruins, castles, historic drama and tragedy, colorful characters, notable festivals, good food and whiskey, and a sense of humor. We didn’t try haggis, but enjoyed salmon with neeps and tatties (turnips and potatoes) often. Scrumptious cakes, shortbreads and toffee (laced with whiskey) were the perfect ending to delicious meals.
And then there’s Edinburgh. Divided roughly into a two areas, a medieval Old Town between imposing Edinburgh Castle and the Palace of Holyroodhouse, (the Queen’s official residence when in town) and New Town (built in the late 1700s with beautiful Georgian architecture), it’s all remarkably walkable and sustained no WWII damage. There are many delightful pubs along the way when the hilly terrain requires a rest. It’s quite lovely; one could sit in the Princess Street Gardens between the districts all day just to view the Castle above it.
We were there for during the Edinburgh Festival, held annually since 1947 during the last three weeks of August. It is considered one of the world’s most important arts festivals, with theater performers overflowing venues and on the street in a Fringe counterpart. The Edinburgh Book Festival is held at the same time and takes over a city park with tents full of authors, publishers, critics in discussions and readings for days. Edinburgh is UNESCO’s designated City of Literature. When I discovered the “poem of the season” painted on the side of a building near our hotel, I began to get a sense of their deep cultural pride. We noticed that it was perfectly acceptable to read a book in a pub instead of surfing the internet. Who knew?
One festival highlight is the Military Tattoo, held at night at the foot of Edinburgh Castle. It is a spectacle of infantry battalions and Scottish pipe bands, too difficult to describe effectively. It is simply wonderful.
Yes, to answer golfer questions: husband and son played St. Andrews old and new courses, (“new” meaning opened in the late 1800s) along with several others in the area, and departed feeling satisfied and gratified. They finished the old course as a rainbow appeared over the Royal and Ancient club, which summarizes the entire trip: it far exceeded expectations, and absolutely left a mark on us. (More photos available through Flickr link).
Post Travel Trough
Of all the pre-trip anxieties I listed in my earlier post, only one occurred, and it’s included among the realities that greet me on returning home: mounds of bills and laundry, an overgrown yard, lack of motivation to resume exercise in spite of extra pounds, no food in the refrigerator, hours of time warp with broken sleep patterns and the dreaded respiratory revenge of travel (which now requires steroids and antibiotics, thanks to those coughing seat mates I was anxious about). Having been away nearly a month, there is a price to pay to be sure. I do not enjoy this re-entry period.
When I resurface, a few kind friends will ask if we enjoyed the trip, and of course the answer is yes. They will ask about the weather (unusually wonderful for traditionally rainy Scotland and Ireland), what we enjoyed most (Scotland) and would I recommend the tour company (for some things). After I sort through the several thousand photos I shot and reduce them to a coffee table book for use in the nursing home when I need to be prodded to remember things in a few years, all will fade and I’ll return to “normal” life and routine. But I have to say I’ve been marked by the experience.
Tours are challenging. They are slightly less expensive and less trouble than travel on one’s own (particularly in countries such as Ireland and Scotland where driving is done on the left side of the road in cars in which the driver sits in the right front seat…I found it constantly disconcerting to see the person in the left front seat blissfully asleep or reading as we passed by.) Good tour guides offer a great deal more wonderful information about the history and current culture of a country than I would ever assimilate through guide books, and our Scottish tour director was sensational. In between offering history lessons and fables and “it’s absolutely true” stories (most of which were wonderful myths), she shared local music on our long bus rides which told the tales with even more clarity and poignancy. It was enriching to ride with her.
But tours are exhausting. Up at 6 am, suitcases out at 7, leave at 8 for a long day, often including an evening event. In 14 days on the road with the tour, only two stops included two nights in the same hotel. Even if the busses are “luxury”, with great leg room as ours was, the rides can be tiresome, and they don’t stop where and when I might like them to. And I am inevitably sitting on the “wrong” side of the bus for the best sights of the day… it got to be a joke with us, and frustrated me immensely.
Tours also mean spending a lot of time with total strangers, of all ages and nationalities. It takes at least a week to “settle in” with a group and sort out the comfort zones (which requires some effort), but it’s interesting that it really does occur, and by the second week a level of relaxation and enjoyable silliness asserts itself and becomes quite pleasant. New best friends, probably not; but we have had it happen!
In this post travel trough, I ask myself if it was “worth it”, but don’t have to think about it for long. There are lots of great cities throughout the world, magnificent cathedrals to see, crumbling castles, vivid history brought to life and echoes of courage to hear. How else can one witness the blood-soaked highlands of Scotland on a perfect day when the hills are covered in blooming heather and gorse if one doesn’t leave the house?
Trip Anxiety
I have it. Big time. Every time. I worry about being late, missing connections, getting lost, turbulent flights, terrorists, coughing seat mates, lost luggage, lost passport, lost phone, food that bites, currency I can’t compute, too much to carry, shoes that hurt, feeling clueless. Ridiculous anxieties. It’s not like I haven’t done this before. And it’s not like I’ve experienced more than brief episodes of any of the above, with which I’ve coped adequately at the time. So why am I going through this again?!
Anxieties are all about the future, about events that haven’t actually taken place yet (and probably never will.) Looking at each worry separately, I can do something about uncomfortable shoes and taking too much stuff, but since I’m not likely to, they need to come off this list, and move to the list of things for which I can berate myself later. I can also do something about being late, and be early instead. All other issues are caused by lack of attention (note to self) or are…yikes…out of my control…repeat…out of my control.
I understand how lucky I am to be heading off again, and know when I’m finally on my way how much I’ll enjoy almost all of it…except for…repeat…any of the above. A peek through the door reminds me of past adventures well worth every panic attack, once I step into new space. I’m leaving now, sending “traveling mercies” to all fellow journeyers (as Anne Lamott offered to us in her wonderful book by the same title.)
My Time Too 