Toronto
• Words and photos by Vern Hobbs •

“They walk among us, undetected,” warned the stoic TV reporter, thus inspiring Sheriff Bud Boomer’s ridiculous invasion of Canada. “Canadian Bacon,” the 1995 cinematic gaffe that might explain director Michael Moore’s switch from comedies to documentaries was not my reason for traveling to Canada, but it was on my mind as we descended toward Toronto’s Lester B. Pearson Airport.

Pearson, like many metropolitan airports, is far from downtown. Frommer’s Canada warned of $90 cab fares, making the Airport Express a bargain at $19 one-way. Always the frugal travelers, we visited the tourist information kiosk just outside the customs arrival hall where we first encountered the polite helpfulness for which Canadians are famous. Gracious volunteers explained convenient bus and subway connections on Toronto’s efficient public transportation system, the TTC. In less than an hour, we were in the heart of Toronto for less than five bucks. Make that five “loonies” — the accepted slang term for the Canadian dollar.

Next, we rolled the dice with Priceline.com’s, “name your price” option and scored a choice room at the Sheraton Centre. A more central location cannot be found! The fact that our visit began mid-week helped the gamble pay off, but just in case it didn’t, we had researched Lonely Planet: Toronto and found a wealth of low to moderate priced accommodations, including popular chains, boutique hotels, bed and breakfasts, and even youth hostels that aren’t especially strict about one’s degree of “youth.” If cost had not been of concern, however, we might have chosen the Fairmount Royal York Hotel where Queen Elizabeth II stays on all her state visits. When first constructed in the early 20th century, the York was the largest hotel in all the British Empire. Even if you stay elsewhere, a stroll through the York’s magnificent lobby and mezzanine is both an elegant experience and an invaluable history lesson.

Meanwhile, back at the Sheraton, the most affable concierge (are they all this friendly?) informed us we had arrived on the first truly warm day of the year, and that meant the place to be was the lake. The shore of Lake Ontario literally becomes Toronto’s front lawn during the summer months. The lakeshore, or “harbourfront” as it is also known, lies at the south end of Yonge Street, downtown Toronto’s principle north-south thoroughfare. The bustling harbourfront extends from the Distillery District on the east side to the Rogers Centre and CN Tower on the west. Toronto locals throng to the lakeshore to enjoy amphitheatre, art galleries, outdoor cafes, water excursions, bars, clubs, sporting events, and the sprawling public parks on the Toronto Islands, just offshore.

The unique Distillery District is a clever melding of old and new. National Geographic has declared the restoration of the sprawling Gooderham and Worts Distillery to be the most extensive restoration of Victorian era industrial structures in the world. Twenty-first century architecture is tastefully intermingled; modern buildings literally sharing walls with gracious edifices of the past. Within this fusion of modernity and antiquity are shops, cafes, galleries, and residential condominiums.

Queens Quay, at the foot of Bay Street, is home to the Toronto Island Park Ferry Terminal. Here, six-and-a-half “loonies” will buy you a short ferry ride to the largest car-free urban environment in North America. Toronto Island Park encompasses Centre Island, including the Ward Island neighborhood, as well as Algonquin and Olympic Islands. The respite from city life offered by this sprawling green space makes the islands a favorite weekend destination for Toronto’s 2.5 million urbanites.

“Canuck central…,” Rea Pearlman’s character, Honey, declared as she plotted her one-woman assault on what she mistakenly took to be the capitol of Canada. That screwball movie has crept back into my brain as I stare up at the majestic CN Tower. Originally built as a communications tower by the Canadian National Railway, the CN Tower was the world’s tallest freestanding structure for over 30 years, having been only recently surpassed by Dubai’s Burj Khalifa Tower. This iconic symbol of Canadian engineering prowess still fills its original role, but also provides panoramic views that stretch as far as Niagara Falls, as well as fine dining in its award winning restaurant, Three-Sixty. Co-located with the CN Tower is Rogers Centre, Toronto’s premier entertainment venue with seating for 50,000 and home to the Toronto Blue Jays.

It was tempting to spend our entire visit right there at the lakeshore, but intrepid explorers must explore and so we were off to the Toronto Zoo, one of the world’s best. Toronto Zoo has earned much of its well deserved acclaim through its pioneering efforts to maximize the use of habitat simulation — presenting animals in spacious surroundings designed to replicate their natural environment while fencing in the human spectators. Toronto Zoo has also won accolades for its captive breeding program for the endangered cheetah. This project has succeeded where others have failed, helping to insure the survival of this magnificent, yet threatened species. The tiny cheetah cubs we watched frolicking with their mother may well prove to be our most endearing memory of Toronto.

On our last day, we opted to simply stroll around some neighborhoods to see how the locals lived. First stop, the Kensington Market, an open-air bazaar often compared to the famous street markets of London. That’s where we discovered something many Americans fail to realize about Canada — its ethnic diversity. Every nationality on the planet was seemingly represented on Kensington Street. Toronto’s ranking among the world’s great melting pots is further evidenced in the names of her principle neighborhoods: Greektown, Chinatown, Koreatown, Portugal Village, Cabbagetown (the Irish district), Corso Italia… With all this mixing of cultures, I wondered how Canada appears to avoid the racial tensions that have long plagued my country. Is it a façade? Is there trouble bubbling just below the surface, or do they really all get along?

Heavy thoughts like these are better weighed over a cold beer, so we popped into a nondescript bar called The Horseshoe Tavern. The Horseshoe, it turned out, is anything but nondescript. It is, in reality, one of Toronto’s hottest nightspots. Top-billed performers from Gordon Lightfoot to The Rolling Stones have played The Horseshoe, and big name artists still count this Toronto institution as a “must play” venue.

The Horseshoe was quiet the afternoon we stopped in, allowing us a casual chat with the bartender, a Toronto native who left years ago to wander the globe, only to return after realizing that there was no place she’d rather live. After learning the Horseshoe’s colorful history, looking at photos of the greats who have performed there, and downing a few rounds, I posed my question about Toronto’s public face of virtual crime-free harmony. The salty bartender put it simply, “We’re all proud of our heritage, but there are no hyphenated Canadians — just Canadians.”

Flying home, the closing scene from “Canadian Bacon” flashed into my mind: Bud Boomer crossing back over the Niagara River in a stolen boat, having learned absolutely nothing from his adventure in Canada. Like Sheriff Boomer, I too was happy to be homeward bound, but unlike ol’ Bud, I had learned a thing or two north of the border.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming
• Word and photos by L Paul Mann •

When you’ve grown weary of prepackaged theme park vacations, you may want to consider a family getaway to the gateway to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, well known as a skier and snowboarder’s dream destination in the snow-cached winter months, but recently coming into its own as a year-round adventure paradise.

Its small, sleek airport, perfectly situated on a flat plain protected by towering mountains, allows virtually nonstop travel into the surrounding region. But this historic Old Western town, so popular with tourists, is also the gateway to a veritable wealth of outdoor summer activities, and two of the country’s greatest national park treasures: the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone.

The town itself is an interesting hodgepodge of affordable motels, tasty restaurants, odd little museums, and artistic shops all catering to tourists’ desires. The Visitor’s Center is a great first stop on any adventure vacation to the Jackson Hole area. Staffed by folks from multiple organizations, the center offers interpretive displays, a lavish gift shop, trip planning assistance, and a central place to acquire myriad adventure permits, maps, and brochures. During winter, the center and museum also serve as gateways to a sleigh or cart rides into the massive herd of sheltering elk in the National Elk Refuge, situated in the large marshes just outside of town. In the summer, these green marshes become a bird watcher’s paradise, with countless species nesting in the open lands framed by dramatic mountain ranges.

There are a multitude of outdoor adventures to pursue, all within easy access of your Jackson Hole base. Some of the most popular include hiking, river rafting, and horseback riding. Of course, you can pick up a map at the tourist center and hike out on your own, or wander around the elk sanctuary for free. But if your time is limited and you want an enriching learning experience as well as a great hike, you can hire a guide from several experienced tour operators. A guided hike is a great idea, especially for families with children, and the guide can tailor the route to your specific interests and capabilities.

One such group, The Hole Hiking Experience, arranged a tour for my extended family. Comprised of my girlfriend and myself, my brother, my three- and six-year-old nephews and their grandfather, our crew covered the whole gamut of age groups. We met our guide in town and piled into her van for a ride to a fantastic and little-used hiking area in the nearby mountains. She tailored the choice of terrain to our needs, the relatively mild incline perfect for the older and younger members of our group. The first thing noticeable on any significant hike in the area’s mountains is the spectacular array of wildflowers. In the summer, the region explodes in color, a phenomenon witnessed only in spring in most coastal mountain ranges. Spring, summer, and fall seem take place all at once before your very eyes in the short summer months of this region. It’s also not unheard of for snow to fall on the July 4th festivities — but awesome thunderstorms are far more common this time of year.

Not only can your guide provide valuable information about the local flora and fauna, but he or she can also reveal some of the hidden treasures of the area, like the footsteps of a mountain lion or where a great grizzly bear scratched his back on a tree. Speaking of grizzly bears, this is their prime territory, and these massive creatures can be very dangerous. There are several common sense procedures to greatly limit your risk in the remote areas if you’re unaccompanied by an experienced guide. The local tourism office can provide bear information and precautionary suggestions. Bears or no, our hiking guide made our trek a fun experience for my little nephews by quizzing them on the information she dispensed and handing out snacks as we went. She also provided fanny packs stocked with healthy treats and bottled water for everyone.

For more adventuresome tourists, river rafting is one of Jackson Hole’s most popular summer activities. Again, there are many great tour companies to choose from. Teton Whitewater, a company located just outside of town along the Snake River, boasts well over 40 years experience in whitewater rafting. Four trips daily (lasting about three hours including drive time) provide a great opportunity for tourists on a tight time schedule. My oldest nephew was happy to hear that even a six-year-old could run the rapids. No particular skills are necessary to run the river and trips are geared to the specific skill levels of each group. Everyone runs the same river course, but the experienced guides can bypass or run the most dangerous rapids depending upon the group’s skill level.

The Snake is a spectacular winding mountain river that lends itself perfectly to running rapids in the months following the winter snow melts. It’s also perfect for trout fishing at the end of the summer, just about the time the river calms and the rapids dissipate. But most of the summer offers an exhilarating run down the rapids. My youngest nephew beamed every time we ran a new gauntlet of foaming whitewater, loudly proclaiming “I like this!” to the delight of the group. Trips even offer time for a quick dip in the freezing water between raid runs. A company called Float-O-Graph takes photos and videos of your group as you crash down the largest rapid.

Horseback riding is another great way to enjoy the remote wilderness surrounding Jackson Hole. The Turpin Meadow Ranch, which offers a breathtaking view of the Grand Teton Mountains, is an ideal place to go for a horseback ride. The Ranch resort offers loads of outdoor activities throughout every season, but summertime is best for riding, and the ranch offers a variety of equestrian opportunities, from simple rides around the ranch to multi-day treks into the most remote wilderness. With a stable of over 80 horses and ten different riding trails to choose from, even a short three-hour ride becomes an adventure. Winding away from the ranch into the mountains, you pass magnificent gorges with the Snake River below, beautiful meadows covered by wildflowers, and of course the magnificent view of the glacier- capped Tetons.

But the biggest adventure in Jackson Hole lies to the north, through the gateway into the tranquil Grand Tetons National Park and America’s most beloved national park, Yellowstone. The two parks combined offer the highest concentration of wildlife in the lower United States, and each caters to two distinct moods. If you’re looking for a serene setting with spectacular mountain views, you might want to stay in one of the lodges in the Tetons. Yellowstone offers a much more varied, albeit crowded atmosphere in peak summer months, a rich landscape replete with a geysers, gorges, lakes, streams, and waterfalls.

Either park can be visited from downtown Jackson Hole with ease — and within time for a dinner return. No matter what time of year you go, Jackson Hole is the place for outdoor adventure and family fun.

Zulu Nyala, South Africa

Story and photos by Laurie Bautz

This past January, my husband and I went on vacation to South Africa. It was the trip of a lifetime; the kind many dream about, but never get the chance to take.

We were able to make ours a reality thanks to our winning bid for a safari at a charity auction a few months prior. Our six-day safari at Zulu Nyala, located in the northeastern corner of South Africa, included two game drives a day and offered three types of accommodation: tents (No, thank you), a game lodge situated right on the reserve, or more hotel-like quarters. We chose to stay directly on the reserve, at the lodge.

The day we checked in, we were greeted by the sight of nyala (South African antelope) and wild warthogs, their babies in tow, roaming the property. It turned out that January was a good month to go, as most of the animal species had offspring that were anywhere from two- to six-months-old. But what I’d really come for were elephants. With any luck, we’d witness these majestic creatures in their native habitat before the end of our stay.

The game drives usually left after breakfast and our first, the next morning, was simply amazing. We all loaded up in the vehicle and took off, cameras in hand. The drive took us over gravel roads deep into the reserve property. We continued to see a lot of nyala and warthogs as well as impala. The game driver would stop as he spotted various animals along the way so we could take our pictures, telling us about each and pointing out the differences among them. The drivers were native and highly knowledgeable of the area, and each had a unique personality and approach to the outing that kept each drive interesting. Navigating according to signs of recent activity — fresh dung or footprints — they also knew which animals were usually at the watering holes in the late afternoon.

During the second drive of the afternoon, we were just coming over the top of a hill when we saw a watering hole below us crowded with meandering giraffes. I didn’t expect us to go much further, but we forged right down into the middle of it all. The giraffes stopped for a few minutes to watch us, but decided we were of no threat to them and continued drinking. It was a spectacular experience.

Over the next couple of days we found ourselves in the middle of a grazing, cape buffalo herd; we sat and watched two hippos do nothing but go up and down for air in the watering hole for an hour, and we chased zebras in the truck, trying to get our “perfect picture.” Zebras were the most difficult to capture on camera, but finally managed to pull up pretty close to them and they decided to stay and smile for the camera. Late one day we pulled up to another watering hole to find three rhinos lounging about in the mud. We caught up with them on the road later that week and snapped some photos. By that time we’d been spoiled, always expecting to get just a little bit closer than last time.

By day three, we still hadn’t spotted the elusive elephant. The reserve had only three, so it seemed that we’d have to go to a bigger, more populated park to ensure a sighting. We took a side trip to Tembe Elephant Park near the Mozambique border, about two hours from our lodge. After an interesting 8-kilometer drive through a few Zulu towns on a road I call “Pothole Highway” (we later returned the rental car, minus a hubcap), we found the park, met up with our driver, and loaded right up into his truck. I remember seeing a sign at the beginning of the road that read “DUNG BEETLES HAVE RIGHT OF WAY.” Huh? What? Thinking of them as hummingbirds helped me get through the initial part of the drive. I had mixed emotions about this leg of the journey; I wanted to see elephants, but I had no idea flying, bird-sized insects were part of the deal! I contained myself. We were committed and the driver was not turning back. My husband informed me that under no circumstances was I allowed to scream.

All was forgotten the minute we spotted the elephants at their watering hole. There were six or seven with a couple of babies, spraying themselves, drinking, and just wandering around the hole. It was like something out of a movie. We stopped and turned off the truck and watched them for about an hour. During that time I snapped a picture of them just after they had gotten wind of us. They all put their trunks up in the air to smell us (even the babies), decided we were not there to hurt them, and continued with their routine. It was so peaceful just sitting there quietly watching them, but sadly we had to leave.

When we returned to Zulu Nyala we showed everyone our pictures and told the story of our day’s adventure. Dinner at the lodge is a bit like mixed dining on a cruise; you sit with other people and discuss the drives and side trips you took that day. Others had gone off to different parks and new people had arrived for their week at the lodge. We gave them some advice and pointers. By that time we felt like old pros.

For the remaining two days we took our daily game drives and relaxed at the pool in between. After the elephant adventure, everything else seemed uneventful. We did continue to track the elephant at our own park, and on the last day our driver got a walkie-talkie call that they had been spotted nearby. Of course we were on the other side of the park, but we quickly raced over the terrain and met up with them in a field making their way through the trees. This time one came right up to the truck and nudged it. I guess she didn’t mind us; we were still standing on all four tires by the time she left.

At the end of the week it was time to pack up all our khaki clothes, bug spray, and sunscreen. We were ready to leave with some fabulous photos and some great experiences, but decided to take in one more game drive with our own car through Hluhluwe Game Reserve. We were already going through safari withdrawals, but were also excited about moving on to Cape Town. Luckily, friends who had been to Cape Town told us about a beach where penguins roamed freely. We charged up our camera batteries and we were off on our next adventure…

HIKING TOWARD MY ROOTS: A Trek on Virginia’s Creeper Trail
By Vern Hobbs

The mountains and meadows were luminous with the emerald hue of the Appalachian spring. The excitement, especially mine, was palpable as we unpacked our gear at the Abingdon trailhead. Melodramatic as it might sound, I owe my very existence to this humble hiking trail, or at least to the railroad from which it takes its name.

The Virginia Creeper National Recreation Trail stretches 34 miles through the Southwest Virginia highlands and is a showpiece of the national rails-to-trails movement, a collective public and private effort to convert abandoned railroad rights-of-way to public use. The trail takes its curious name from local folklore. Completed in 1909, the Virginia and Carolina Railroad was a classic mountain railway comprised of countless serpentine curves and steep grades, relegating trains to a lumbering pace and earning it the nickname, “Virginia Creeper.”

The Norfolk and Western Railway purchased the floundering Virginia and Carolina in 1919, and continued to operate the line until 1977. Soon after abandonment, efforts were undertaken by local hiking groups to acquire the line and adapt it to hiking, bicycling, and equestrian use. Their efforts received and enormous boost when the Forest Service designated portions of the route within the Jefferson National Forest as a National Recreation Trail. Subsequently, sections of the right-of-way that traversed private land were purchased, creating an unbroken pathway through one of the most beautiful regions of the south.

Abingdon, Virginia, located near the Tennessee border, just off Interstate 81, was the capital of the Southwest Territories in colonial days. Today, Abingdon boasts a well preserved historic district, is home to the famous Barter Theatre, and marks the western end of the Virginia Creeper Trail.

A steam locomotive rests silently beneath an open air shed at the Abingdon trailhead on Railroad Avenue. For me, this now silent, fire breathing behemoth represents my ancestral connection to the Virginia Creeper Trail. A long time ago, my grandfather worked on this railroad, no doubt passing many a day behind this very locomotive. Familiar old family stories flood into my mind as we strike out. Closing my eyes, I imagine that I am walking between two parallel ribbons of steel, smelling the aroma of coal smoke, and hearing in the far distance the lonely wail of a steam whistle.

Between Abingdon and Damascus, a distance of 16 miles, the trail holds an average, gentle grade of 1.3 percent. Evenly divided between up and downhill slopes, this makes for a good single day trek even for a novice hiker like me. Public access to the trail is provided at Abingdon and Damascus and at two intermediate trailheads: Watauga Trestle and Alvarado. Camping is not allowed along this portion of the trail.

Stately farmhouses and rustic barns look down over sloping green meadows where cows and the occasional sheep lazily graze. Concrete mileposts, a vestige of the railroad days, mark our progress as we proceed surrounded by pastoral beauty. At milepost eight, we cross the Holston River atop a bridge immortalized in a 1957 photograph by Winston O. Link and published in his book, “The Last Steam Railroad in America.” This is the longest of the 110 bridges on the trail, and also marks its lowest point: 1,900 feet above sea level. For the next eight miles, we follow the meandering river past Alvarado, now a ghost town, and finally into the mountain hamlet of Damascus, midpoint of the Creeper Trail.

Damascus is a world renowned backpackers’ town. Centrally located along the popular Creeper Trail (as well as the fabled Appalachian Trail), Damascus offers plentiful camping and lodging, a backpackers’ hostel, and three well-stocked outfitters offering everything a hiker might need, including shuttle service to various trailheads. The Forest Service Visitors’ Center, located in the red caboose, provides current info on all matters that might concern trail users.

I was disappointed to learn that the Damascus depot, a fond memory from my childhood, has since been demolished. That simple structure represented my deepest connection to the railroad that was, for it was here that a young woman observed her Sunday afternoon ritual of waving to the arriving train. On one particular Sunday afternoon, she caught the eye of a young trainman — my future grandfather. The rails, the depot, and sadly even my grandparents themselves are gone, but my memory of them lives on, and is especially poignant in this lovely mountain village where the Virginia Creeper once stopped.

East from Damascus, the Creeper Trail winds through 18 miles of the Jefferson National Forest on an average almost totally uphill grade of 2.6 percent, providing a challenging hike. Trail access is conveniently provided along U.S. Highway 58 at the Damascus, Straight Branch, Taylor’s Valley, Creek Junction, Green Cove, and White Top trailheads. Camping is permitted in designated areas along this segment of the trail.

The iron bridge two miles east of Damascus, setting for another Winston O. Link photograph, marks the beginning of the long, continuous climb through some of the most ruggedly beautiful mountains of the Southern Appalachians. Following the course of Straight Branch for three miles, we finally emerged from shady woodlands into Taylor’s Valley, a farming community little changed since the days when the train stopped here. Plunging back into dense forest, the old roadbed shares a narrow gorge cut by the raging current of White Top Laurel Creek to Konnarock Junction, nine miles east of Damascus.

Falling into a comfortable pace, I try to imagine what my grandfather might have thought about this place. He wasn’t a native of the southern mountains; he migrated here from New York, transplanting himself into the last wilderness of the east. I settle on the notion that perhaps he found the raw beauty of these mountains almost as intoxicating as the beauty on the station platform at Damascus.

Seeking the shallowest possible grade, the railroad builders turned southeast from Konnarock, toward the prominent gap between Chestnut and Lost Mountains, where today the small community of Green Cove boasts the only remaining depot from the railroad era. This humble structure, subject of another classic Winston O. Link photograph, is today fully restored and serves as a museum and visitors’ center.

Beyond Green Cove a long switchback, required to keep the grade to a manageable 3.5 percent, climbs toward White Top. At an elevation of 3,576 feet, this once bustling logging town was the highest point east of the Rockies with scheduled rail service. Today, all that is a memory, but the community of White Top, eastern terminus of the Creeper Trail, has experienced a renaissance as legions of hikers come here seeking adventure.

The White Top trailhead affords a breathtaking panorama of the surrounding mountains and valleys and is a fitting place to conclude our journey and reflect on the experience. Satisfyingly exhausted, I look back down the trail and imagine my grandfather standing on the last car of the westbound Virginia Creeper, waving back at me across a century.

Visit www.vacreepertrail.com for more information. You’ll also find details on current policies regarding camping and fire usage.

Towering above the Central California landscape, the mountain continues to be an active geological site. Best known as the tallest ski area in California, it is actually a gateway to outdoor adventures of all kind, throughout four distinct seasons. Centrally located no more than a seven-hour drive from almost every major city in the state, it is a highly popular weekend getaway.

In the summer adventurers come to hike, mountain bike, fish in the lakes and streams, and rock and mountain climb. Ski gondolas are converted to transportation for mountain bikers and hikers and shuttles are available to take hikers and campers into Yosemite and the John Muir Wilderness National Park as the weather warms up. When nearby Tioga Pass opens after the hot summer sun melts the winter snow pack, Yosemite becomes an enticing day trip. But a much closer and less crowded adventure awaits visitors to the John Muir Wilderness area, which covers 584,000 acres in the Sierra and Inyo National Forests.

The area, which gained 81,000 acres from the California Wilderness Act of 1984, extends along the crest of the Sierra Nevada from Mammoth Lakes southeastward for about 30 miles. It then splits around the borders of Kings Canyon National Park to the Crown Valley and Mt. Whitney regions. This is a land of snow-capped mountains dotted with hundreds of lakes, streams, and meadows. Elevations range from 4,000 to 14,496 feet at Mount Whitney and many peaks are above the 13,000-foot range. Lower elevation slopes are covered with stands of Jeffrey pine, incense cedar, white and red fir and lodgepole pine, while the barren higher spots are marked by granite and glacially-carved lakes.

The breathtaking Rainbow Falls and the geological formation known as Devil’s Postpile are just a few of the easy hikes within close reach of Mammoth, but other curiosities like Bodie Ghost Town and Mono Lake have proven equally popular. Bodie State Historic Park, a genuine California gold-mining ghost town, invites visitors down the original streets of a community that once boasted a population of nearly 10,000. The town, named for Waterman S. Body (William Bodey), who had discovered small amounts of gold in hills north of Mono Lake, hit pay dirt when an 1875 a mine cave-in revealed untold riches.

After the Standard Company purchased the mine 1877, people flocked to Bodie, transforming it from a sleepy backwater of a few dozen to a bone fide boomtown almost overnight. Only a small part of the town survives, and interiors of shops remain as they were left, many still stocked with goods. Designated as a National Historic Site and a State Historic Park in 1962, the remains of Bodie are being preserved in a state of “arrested decay.” Today, this once thriving mining camp is visited by tourists, howling winds, and, of course, an occasional ghost. Spectacular summer thunderstorms are common in the area and give visitors a good idea of the harsh conditions residents had to endure.

Nearby Bodie is Mono Lake, geologically one of the oldest lakes in the western hemisphere. Eerily beautiful, reflecting the snow-capped Sierras in its brilliant blue waters, Mono Lake is essentially an immense inland sea, filling a natural basin 695 square miles in size. Its most distinctive features are its tufa towers — mineral structures formed when freshwater springs bubble up through the alkaline waters of the lake. The lake’s salty water not only makes you float like a cork, but sustains trillions of brine shrimp, attracting millions of migratory birds in search of a feast. A paradise for birdwatchers and photographers, Mono Lake also provides hiking, kayaking, interpretive trails, and a peaceful haven for taking in nature in all its grandeur.
A host of other activities keep Mammoth a lively place all summer. Several pro mountain biking races, an incredible July 4th celebration, and an August Blues festival keep the summer fun sizzling in the downtown area, though fall may be the most beautiful time to visit Mammoth. The summer crowds have gone, and cottonwood, willow, and aspen trees explode into a myriad of autumn colors. Lakes and streams gush with fresh summer rains and melted snow pack, and the air is crystal clear, making for spectacular photography opportunities.

But it is the winter season that outdoor adventurers most associate with Mammoth. With an average of over 400 inches of annual snowfall, thousands of acres of incredible terrain from advanced expert to beginner, and an altitude that keeps the snow from melting well into the summer, Mammoth turns winter into a six month-plus season for snow sports. That equates to one of the longest ski seasons of any resort in the country. Twenty-eight state-of-the-art lifts and gondolas lift skiers to the most advanced peaks and a variety of runs for all skill levels (including seven terrain parks).

Mammoth Mountain is rated as a top destination by most well traveled skiers and snowboarders. From the top elevation of the ski resort at 11,053 feet, there are over 3,100 vertical feet of ski area and over 150 trails. Lift tickets can be expensive during peak season, but there are a variety of discounts available, including reduced lift tickets and vacation packages. While nearby June Mountain offers limited runs and a shorter season, it’s also a cheaper alternative if you’re looking for budget skiing during peak season. But the best deals are offered during my favorite time to visit Mammoth: spring. Cheaper lift tickets, warm, sunny weather, and slushy snow (which is better for less experienced skiers and snowboarders) add up to a great Spring Break at the resort.

There are a variety of other winter and spring activities available at Mammoth. For the vertically-challenged seeking a snowy adventure, escape to the serene tree-lined trails of Mammoth’s majestic Lakes Basin. Nineteen miles of freshly groomed skating, classic, and snowshoe trails await cross-country skiers and snowshoers of all abilities. With the beautiful backdrop of snow-covered peaks and the serene sounds of winter birds you can traverse the forest paths on the edge of glacial lakes. If speed is you your addiction, you may want to rent a snowmobile. Mammoth Snowmobile Adventures is the perfect outfitter for first-timers or seasoned experts. Experienced guides and top-of-the-line equipment grant you access to California’s greatest playground, including: thousands of acres of trails, pristine backcountry, spacious meadows, historic landmarks, and lush pine forests.

A plethora of restaurants and accommodations await you in downtown Mammoth. From a Motel 6 to luxury condos for rent with a ski lift right outside your door, there is a place to stay for most any budget. Some of the popular bars and eateries provide venues for live bands and there always seem to be something going on into wee hours.

For more information on where to stay and what to do, visit the Official Mammoth websites:

www.visitmammoth.com/hotels

www.mammothmountain.com

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Wilmington: The Overlooked Sister
By Vern Hobbs

Though often overshadowed by her flashier sisters, Charleston and Savannah, Wilmington, North Carolina is a sparkling jewel among the historic port cities of the American South. Located along the banks of the Cape Fear River, Wilmington beckons to the curious traveler with three centuries of history, vibrant nightlife, a robust arts community, and pristine beaches.

“Historic,” has become an overworked adjective, too often used to embellish a place more accurately described simply as “old.” To truly deserve the label “historic,” a city should be more than a collection of aging buildings. It should embody a connection to significant people and events through which cultures are defined. Few places meet that standard as thoroughly as Wilmington.

In 1524, 96 years before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock, Giovanni da Verrazano became the first European to lay eyes on what would one day become Wilmington. Giovanni rendered a glowing report to the King of France, for whom he was working at the time, but no settlement was established until the English arrived 137 years later. This early real estate venture failed when the settlers incurred the wrath of the native Siouan Indians who took offense to the colonists’ plans to kidnap their children and indoctrinate them into British culture and Anglican religion.

In 1720, speculators from South Carolina and Barbados tired a more diplomatic approach, negotiating the purchase of lands from Chief Wat Coosa, and christening the new settlement Wilmington. From these beginnings, the history of Wilmington surged forward with all the plot twists of a Pat Conroy novel.

British General Cornwallis located his headquarters here before heading north into Virginia and his rude encounter with an American general named George. Pirates Stede Bonnet and Edward Teach, a.k.a. Blackbeard, made Wilmington their home port while terrorizing the Carolina and Virginia coasts. Confederate defenders kept Union forces at bay until December 1864, making Wilmington the last southern port to fall into Federal hands. In 1898, racial tensions boiled over into rioting that is today known as the Wilmington massacre. The massacre changed the political structure of North Carolina and gave rise to Jim Crow laws throughout the South, a travesty that stood until the civil rights triumphs of the 1960s. As all this history unfolded around her, Wilmington amassed one of the most impressive collections of Georgian, antebellum, federalist, and neo-classical architecture in the U.S., and sired countless sons and daughters bound for greatness, among them, Charles Kuralt, David Brinkley, and Michael Jordan.

The National Trust for Historic Preservation has recognized the richness of Wilmington’s past by naming it among its “dozen distinctive destinations.” Numerous museums and galleries chronicle this colorful history, but modern Wilmington’s connection with earlier times is not relegated to the proclamations of historical societies, nor confined to museums. It lives in her present day citizens.

Strike up a conversation with Trevor, owner of Mugsy’s Grill on Princess Street, and you’ll discover he’s as much curator as restaurateur, anxious to tell about the building’s history and his efforts to preserve it. Johnny, at Cape Fear Beer and Wine, loves to tell the story of a British soldier who was shot on a riverfront wharf, and is doomed to forever haunt Wilmington in general, and his store in particular.

Yes, this city honors its history, but by no means languishes in the past. Wilmington is a progressive, forward looking, and youthful community. Pharmaceutical and telecommunications have replaced the declining shipbuilding and lumber industries. Motion picture and television producers have found that Wilmington’s Old-South ambience makes it a perfect filming location. Recently, EUE Screen Gems Studios opened “Dream Stage 10,” billing it as the largest movie production facility outside California. The University of North Carolina, Wilmington, Shaw University, and Cape Fear Community College infuse the community with a palpable thirst for learning and a youthful enthusiasm.

An exploration of Wilmington is best launched from Riverwalk Park, at the foot of Market Street. Helpful volunteers will point you toward the most popular attractions, or arrange a tour. Motor and horse-drawn trolley tours are popular. Private carriage rides provide individualized sightseeing with the promise of romance. River excursions, dinner cruises, and water-taxis are provided by Cape Fear Riverboats. For a unique sightseeing experience, try a guided Segway tour. Your personal Segway comes with a quick lesson on safe operation.

The Riverwalk, Wilmington’s premier boardwalk, stretches for over a mile along the Cape Fear River. Cafes, hotels, and boutiques are sprinkled along the landside, while visiting yachts, tour boats, and the Coast Guard Cutter Diligence dock along the waterside. Across the river, Battleship Park and the massive U.S.S. North Carolina invite visitors to hop aboard a water-taxi and come hear the story of this mighty ship and the gallant men who served aboard her. Equally inspiring is the story of North Carolina school children who collected pennies to purchase the decommissioned battleship and relocate it to Wilmington where it was transformed into a living history museum.

One block east of the Riverwalk, Front Street is the beating heart of Wilmington’s vibrant downtown. Mornings start with stimulating conversation in the coffee shops, like Java Dog at 313 Front, where Meg, the lovable Golden Lab, personally greets every customer. Mid-day is all hustle and bustle in the cafes and retro diners, like the Dixie Grill at 116 Market Street, satisfying appetites since 1906. Afternoons are a bit lazy, as window shoppers stroll along Front Street, and tourists meander past the mansions on Third. Evening brings the city back to life as bands crank up the jams in genres ranging from metal to reggae. Broadway favorites are performed live at Level-5 on the top floor or the old Masonic Temple, while discriminating diners gather at Circa 1922, and pizza connoisseurs head for Fat Tony’s.

Wilmington is also the gateway to Southern North Carolina’s beautiful beaches. Wrightsville Beach is the nearest, only eight miles east on Route 74. Locals seem to prefer the more laid-back atmosphere of Carolina Beach and Kure Beach, about 20 miles south of Wilmington on the Cape Fear Peninsula. All these beach communities are thoroughly developed, but the high-rise condos so common along our shores are conspicuously absent.  One- and two-story seasonal residences are the rule here, and plentiful mom-and-pop motels lend to the relaxed, beach-town atmosphere.

All development stops south of Kure Beach at the Fort Fisher Battle Site and State Recreation Area, home to the North Carolina State Aquarium and miles of unspoiled dunes and beaches.  From Fort Fisher, $5 buys a 30-minute ferry ride across the mouth of the Cape Fear River to the quaint hamlet of Southport, established in 1792. A stroll around the shaded lanes of this nautical village is time well spent, as is a visit to the maritime museum on Howell Street. Here you’ll hear fascinating tales of pirates, blockade runners, and hurricanes. For lunch, try one of the outdoor cafes along Yacht Basin Street. Then, wrap up a perfect day by hopping the ferry back to Fort Fisher, the beaches, and that lovely, demure, third sister that you’ve overlooked for so long — Wilmington.

Several years ago, a friend suggested we spend New Year’s Eve in Salt Lake City, Utah. My first concern was whether or not we’d be able to find a place to enjoy a glass or two of champagne to celebrate the occasion. I am not a heavy drinker, but I do enjoy a couple of cocktails once in a while, especially on New Year’s Eve.

I was under the impression that the famously Mormon capital city was a dry town. But I was persuaded to go along with the idea after being informed of the terrific vacation packages available, including some of the most affordable skiing and snowboarding vacations in the country.

Some vacation packages include a special ski pass, good at four different ski resorts. The “Ski Salt Lake Super Pass,” also sold separately in increments of one- to six-days, is good over a seven-day period, and is valid at all four world-class resorts in the Cottonwood Canyons area. The pass provides an easy and inexpensive way to experience each of the resorts through a single lift pass while enjoying all the dining, nightlife, and value that downtown Salt Lake has to offer. With extensive websites offering the latest up-to-date information on conditions, you can research the different resorts the night before, deciding which mountain to visit at the last minute.

Super Pass prices start at $114 for a two-day adult pass and goes up to a six-day pass for $336. It’s valid at Alta, Brighton, Snowbird, and Solitude, and is redeemable for a full-day lift ticket at any one of these resorts. To make getting on the slopes from Salt Lake even easier, the Super Pass also includes free transportation on the UTA ski buses and the new TRAX light rail. The direct-to-resort ski buses run on regularly scheduled service, eliminating the need and associated costs of renting a car. In addition to offering the Super Pass, a Salt Lake winter vacation provides a variety of lodging options to fit every interest and budget. From a luxury five-diamond hotel and spa to a variety of remarkably well-priced budget hotels, Salt Lake offers a downtown base camp that is high on value and low on stress. Off the slopes, visitors can take advantage of the other activities Salt Lake has to offer, including a variety of cultural offerings, a happening restaurant and nightlife scene, and endless shopping.

Available for purchase online at www. ski-saltlake.com or through travel agencies, tour operators, and Salt Lake hotels, the Super Pass gives visitors the opportunity to tour all of Salt Lake’s famed resorts from a convenient base camp. Ski Salt Lake promotes Salt Lake and its four Cottonwood Canyon resorts as the ideal winter vacation destination unmatched in accessibility, variety, and snow quality. Located just 40 minutes from the Salt Lake City International Airport, Salt Lake’s resorts each average 500 inches of snow annually and collectively offer more than 7,500 skiable acres.

Alta is a skier’s mountain committed to preserving the traditional skiing experience. No snowboarding is allowed. Skiers consistently rank Alta as one of the best resorts in the U.S. for powder, snow, quality, terrain, and value.

Brighton ski resort does allow snowboarding and has a half-pipe. A little more out of the way than the other resorts, Brighton has been a popular place for locals to ski as far back as the 1850s. It’s also Utah’s only resort that can boast that 100% of its terrain is accessible by high-speed quads.  Their five quads give access to 1,050 acres and 1,875 vertical feet of incredible Utah skiing. Other amenities include The New Millicent Chalet, three additional day lodges, high quality rentals, a top-notch ski and snowboard school, lockers, cafeterias, and a pub (with alcohol).

Solitude is a large, full-service ski resort with all different types of terrain for skiing and snowboarding, and offers 65 named runs and three bowls spread beautifully over 1,200 acres. Featuring wide-open powder bowls, gladed tree runs, steep chutes, and gentle cruising boulevards, Solitude has terrain for every level of skier. Its longest descent is 3.5 miles down Honeycomb Trail.

Snowbird is one of the most well known resorts in the country. The top of the resort is the 11,000- foot Hidden Peak, and the lowest point on the mountain is the bottom of Baby Thunder chairlift at 7,760 feet. The 125-person tram covers 2,900 vertical feet in approximately seven minutes. Snowbird is one of the scariest mountains I’ve ever tried to snowboard down. I’ve never been more than a very intermediate level snowboarder, and my more expert level friend on the trip convinced me to start out on a black diamond run. Unfortunately, frigid conditions and inclement weather rendered the run like one giant ice cube. Petrified, I slid down most of the way on my back and spent the rest of the afternoon on the bunny slopes as my companion took the tram to the top. Personally, I much preferred the more gradual sloping of the other resorts, but experts love Snowbird.

After an exciting day on the slopes, we headed back to town to get ready for dinner and to take a walking tour of downtown Salt Lake City. Still decorated with Christmas lights and ornaments, downtown historic landmarks like the courthouse and Mormon Temple offer a spectacular view of the festive holiday spirit in the city. While there are no official public pubs or bars, we quickly determined that there is no problem imbibing in your favorite beverage within the city. Private “clubs” are allowed to serve alcohol throughout Salt Lake, and to take advantage of this loophole, all you have to do is become a member of a particular establishment. The membership fee is usually a trivial symbolic amount, maybe $5 or so. But a well-placed smile at the front door may also get you an invite from one of the “clubs” members who can bring you in for free as their guest.

When we visited Salt Lake for New Year’s Eve, the city had recently instituted the “First Night” celebration downtown. First Night is an outdoor/ indoor artistic and cultural celebration that takes place each New Year’s and was first established in Boston in 1976 as an alternative way to celebrate the New Year without the need for alcohol. First Night festivities now take place in cities all over the U.S., Canada, Britain, and New Zealand. The celebration was a great way to experience downtown on a festive occasion, with dozens of establishments from museums to ballrooms participating. And you could always wander off to a private club if you were in need of a beer or cocktail.

This year, the festivities in Salt Lake are expanding into a newer and bigger celebration. Building on a 16-year legacy, the local creators of First Night have reached deep into their imaginations to dream up the evolution of Salt Lake’s wildly popular Winter Festival. On December 29, 30 and 31, tens of thousands will gather for “EVE,” a first-ever indoor/outdoor urban extravaganza — with snow on the ground, fire in the sky, music in the air, and a party in the streets. Presented by the Downtown Alliance with corporate community partners including eBay, Coca-Cola, and American Express, EVE is hosted at venues throughout Downtown — Gallivan Plaza, The Gateway, Temple Square, Pierpont Avenue, the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center, the Off-Broadway Theater, Broadway Center Cinemas, the Discovery Gateway Children’s Museum, Clark Planetarium, and more. You can find the complete schedule for next December’s events at www. eveslc.com.

The Christmas trees had been on display at Merritt Square Mall since Halloween. My favorite radio station had been playing holiday music since Election Day. Nat King Cole was roasting chestnuts again, and I knew that before the hour was out Bing Crosby would be dreaming of another white Christmas. Despite being the happily sunburnt, contentedly salt-encrusted Florida beach bum that I am, I finally succumbed to this relentless onslaught of polished holiday imagery. I was longing for the perfect Christmas — the Christmas depicted on all those Christmas cards and sung about in all those familiar songs; the Christmas with glistening lanes, snow-laden evergreen boughs, carolers in woolen coats and scarves, sleigh rides, snowmen, ice skaters, hot cocoa, and mulled wine — the works!

What was I to do? I live in the Sunshine State, and have for so long that I tend to think of Interstate 10 as being akin to the Arctic Circle. But wait! I also live in the land of fantasy football leagues and fantasy baseball camps just 50 miles east of the world’s largest collection fantasy-themed amusement parks. Surely, there must be a “Fantasy Christmas” out there somewhere, packaged and wrapped, just waiting for me to sign up.

Ask, and the Internet will provide. A Google search for “fantasy holiday destinations” revealed a number of offerings, but the one that caught my eye was Nestlenook Farm. Maybe it was the website photo of the one-horse open sleigh, or the promise of evenings gathered around the bonfire sipping hot cider while skaters circled the frozen pond. Whatever the reason, I knew I had found the path to my perfect fantasy Christmas.

Located in the White Mountains of New Hampshire near the North Conway ski areas, Nestlenook Farm was not really all that far away. Affordable non-stop flights from Orlando to Manchester, New Hampshire were available, making my personal participation in the quintessential living Christmas card not only obtainable, but cheap.

We found Nestlenook Farm nestled in a quiet little valley just off Route 16A near the town of Jackson. Following the signs, we drove over the river — the Ellis River — and through the woods to arrive in front of the beautiful Nestlenook Inn. No, it wasn’t Grandmother’s house, but in the dream world of the perfect, fantasy Christmas, this is exactly what Granny’s house would look like. The Inn, a gracious, two-story Victorian surrounded by a white picket fence, was trimmed with ornate gingerbread cornices and sprouted three dormers from its steeply gabled roof, all of it tastefully decorated for the Yuletide season, and of course, dusted with a flawless layer of fresh New England snow.

Stepping out into the bracing air of the winter afternoon, I imagined that I could actually “hear those sleigh bells ringing…” No, wait a minute. Could it be? Was I really hearing sleigh bells? Yes, I was! I turned and scanned my surroundings. Across the sloping meadow a team of Clydesdales, in all their big-hoofed, shaggy glory, rounded the bend leading a wooden sleigh filled with red-nosed laughing people. The powerful shoulders of the two mammoth horses were fitted with sturdy leather collars adorned with a dozen or more tiny silver bells. The Christmas card was indeed coming alive, right before my eyes.

Inside, the Nestlenook Inn was even more inviting, and exuded a quaint homeyness blended with a casual degree of elegance. Tastefully simple holiday decorations were abundant but unimposing. A gentle, almost reverent silence prevailed, inclining us to whisper as though we had just entered a library. The aromas of cinnamon, nutmeg, and baking bread mingled pleasantly in the air, suggesting that visions of sugarplums would be dancing in our heads later that evening.

The Inn, one of the oldest homes in the Ellis Valley, was originally constructed in the 1790s and has been masterfully restored to preserve its historical character while incorporating modern amenities. Seven rooms are offered, each featuring either a fireplace or a parlor stove.  All are individually decorated and named for the artist whose paintings adorn the walls. The Inn itself is restricted to adult guests only. Family accommodations are available in the nearby Victorian Village, a collection of unique cottages all built in an architectural style that complements the historic Inn.

Promising ourselves that we would return in time for the complimentary evening wine-and-cheese soirée, we bundled up and headed out to explore the grounds. I felt as though I had stepped into one of those 19th-century Currier and Ives prints that illustrated my 7th-grade history book. Just down the hill from the Inn, we came upon a tidy red barn with a huge wreath of holly and pine suspended above its double Dutch-styled doors. A bit further along we spotted an arched, stone bridge, draped with green and red garlands befitting the season.  To either side of the little bridge, ice skaters glided past in singles and pairs — some dressed in full length woolens, most streaming colorful scarves in their wakes — and I’m sure I spied at least one gentleman sporting a top hat.

Despite multiple layers of clothing, our thin Florida blood limited the amount of time we could comfortably spend outdoors on this cold winter afternoon. We sought refuge in the enclosed gazebo adjacent to the skating pond and were welcomed with a roaring fire and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. From a marble monument located near the gazebo we learned that Nestlenook Farm grew from the inspiration of Nancy Cyr, who converted this humble mountain farm into a storybook winter wonderland for all to enjoy. Nancy unfortunately passed away soon after realizing her dream, but inspiring words on the monument assured us that her spirit lives on in every snowflake that falls on Nestlenook Farm.

I knew now that I had indeed found the perfect Fantasy Christmas — one that fairly leapt from the lyrics of all those songs. As if that weren’t enough, I soon learned that my fantasy needn’t be confined to Nestlenook Farm. Just over the hill, the village of Jackson is itself the setting for the most traditional of Christmas card images. Candles glow in the windows of the homes, sending a soft light into the hush of a snowy evening; carolers give flesh-and-blood life to all those holiday favorites; the local tavern adds turkey and dressing to their bill of fare, and church bells chime on Christmas morning, inviting all to come and hear the story of the first Christmas.

My fantasy was fulfilled. I had at long last experienced an idyllic Christmas and would never again dismiss praises of sleigh bells and roasting chestnuts as mere commercial banter. But after a few days of snowmen and woolen mittens, I began to crave the feeling of a different kind of powder beneath my feet — that special kind found only on the beaches between Cape Canaveral and Sebastian Inlet.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

The 2nd Annual Outside Lands Festival in San Francisco this past August benefited from a combination of improved planning and the luck of some of the nicest weather the city had seen all summer. The result was a far more pleasant and exciting experience for festivalgoers at this food, wine and music extravaganza.

I started my first day at the festival early, as I was unsure how complicated using public transportation in a strange city would be. To my surprise, I was able to catch a single city bus two blocks from my hotel and ride several miles down the colorful Haight Street district to within a short walking distance to the festival box office. Volunteers and city planners had worked long hours to devise an efficient strategy for funneling fans to and from the venue. A fading tropical wave from Baja, Mexico sent an unusual weather pattern over the region, making it feel more like Miami than the historically foggy City by the Bay.

The venue for the festival is extraordinary, taking up about a third of the massive Golden Gate Park. Once inside, it’s hard to believe you’re in the middle of a large city. Giant trees and grassy meadows block out any view of outside buildings, and the festival is arranged around the topography so that each group of stages has its own unique look and feel. There were many secluded areas and empty meadows nearby for those in need of respite from the music. Thanks to the efforts of innovative organizers, Outside Lands truly becomes a world unto itself.

Much more than a purely musical event, this year’s Outside Lands featured some of San Francisco’s finest restaurants offering up some of their most sumptuous dishes. Dozens of different cuisines were on offer, from delicious combination plates of Indian curries to fresh seafood like Hawaiian poke and shucked oysters. More standard fare like gourmet pizza, spicy barbecue and homemade sausages sent savory smells throughout the park. All manner of deserts from Ben and Jerry’s ice cream to fresh baked cookies kept fans’ sweet tooths satisfied. The festival also featured a giant wine-tasting tent called “Winehaven.” With over 30 wineries participating, it was a Lolapalooza for oenophiles. I tried more syrah and pinot noir — my particular grapes of choice — than I had ever seen assembled in one place.

Besides the wealth of food and drink available, there were also loads activities on hand, including a comedy and vaudeville tent; pitching and batting cages; Heineken and Intel areas, disco tents and video games. The most high-profile video game on show was the newly-released Beatles “Rock Band,” with many kids lining up to play their favorite songs.

After some delicious Indian food and my first round of wine tasting at Winehaven, I sauntered over to the Solar stage which is powered entirely by solar panels. This stage was host to some of the most intriguing new acts to appear at the festival. Malaysian singer Zee Avi played pleasing songs with a fresh new voice, and switched between strumming a guitar and a ukulele. Then I rushed back over to the main stage to catch a rocking and energetic set by the Silversun Pickups, followed by Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears back at the Solar. Often compared to Howlin’ Wolf or James Brown, Lewis is a young singer/guitarist with an eons-old soul.

Then it was back to the Sutro stage for what became the highlight of my day: a set by Tom Jones. The promoters were asking for band suggestions when I corresponded with them last year about their inaugural event. I mentioned that I’d just seen Jones perform in Las Vegas and would love to see him perform in front of a younger audience. Playing a shorter set than his legendary marathon shows, Jones wisely started with a few hard-rocking tunes, before settling into his more mainstream hits. This near septuagenarian still has one of the strongest voices in the music business, at times wailing like an young Robert Plant and at others adopting a deep, gospel-inspired baritone. The fans went wild, throwing dozens of pairs of underwear — both male and female — onto the stage.

When I was growing up in Florida, my imagination was captured by a story I read about a Woodstock-like music festival called Mar y Sol. The festival took place in Puerto Rico by a famous surfing beach named Los Tubos. I thought that it must be heaven on earth to attend a three-day music festival within earshot of good surfing waves. So it was a great surprise to find that the Outside Lands’ main stage was only blocks away from one of the best surfing beaches in California.

It may not be the warm tropical paradise I envisioned in my dreams, but it was pretty close, and I heard that there was an early big-winter swell headed to Ocean Beach the second day of the festival. Paddling out by the huge Seal Rock, a strong riptide aided me in accessing six to eight barreling breakers. The waves were the scariest and most powerful I had seen since last winter at Rincon. A few miles to the south, even larger ones could be seen breaking nearly a mile out to sea. A few surfers dodged the outside sets looking like flies on a windscreen. After an exciting but humbling surf session, I was dropped off at the entrance to Outside Lands, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and covered with fresh ocean salt. I made my way into the festival and straight into the Winehaven tent for more syrah to enjoy the rest of day-two, with sets by the Black Eyed Peas and Atlanta-based heavy metal band Mastodon.

A sleepy shroud of fog returned to Golden Gate Park for the third and final day of the festival. The cooler weather, combined with the earlier cancellation of headlining supergroup the Beastie Boys, lead to a smaller crowd at the festival than the previous two days. Hot coffee and wine replaced cold beer and ice cream as more popular fare on this typically San Franciscan day. Closing out the festival were performances by Ween, masterful blues vocalist Bettye Lavette (whose rendition of her 1965 hit “Let me Down Easy” nearly brought me to tears), techno disco diva M.I.A., and Band of Horses. About 15,000 devoted fans waited out the cold, drizzly conditions to catch the grand finale of comedy rockers Tenacious D.

Overall, this year’s Outside Lands Festival was a huge success. Melding superior food and drink and breathtaking scenery with stellar surf and an eclectic roster of performers, it shatters every staid notion of how live music should be experienced. Through creative, outside-the-box planning and cutting-edge technology, Outside Lands has changed the traditional concert landscape for both fans and performers. If you have to go to one music event next year, make sure it’s this one.

To find out more about Outside Lands, visit www.sfoutsidelands.com

Be Afraid… It’s Good for You
By Vern Hobbs

Radio personality John Tesh recently reported that medical researchers have determined that the occasional frightening experience may provide certain health benefits. Specifically, being frightened releases adrenaline, increasing circulation and heightening alertness.

So, if you haven’t had a good scare lately, what better time than now — Halloween — to enjoy the rejuvenation that only sheer terror provides? Now perhaps a Halloween travel article should list the best resorts in Transylvania, or at least a quaint bed and breakfast in Sleepy Hollow, but there’s no need to spend your frequent flyer miles just to get that creepy feeling because there are lots of haunted places right here in our area.

Consider, if you will, the old Georgiana Cemetery along Crooked Mile Road on Merritt Island. Georgiana was one of the earliest settlements in the area and was once the hub of commercial activity on Merritt Island. The cemetery dates back to the 18th century and includes a number of unmarked graves. Local folklore holds that the cemetery is a place where people conduct private rituals to honor, and some say contact, long deceased relatives. Stories of the unthinkable, including hands protruding from the ground, are numerous indeed. The cemetery itself could easily be the setting for the next big Halloween film with its ancient tombstones, sunken silhouettes of forgotten graves, and Spanish moss draping from trees to cast eerie shadows. I recommend a visit just before midnight, around October 17 — the last new moon before Halloween.

Should midnight explorations of graveyards seem a little too cliché, consider something a bit more subtle, such as a play, or a musical review. Just across the Indian River, we find the Cocoa Village Playhouse, home to some of the most delightful live theatre in Brevard County, and one well-renowned ghost! Legend has it that the resident phantom is the spirit of a handyman who cared for the building long ago. Theatre staff members have reported hearing footsteps, and doors have been seen to open and close without human manipulation. Paranormal scientists define such behavior as that of a poltergeist — a harmless, even playful ghost.

The Cocoa Village Playhouse is hardly unique in its haunted status. The Daytona Playhouse, at 100 Jessamine Boulevard in Daytona Beach, is rumored to be haunted by not one, but two specters. The most widely told tale is that of a soldier who went missing while fighting in Spain — probably during the Spanish Civil War — and his lover, pregnant with his child, who committed suicide by drowning herself in the Halifax River. Sightings of both have been reported here. The Playhouse was recently investigated by the Daytona Beach Paranormal Research Group, considered one of the foremost paranormal organizations in Florida. A team of investigators combed every inch of the theatre using thermal sensors, audio and video recorders, and other ghost-hunting devices. The team concluded that paranormal activity does exist, and audio and electronic anomalies were recorded.

The old city of St. Augustine is also rife with ghost stories. This is not surprising, considering the city has been inhabited for over four centuries and has seen countless storms, floods, shipwrecks, epidemics, and a few sieges — all things that produce a plethora of untimely deaths, the perfect formula for creating ghosts. So numerous are shadowy legends and haunted houses here that a cottage industry has developed around them. Several companies promote tours of haunted places, each with its own unique twist, ranging from hearse rides to a haunted pub-crawl. For serious ghost hunters, though, Flagler College and the historic St. Francis Inn are not to be missed.

Flagler College, formerly the luxurious Ponce de Leon Hotel, is said to have three ghosts in residence, including Henry Flagler himself. The story goes that Flagler’s funeral was held in the hotel’s great rotunda in 1912. It was ordered that all the windows be opened so that his spirit could fly away, but at the last moment an uninformed janitor closed the windows, trapping Flagler’s ghost forever within his grand hotel. Meanwhile, up on the fourth floor of what is now a women’s dormitory, an alleged mistress of old Henry provides the coeds with many a sleepless night, shaking beds, moving furniture, and playing ballroom dance music. The saddest ghost of all, however, haunts the old hotel’s rococo dining room. The face of a little boy is said to sometimes be visible through a floor tile, staring up at the very balcony from which he fell to his death while playing with a ball.

A few blocks away, at 279 St. George Street, the two century-old St. Francis Inn is so proud of their resident ghost that she’s been given her own room. Just ask for “Lilly’s Room,” when checking in, and plan a little extra time for repacking before you leave. Lilly is a mischievous poltergeist who enjoys scattering guests’ belongings about while they sleep.

Just north of St. Augustine are two of Florida’s most famous haunted places — Ghost Light Road and the old Amelia Island Jail.

You won’t find Ghost Light Road on Map Quest, but you will find Greenbrier Road, a.k.a. St. Johns County Road 210, running west of U.S. 1 near the town of Durbin. For many years motorists plying CR-210 late at night have been scared out of their wits by a mysterious orb of pale light that hovers above and just behind their cars. The St. Johns County Sheriff’s Department had so many reports that they once hired an expert in bioluminescence to study the area and hopefully explain away the phenomena. The study produced no scientific explanation. Locals however, say the light belongs to the ghost of a motorcyclist decapitated in an accident on CR-210 many years ago.

The old Amelia Island jail is thought to be haunted by one Luc Simone Aury. Luc, a notorious pirate, was being held in the jail awaiting execution when he decided to cheat the hangman by slitting his own throat. Not to be denied their just revenge, the local authorities summoned a surgeon who stitched Luc’s neck back together, only to have his head snap off in a bloody spectacle at the next morning’s hanging. Luc is said to appear at the old jail now and again, sporting a gruesome slash around his neck.

Ghosts and haunted places are not exclusive to times long past. East-coastal Florida is home to at least one space age haunting. Launch Complex 34 at the Kennedy Space Center is rumored to be haunted by the spirits of astronauts Virgil “Gus” Grissom, Roger Chaffee, and Edward White, who lost their lives in the tragic Apollo One accident of January, 1967. Reportedly, NASA personnel and contractors working at the site have heard screams of panic and distress. Construction crews hired to repaint the structure several years after the disaster experienced an abnormally high rate of jobsite accidents. The popular paranormal website, www.theshadowlands.net, claims that NASA removed Complex 34 from its guided K.S.C. tours due to “strange occurrences.”

So, there you have it — a small sampling of the many ghoulish legends and spooky places right in our own backyard. Go visit one late on some moonless night.

VENTURA, CALIFORNIA: Sun, Surf and Music

Ventura has long been the blue collar, working class mecca of southern California. Founded on an oil industry boom, and rich farm and ranch lands, it’s always been a place where people work hard for a living and party even harder in their spare time. In the home of world-class surf breaks and the Hell’s Angels, outdoor activities are also an integral part of the Ventura lifestyle. Add to this an incredibly vibrant music and entertainment scenes and you have a fool-proof recipe for the good life. Recently the city — especially the downtown Main Street area — has undergone a transformation into a trendy, upscale vacation destination, rivaling its sister city to the north, Santa Barbara. But at the same time, it’s still managed to maintain its character as a working person’s paradise.

Ventura’s San Buenaventura Mission was founded by Father Junipero Serra in 1782 in his quest to unite California with a series of mission settlement. The surrounding area began life as a vast Spanish hacienda, rich with agricultural abundance. Shortly after the Civil War, American settlers descended upon this California outpost in large numbers and the city of Ventura began to grow rapidly. Thomas Scott, a railroad magnate, bought up huge chunks of the locale and put one of his best employees, Thomas Bard, in charge of his holdings. Now considered the father of modern Ventura, Bard began the area’s vast oil and agriculture industries that still employ so many today. Like Santa Barbara, Ventura is jammed between the mountains of Los Padres National forest and the open Pacific Ocean, and travel in the early days was extremely difficult, leaving the town isolated from most of Southern California. In 1959, a freeway was built along the coast, and modern Ventura soon exploded into the vibrant city it is today.

Nestled tightly along the coast, Ventura boasts some world-class surfing spots, including Surfer’s Point, located on the edge of downtown. “The Point” provides consistent surf in summer and winter, but is at its finest in the peak winter months, when giant ocean swells create waves over a mile long. In fact, some of the longest waves I’ve surfed anywhere in the world have been at Surfer’s. On just the right swell, waves can connect from the mouth of the Santa Clara River all the way down the Point to well over one mile away at the Ventura Pier. The waves can be even longer than the more famous Rincon Point 15 miles to the north in Santa Barbara County. Actually, the bottom of Rincon Point is located on the Ventura County line, and on a good day, you can ride a single wave through both counties. The whole area around Ventura is a surfer’s paradise featuring all types of breaks and conditions. Just to the north is one of the finest big-wave reef breaks in all of Southern California, while to the south, miles of beach breaks, including the explosive Santa Clara Rivermouth, offer gaping tubes for experienced surfers.

The long stretch of parking on Surfer’s Point is a focal point for beach life in Ventura. Different surfing subcultures, from longboarders and stand-up paddlers on First Point to professional shortboarders and kite surfers at the upper river mouth, provide a spectacular view for spectators. The Ventura Seaside Fairgrounds, located right on the Point, is also an entertainment and sports hub for the area. Open year-round, the venue’s schedule is full of events, from rodeos and car races to county fairs and rock concerts. The Vans Warped Tour makes an annual stop here, an idyllic setting for this massive surf/skate music festival.

The Warped Tour pulled into the Fairgrounds this past June and crammed some extra surprises into one of the longest days of the year. The Tour started back in 1994, when Kevin Lyman, a professional skateboard show promoter, got the idea to mix a music festival with an extreme sports event inspired by legendary skating magazine Warp. In 1995, the festival, promoted by the popular shoe designer, became the Vans Warped Tour, and now boasts no less than nine concert stages, with over 60 live bands per show performing on a rotating schedule. Numerous food vendors and a sea of merchandise and environmental issue stands give the festival a carnival-like atmosphere, while a half-pipe allows spectators to watch pro skaters and BMX bike riders perform spectacular tricks.

The concert attracts huge throngs of music fans, from ‘tweens to twentysomethings, and the claustrophobic and chaotic conditions tend to scare off most of the mature and gentrified crowd. At the peak of the afternoon, it was hard to navigate the fairgrounds through the mass of spectators. Unlike festivals like Coachella or Bonnaroo, where fans religiously study set locations for weeks to optimize their time, the Warped Tour relies on day-of-event postings on and inflatable board. Small handwritten notices posting band names and approximate set times have frenzied fans scrambling to find the many stages at the last moment. But this really only adds to the mystique and excitement that surrounds the festival.

Low ticket prices and the massive line up make Warped one of the best summer concert deals out there, that, and the democratic way the show is organized, which leaves little room for inflated rock star egos. There’s no time for sophisticated sound checks. Instruments and sound systems must be shared. One band is designated to prepare a meal for the entire staff of roadies and musicians, while another works as the road crew for a coveted performing spot on the tour. Additionally, promoters have cut out one of the biggest expenses associated with any concert: lighting. Since the festival takes place during long summer days and ends at sunset, there are virtually no lighting rigs needed. But in what has always struck me as a classic American irony, the concert is one of the most heavily corporate sponsored music events ever conceived, with scores of different companies subsidizing each of the stages. Other subsidies, product placements and giveaways are rampant throughout the venue, from drinks and stickers to CDs and video games. This at an event with punk music as its core, with numerous bands screaming lyrics of anarchy and antidisestablishmentarianism. If it weren’t for the corporations, no one would get to hear their explosive rants.

Many of the featured bands, including Flipper, TSOL, The Dickies, Guttermouth, and Fear originally earned fame playing the legendary CBGB’s nightclub in New York at the end of the ’70s. Fear’s lead singer and sometime actor Lee Ving agreed to perform in conjunction with the premiere of “National Lampoon’s Endless Bummer” later that evening at the nearby Ventura Majestic Theater. A satiric coming-of-age film about surfers living in Ventura in 1984, “Endless Bummer” elicited thunderous applause for each of its locally-shot scenes. While it’s a good bet the film won’t earn any awards, it is, nevertheless, a compelling little period piece. Anyone even remotely familiar with the Ventura surf scene, especially during the ’80s, will enjoy reminiscing and scanning each scene for familiar landmarks.

After the screening, bands who had contributed to the soundtrack played in local clubs up and down Ventura’s Main Street, which has been transformed into an upscale showcase of new restaurants, shops, movie theaters and bars. Ventura Harbor, near the pounding waves at Santa Clara Rivermouth, also offers an array of restaurants and shops right on the water. The harbor is also the gateway to Channel Islands National Park, teeming with sea life and perfect for hiking, camping, kayaking, scuba diving and surfing. But many just prefer to cruise on out and admire them from the safety of the ferry.

Back in Ventura, visitors will notice a strong economy and even stronger work ethic, surrounded by fabulous new shopping hubs, great back country hiking and biking trails, and top-notch surf and water sports activities.

Come for a visit and you just might stay for a lifetime.

Tortuguero, my happy home…

So goes the opening line of a song, seldom (if ever) heard beyond the banks of the Parisimina River in northeastern Costa Rica. Despite the tune’s anonymity, it holds a place in my heart.

In contrast to the popular tourist destinations and expatriate havens of Tamarindo, Puntarenas, and Quepos, Tortuguero might be best described as “the Costa Rica less-traveled.” This village of 500 residents owes its relative obscurity to its relative remoteness. Located near the Nicaraguan border on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica, the village is accessible only by boat or light aircraft. This forced isolation has denied — some might say, spared — Tortuguero from the flood of tourism surging across the rest of Costa Rica. There is, however, an annual deluge of visitors that continues year after year just as it has forever. It was this frenzied annual migration that brought another Central Floridian to Tortuguero some five decades before our recent visit.

Each year, beginning as early as February and continuing well into October, thousands upon thousands of sea turtles seek out the muddy expanse of beach that lies between the mouths of the Tortuguero and Parisimina Rivers. Multitudes of loggerhead, hawksbill, leatherback, and the rare green sea turtle literally flock to this isolated seashore to dig their nests and lay their eggs.

While the number of turtles nesting here today may seem staggering, it pales in comparison to the amount counted as recently as a century ago. Stories abound and photographs exist that show it was literally possible to walk the length of Tortuguero’s beach by stepping from the back of one nesting turtle to the next. It was this preponderance, and more specifically, the decline of this preponderance, that brought University of Florida Professor and Naturalist Archie Carr to Tortuguero in the 1950s. Dr. Carr was already a preeminent scientist in the field of sea turtle study, but it was here, at Tortuguero, that he set out to become a preeminent force in their preservation.

By the mid-twentieth century unregulated commercial hunting of sea turtles had reduced nesting populations dramatically in Florida, the Gulf of Mexico, and the upper Caribbean. The Green Sea Turtle teetered on the brink of extinction, and the other varieties were sure to follow. As turtle populations declined, commercial hunting began to concentrate toward the few places where nesting continued on a large scale — places like Tortuguero. Dr. Carr, a lifelong scholar and teacher, believed that while protective legislation was vital, education was the best hope for saving sea turtles. In 1959 he helped establish the Caribbean Conservation Corporation, a non-profit organization dedicated to the preservation of sea turtles and their habitat through research, education and advocacy.

The long process of educating people about the plight of sea turtles, Dr. Carr reasoned, should begin right in Tortuguero, a village whose very existence relied on the hunting of turtles. Little by little, and often one by one, Dr. Carr and his associates changed the villagers’ perceptions of the turtle, convincing them over time that a live turtle was more valuable than a dead one. The message spread. In 1970, the government of Costa Rica established the 46,900-acre, Tortuguero National Park, restricting turtle hunting to a subsistence level and protecting the nesting beaches. The Caribbean Conservation Corporation soon expanded its influence, and today is the largest such organization in the Atlantic Basin.

Our journey to Tortuguero began aboard an air-conditioned motor coach in Costa Rica’s cosmopolitan capitol, San Jose. The quicker option would have been a flight on Nature Air, a regional airline serving Tortuguero. The bus ride from San Jose, however, traversed the Braulio Carrillo National Park and included a stop at the Rainforest Aerial Tramway for a thirty-minute ride through the treetops of the jungle canopy.

Since there are no roads in or out of Tortuguero, the bus ride was only the first leg of our adventure. At the village of Matina, near the industrial port of Limon, we transferred from the comfortable coach onto a pair of open boats called “pangas” by the locals. Our English-fluent guide informed us that we would, for the next several hours, be coursing our way northward through a network of rivers and waterways that roughly paralleled the Caribbean coast.

“Oh, just like the Banana River,” I remarked confidently.

WRONG! In stark contrast to our tranquil, coastal lagoons, these waterways are deep, swift rivers that drain an immense volume of water from the vast rain forests of the interior. Our intrepid boatmen carefully navigated upstream against strong currents, dodging submerged logs and other hazards while our well informed guide described the amazing bio-diversity slipping past on either shore. Curious birds, such as the architecturally-talented orapendola and the multi-colored toucan of Fruit Loops fame, were abundant. Occasionally, a troop of howler monkeys could be seen — and definitely heard — high in the treetops. As we progressed further north, the sporadically cleared lands of subsistence farmers became less prevalent as the landscape took on a much more jungle-like character.

The sign, declaring in both Spanish and English that were entering the Tortuguero National Park, was a welcome sight. Our long boat ride was almost over and our destination was near. We passed the village just as night was beginning to fall, and continued another mile or so to Laguna Lodge, our home for the next few days.

Laguna is one of seven lodges located just north of Tortuguero, all catering to the growing number of eco-tourists that come to explore the park and to witness the annual turtle nesting frenzy. Our accommodations were in cozy but spacious cabins situated around the lush, tropically landscaped, and impeccably maintained grounds. Meals, unfailingly delicious, included in the price and served buffet style, were taken under the thatched roof of the open-air dining hall. Evening entertainment consisted of gatherings around the fire pit where stories were told and friendships begun. One night, a local musical trio performed their repertoire of folk songs, including “Tortuguero, My Happy Home.”

Guided tours into the park departed the lodge twice daily with specialized tours focusing on specific types of animal and plant life. The village of Tortuguero, site of the Caribbean Conservation Corporation’s research and education center, was just a twenty-minute walk away down the famous nesting beach to which the village owes its fame.

The things we saw amazed us: exotic birds, including the rare green and vivid scarlet macaws; colorful, poisonous frogs; doll-faced capuchin monkeys, and their noisy cousins, the howlers. There were some disappointments: we arrived few weeks too early for turtle nesting and, sorry, no jaguar sightings to report. But what touched us most was Tortuguero itself: a tiny village sandwiched between a raging sea and a wide, deep river inhabited by a gentle and welcoming people who once hunted sea turtles to near extinction, but is now, thanks to the patient teachings of one dedicated Floridian, a place which has vowed to preserve them forever.

…Tortuguero, my happy home. From Tortuguero may I never roam…

To learn more, read “The Windward Road,” by Archie Carr

Affluent international travelers have made Switzerland a top vacation destination for centuries. Jet setters fly in to some of the most exclusive ski resorts in the world — places like St. Moritz, Zermatt and Gstaad — and summer music fans swarm to the many music festivals, among them, the renowned Montreux Jazz Festival, the largest of its kind in the world. International backpackers flock to the Swiss Alps to hike in the serene countryside in picture postcard-perfect mountain villages like Murren and Prés d’Orvin. Wealthy shoppers swoop into Zürich and Bern to purchase some of the finest merchandise available on the planet.

But there are far more peaceful and less costly destinations in this squeaky clean and history-laden little country. Although there are three distinct regions in Switzerland, (French, Italian, and German), all with their own language and unique hybrid culture, the entire country could fit inside the Grand Canyon. The endless variety of culture and customs in this tiny little landlocked nation are what make it so unique.

The northern German region is dominated by Zürich, a fascinating lakefront city, its financial institutions fat from the wealth of centuries of international investors. Opulent architecture, from medieval to modern, stretches across the city, and fabulous shops, restaurants, and cultural venues abound. If you have deep pockets, it’s a magnificent place to part with your money. But less than an hour train ride away, you’ll find the sleepy little commuter town many of Zürich’s workers return home to after work.

Schaffhausen, on the banks of the Rhine, looks as if it were plucked straight out of a fairy tale. This little gem lies on the German border, surrounded on three sides by its larger neighbor. In fact, it’s so intertwined with Germany and her culture that it was one of the only Swiss towns mistakenly bombed by allied aircraft during World War II.

The town dates back to at least 1045, when it minted its own coins. The Allerheiligen, or All Saints’ monastery, was built in 1050, an impressive structure visible to this day from across town. The medieval building houses a unique art collection, spanning a millineum of local history. Rare manuscripts can be studied in the cloister complex of the building. The poet Schiller was believed to have been inspired to write his masterful poem “Lied von der Glocke” by the massive bell tower at the top of the monastery. But the skyline is dominated by the view of castle Munot, built in 1564. This center of the old town is an architectural treasure and is open to the public for a stroll to the top of the parapets to gaze over the cityscape. On occasion, concerts are held in the old courtyard of the castle; I was lucky enough to catch Swiss music sensation Andreas Vollenweider playing there one summer evening. One of the first of the so-called “New Age” musicians, the accomplished harpist quickly transcended the need for alternative record sales when his albums simultaneously broke onto Billboard’s pop, jazz, and classical charts in 1986. Local villagers, from toddlers to centenarians, hiked up to the top of the castle for the show.

In Switzerland, hiking is a national obsession, second only perhaps to soccer. It seems as if everyone plays soccer on the weekends, from junior to semi-pro leaguers, especially during the summer when Schaffhausen really comes to life. After Volksmarching (a kind of non-competitive group-walking sport akin to hiking), hiking itself and soccer, the next most popular summer activity is going to the riverside. The banks of the Rhine offer a classic spot for a picnic, sunbathing, or weekend bonfires. The swift current of the Rhine provides clean water for an impromptu safe swim — and the Swiss also love their bathing.

Old-fashioned wooden boats are rowed the same out here as they have been for centuries. More modern motor boats and large Rhine Cruise boats offer a swifter trip about an hour up the river to another fairytale-like town, Stein am Rhein, which opens onto beautiful lake Constance. The town is another medieval marvel that has also been largely pedestrianized. Going downstream is a much shorter trip, however, first passing by the public pools, an fully-equipped enclosure on the riverside. Shortly after that, the river is blocked for a very good reason. As you reach Neuhausen, Schaffhausen’s, next-door sister city, the Rhine drops off in central Europe’s largest waterfall.

The Rheinfall is a popular tourist attraction that draws over 3 million visitors a year, but most are simply day travelers and the area never gets overly crowded, with the exception of August 1st, Swiss National Day, when hordes of spectators swarm the area for a spectacular fireworks show over the glistening falls.

Although Schaffhausen holds its annual city festival in July, the city is an interesting destination anytime of year — a place to see real Swiss German culture in its purest form. Movies at the small cinema, very unlike cinemas in the international city of Zürich, are dubbed in German or Swiss-German, not English. The Swiss Germans love the little inside joke that most German speaking people can’t understand their dialect, and they have a bit of a secret sarcastic language they often employ.

Large markets and bakeries abound in Schaffhausen, and the upstairs cafeterias offer some of the most affordable meals available in all of Switzerland. But in keeping with Swiss custom, most commerce shuts down from Friday night to late Monday morning. You can see shoppers rushing about after work on Friday, trying to do their last-minute weekend shopping.

Schaffhausen, like most Swiss towns, has impeccably clean and well-maintained streets. It’s hard to believe much of the architecture dates back many centuries. As you cruise through the old town, you’ll notice more than 170 old bay windows, each bearing a unique form and style. The historic dwellings usually have their date of origin ornately displayed over the doorways. With the absence of cars in most of the downtown area, visiting Americans will feel more like they’re visiting Disney World than a fully functioning town.

Switzerland is also famous for its clean and precise rail system, which works with mathematical perfection. Expensive fares can be offset by a myriad of existing regional, national, and international rail passes. The 49-minute ride from Schaffhaussen to Zürich is a scenic treat all in it’s own. The effecient system can connect you to nearly every nook and cranny of the small, charming country with a gigantic cultural, historic and scenic heritage.

For more information, visit –

Schaffhausen Tourism: www.schaffhauserland.ch
Live Webcam and Weather at Neuhausen am Rheinfall: www.webcamgalore.com/EN/webcam/Switzerland/Neuhausen-am-Rheinfall
Stein am Rhein: www.myswitzerland.com
Swiss Rail Pass: www.swisspasses.com

Our transatlantic flight arrived at Boston’s Logan Airport a bit late, resulting in a missed connection. The nice lady behind the airline counter informed us that although it was only 9 a.m., there were no available flights to our destination until 7 p.m. She assured us that our bags were in good hands, and presented us with meal vouchers, referring to us as “distressed passengers,” a title that left us feeling a little like unwanted refugees.

The prospect of hanging around Logan Airport all day was, to say the least, unappealing. “We don’t need this!” I declared. “We’ve got ten hours. Let’s go see Boston!”

We shot down the escalator to the Terminal A arrival level, where a blue and white bus stood waiting to whisk us to the MBTA station, free of charge. MBTA is the official acronym for the Metropolitan Boston Transit Authority, but Bostonians simply refer to it as, “The T.” The Kingston Trio immortalized this Boston institution, the oldest public mass transit system in the U.S., in song a half century ago. Their famous ballad told of a man named “Charlie,” who found himself stranded on the subway because he lacked the proper fare and wasn’t allowed to disembark — ever — making Charlie Boston’s original distressed passenger. Charlie’s fame lives on in the form of the MBTA’s popular Charlie Ticket, which allows unlimited subway, bus, and inner harbor ferry travel, for an entire day at the bargain price of nine dollars.

We easily purchased our Charlie Tickets using a credit card at the automated kiosk located in the newly renovated Airport MBTA Station and then boarded the Blue Line train in the direction of Bowdoin. Three stops later we hopped off at the State Street Station and strolled briskly over to the National Park Service Visitors’ Center. Now, downtown Boston may seem like an improbable place to encounter a Park Ranger, replete with Smokey the Bear hat, but remember, many of our nation’s most treasured historical sites lay within blocks of this location, and many are cared for by the Park Service. Each day, weather permitting, Park Service Rangers conduct several guided tours of many of those historical sites in the downtown area. These tours are quite inexpensive, but limited to 30 persons, and the Rangers say they fill up fast.

The friendly Ranger we spoke with provided a multitude of suggestions, including tips on how to get the most out of a hike on the Freedom Trail, Boston’s well marked walking tour that encompasses all of the grand city’s must-see landmarks.

The Freedom Trail, and the Ranger’s guided tour, would have to wait for another day. After all, we were “distressed passengers” on a very tight schedule. With that in mind we decided to make Quincy Market, just two blocks east of the Visitors’ Center, and one block north on Congress Street, our next destination. Quincy Market, a two-story, 27,000-square foot granite building surrounded by well worn cobblestone streets that are today reserved exclusively for pedestrians, has served as Boston’s public marketplace for almost three centuries. These days, designer handbags and trendy athletic wear are sold within the same cavernous halls where livestock and maybe even some over-taxed English tea once changed hands. A multitude of cafes, coffee shops, bars, and a few up-scale restaurants are also housed within the market building. Several offer sidewalk dining, making this the perfect place to people-watch while you wash down a bowl of clam chowder with a cold Sam Adams Lager.

Adjacent to Quincy Market stands Faneuil Hall, the hallowed public meetinghouse where orators ranging from John Adams to John Kennedy have debated the current issues of the day. Anyone with even a vague interest in American history should stroll through this living shrine to free speech and the ideals of our Founding Fathers.

With no time to waste, we again descended beneath the streets of Boston and re-boarded the “T,” this time the Orange line to Downtown Crossing where we transferred to the Red Line and rode to Park Street Station and fabled Boston Common. Originally set aside as an area for grazing sheep, the Common has been used for diverse purposes throughout its 300-year history. Here, rallies were once held to recruit members to the “Sons of Liberty,” the organization sometimes referred to as “Sam Adams’ Boston Mob.” Among their more famous exploits was the Boston Tea Party. The Common also served as a drill field where the Massachusetts Militia, the Minutemen, trained in the arts of war.

Today the Common is Boston’s urban outdoor playground, gathering place, and inner-city respite. But, true to its revolutionary roots, Boston Common remains a place where our cherished First Amendment rights are openly practiced. We purchased a couple of hot dogs from a vendor at the Frog Pond, the Common’s wintertime public ice-skating venue, and observed a rally being held nearby calling for the legalization of medical marijuana. Passionate speakers expounding their controversial opinions, on the public common and without interference from the established authorities, made me recount those precious words:

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or of the right of the people peacefully to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

Mentally reciting paragraphs from the Bill of Rights put me in a scholarly frame of mind. Where better to fertilize one’s own intellect than Harvard Yard? The Red Line train, running in the direction of Alewife, emerges briefly from subterranean Boston to cross the Charles River on the famous Longfellow Bridge, revealing panoramas of Boston on the east bank, and Cambridge on the west. We hopped off at the Harvard Square Station and were delighted to learn that the campus of our nation’s most storied university remains open to the public. We strolled around the quiet and inviting grounds hoping that through simple osmosis we might elevate our own mental capacities a bit.

By then the jet lag was beginning to catch up, so we popped into one of the Harvard area’s many coffee shops for some liquid stimulus, and came back out just in time to catch an impromptu street-corner concert. The trio did justice to some good old tunes written well before their time. College kids, no doubt, picking up a few extra bucks doing something they love. But, given our proximity to Harvard, as well as M.I.T., I couldn’t help but imagine that one of these troubadours might someday reside at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, or maybe sit on the Supreme Court, or perhaps cure cancer. Oh, the possibilities, I thought, and that’s when it hit me — that’s just what this great old city is about, and has always been about: Possibilities, great possibilities. I rolled that thought around in my mind as we retraced our route back to Logan Airport and our 7 p.m. flight.

Somehow, I didn’t feel distressed at all.

From scorched earth to painted desert, spring brings an explosion of wildflowers to the Valley.

Just uttering the grim name of Death Valley conjures up visions of lost wagon trains, ravenous vultures and the bleached bones of dead horses littering a stark, waterless landscape.

California’s Death Valley is one of the hottest and driest places in the world. Summer temperatures often top 110 degrees and in the Furnace Creek area of the Valley, the highest reported temperature ever recorded in the Western Hemisphere was reported at 134 degrees.

Formally designated Death Valley National Park in 1933 by President Hoover, the 3,000-square foot preserve attracts tourists from around the world who want to experience nature at its most extreme. Most tourists stay in their cars while driving through the park to avoid stepping into the path of a scorching sun. The sheer size of the park and the oppressive conditions necessitate the use of a reliable automobile. There are several gas stations in the Valley, including ones at Furnace Creek, Scotty’s Castle, Panamint Springs Resort, and Stovepipe Wells Village, all popular driving destinations. Extra water is also an essential item to bring along. If you have a 4-wheel drive vehicle, there are some exciting side roads that will take you through slot canyons and into genuine Old West ghost towns, as the Titus Canyon Road trail does.

For the truly fit and adventurous summer visitors there are many popular hiking areas. The Sand Dunes, east of Stovepipe Wells Village, offer abundant opportunities for a casual stroll or a grueling all-day hike. Photographers will find the lighting on the dunes at its best at dawn or in the late afternoon. Other popular trails include the Harmony Borax Works (Level: Easy; 1/4 mile; 1/2 hour round trip). The hard-surfaced trail starts on Highway 190, two miles north of the Visitor Center and circles adobe ruins, old equipment and machinery from the borax factory, and a 20-mule team wagon from the 1880s. The Salt Creek Nature Trail (Level: Easy; 1/2 mile; 1 hour round trip) is situated beside the spring-fed Salt Creek where desert pupfish can be seen in the spring. The trail begins one mile off Route 190, about 23 miles south of the Visitor Center. The Wildrose Charcoal Kilns (Level: Easy; 1/8 mile round trip) offers an exploration of beehive-shaped kilns formerly used to produce charcoal for ore smelters in the Argus Range. It’s located 7 miles east of Wildrose Campground, high in the Panamint Range at the western end of the park off Route 178.

The moderately difficult Windy Point Trail (3/4 mile round trip from Scotty’s Castle) can be found 53 miles north of the Visitor Center on Route 267. Walter Scott, also known as “Death Valley Scotty,” convinced Chicago millionaire Albert Johnson to invest in his fraudulent gold mine in the Valley. It was Johnson’s wife Bessie who had the idea of building a dwelling for their vacations in the area, and the villa eventually became a winter home. By 1937, Johnson had acquired more than 1,500 acres in Grapevine Canyon, where the ranch is located.
Johnson ceased vacationing at the castle in 1943 following the death of Bessie, but it still stands in dubious honor of the charlatan who spurred its construction. This nature trail winds up 160 feet to Johnson’s grave overlooking this sprawling ranch.

For even more inspired adventurers, there are all-day or overnight hikes. A few popular ones include: Wildrose Peak Trail, a moderately steep trail that winds through Pinyon and Juniper to sweeping views of Death Valley. Telescope Peak Trail is comprised of steep paths that wind up to Telescope Peak, the highest point in the park at 11,049 feet. Telescope Peak also offers breathtaking views of both Death Valley to the east and Panamint Valley to the west. Here, also, is a stand of rare bristlecone pines, which are estimated to have been around since the prehistoric era.

Most of these hikes are popular in the summer and fall. But what many people don’t know is that there’s a much more pleasant and forgiving environment awaiting springtime visitors to the infamous inferno. With high temperatures usually in the comparatively pleasant 80- 90-degree range, hiking in the park suddenly becomes much more inviting. Spring flowers can explode with the least amount of rainfall. On rare rainy years, huge swaths of dormant wildflowers suddenly come to life, painting the desert landscape in myriad colors. But even a relatively dry year can result in a spectacular bloom.

Bright yellow sunflowers and sundrops are common in places like Stovepipe Wells and Furnace Creek. In other prime areas there can be an array of different blooms, including barrel cactus, brittle bush, globe mallow and prickly poppy, to name just a few. If there is enough rain, a large salt lake will form, and visitors can swim, canoe, or kayak at 228 feet below sea level, the lowest elevation in North America. While peak viewing time for the wildflowers is usually in April and May, blooms of different species can continue well into June at elevations above 5,000 feet. A late spring sunrise or sunset can ignite an awesome landscape light show, with blooms of fuchsia and lavender on the other side of the color wheel.

In addition to hiking, biking, and possibly kayaking, there are some man-made delights in Death Valley as well. The Furnace Creek Inn and Ranch Resort (which has been in operation since the 1930s), located in the middle of the Valley, has a swimming pool, horseback riding, and tennis courts. Open from mid-October through mid-May, the Furnace Creek Inn is an AAA-rated resort, containing 66 rooms and two suites with a variety of amenities and fine dining. You can even play golf if you’re feeling fit and adventurous. The 18-hole Furnace Creek Golf Course originally opened in 1931 and received a major renovation in 1997 by renowned golf course architect Perry Dye. While not a long course in terms of distance, it plays longer because it’s 214 feet below sea level. The course also features small greens, strategically placed palm trees and water on nine holes. In 2007, it was picked by Golf Digest magazine as one of “America’s Toughest Golf Courses.” It’s also a haven for many endangered desert bird species, recently achieved the designation as a certified sanctuary by the Audubon Cooperative Sanctuary System. It is not uncommon to see a road runner dart across the course.

Adjacent to the golf course and open year-round is the Furnace Creek Ranch. The Ranch features 224 rooms in a casual setting, a general store, spring-fed swimming pool, tennis courts and the Borax Museum. The museum is housed in a building that was constructed in 1883 by F.M. “Borax” Smith, founder of the Pacific Coast Borax Co. The oldest house in Death Valley, it stood originally in Twenty Mule Team Canyon where it was an office, bunk house and ore-checking station for miners at the Monte Blanco deposits. Today it houses the museum covering recent human history in Death Valley. Exhibits on the original native American inhabitants, prospectors and miners are offered.

Death Valley National Park is truly a treasure chest of natural and historic wonders and well worth an extended stay, especially in the spring when temperatures are more moderate and wildflowers are in abundance.

For more information, visit www.nps.gov/deva

Martha’s Vineyard, the summer playground of New England for two centuries, is a 100-square mile picture postcard whose charming allure is often lost to the bustle of overwhelming crowds. To experience an entirely different Martha’s Vineyard, one with miles of deserted beaches inviting solitary reflection and cozy pubs filled with friendly locals, a “pre-season” visit may be just the thing.

“Pre-season” refers to a fleeting few weeks just after the long winter has begun to wane; yet before the multitudes of summer tourists begin to arrive. Specifically, pre-season on the Vineyard is Easter weekend through the week just prior to Memorial Day. A visit during this brief time reveals a personable side of Martha’s Vineyard to those hardy travelers undeterred by chilly nights or a couple of wind-blown afternoons. Another advantage: lodging rates at half the summer season price.

What do I pack?

Pack on the cozy side; frosty nights are common, and snow is not unheard of. On the other hand, Mother Nature often runs a preview of coming attractions by offering up some delightfully warm and sunny days. Your bag should contain a thick wool sweater. They’re the best on damp, chilly evenings, and are versatile from both the fashion and practicality standpoints. Plan to dress in layers, which can be easily shed under the afternoon sun. Throw in a wind and water repellant jacket, but don’t forget the bathing suit. It’s unlikely you’ll find any use for it at the beach, but many lodgings feature saunas and hot tubs. Much of the Vineyard is best enjoyed on foot, so bring comfortable walking shoes.

How do I get there, and get around?

Boston is the logical starting point. From Boston, the ferry is how most locals make their way to and from the island, and a ride on the ferry sets the perfect mood for the adventure to come. The Martha’s Vineyard Steamship Authority provides year-round ferry service from Woods Hole, Hyannis, and New Bedford, Massachussetts. Only the Woods Hole Ferry transports automobiles. Although convenient, a car is hardly necessary, and may in fact hinder a true indulgence in the charms of Martha’s Vineyard. Frequent bus service from Boston’s Logan Airport is provided by Peter Pan/Bonanza Bus Lines with schedules designed to connect with ferry departures. Clean, comfortable coaches and courteous, helpful drivers are the rule. Schedules, fares, and other details may be viewed online at www.steamshipauthority.com, or by calling (508) 477-8600. If ferries aren’t your cup of tea, Cape Air Airlines offers frequent flights from Logan to Martha’s Vineyard. Contact them at www.flycapeair.com or by calling (800) 352-0714.

The Vineyard Transit Authority (VTA) provides convenient, reliable transportation to the entire island. VTA buses run frequently to every corner of the Vineyard, and fares are just $1 per ride. Unlimited passes are available for $6 per day, or $25 for the week. Check the VTA web site, www.vinyardtransit.com, for updated routes and schedules.

What’s there to do, and how about a place to sleep?

During pre-season, all ferries arrive at Vineyard Haven, a delightful seaport village and a great place to begin your exploration. Pay a visit to the famous Black Dog Restaurant and Mercantile where you will learn the heartwarming story of Captain Robert Douglas and the Labrador puppy that became the world-renowned Black Dog of Martha’s Vineyard. The storybook town of Oak Bluffs is a 10-minute ride away on VTA bus 13, around the peninsula known as East Chop. A placid retreat for generations of “summer people” and sight of the famous 19th-century “camp meetings” where such famous orators as William Jennings Bryan delivered some of their fieriest speeches, Oak Bluffs is a miniature city comprised of gingerbread cottages. Don’t miss “Flying Horses,” the magnificently restored 1884 wooden-horse carousel, still in full operation and ready to bring out the kid in all who ride aboard its magical steeds. The Island House, on Circuit Avenue, offers Bohemian-style lodging for as little as $55 per night, and is a favorite overnight accommodation in this eclectic, seaside hamlet. To learn about other hotels and bed and breakfasts, visit: www.marthas-vineyard.com.

Contrasting with the ornate gingerbread houses of Oak Bluffs are the stoic mansions and grand churches of Edgartown. Once a prestigious whaling port, Edgartown is now the Vineyard’s yachting center and gateway to the unspoiled beaches and dunes on neighboring Chappaquiddick Island. VTA bus 13 provides a scenic ride from Oak Bluffs along the aptly named Beach Road. The protected seashores of Chappaquiddick, the perfect place for a little solitude and late winter reflection, are a memorable five-minute ride away aboard the “On Time Ferry,” a Martha’s Vineyard institution, named more for its availability than its punctuality.

Unique pubs and eateries abound along Main Street in Edgartown. Drop in to warm both body and spirit with a bowl of chowder and listen in while the natives discuss the strengths and weaknesses being displayed by the Red Sox in spring training, or the frenzied preparations for the upcoming tourist season. You’ll feel like a local in no time, and you won’t miss the long summer lines and lengthy waits for a table one bit.

History buffs and genealogy enthusiasts should visit the Martha’s Vineyard Museum, just two blocks past the Whaling Church on Main Street. The Museum is also home to the Gale Huntington Research Library housing over 5,000 books, 50,000 photographic images, and the most extensive collection of genealogical resources on the island. Sailboat excursions, walking tours, and daily interpretive tours at the Gays Head, East Chop, and Edgartown lighthouses are among the more popular activities available through the museum, plus, pre-season visitors enjoy a discounted admission. To learn more visit: www.marthasvineyardhistory.org.

Edgartown features the widest selection of lodging on the island, including luxury hotels, cozy B & Bs, and quaint seaside cottages. One fine example, The Light Keeper’s Inn, one block from the harbor on Simpson’s Lane, features suite accommodations in a restored 18th- century lighthouse keeper’s residence. Pre-season prices are as low as $125 per night, less than half the summer rate.

Fans of popular novelist Ann Rivers Siddons know that a visit to Martha’s Vineyard is not complete without a trip “up island,” to visit Alley’s General Store in West Tisbury. Stepping through Alley’s front door is time travel at its best. Seemingly transplanted directly from the canvas of a Norman Rockwell painting, Alley’s offers both odd and practical merchandise ranging from oxen shoes to CDs. VTA bus 6 runs hourly from Edgartown to West Tisbury.

True, the weather may be uninviting, and some of the swanky shops and bistros may not yet be open, but a pre-season visitor to Martha’s Vineyard is rewarded with a more intimate experience than is possible during the busy summer tourist season, and with that, a heartfelt appreciation of this truly magical place evolves.

There are a multitude of reasons to make Santa Barbara a coveted vacation destination. Known for its temperate climate, pristine mountains and coastline, and year-round cultural festivals, it has always been a top tourist mecca. The city exhibits its deep Spanish roots in art and architecture, and its historic treasures, like the County Courthouse, the Presidio, and the Santa Barbara Mission are an integral part of its draw. While Stearns Wharf and the Santa Barbara Harbor offer visitors access to the Pacific Ocean and the Channel Islands, defining the city’s ties to the ocean, the Santa Ynez Mountains behind the town are the gateway to the Los Padres National forest. This natural wilderness preserve, comprised of forests, waterfalls, lakes, streams and abundant wildlife, stretches for hundreds of miles to the north.

This compact city, situated on what is casually called the “American Riviera,” is bursting with shops, restaurants, and art galleries, and is easily accessible, by foot, bicycle, car, bus, or tram. There are a multitude of accommodations available, from historic bed and breakfasts to five-star exclusive hotels. It’s also a powerful cultural magnet, with a schedule of concerts, lectures, and events that would be the envy of cites five times its size. If that weren’t enough, Santa Barbara holds a wealth of festivals and ethnic showcases that bring throngs of visitors downtown throughout the year. One of these highlights: the Summer Solstice Parade and Festival, an irreverent weeklong celebration that attracts an audience of over 100,000 people each August. Indeed, every season brings another host of festivals to the town.

But for nearly 25 years, a relatively unknown festival has been bringing tourists in the know to this majestic coastal gem in increasing numbers. The Santa Barbara International Film Festival, which takes place in a normally slow tourism period at the end of January, has fast become one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world.

The rise to international notoriety has accelerated, particularly in the last six years, under the tutelage of the festival’s current director, Roger Durling. Roger is an unlikely candidate for the directorship of such an elite festival. Born in Panama to a life of extreme poverty, he could only dream of the Hollywood world he saw unfold in the movies of his youth. He once joked that his family was “poor as dirt,” as their house literally had a dirt floor. He managed to convince his family to let him attend high school under a scholarship in New Jersey, and after graduating from Columbia University, he moved to Los Angeles. Once there, he began to feel isolated and unfulfilled and soon became disillusioned with the home of his Hollywood fantasies. Then Roger found Santa Barbara, and like many of us who have succumbed to her charms, he became a permanent resident, opening a Summerland coffee shop, “The French Bulldog” (now the Cafe Luna), and going on to find work as a writer and film studies teacher. I first met Roger when I photographed him for an interview in “Wine and Dine,” a Santa Barbara culinary magazine, just before his second year as the festival’s director.

When Roger took over the festival, it was poorly attended and losing money. He fist moved the festival up to its current late-January slot to coincide with the worldwide pre-Oscar hype prevalent in the international media. Other factors also helped enable him to turn the festival into a successful event, not the least of which was his uncanny ability to pick many of the Oscar nominees months before their announcement and commit them to awards ceremonies in Santa Barbara. The close proximity of Hollywood also enabled an easily accessible, steady pool of talent to choose from. But anyone who has met Roger knows what the real key to his success as director of the festival has been. He graciously and humbly shares his love of the movies with anyone and everyone who cares to chat with him, and in that respect, he is a true ambassador of film. Moving seamlessly and tirelessly from nearly every event associated with the festival, he seems nearly omnipresent. Accessible to anyone who approaches him, Roger is equally at ease talking with an elderly film fan, young volunteer, or legendary director or actor. That even-handed graciousness helped the festival attract some of the biggest names in the film industry.

The uniquely democratic small-town atmosphere that Santa Barbara residents have carefully crafted for generations allows visiting tourists unparalleled access to their favorite stars during the festival. Since it is common to see famous residents darting about town, there is very little of the frenzied paparazzi madness that consumes Hollywood. This respectful and low-key atmosphere was in evidence during Clint Eastwood’s unique arrival to his Modern Master awards ceremony at the Arlington Theater. Driving himself to the event, he got lost, ended up on the wrong street and had to plow his way through the waiting crowd. Not only did fans respectfully clear a path for him, but they actually helped lift the spry 78-year-old actor over the barricades, essentially crowd surfing him onto the red carpet. Other award presentations this year went to Penelope Cruz, Mickey Rourke, and director David Fincher. Award presenters included Francis Ford Coppola and Sean Penn. Penn, having just completed his own Oscar nominated appearance in the film “Milk,” lingered at Eastwood’s after party until well after 2 a.m. He delighted countless fans, energetically engaging in myriad conversations throughout the evening.

But the best parts of the festival are the hundreds of international film screenings, comprised of some of the world’s most interesting and diverse movies. Most of these pictures will never be seen in general release in the U.S. due to the astronomical costs of distribution and translation. The multitude of films screening at no less than six venues, on as many as 11 screens, offers a unique experience to be immersed in the global art of filmmaking.

Film buffs who can afford Platinum passes for the 11-day event are offered a once-in-a-lifetime chance to mingle with their favorite stars. They can attend a seemingly endless array of film debuts, parties, award ceremonies, interviews, discussion panels and movie screenings. This premium pass includes admission to ornate after parties and events, organized nearly every day, to coincide with a film’s premiere or awards ceremony. One of the most elaborate parties — the opening night festivities — takes over the entire Paseo Nuevo shopping mall, providing unlimited open bars, live entertainment, and food from dozens of local culinary favorites. For those interested in attending events for a shorter period of time or only certain events, there are many festival passes available to fit any budget. Many local businesses also offer special discounts during the festival. Some are tied to festival tickets, while other deals are available to the general public.]

But perhaps the best deal for those in the know (including those reading this column) is the Third Weekend. This tradition was begun last year by Roger, as a thank-you to the Santa Barbara community for their enthusiastic support of the festival. The Riveria Theater plays host to a free weekend of films, selected by filmgoers as their personal favorites during the festival, inviting the public on a first-come basis to a variety of top film picks.

“Water Man,” a new surfing film featuring Laird Hamilton and a half dozen legendary surfers, debuted at the historic Arlington Theater as part of this year’s festival. The film, one of the most expensive 12-day surfing safaris ever, features stunningly beautiful water cinematography. Unfortunately, the story does not justify the immense cost of this glorified vacation. The film places the experienced surfers on a small ship (large yacht), complete with a helicopter, and nearly every modern device money can buy. The goal is to surf and shoot the ultimate surfing vacation in the Mentawais. Aside from the beautiful images there is little substance to this film. Long stoic interviews yield little more than philosophical banter and praise for one another’s surfing abilities. We don’t actually learn anything about these fascinating characters. Do any of them get seasick? What are their fears or aspirations? Has surfing inspired them to volunteer their time or money for any ocean related charities? There is so much we could have learned from these drawn-out interviews, if anyone had bothered to ask them any relevant questions.

Even more troubling, we find ourselves sailing through one of the most magical, almost mythical places on earth and we learn almost nothing about our destination. What is the geology and geography of the region which creates such a unique surfing environment? What about the people who have inhabited this region for more than a millennium? There is almost no interaction with the local population. Even the grand finale of the film was underwhelming. After surfing big, beautiful left-point waves, the trip culminates at a break named the Antichrist. Apparently it’s a difficult and dangerous break that had never been surfed. But with the latest tow-in equipment, Laird and some of the surfers were able to get there. The mediocre waves, however, were unimpressive and any able-bodied surfer could have paddled his way into these waves. In the end, the film was the epitome of the “Ugly American” stereotype, showing a group of wealthy tourists sailing through a foreign land on an expensive yacht without making any contact with the culture they invaded. Sitting in the lobby after the film, I listened to the comments of film goers as they filed out of the theater. For most, the general consensus was that everyone wished they had millions of dollars to spend on such a voyage. But the most astute comment came from a young man in the bathroom who turned to his friend and said: “It was like a bunch of models sitting around complaining about how hard their jobs are.”

In contrast to this big budget production, a trio of low-budget surfing-related films were shown the night before at the Victoria Theater. “Sanza Hanza (King Surfer),” is a 7-minute film about train surfing in South Africa. Filmmaker Nadia Hallgreen should win the brass balls award for traveling to one of the most notorious slums in the world, Soweto, to do this project without any permits. In this short, she reveals a lot about the young men who risk their lives and freedom to train surf. Always in danger of being beaten or jailed by police, the filmmaker rides the trains through Soweto as the young men perform their death-defying antics. The result is train surfing, a sport born out of boredom and necessity. Equally compelling was “Havana Surf,” a 53-minute documentary centered around Australian surfing transplant Bob Samin, who almost single-handedly brought modern surfing to Cuba. The film follows five young men and a girl from the Havana surf club on a safari across Cuba to the remote town of Baracoa. We learn much about them on the journey and the geography and people of as we travel into the interior of the island. The film leaves you wondering why we continue to boycott this poor agrarian society because of a 50-year old dispute that grows more irrelevant as each year passes.

Next year will the 25th Silver Anniversary of the Santa Barbara International Film Festival, and there’s no better time to plan a vacation to be part of the event. For more information, visit http://sbiff.org or www.santabarbara.com.

“Keep Portland Weird,” read the bumper sticker on the taxicab at the Portland, Oregon Amtrak station.

I wondered what that might mean as I tossed our bags in the trunk and asked the driver to take us to our hotel, the reservations for which having been arranged only minutes before by my good friend Captain James T. Kirk, formerly of Star Fleet Command and now chief promoter for Priceline.com.

The decision to come here had been a quick one, inspired by the lack of affordable, last- minute flights out of Vancouver. On the train ride down, I tried to imagine what Portland might be like. Gazing out the window at majestic Mount Hood illuminated by the setting sun, I decided it would be a western, mountain metropolis — like Denver or Salt Lake City.  The bumper sticker evoked second thoughts — maybe it’s more like Boulder.

“So what’s Portland all about?” I asked, knowing that cabbies are always the people most intimate with a city. Plus, they have no underlying agenda; they tell it like it is.

“It’s a city o’ neighborhoods,” the driver said. Then, pointing in every direction, he elaborated. “We’re headed Downtown. Old Town and Chinatown are that way — north.  Alberta is over that way — northeast. The Pearl District is straight ahead — west — and Broadway and Hawthorn, they’re across the river — east.” I tried to take it all in, but couldn’t, his delivery was too quick.

“Now downtown, where you’re staying, is what us locals call the city’s living room,” the driver concluded.

I noticed that the city’s “living room” was hosting a lot of what appeared to be vagrants on this particular night. The strange thing was that when I mentioned it to the cabbie, he actually bragged about it. He explained that Portland indeed harbors the homeless, and proudly proclaimed that the city has over 20 shelters and even more public feeding facilities.  He assured us there was nothing to worry about, that Portland was quite safe, and that the homeless were not harassed or perceived as a threat here.

“That’s weird,” I thought, and then remembered the bumper sticker.

Our digs were at the Hotel Monaco, an old department store brilliantly transformed into a lovely boutique hotel by Kimpton Hotels, a progressive corporation specializing in such magic. The traditionally uniformed bell captain and red-carpeted entryway were inspiring, but the giant painting of “Art,” the Director of Pet Relations, was over the top.

Art is a golden retriever who resides on the premises. Beneath his portrait is a dog-shaped chalkboard listing the names of the hotel’s four-legged guests. The Monaco’s open arms policy toward pets is typically Portland-esque. The city is very pet friendly, and it’s almost unusual to see someone who isn’t accompanied by a furry companion.

Next morning we struck out to explore this intriguing city. Now, should we rent a car? No, in Portland it isn’t necessary. Tri-Met, Portland’s public transit system is the model of efficient, green, and inexpensive urban transport. Radiating from Pioneer Courthouse Square, Portland’s central gathering place, Tri-Met operates a network of free buses within the downtown area. The Portland Streetcar, connecting the south waterfront with Portland State University and the northwestern portion of the city, augments this service. The MAX light rail system connects the neighboring communities with the urban center and also provides a convenient link from downtown to the airport. The fourth tier of Portland’s amazing mass transit system is WES Commuter Rail, connecting outlying towns to the city. MAX, The Streetcar, WES, and many of the inner-city buses are electrically powered, reducing this extensive transportation system’s pollution impact to a minimum. All Tri-Met services are also designed to accommodate bicycles — another widely used form of transportation here  — and are of course, pet friendly.

After discovering how easy it is to get around, we wanted to see everything. But it was Saturday, so our first stop was only a few blocks away in Old Town, home of Portland’s Saturday Market. Started in 1973 by two local artisans, Sheri Teasdale and Andrea Scharf, this weekly event has grown from a simple sidewalk art show into a truly international exposition. Farm produce, hand woven blankets, wooden furniture, earth friendly clothing, and home remedies are for sale. The international food pavilion has delicacies from as far away as Africa and as near as the Oregon coast. Musicians perform in all known genres while artists display creations in every medium and style from realism to impressionism to… well, just plain weird!

From Old Town it’s a short walk into neighboring Chinatown through the imposing Chinatown Gate, a gift from Portland’s sister city, Kaohsiung, Taiwan. Chinatown is best known for holding a piece of Portland’s darker past, the Shanghai Tunnels. This underground labyrinth of tunnels and passageways was once used to smuggle illegal immigrants, most from Asia, and most destined to lives of indentured servitude. Later, during prohibition, the Shanghai Tunnels proved invaluable to a robust bootlegging industry. Today the tunnels serve as a popular tourist attraction.

A lady at the Saturday Market, noting our attraction to abstract art, suggested we visit the Alberta District, so we made that our next destination. There’s an obscure line in a Jimmy Buffet song that asks, “Where did all the hippies go?” Well, Jimmy, if you’re reading this, they went to Alberta Street in Portland — 18 blocks of coffee houses, head shops, and art studios populated with flower children, their children, and their grandchildren. It’s a gentle stretch of street — you can literally feel the love — and the proliferation of old Volvos and VW microbuses makes it easy to imagine that it’s still 1970. There’s a lot of talent along these 18 blocks too, make no mistake of that. We stopped in at the old Alberta Street Rexall Drug Store, now serving as a quaint coffee house, and listened as a three-piece string band offered up the finest bluegrass concert west of the Appalachians — all for the price of two mocha lattes.

Conventional wisdom says that Portland’s Pearl District is the place to be on Saturday night.  Some unofficial sources claim the district has the largest concentration of microbreweries in the nation. Try as we might, we couldn’t confirm that fact, but did learn that Powell’s, proclaiming itself to be the world’s largest bookstore, is located here, and that the Pearl District offers world class people-watching opportunities. Some are exotic, some are erotic, and some are just plain weird.

Our time in Portland was running out. We ended our evening at Kell’s Irish Bar in Old Town where an impromptu jam session of Irish musicians and dancers was shaping up and showing all the signs of a ceili that would go well into the wee hours.

All too soon we were bidding good-bye to the Hotel Monaco staff, Art included, and boarding the MAX train to the airport. I thought about that bumper sticker again and compared it to what I now knew about Portland — a city that welcomes the homeless, accommodates animals, embraces eccentricity, protects the earth, and strives to make life better for its citizens.

Yeah, that is weird.

Maybe it’s the feeling of being behind the wheel with miles of open road in front of me; maybe it’s the delusion that I’m a care-free gypsy migrating from place to place with no real plan; or maybe it’s knowing that I can stop at any number of Stuckey’s or Shoney’s along the way for chicken fried something and that boiling hot cup of tree sap they call coffee.

But the truth is that I really do enjoy getting out and driving to someplace new. It makes me feel a little freer, helps wash off the grime of the daily grind, and sheds light on new cultures — not only at your destination, but all along the way as well.

We set out early on a Friday morning, planning on making it to Charleston, South Carolina by mid-afternoon. This was to be a house-hunting voyage, as I recently accepted a job offer in the area, so our agenda was pretty simple: Finding a place to live.

The drive afforded us some lovely reminders of why we’ve spent so many years in this wonderful state. Florida is amazing, full of some incredible scenery and humbling history, from north Volusia all the way up to south Duval along US 1 and A1A — some of the best that coastal Florida has to offer, in my opinion. Matanzas Inlet up through Anastasia Island is one of my favorite places on earth. There’s something else about Florida that became obvious to me on this trip: It’s 4,372 miles long! Seriously, does Florida really need to be that long? I mean, over half our trip was spent getting from Cocoa Beach to the Georgia border.

Navigating a new area can be tricky, so my wife (lovely angel that she is) purchased the family a portable GPS as an early Christmas gift. The new toy definitely made the trip easier and much less stressful, especially when navigating the city. Oddly, it also made for some great entertainment along the way, as the model she got us gives voice commands for directions. It’s a computerized voice that has little, if any inflection, so we got to thinking about how cool it would be to have different voices available for download to your GPS.  Picture having like Sam Kinison telling you where to turn: “Ok now you wanna take this right coming up. Right here… Right there… You missed it! OH, OH!! YOU MISSED THE TURN! YOU SUCK! YOU’LL NEVER GET THERE NOW! OH, OH!!!!”

Damn it! I just gave away my million dollar idea. Anyway, as you can imagine, we had fun coming up with various voices. We eventually did make it to Charleston that afternoon amidst rain and chilly temps courtesy of a passing cold front, but we did our best not to let that dampen our adventure.

Charleston is a wonderful city with an incredibly rich history. On the one hand, it was home to wealthy southern dignitaries, military elitists and prominent businessmen and has earned a permanent place in the annals of American history for being the first to secede from the Union, arguably the initiating act of the American Civil War. On the other hand, it’s equally famous for Edward “Blackbeard” Teach’s stand at Charleston Harbor in 1718, during which he blocked all access to and from the busy port, taking hostages and demanding ransom.  Interestingly enough, you can find Blackbeard t-shirts in just about every Charleston store, while the “Long live the cotton plantation!” shirts seem to be in relatively short supply.

Despite Charleston’s attachment to southern traditionalism, it’s one of the more progressive cities I’ve visited (and I’ve been to New York, San Francisco, L.A., Boston and London, to name a few). But if you dig just a little into Charleston’s past, it really isn’t all that surprising.

Though originally settled by the English, throughout its infancy and developmental period Charleston’s main inhabitants included Irish, French, Scotch, Germans and even immigrants from Bermuda and the Caribbean, all of whom helped to make the city so unique. One perfect, yet subtle example of immigrant contribution to local culture is the unique dialect of Charlestonians. The elongated vowel sounds you hear spoken by the locals are attributable to the native inflection brought by the French Huguenots, Sephardic Jews and remnants of the Gullah language spoken by the slaves during the 1700-1800s.

Gullah, which sounds remarkably like the pidgin dialects spoken in parts of the Caribbean and West Indies, is a dialect from Western Africa that was brought to the Southeast during the slave trades. The Gullah culture in and around the Southern states is really fascinating and definitely something worthy of further research, if you are so inclined. Charleston operates tours around the city which focus specifically on this somewhat enigmatic ethnicity.

Charleston is one of (if not the only) city in the south that was not segregated, and blacks and whites intermingled throughout the city, living, shopping and worshipping next to each other. Perhaps this forward thinking is what helped shape the progressive city Charleston is today.

You can easily see how progressive Charleston truly is just by taking a casual stroll. Maybe I’m a goofball, but I half-expected to see everyone looking like old Colonel Sanders clones, with white goatees and the little ribbon ties. Instead we found that the average age of the city is a spry 36. There are no less than four post-secondary institutions in the immediate Charleston area, not the least of which is the famed and prestigious Citadel Military College. Needless to say, the collegiate lifestyle flourishes in Chucktown. As you make your way down Meeting Street towards Broad and the Waterfront Park area, you’re treated to a bevy of unique shops, bars, galleries and fine restaurants.

Charleston’s downtown has loads to offer, from four-star restaurants to bohemian head shops, but if you step just outside the city you can find a softer side to the area. Being a surfer and all-around ocean lover, I convinced my wife to head east towards the beach. Folly Beach is a nifty little beach town that makes me think of what Cocoa Beach might have been like 50 years ago. There are relatively few condominiums here and lots of character.  There is no main A1A-like strip, just a few minor, two-lane roads and a tiny downtown area where the main attractions seemed to be a seafood restaurant, a convenience store and a couple of surf shops.

At the southern end of Folly Beach is a great park where dogs are welcome on the beach, but the bummer is you have to go back through Charleston to get to the northern beaches as there is no bridge over the harbor on the barrier island. The added mileage is worth it though, because when you get back beachside on the north side of the harbor, you’re on Sullivan’s Island which has it’s own rich history, being home to Fort Moultrie, the predecessor to Fort Sumter.

There’s a lot more to say about Charleston and the surrounding area, but I feel the city is best experienced in person. That it’s only a 6-hour drive away makes it one of the most satisfying road trips you’re likely to take this year.

True, but this is December, and December, like no other month, is all about family and home. But don’t worry, you can stay home and still get out of town. Consider these six day-trips that will take you to some unique places to enjoy some unique Holiday events:

Number One: Begin your month of holiday family fun with a trip to the Nation’s oldest city. St. Augustine’s 54th Annual Christmas Parade begins at 10 a.m., December 6th at the Mission of Nombre de Dios and winds through the streets of historic downtown St. Augustine. The parade will feature floats, marching bands, and of course, Santa Claus, who’ll be available for photos with the kids in the Plaza de la Constitucion right after the parade. Stick around and help celebrate St. Augustine’s Grand Illumination — the lighting of millions of white, twinkling lights. After that, enjoy hors d’oeuvres, wine, and eggnog, as the British Night Watch assembles between 6 and 8 p.m. in the Sala de Montiano Courtyard of Government House on St. George Street. These colonial era re-enactors will serenade you with music from the 18th century, then march to the City gates where they will fire their “Volley of Joy” to welcome in the Holiday Season. Get all the details at: www.staugustineinfo.com, or by calling (904) 825-5033.

Number Two: Chevy Chase’s immortal character, Clark Griswold, taught us long ago that no family Christmas is complete without that special tree, carefully selected, and cut down with your own hands. For 25 years, many beachside residents have found their special tree and cut it down themselves at Watson’s Cedar Grove. To insure that trees of just the right maturity are ready each Holiday Season, the Watson family nurtures a variety of locally indigenous trees in a continuous cycle. Owner Jim Watson says that the greatest reward of this labor is to see generations of families — five generations in one case — spending the day picking out their perfect tree.  Watson’s Cedar Grove is located along U.S. 1, a quarter-mile north of the Brevard-Volusia County line, and is open from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m beginning the day after Thanksgiving. They can be contacted at (386) 345-2940, or by e-mail: watson@ucnsb.net

Number Three: Many Florida transplants and natives alike lament the perpetual absence of a “White Christmas” here on the sandbar. Lament no more! It snows every night, on the hour, from 6 ‘til 9, November 29th through December 31st along Market Street in downtown Celebration. Celebration, the town Disney built, borrows a little movie magic from their founding company to produce their annual “Now Snowing” event. Dickens carolers, horse-drawn carriage rides, and photo ops with Saint Nick heighten the holiday atmosphere as you wait for the hourly blizzard. Take Exit 2 off The Central Florida Greenway (SR 417) or Exit 64, off Interstate 4, and follow the signs to Celebration. Details at: www.celebrationtowncenter.com, or by calling (407) 566-2200.

Number Four: Imagine the beloved Holiday music you’ve heard all your life performed on a giant instrument consisting of 23 bronze bells ranging in size from a few pounds to several tons. Such an instrument is known as a carillon, and one of the finest in the world is housed in the Bok Singing Tower near Lake Wales. Edward Bok, a native of the Netherlands, came to America with empty pockets in 1869, but by 1920 had made a fortune in publishing. Wanting to give something back to his adopted country, Bok commissioned Fredrick Law Olmstead, designer of New York’s Central Park, to construct a magnificent bell tower and surround it with a peaceful garden. The result is the Bok Sanctuary and Singing Tower, where Holiday music carillon-style will be performed daily from 8 a.m. until 6 p.m., December 1st through 31st, with a special concert between 1 and 3 p.m. on Christmas Day. Admission to the Bok Sanctuary, which includes the Singing Tower, the Children’s Secret Garden, and miles of nature trails, is $10 for adults and $3 for children ages 5 to 12. Visit: www.boksanctuary.org, or call (863) 676-1408.

Number Five: Okay, so maybe you’re still planning to get out of town for the Holidays; perhaps a trip up north or out west to visit your far-flung family. Should your travels take you through the Orlando International Airport, consider arriving early for your departing flight. The Orlando Philharmonic Ensemble will perform free Holiday concerts from December 8th through December 19th, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from 11 a.m. until 1 p.m., and again from 1:30 p.m. until 3:30 p.m. in the atrium of the Airport’s Hyatt Hotel.

Number Six:  Psychologists, analysts, and self-help experts have long examined the phenomena of Post-Holiday Depression. No wonder! After the anticipation and excitement of the Holidays is over, it is indeed easy to get the blues. While this annual journey through the emotional doldrums might not be preventable, it may be postponed a bit by remembering that while some of us are tossing the tree and packing away the decorations much of the world has yet to celebrate the climax of their Holiday Season.

The Day of Epiphany, January 6th, is the most festive day on the Orthodox Christian calendar, and is observed with prayer, feasting, and merriment just like the many other religious-based celebrations that occur this time of year. So maybe you can’t make it to Athens for Epiphany this year, but would you settle for a drive over to the west coast? The city of Tarpon Springs is home to the grandest Epiphany celebration in North America. Reverence and ritual are observed first, beginning with morning services at the St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral.

After the service, the Archbishop will lead the procession of worshippers to Spring Bayou where he will release a symbolic white dove of peace, and bless the waters and boats. A weighted cross will then be tossed into the bayou and a select group of teenaged boys will dive in to retrieve it. The one who succeeds is said to be blessed through the coming year, and is carried back to the church on the shoulders of his fellow divers. With the formalities complete, the party begins, with Greek food, music, and dancing in nearby Craig Park. To learn more about Tarpon Springs visit: www.gothere.com/Florida/Tarpon Springs. To learn more about this year’s Epiphany observance, contact St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral, (727) 937-3540.

Whether you and your loved ones will be celebrating Christmas, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, Hannukah, Epiphany, the Winter Solstice, or all of the above, many opportunities to celebrate are waiting.

Happy Holidays, everyone — let’s meet again on these pages in ‘09, and get out of town!

We stayed at a hotel about thirty miles away near San Francisco International Airport, as the pricey downtown hotels had jacked up their rates in anticipation of the huge influx of visitors. Fortunately, an all-night IHOP was attached to the hotel and a free 24-hour airport shuttle was included with our lodging. From the airport, BART rapid transit trains ran to downtown San Francisco, making the location a practical choice as well, because finding parking anywhere near the festival would have been close to impossible. Part of the adventure was wandering through the surrounding neighborhood, its endless line of Asian restaurants filling the air with savory aromas.

The massive event was very close to being cancelled, entangled as it was in San Francisco’s web of municipal bureaucracy. But due to the city’s dire financial condition and the prospect of millions of dollars being injected into the local economy, necessary permits were finally approved.

Named for the western end of San Francisco that for years remained undeveloped, the Outside Lands Festival was originally conceived as a local showcase of area food, wines, music and art. However, the inclusion of several major bands soon dominated news releases and the event evolved into a major music festival which would devote each day to a different musical genre.

Radiohead headlined the first evening of the three-day event and became the first band in the park’s history to perform after dark. Some 60,000 fans gathered to watch their hypnotic live show enshrouded in the eerie fog that drifted in at dusk. This surreal setting, coupled with the band’s atmospheric music, helped create one long transcendent experience; befitting for a group that’s thrived on the perimeter of the mainstream. However, the wet fog surely contributed to some brief but annoying lapses in sound during several other sets. Other annoyances included the massive distance between the two main stages, the narrow passage leading to the large side stages, and the short performances of several opening acts. But being able to see Radiohead, Beck, and Manu Chao for the price of a normal two-hour concert quickly rendered these annoyances insignificant.

The second day featured a highly-anticipated Primus reunion and a performance by cult rock favorite Devendra Banhart, but the highlight was a riveting set by Steve Winwood. Foregoing most of his mid-’80s pop repertoire, he instead  concentrated almost entirely on his more compelling Traffic-era output, even returning to play several Spencer Davis Group songs with headliners Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers at the end of the evening. But even without Winwood’s surprise return and a later appearance by Stevie Wonder, Tom Petty and his band played an explosive two-hour-plus set, covering almost four decades of music.

Some welcome sun broke through the thick fog on the third and final day of the festival, though smaller crowds made for a much more relaxed affair. Embracing this low-key mood, we decided to make a detour in the middle of the park to visit the de Young Museum before our final festival foray. The awesome museum, a centerpiece of Golden Gate Park since 1895, underwent a major remodeling and reopened in 2005 as a modern architectural wonder, showcasing a priceless collection of Asian and African art and a vast American collection dating back as far as the 17th century. The building, designed by Swiss and San Franciscan architects, is a modern marvel, featuring a large tower that gives visitors a dramatic overview of the vast park and surrounding neighborhoods.

Wandering back into the festival after our respite, we were pleased to find that while people swarmed around the main beer and food vendors, a section of smaller stalls in the middle of the grounds remained relatively uncrowded. Here we sampled gourmet goodies from some well-known San Francisco restaurants — everything from oyster shooters and fresh Hawaiian poke to grilled steak skewers and pulled pork sandwiches. We washed our food down with some great local wine in the Winehaven tent, named for the famous Richmond winery, which from 1907 to 1919 was the largest in the world. Tech savvy music fans could immerse themselves in multimedia gadgets in the nearby Crowdfire tent, and take part in creating a mass web post chronicling the festival’s events.

The day also offered a parting volley of great performances, including a spirited set by Wilco that seemed to be the a crowd favorite. This may have been the most musically diverse day of the whole festival, full of excellent artists like Jackie Greene, reggae legends Toots and the Maytals, Los Amigos Invisibles, Drive By Truckers, retro soul star Sharon Jones, and Rodrigo Y Gabriella, who performed unique flamenco versions of Metallica songs. Widespread Panic turned in their usual marathon jam session and fittingly, the mellow sound of Jack Johnson closed out the festival as the last rays of sunset faded into darkness.

Any music fans planning a summer vacation in the San Francisco area may want to have their trip coincide with this new annual fixture, already touted as one of the top music festivals in the country. For more information on the Outside Lands Music Festival, visit www.sfoutsidelands.com.

Serendipity / n. the faculty of making happy discoveries by accident.

That describes our discovery of Nederland, Colorado, an intriguing hamlet plucked right out of the hardscrabble Old West.

We had no plans to visit Nederland. In fact, we had never heard of it and were actually lost when we found it. Our economical but underpowered rental car was gasping for breath as it clawed its way up the ten- percent grades of Highway 119, just west of Boulder. Certain we’d missed the trailhead we were searching for, we were now just hoping for a shoulder wide enough to allow me to turn around when the expanse of a mountain lake filled our frame of vision. At the far end of the lake, set against a backdrop of snowcapped mountains, was a tiny town. We pressed on, hung a left at the intersection, and found ourselves in downtown Nederland.

The feeling that we’d stumbled onto a unique place hit us immediately. I spotted the town hall — a weather-beaten structure of rough-cut, unpainted boards that seemed plucked from an old black and white Western set. At the base of the flagpole I spotted an unobtrusive granite marker. I parked and went to investigate, certain I’d find the grave of an early pioneer, perhaps even the founder of Nederland.

“Fred the Cat, The Legend of First Street, 1972–1989,” the inscription read.

“A monument to a cat,” I said to myself. “This is no ordinary town.”

Then, as if memorializing a cat on the lawn of the city hall weren’t evidence enough that Nederland leaned a bit toward the eccentric, a morbid poster grabbed my attention. “Frozen Dead Guy Days,” read words written in ghostly fashion above the image of a zombie. Oh, there are mysteries to be unraveled here, I surmised, and our earlier plans were completely forgotten as we set out to discover just what Nederland was all about.

I stopped by the Nordic-styled Visitor’s Center located at the corner of Highway 72 and First Street to learn a little more about this odd little town. There I made the acquaintance of Jeannette Smith, 53-year resident and consummate Nederlander.

“Your town looks just the way I imagined a Colorado mining town would look,” I told her.

“That’s because that’s exactly what it is,” Jeannette replied, noting that another wayward tourist had grasped the obvious. She went on to explain that Nederland had been built on veins of silver, and later, tungsten, the mining of both having ceased over 40 years ago.

“Why’s it called Nederland?” I asked, expecting an outlandishly fanciful explanation.

Jeannette explained that Nederland was derived from “Netherlands,” a moniker applied to the settlement by miners when a group of Dutch investors purchased the nearby Caribou Silver Mine in the 1870s.  The Dutch investors left after a few fruitless years in the mining business, but the name stuck.

“Who’s ‘Fred the Cat’?” I queried.

“Oh, that goes back to the ‘hippie invasion,’” Jeannette answered. Another unexpected piece of Nederland’s tapestry revealed! During the early 1970s, droves of hippies fleeing the encroachment of establishment norms into former safe havens like San Francisco invaded Nederland, hoping its remoteness would preserve their unconventional lifestyle. Like the Dutch investors 100 years before them, the hippies, save for a few die-hards, did not stay. As for Fred, he was one free spirit who remained. Born behind the jukebox in a now defunct eatery on First Street, he lived out his long life exclusively on his own terms, beholden to no one. Such character traits are revered here in Nederland.

“And ‘Frozen Dead Guy Days,’ what’s that all about, Jeannette?” I inquired. That question struck a discordant nerve. My gracious host likened this annual event to a freak show and explained that many long established residents hope it will someday simply fade away. Nonetheless, Frozen Dead Guy Days, and the man that inspired it, remains part of the story of this most unordinary place.

Trygue Bauge, a Scandinavian immigrant who was later deported, arrived in Nederland many years ago with a very odd piece of baggage: His frozen grandfather, one Bredo Morstol. It seems Mr. Bauge was an early practitioner of the science of cryogenics and had frozen gramps with every intention of resurrecting him someday. Although Trygue tried to keep a low profile, secrets like that are tough to keep. Word got out, and soon a media frenzy engulfed Nederland. While many citizens considered the matter and the attention it got to be pure craziness, local officials embraced the notoriety and sought to preserve it long after Tygue and his stiff relative had left town. The result: Frozen Dead Guy Days, observed each March on the streets of Nederland.

If frozen corpses aren’t your idea of fun, don’t cross Nederland off your list of places to see just yet. It seems this town loves a party, and throws many throughout the year.

The High Peaks Art Fair kicks off festival season each June, showcasing the work of local and regional, as well as internationally known artisans. As would be expected of such an all-American town, the Fourth of July is celebrated with a parade and fireworks. The Independence Day bash serves as a warm-up for Nederland’s grandest party, the Old Timer’s Celebration and Miners’ Days, paying tribute to Nederland’s mining heritage each year in late July. Nedfest, a modern and traditional folk music festival is observed in August, followed closely by the Neder-Nederland 5 and 10K high altitude races in early September. The street parties take a break during the winter, until that is, Frozen Dead Guy Days marks the coming of spring.

Festivals are hardly the only reason to visit Nederland. There are of course unspoiled Rocky Mountain vistas galore. Colorado’s “Adventure Byway,” the Peak-to-Peak Highway often rated among the most scenic motoring routes in the world, winds down the spine of the Rockies from Estes Park in the north to Idaho Springs in the south, passing right through Nederland.

Opportunities for hiking, mountain biking, horseback riding, orienteering, and rock climbing at all experience levels are literally too numerous to mention. The Eldora Mountain Resort, two miles south of town offers over 40 kilometers of groomed Nordic trails for skiing and snowshoeing. All inclusive packages are popular and affordable.

Finally, there is Nederland itself — a town with a rich heritage and a curious collection of oddities, offering apologies for neither. It’s a place that draws you in with its one-of-a-kind persona. Start at Town Hall and walk down First Street. Stop at the Pioneer Inn for a beer and don’t be surprised if you find yourself engaged in a conversation about bull riding or bear hunting. Visit the mining museum and discover why the History Channel recently found it so interesting. Or, drop by the Visitors’ Center some morning and let Jeannette Smith remind you of what it means to take deep pride in one’s community.

Complete details of all Nederland events and activities may be found on the Chamber of Commerce web-site: www.nederlandchamber.org.

I chose to fly to Florida to visit relatives and make my Bonnaroo experience a road trip. With audiophiles I met via the Bonnaroo community message board, I drove sixteen hours through the night from central Florida to the festival site in Manchester, Tennessee.

It was an interesting drive, up through the backbone of the state and into the last large sections of open wilderness in northern Florida. We reached the Georgia border just as the long summer day was fading into twilight. The southern Georgia terrain remained similar to northern Florida until in the late evening as the freeway took us through the heart of Atlanta, a bastion of culture in the heart of the countryside. Just before leaving Georgia westward, the terrain becomes mountainous and the scenery changes drastically. In the early morning darkness, Chattanooga appears along the highway, a beautiful lake-lined city in southern Tennessee. First light reveals the beauty of this state’s thick verdure as we glide toward Bonnaroo.

The festival is set in rolling green hills just outside of the remote farm town of Manchester, a setting resembling the Swiss countryside with its placid lakes, green pastures and large majestic trees. Fans line up for miles along the freeway at dawn on the first of the four days of the festival and wait for hours to secure the closest camping spots to the venue. The system is a very democratic one and even the media find themselves in the same long lines. In fact, the backstage press area offered little more than some cold water, a press tent, and some shorter waits at an exclusive line of port-a-potties.

Bonnaroo is not for everyone. The immense scope of the event creates long treks to the multitude of stages, large crowds, and tough sanitary conditions, discouraging casual music fans. Long lines at temporary and expensive shower facilities discourage bathing, and most festival goers prefer to bathe in the giant water fountain in the middle of the inner grounds. But dedicated audiophiles find it all worthwhile; it’s the chance of a lifetime to see so much fantastic live music in one setting.

When entering the festival grounds, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer size of the venue. Even with the two massive main stages closed down for opening night, the remaining festival covers more space than all of the massive Coachella festival. This part of the grounds include no less than eight live music venues, two discos, a karaoke tent, and two giant air-conditioned tents. These tents house a nearly round-the-clock movie theater and a comedy club featuring a rotating schedule of national headliners. There are also hundreds of food, beverage, and arts and crafts vendors strewn about. As well as facilities for free hair styling, shaving and brewer’s tent, there is an air conditioned game room, internet access, and even a giant ferris wheel. Plus, there are hundreds of acres of wide open, tree-ringed fields to picnic or play frisbee in.

The first night was already overwhelming, with a huge pyrotechnics show by a Burning Man-like traveling mime circus and bands playing until first light. By the second day, the two huge main stages opened and the sheer scope of the event becomes almost overwhelming.

Bonnaroo 2008 boasted some huge headliners like Metallica, the Raconteurs, Jack Johnson, Pearl Jam, Willie Nelson, B.B. King and Robert Plant. The main thing that sets Bonnaroo apart from any other festival, however, is its jam band roots. Like its cousin, Florida’s Jam Cruise, the format is ideally suited to bands who enjoy  improvisation and experimentation.

Thanks to Bonnaroo’s all-night format, the evening bands are free to play pretty much as long as they like. Bands like My Morning Jacket and the Disco Biscuits took it to the extreme, playing four-hour sets into the dawn. But many other bands, from Pearl Jam to techno gurus Ghostland Observatory played marathon sets lasting three hours or more.

The spirit of the festival encourages interaction from the multitude of performers. The “Super Jam” was led by Les Claypool and Gogol Bordello, together doing Tom Waits songs. Jackie Greene joined Phil Lesh and friends. Jack Johnson was joined on stage by Eddie Vedder and Money Mark. Also, as with the Jam Cruise, many bands play multiple sets on different stages at different times, making it easier to hear more of the bands on your wish list. Bands like the explosive Gospel jam band the Lee Boys, or the Abigail Wasburn quartet with Bela Fleck, who have a Bluegrass on steroids-type sound, were among multi-day performers.

But perhaps the best kept secret at the festival was the explosion of music in the “Somethin’ Else” tent. The recommended cover charge donation of $5 or more scared off many music fans who weren’t sure what to make of the venue. But inside was an air-conditioned re-creation of a classic New Orleans club. Complete with authentic food vendors and Bourbon Street bartenders selling New Orleans beer, this venue offered up many of the best jams of the festival. With a crowd rarely exceeding a hundred people, groups like Porter-Batiste-Stoltz, played blistering sets until four in the morning.

During Robert Plant’s popular set with Alison Krauss on the main stage, I snuck over to the “Somethin’ Else” venue. It was a rare chance to hear drummer Matt Cameron of Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. Playing with his side-project trio, Harrybu McCage, they exploded into a frenzied experimental jam to a handful of ecstatic fans. The intense four-day jam festival in this tent was well worth the price of admission to Bonnaroo alone. It was enough for me to start making plans to head back to next years event.

September 10th:

Ramadan started two days ago. The crew have taken to sleeping all day and staying up all night eating, smoking, and watching American blockbuster films. The whistling and loud cries of “Hay Bagus! Bagus!!” that can be heard throughout the boat at 4 a.m. let you know that some blonde has just taken her top off.

We have just stopped at Lance’s Right for a couple of hours to break up the journey and catch a few waves. I am sitting on the top deck watching some local kids paddle their canoes into the lineup to harass the surfers for fun. Yanto comes up for a chat and is buzzing about the weather maps he has just seen. “Everything looking good for Macca’s tomorrow Mr. Brendan,” he says without looking at me. I ask him about the unsightly scars that cover the skin between his elbow and shoulder on both his right and left arms. He tells me that they were once tattoos; nothing that a bottle of whiskey and a sharp blade were not able to take care of, though. I know there is a story behind them, perhaps of another time, another place, and a different man than the one who sits beside me today.

September 11th: He was right. So were some other people, unfortunately. There is no beating the early rush with three boats parked at the end of ride. Perhaps it is better to eat and let things settle down a bit. The spoils being snapped up by strangers make this strategy a virtual impossibility, though. Certainly didn’t come all this way not to fight for the prize.

Steep hollow take-offs spiral into long walls where the exact same section presents itself like a lamb for slaughter time and time again. Everyone is absolutely loving it and getting sharper as the day goes on. After years and years of studying the wave, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu when actually surfing it myself. Frame grabs from videos of old flicker in front of my mind’s eye. Perfect conditions linger on after lunch as the heat smothers any effort by the wind to make a move. The session continues into the evening light. Wrecked, I sluggishly paddle back to the boat. I watch the others filter in one by one while sipping on a can. The camaraderie is mighty as dinner sizzles in the pan.

Our first date with this one is to be our last. The expected drop in swell means that we must head to the wave-magnets of the north to make the most of what is left. I wish this were not so, but my plea to stay just in case is considered too risky by the others.

September 12th: The breakfast table banter rouses me from my cabin. The windows are open and a cool salty breeze blows though the boat as the French toast, eggs, and coffee hit the table. The Naga Laut is already going full force back to the Playgrounds area. I watch the islands slowly go by as we chug along through the soft sideshore wind. The sun shines again and the view is idyllic; I strive to implant the image in my memory because I know we will be gone soon.

We eventually arrived in the late afternoon. There was a touch of cabin fever on board and the scheming about a visit to the bar at the Kandui surf camp started well before the anchor was dropped. Yanto pulls the dingy up to the sound of cracking Bintang cans. The camp looks nice, but we head straight to the well. The surfers staying at the camp are full of tales about the earthquake. It sounds serious, but the relatively small amount of damage does nothing to foreshadow what lies ahead. We all stumble back to the dinghy at God knows what hour.

September 13th: I shove my face into the pillow as the clunking sound made by the retracting anchor chain prematurely wakes me from a fitful sleep. Dehydrated again; the inevitably pervasive heat saturates my cabin as I fight the realization that I will not be falling back to sleep. The ocean has the boat really rocking, too. Might as well go upstairs and survey the state of the environment.

The Bankvaults headland, notorious for its exposure to the full brunt of any open ocean swell is just up ahead. I can see the captain is carving out a wide berth for us as huge stacked lines march toward the bluff. They roar with authority as they mercilessly crush the shallow reef into the earth. It is still early and I am the only one up, thanks to my inability to sleep well after a big night. E-Bay and Pitstops begin to come into view. Both look to be in full swing with four- to six-foot sets tapering off on both reefs. Today will be a full day of surfing as we must begin making our return to Sumatra by tomorrow evening.

September 14th: This was a great place to spend the last two days — an almost perfect Indo left breaking within paddling distance from one of the world’s most playful and fun right-handers. The regular and goofyfoots on board traded waves and sessions at both of the spots. It seemed rather pertinent that today would turn out to be smaller than yesterday, our fated journey looming in our consciousness like the storm clouds to the south. We pack our gear and begin our eastward progress. I stare back at the islands as they slowly disappear from me, possibly never to be seen again by my own eyes.

September 15th: A thick fog enveloped us as we meandered our way past local fisherman towards the entrance to the port. Steep cliffs and rolling tropical hills serve to create a natural passageway into Padang. The morning call to prayer signals our descent into organized civilization. The extent of the destruction caused by the earthquake finally dawns on us.

Dwellings on the hill are stacked upon one another with trees and debris strewn across the land and small roads. Many larger structures appear to have buckled and most are missing their windows. It appears to be business as usual for the crew as we dock and begin unloading our gear. The trip is over and I defiantly wish that we could just turn around right now and once again set sail for the paradise that has been our world for the last 12 days. I made many sacrifices to go where I have been, but the journey and the things I have seen have made them trivial.

Before I step of the boat I look to the west and yearn for the day I will return.

Airfares have skyrocketed, hit by a double whammy of soaring fuel costs and record security taxes. At the same time, the value of a dollar is at record lows against European currencies. Finally, add in worldwide inflationary food prices and you have a recipe for a very expensive overseas vacation.

Even before all of these factors arose, London, a prime American tourist destination, was already one of the most expensive European cities to visit. A taxi ride from the airport to downtown London could cost the equivalent of a round-trip plane ticket to anywhere on the continent, and downtown hotels and food were already notoriously expensive.

However, if you’re intent on planning a London vacation there are still many great deals to be found to help keep your budget within some manageable parameters.

First of all, the trains in London are faster, safer, and easier to use than a car and far cheaper. There are all sorts of rail passes you can purchase from single-day to multi-day, and from regional to international. These passes can include all local public transit, like buses and the Tube, which is London’s underground metrolink subway. Most main routes operate nearly 24 hours a day, and since the trains take credit cards you don’t even need to convert money to use them. In addition, the main airports have sophisticated train stations built right into the terminals, so transferring from a flight is relatively seamless.

Next, there are many ways to save on accommodations in London, ranging from package deals to budget hostels. But perhaps the best way is not to stay in London at all. With an efficient and economical train system comes the luxury of picking a vacation spot just outside the city boundaries.

On a recent visit, I stayed in the East Croydon area. This upscale community is centrally located and less than a 20-minute train ride to downtown London or back out to the international airports. The large, bustling downtown area is loaded with shops, restaurants, bars, and nightclubs that rival those of the city center. Hotels and B&B’s pepper the neighborhood and offer considerable discounts over pricier and smaller comparable rooms in London proper.

In the mornings I liked to stroll Croydon’s huge farmers’ market, which overflowed with colorful fruits and vegetables, flowers and energetic activity. At night, the main strip was alive with all manner of international restaurants, bars and nightclubs.
In London itself there are many exciting things to do that cost little or no money at all. Even Victoria Train Station, a common arrival point, houses a warren of shops, restaurants and bars, and there is a wealth of free information available at tourism stands and counters scattered throughout the overwhelming structure.
From here you can jump on the Tube and explore this fascinating city. You can watch the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace or explore the British Museum for free. Possibly the largest collection of looted art treasures from all over the globe, this national institution showcases everything from the world’s oldest mummies to cutting-edge modern art. The museum is so huge, it’s impossible to see it all in one day, so pick a few exhibits to explore fully.

Heading over to Piccadilly Square in the afternoon, you can find half-price tickets to many of the local theater shows, or you can just hang out in the Square watching the lights bring the buildings and billboards to life as the twilight fades. Saunter over to Chinatown for some delicious food, where many restaurants offer budget dishes for locals in the know.

There’s always something to do in London, from wandering past icons like Tower Bridge and Big Ben or catching a free concert in the many parks throughout the city. The best travel perk in London, however, is to use it as a base for discount travel across England and throughout Central Europe. Inexpensive multi-day trips by train or air can be booked at the last minute from here, with many extras like breakfast and guided tours included.

Single-day bus tours across England may be one of the best values. I took an all-day tour to Windsor Castle, Stonehenge, and the ancient city of Bath. This popular itinerary is offered by several tour companies for about $100 to $125. The tours last over twelve hours, cover a large area, and include all admissions and fees to the various sites visited.

Since the trains run all night, I was able to meet the 7:30 a.m. departure at a downtown hotel with little difficulty from my hotel in East Croydon. I even had time for a traditional English breakfast in Victoria Station.

Windsor Castle, the official residence of Queen Elizabeth II, is the largest occupied castle in the world. A Royal home and fortress for over 900 years, the Castle continues to be a working palace today. Its recent history is dominated by a major fire in 1992, which took 15 hours and over one million gallons of water to extinguish. Nine principal rooms and over 100 other rooms were damaged or destroyed by the blaze, about 20% of the Castle area. The next five years were spent restoring the structure to its former glory, resulting in the greatest historic building project undertaken in 20th-century England and reviving many obsolete, traditional crafts in the process. Within the Castle complex there are many additional attractions, including the Drawings Gallery, the Semi State Rooms (adorned with paintings by Holbein, Rubens and Van Dyck, among others), and my favorite historical treasure, the 14th-century St. George’s Chapel, the burial place of ten sovereigns and setting for many Royal weddings.

Next we boarded the coach for the long drive to the windswept interior of England, traveling through the lush green rolling hills of the countryside bound for Stonehenge. When we arrived at what surely is England’s greatest national icon, there was a cold biting wind, mixed with waves of sleet and hail. The sun would dart in and out of dark rolling clouds and the ominous weather seemed somehow appropriate. Many of the surrounding hills are prehistoric monuments themselves, hiding many ancient burial hoards. There is a wealth of information written about the possible significance of the ancient stone structure, but it is generally agreed that its was a sort of an ancient sundial clock used for religious rituals. It is hard to contemplate that the structure predates most of human history as we know it today.

From there we headed to the beautiful resort town of Bath. Named for the natural hot springs that thrive there, the city was founded by ancient Romans who built extensive public baths and an impressive temple. Much later, Bath became popular as a spa resort during the mid-18th century, which led to a major expansion that left a heritage of amazing Georgian Architecture. Bath became a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1987, and now offers a variety of theaters, museums, and other cultural activities which help make it a major tourism destination.

As night fell, our coach began the 100-mile journey back to London. I’d learned more about English history in one day than I had from years of dull classroom study. What’s more, I’d learned how to get great value for my money in one of the world’s most expensive cities.