Traveling With

Ah, Jet Lag. 

My old friend. My antagonist. My inquisitor. My traveling companion.

I’ve missed you.

You bring discomfort, you bring pain, you bring embarrassment. You bring contentment, you bring wisdom, you bring vision, yet you always, always leave peace behind.

You are the warm embrace of a loved one long gone and just now returned, you are the rusty nail through the sole of my shoe.

You are my friend because every time you show up I am in some faraway place, seeing and doing things that are new and exciting and interesting.

You are my foe because you ache my joints and fog my senses and dull my taste buds.

Every time I head off for another adventure, I see you growing larger in my rearview mirror. Gaining on me yet again.

The closer I get to where I’m going the closer you get to me. 

I see you drawing near, a sly grin across your face and malice in your eyes. 

“I’m going to hurt you for a little while old friend” you say with smug delight.

“I know you are” I reply just as happily. 

When we are in each other’s company, you torture my night’s sleep and obscure my day’s memories. I try to hold you at bay, to sleep you away, to make you leave. It’s a terrible, painful little game we play. But play it we must.

Then one night I sleep well, and you’re behind me in the rearview mirror again. I sleep another night through, I eat a couple of good meals and you’re falling further back, your image and affects shrinking. I give you the finger. You smile and nod.

As I watch you recede I know you’ll be back, and so do you. Just before you disappear over the horizon of my recent past, you waggle a finger at me, show your teeth and say, “I’m here waiting for you old friend. Don’t get too comfortable. I’ll return soon enough and we shall dance again.”

I say quietly to you, “You know where to find me, asshole.”

I can’t wait. 

Busting Yet Another Move

Hello long time followers! I know there are still at least two of you out there, so thanks for hanging in.

It's been too long since I took the time to blog while traveling. The problems and obstacles have been many and varied. Sometimes, like when I was in Turkey, the government wouldn't allow blogging. I wasn't going to try to "work around" that. In Paris, my computer and the French ISP didn't get along, so it was much too cumbersome to post. The last time I was in London I was too busy drinking, golfing and doing business to blog. I am vowing to do better this time.

This trip to London will be even busier than the last...for the first week. I'm going to have a little time for fun those first seven days. It's mostly going to be business meetings and catching up with loved ones, so please bear with me.

Life is fucking good, lemme tell you.

I'm not going to tip my hand on what the second and third weeks of this trip will entail. This will be one of the most epic adventures of my lifetime, I'm sure. I am waiting to take the big silver bird out of here as I type and I won't be back on American soil until the 30th of this month.

Spills, chills and thrills. I will do my best to keep up with myself.

Until we meet again.

On the Streets of Paris

Sorry for the delay in getting this post out. My computer was NOT getting along with the internet service provider in Paris and since I've been home I have been battling the most pernicious case of jet lag I've ever had the misery to deal with. Add jet lag's habit of making me fall asleep at the drop of a hat any time of day, anywhere I am at that moment to the miserable heat wave we've been enduring here in SoCal (No shit? 95-degrees at eight in the morning AND nine o'clock at night? And triple digits in between??) and to be perfectly honest, I just haven't felt like sitting down and banging one of these posts out. However, last night I actually slept through the night for the first time since being home and the temperature is currently a relatively comfortable 81-degrees (at 7:30 in the evening), so here I am doing my journalistic duty. I'll do my best to make it worth the wait.

First things first. I lied. We did NOT go to Notre Dame (exactly) and the Louvre on day two. We met up with a friend of Greg's, had breakfast at a nice little sidewalk cafe, afterwards went for a long walk along the Seine, passing Notre Dame and finished up with an afternoon in the Jardin du Luxembourg (Luxembourg Gardens). So, now that we have THAT all cleared up...

Greg has a childhood friend named James who is a jazz guitarist that has lived in Paris for decades. He and Greg had not been in touch since high school, but Greg reached out to him in advance of our trip and he agreed to meet up with us and show us around a little. James called us at eight o'clock in the morning on our second day in Paris and told us to take the metro to Odeon, a neighborhood on the edge of the Latin Quarter. Shortly after we came up out of the station James came pedaling up on one of the ubiquitous "Velib" bikes you can rent throughout the city. More on that in a later post. After all the introductions were made, James led us into the Latin Quarter for breakfast and some time to visit and get acquainted.

Greg and James playing catch-up.

James is an incredibly interesting guy, as well as being a great tour guide. I will not try to tell his life's story in any detail as I will surely screw it up, but it goes roughly like this: Guitarist since childhood, got a music degree somewhere (I think?), joined the Coast Guard, after that moved to Spain and traveled around playing, came back to the US, met his wife, moved to Paris, played in Paris for quite a while doing the Bohemian musician thing, started having kids (two daughters), now teaches music at a middle-school (I think?) and teaches guitar to private students. A LOT of private students. On top of all that, he's one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet and very knowledgable about the history of Paris.

We walked along the streets for several blocks, past the square of St. Michel with its flocks of pigeons, a few camera draped tourists and young couples pushing strollers. We strolled down towards the Seine where you can see the bell towers and steeples of Notre Dame looming above the Ile de la Cite, one of two natural islands in the middle of the Seine. It was Sunday morning, so the streets were relatively quiet. The sidewalk cafes were already open, their tables starting to fill with hungry patrons and the shopkeepers who run the little stores and boutiques along the way were sweeping the sidewalks in front of their establishments. It was exactly how you'd imagine Paris to be on a Sunday morning.

The square of St. Michel.

Greg and James leading
the way.

The view from our breakfast table,
the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris

If you ever find yourself in Paris ordering breakfast, or any meal for that matter, allow me to offer some information to help you along. "Water" in French is "Eau", pronounced "oh". If you're from Souther California you will find this hard to believe, but the tap water in Paris is delicious. If you ask for water at a restaurant in Paris, and you don't specify tap water, they will bring you some way too expensive bottled stuff, usually sparkling. Ugh. So, if you want water, ask for a "carafe d'eau", pronounced "carafe doe" and they will bring you a bottle of tap water. Just so you know.

We sat down to eat in a little sidewalk cafe called "Le Petit Pont". We got a table right next to the sidewalk with a view of Notre Dame and the walkway along the river across the street. I had a delicious breakfast of coddled eggs with sausage and home fries. This dish was served in a way I was not expecting at all. It came to the table in a hot cast iron sauce pan with all the ingredients mixed together at the bottom. The sausage and potatoes had been cooked and dropped in the pan and then four eggs (whole, not scrambled) were poured over the top and it was finished, covered, in the oven. It was awesome, and not nearly as much food as it sounds like. It was served with croissants and baguette bread and cappuccino in a cup big enough to function as a jacuzzi. I wasn't too full to happily contemplate a day of walking the street and seeing the sights, but full enough to do it. Our day was off to a spectacular start. 

After a leisurely breakfast and much conversation, we decided the food had sunk into our bones enough that we could begin our journey. We headed east down Rue de la Bucherie and after a very short walk found ourselves standing in front of "Shakespeare and Company" bookstore. Shakespeare and Company was originally opened on a different site in 1919 by Sylvia Beach, a New Jersey native, and was a lending library as well as a bookstore. During the '20s, when the "Lost Generation" was in full swing, future literary giants like Hemingway, James Joyce, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ezra Pound used to hang around there. It was closed during the Nazi occupation and never re-opened. In 1951, another American ex-pat named George Whitman opened a book store at the present location, only it was named "Le Mistral". This was during the days of bohemian literature, and the store again found itself being frequented by literary stars-to-be like Alan Ginsberg and William S. Burroughs. When Sylvia Beach passed away in 1964, Whitman renamed the store "Shakespeare and Company" as an homage to the original. The store's clientele over the years reads like a who's-who of beat, bohemian and counter-culture writers. The store is now run by Whitman's daughter. It is still a gathering place for writers with regular readings and workshops, as well as sleeping quarters for young writers to use while they work in the store and work on their own projects. A very interesting place with lots of history and an amazing selection of used books. Yes, I came home with a couple. How could I not? 

Shakespeare and Company today.
Yeah, I know. The picture is a little blurry. My bad.

If you know me at all, you know bookstores are my kryptonite. I didn't have time to do any real shopping this day, but I made it back a few days later and got lost inside for a good hour. If you like bookstores like I do, set aside a decent amount of time to peruse the nooks and crannies in this place. It is amazing, and you'll be in Paris for chrissake!!

After a too brief spin through the bookstore, we ambled eastward a short way and crossed over one of the many bridges in the area onto the Ile de la Cite, where Notre Dame sits. The weather was perfect the whole time we were there so the walking was quite pleasant. At this point the streets were getting busy, but somehow the added hustle and bustle made the place seem cozier. It was a beautiful day. 

Looking west along the Seine.

Notre Dame is considered to be a fine example of French Gothic architecture. It is very ornate and it is massive. Dark. Fortress-like. For me, the overall impression was one of foreboding and gloom. But that's just me. It is not an uplifting, beautiful building like you would expect from a place of worship. It looks like a place you'd be brought to when you're in big, big trouble. During a thunderstorm the place would be downright frightening. 

North Rose Window.

North side of Cathedral.

The lines to get inside on this morning were too long to endure so we decided to come back on a weekday when we theorized it would be less crowded. After walking around the Cathedral we continued on our walk along the Seine towards the Louvre and back to where our morning began outside the train station in Odeon. Quasimodo must have been hanging out inside because I did not see any hunchbacks scurrying around the grounds.

Sights along the way...

River Seine

Local enjoying the day.

City Hall

Debby Harry was interviewed the first time Blondie played in Paris, and she was asked how she liked the city. Her response (and I'm paraphrasing) was something to the effect of, "I like it a lot. All these old buildings look like dusty wedding cakes". I see her point. Beautiful, old, dusty wedding cakes. 

"Love locks". I had never heard of such a thing, but my wife had. A love lock is when two sweethearts inscribe their names or initials on a lock, attach it some public structure (bridge, fence, gate, whatever) and then throw away the key to symbolize their unbreakable love. Barf. I know. As a guy it all seems rather silly and sappy, but girls love that stuff, so guess what Dorry and I did in Paris? Yup...

Yes, those are locks.

Railing have been known to collapse under the weight of the locks. Seriously.

Awwwww... 

Our last stop of the day was the Jardin du Luxembourg, or as we Yanks would say, Luxembourg Gardens. In 1611, Marie de Medici, the widow of Henry IV, decided to build a palace in Paris. She bought the Hotel Luxembourg and began building. Over the course of a couple of decades she purchased more land surrounding the palace and created the gardens that are there to this day. It's a very beautiful park with statues on the promenade around the basin directly behind the palace, and many fountains and statues tucked back in amongst the foliage. It's a very peaceful place to walk and there are many places to sit and contemplate the garden while enjoying the view, and you can even get an ice cream or coffee at the little snack bar there. 

Luxembourg Palace

The Medici Fountain

l'Acteur Grec (The Greek Actor) by Arthur Bourgeois

One of the many walking paths in the garden

After spending a couple of hours in the park we headed back to the apartment we were renting in the neighborhood of Boulogne. One of the best things about Paris is the fact that their underground train system is so simple a ten-year old could figure it out. Once you've ridden the trains and familiarized yourself with the maps and the way the trains run, you can find your way around the city with complete confidence whether you speak French or not. The trains are modern, clean, relatively quiet and I don't think we ever waited more than four minutes for a train. A very easy and convenient city to get around in. 

There are a couple of other quick asides I'd like to throw in. I've already spoken to the fact that the quality of the food here is superior to ours. The wine. Need I go on? You can buy a bottle of wine at the market for €2.00 (about $2.50) that you'd pay $40 for back home. Anything bakery related; baguettes, croissants, macaroons, cookies, crepes...all off the charts delicious. Believe it or not, the pizza here rivals anything I've ever had in NYC. And last but not least...

Cuban Cohiba

A nice dinner, a glass or three of some lovely red wine and a Cuban cigar after a day of seeing the sights with two of our closest friends in the City of Light. Does it get any better than that?

I hope you've enjoyed this latest installment of AdoAfield. There will be more to come from this trip. I will try not to let so much time go by before I get the next one out. 

Until next time....

Ado

Paris

"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

Ernest Hemingway to a friend, 1950

I was never lucky enough to live in Paris as a young man. Hell, I was never lucky enough to have even traveled to Paris as a young man. As it stands right now this minute, I have only been lucky enough to spend three days of my entire fifty-seven years in Paris. Total. Three days and counting.

But I think Ernest Hemingway's assertion will hold true. Paris kicks ass...

The Palais de Luxembourg, built 1615-1645.
Commissioned by Marie de Medici, mother of Louis XIII.

I got out of bed at 5:00 Friday morning and started the long travel day to Paris, France. If you've ever been abroad you know that travel days are never fun days. They're more like going-to-the-dentist days. Uncomfortable, protracted, exhausting, but necessary if you want the payoff. For dental work, the payoff is eating and smiling with confidence. With traveling, the payoff is more unique to each traveler and tougher to define. But if you want true perspective and a sense of your place in this world, then traveling is your best bet.

We lifted off in San Diego at 7:45 am Friday and landed in Paris at 7:00 the next morning. I only managed to get a couple of hours sleep on the plane, but the adrenaline rush of being in a new country carried me through the day. On this trip, unlike every other trip I've taken abroad, I'm not traveling alone. I am accompanied by my wife, and we in turn are traveling with another couple, Jeannie and Greg. The four of us found our way from Charles DeGaulle airport to the apartment we rented for the week and began our day as innocents abroad.

It had been decided previously by the four of us that, upon our arrival, we would hit the streets running and go 'til we dropped. Jet lag is some pernicious shit, and it's been my experience that the quickest way to get past it, although not the most comfortable, is to ignore it as best you can and force yourself into a schedule that follows your norm. It hurts for a day or two, and you'll find yourself falling asleep at odd and inopportune times, but it beats the hell out of hanging out in your room and trying to ease into things. And it wastes less time. So off we went, plunging into Paris with a minimum of prior knowledge and a surplus of enthusiasm. First stop, probably the most iconic structure on the planet next to the pyramids at Giza.

The Eiffel Tower from about a half-mile
away

A little closer...

And, a little closer still.

The first impression that flashed through my mind upon seeing the Eiffel Tower was the sheer size it represents. Unless you've seen it in person you can't understand how enormous it is. In addition, some of the structure looks almost spindly in contrast to its mass. We spent the better part of two-hours walking around and under it, but the lines to go up were hours long and literally thousands of people deep. We agreed amongst ourselves that there was no way we were coming all this way and NOT going up, so we made reservations for our last night in Paris. Pictures and commentary will be forthcoming.

Paris is a walking city, and that has been my experience everywhere I've been in Europe. These old cities evolved before the automobile began fouling our lungs and assaulting our ears, so the necessities of life tend to be proximate to where people live. When you need groceries, you walk to the store. If you need to travel across the city for a distance that is too far to reasonably walk, you walk to the station and take the Metro (subway to you and me). Going out to dinner? Walk again. Stepping out for a cold drink? You guessed it.

If I walk around the block in the part of the city where we're staying I will pass a music store, a TexMex restaurant (no shit?), several brasseries/bistros/pizza joints, six or eight coffee shops, a bicycle shop with an amazing selection of high end road bikes, a music store, and the list goes on. On Sunday afternoon the wife and I walked across the street from our building and into a little plaza where we had a late lunch of pizza that would rival any pizzeria in New York for tastiness (my wife is a native New Yorker, and she will tell you the same thing). We walked past a sushi joint, a Middle Eastern restaurant and brasserie (read: French restaurant) to get there. The plaza was full of people of all ages out enjoying the sunny afternoon. Elderly couples out for a stroll, young families with children of all ages running around and playing noisily. We watched a father teaching his four or five year old daughter to ride a bike, running along next to her offering encouragement as she wobbled around the square. A cheerful, vibrant, chaotic, happy scene, and even though we were in a crowded residential neighborhood with five- and six-story buildings all around, there was very little in the way of vehicular traffic. Everyone was on foot.

We've all heard the stories of the haughty Parisiennes who refuse to speak English to foreigners and glare disdainfully when approached, and that is not altogether untrue. After observing the locals and interacting with them a time or two myself, I think I understand a little better why this is the perception so many people have. Imagine you're at work or walking down the street in your hometown, and you are accosted by a group of loud, pushy foreigners babbling at you in their native tongue. Imagine they are making no visible attempt to speak English, and it seems they are operating under the assumption that the louder and more insistent their tone, the better the chances are that you'll somehow magically gain the ability to speak and understand their language. Think you might find that a little annoying? Well, Parisiennes do too, and it has been happening to them constantly. For decades. I think I understand why they're a little testy. In certain parts of the city, the parts where tourists tend to be most often, I saw this little scene played out time and time and time again. One other thing, and I'm sorry to be the guy to tell you this, but Americans are the worst. If you ever want to know why the rest of the world finds us so distasteful, just observe your fellow Americans when they're in someone else's country. It ain't pretty.

My recommendation? Do yourself a favor. Learn a little French. Learn to ask how much things cost, and where are the restrooms, can you tell me how to get to...? Please, thank you and excuse me go a long way, too. A little effort on your part to be prepared will make your time here easier and more fun, and prevent you from totally aggravating the natives. They're not as bad as they're made out to be.

After oohing and aahing at the Eiffel Tower for the better part of two hours, we decide to head over to the Champs Elysees for a gander at the Arc de Triomphe.

The Arc de Triomphe is a monument built during the reign of Napoleon. It was commissioned after Napoleon's victory at Austerlitz. The French haven't always been wussies. It now stands as a monument to honor all the French who have fought and died for France, and there is also their "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier" located underneath the arch. It is located in the center of the largest traffic circle in the world, and you have to go through a tunnel to get out to it because the French drivers would gleefully squash you like a bug with their cars if you dared attempt to cross the street.

The Champs Elysee

The Arc de Triomphe

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

As mentioned earlier, the Arc de Triomphe sits at one end of the Champ Elysees in a gigantic traffic circle. Champ Elysee is a very wide street in a very pricy part of Paris. Think New York's Fifth Avenue on steroids. It's very wide, very crowded and very noisy. There you will find all the upscale shops and stores that women like my wife and her friend Jeannie, with whom we are traveling, find so alluring. So, after leaving them standing in line at the Louis Vuitton store (yes, she bought something, don't ask) Greg and I walked down to the Arc. Another perception we Americans have about France is that there are tons of beautiful women, all dressed very stylishly, gliding up and down the street on long, shapely legs. I am happy to report that this perception is absolutely true! According to our wives, the men here ain't too bad either. When you come here, be prepared to see lots of very well dressed, very attractive people. Hey, I'm just reporting the facts...

Sunset in Paris

Sunset on the Champs Elysees

After meeting back up with the girls, the four of us headed back to our apartment and called it a night. The wife and I had been awake for close to thirty-six hours straight and all four us had been walking practically non-stop since seven o'clock that morning (Paris time) and it was now approaching nine o'clock in the evening. It stays light until nine, so we didn't realize how late it was until we looked at our phones. Shortly after arriving back at the apartment, the dual pole-axe of jet-lag and fatigue caught me square in the head and I went down for the count. It was a fantastic first day in Paris, a non-stop barrage of sights, sounds and tastes to make the senses sing.

The next day we visited the cathedral at Notre Dame and the Louvre, and also went for a nice walk through the Latin Quarter and along the Seine with an ex-pat friend of Greg's named James (don't call him Jim) who turned out to be not only one of the nicest guys I've ever met, but an incredibly informative guy who has one of the most entertaining life's stories I've ever heard. I'll talk about all that and more in the next installment.

And just so you know, I've run into a couple of technical difficulties here that are hindering my ability to post in a timely manner. The kind of difficulties that come with using a six-year old laptop in a foreign country. I'll get the next post out as quickly as I can.

Until next time...

Ado

Michigan, NIagara Falls and Toronto; Odds and Ends

My time spent in the heartland was all too brief but no less enjoyable for it. The weather was less than cooperative, but that's okay because unlike most of the time I'm traveling, the weather kept me in the car and moving. Not my first choice of modality, but I did see more of the countryside because of it. All in all, a good time and a first glimpse (for me, anyway) of the midwest during the fall, the first time seeing fall colors in full swing anywhere, the first time seeing Niagara Falls and my first time in Canada. Score, score, score and score. I met some nice people, had some great food and saw a piece of the world I'd never seen before, so I have to consider this trip a big win.

If you ever have the chance to spend time in these places, I'm sure you'll enjoy it. Now, for a twist on how I usually end these things, here is a brief list of facts and trivia about the places I visited on this little jaunt across the midwest. Hope you find this as interesting as I did. Enjoy.

Michigan

Michigan is the only state totally comprised of two peninsulas.

"Michigan" is the French version of the Ojibwe word "mishigamaa", which means "large water" or "large lake".

When the French came to what is now Michigan in the 17th-Century, the Native Americans there were the Ojibwe. The French version of the word is "Chippewa".

Can the white man not pronounce ANYTHING the way it's supposed to be pronounced?

Michigan has 63 cider mills and over 1,000 apple farms.

Michigan provides all the apples for McDonald's Happy Meals.

The phrase, "How do you like THEM apples?' is heard often in Michigan.
(I made that one up).

Battle Creek, Michigan is the home of Kellogg Company, founded in 1906. Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, the director of the Battle Creek Sanitarium at the time, invented cold breakfast cereal as a healthy alternative to the meat based breakfast that Americans seem to love so much.

It wasn't until much later the food industry figured out how to make cereal just as unhealthy by infusing it with sugar and chemicals.

Battle Creek is also the founding location of Post Cereals (now Post Foods) and Ralston Foods.

Michigan residents devour almost twice as many chips per capita than the rest of the country.

Michigan is the 11th largest state by area and the 9th most populous state.

If you're in Michigan, you're never further than 6-miles from a natural water source.

Michigan has more freshwater shoreline than any political entity on the planet.

Lots of boats in Michigan. Big surprise, eh?

Niagara Falls

On July, 9th, 1960, a seven-year old boy named Roger Woodward, after an upriver boating accident, was swept over the falls wearing only a swimsuit and life-jacket and SURVIVED!! He was the first of only three people to go over the falls unintentionally and survive.

Roger Woodward was rescued by the crew of the "Maid of the Mist II" which plucked him from the churning waters at the bottom of the falls.

During peak flow approximately 6-million cubic feet of water go over the falls every minute, and the year-round average is around 4-million cubic feet per minute.

There are two cities named Niagara Falls. One in Canada and one in New York.

In 1901, Annie Taylor, a 63-year old schoolteacher from Michigan (nice tie-in, huh?) became the first person to go over the falls in a barrel and survive.

Would you want someone who would go over Niagara Falls in a barrel teaching your kids anything?

Niagara Falls, New York, was the first city in the US to have electric street lights. I know this because my late uncle, Mike Donnelly, grew up there and told me about it. Miss you, Mike.

Niagara Falls has eroded 7-miles in the last 12,000 years, changing from one big waterfall to the three smaller ones we have today.

Toronto

Toronto was established by the British in the late 18th-century and was originally named "The Town of York".

It wasn't until 1834 that the city name was changed to Toronto.

Toronto is one of the most diverse cities on the planet, with approximately 49% of its population having not been born in Canada.

During the War of 1812, the Town of York was sacked and plundered by American forces. We thoughtfully looted and burned much of the city during our five-day occupation, a favor that was returned when the British burned Washington to the ground later in the same war.

George "Boom Boom" Chuvalo, born in Toronto, is a former heavyweight contender who fought Floyd Patterson, Muhammad Ali (twice), George Foreman, Joe Frazier, Ernie Terrel and Jerry Quarry, and was NEVER KNOCKED OFF HIS FEET in 93 professional fights.

Toronto is the 5th most populous city in North America with 2.6-million inhabitants, and the Greater Toronto Area holds over 6-million people.

Toronto is freakin' gorgeous and it sits right on the shore of Lake Ontario.

The End of This Bit

Alright ladies and gents, that's all I've got for now. I sincerely appreciate all the people who've taken the time to read along and follow my travels. I'm toying with the idea of taking this blog in a little different direction at least part of the time, so stay tuned. If my idea comes to fruition it should be damned interesting (I hope).

Don't be afraid to click the "Join This Site" button on the blog homepage or leave a comment. And a special thanks to those who have taken the time to reach out and tell me they've been following along and enjoying my efforts. It's good to hear.

Until next time…

Michigan on the Road

Monday broke and, at last, no rain. Finally, a day suitable for rambling around this little corner of Michigan. I had been stuck either in the car or indoors for all the time I was here due to the weather. Time to get down to some serious cruising.

After dropping the wife off, I stopped at Zoe's House of Pancakes for a hearty breakfast of eggs, sausage, hash browns and what else? Pancakes of course. Drank a couple of cups o' joe, read the sports page and after settling up at the cash register, headed out the door. After filling up at the gas station down the street, I pointed the nose of the car west and just started following the road. No hurry, no precise route in mind, just a general aiming of my trajectory into the greater Ann Arbor area.

I promised myself before I left that I was not going to use the GPS for the entire day. I've found that using a GPS keeps me from connecting to the world I'm traveling through and anesthetizes my innate sense of direction. I find myself trying to remember the names of the streets I turned on instead of remembering where the streets are. It may seem like a small distinction, but for me personally, the ability to recognize where I am is much stronger than my ability to remember a series of random street names. So, after looking at a street map I headed out and, in my mind, let the navigational safety net drop. Do or die, baby.

It's really not as intrepid as it sounds, trust me. While it is kind of rural out there, and a lot of the roads transform from asphalt to dirt and back at what seems like completely random intervals, I knew as long as I stayed on the road I started on and kept going in one direction, it would end where I needed to turn to get me into Ann Arbor. My route of choice today was 6-mile road.

As I cruised west listening to the radio feed me a non-stop stream of classic rock, I took note of the neighborhoods I was passing through. They ran the gamut from large, obviously very expensive homes with well manicured lawns and landscaping complete with the occasional team of gardeners making it all look nice, to middle-middle class neighborhoods with pick-up trucks, station wagons and fishing boats on trailers in the driveways, to expansive rural homes with horse corrals, rusting tractors and rickety barns leaning against the horizon. And as most people passing through someone else's turf are wont to do, I imagined what it must be like to live in this place, with its harsh winters, wide open spaces, huge yards, great stands of giant trees brightly attired in their fall colors, the rivers, lakes and streams everywhere offering opportunities for all kinds of outdoor recreation and the effortless greenery everywhere. Taking all this in, a thought presented itself. Man, I give up a lot to live in the sunshine.

I could probably buy the most expensive house I saw here in Michigan for what my house in San Diego is worth. My house with the postage-stamp lot, with neighbors so close they can tell you what the wife and I argue about, where I can hear the neighbor's shower run, where water has gotten so dear no one can afford to water their lawn. Don't get me wrong, I like my house. And my neighbors, for that matter. And the 300 days a year of 70-degree sunshine are easy to take, as is the ten-minute drive to the Pacific Ocean. All good stuff, to be sure, and the only thing I have to give up to live near those things is economic freedom.

Now, let me qualify all this by saying I've never lived where it snows for three or four months out of the year. I could be totally kidding myself, a victim of "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence" syndrome, I don't know. What I do know is I saw some very nice houses on some very large lots and a lot of wide, open spaces in which to amuse oneself at a fraction of what it costs to sit in bumper to bumper traffic twice a day and pay sky-high taxes here in lovely Southern California, in addition to the high property values. Just sayin'.

Let me show you some of the stuff that got me to thinking…

Maybury Park

Driving down 6-mile, a side road caught my eye. For no special reason I pulled a u-turn and went back to see what was down that road, and I stumbled across Maybury Park, complete with miles and miles of running, mountain biking and equestrian trails. The trees were blazing away in their fall colors.

Pedal in, ride your horse in or jog in. Take your pick.

Maybury Park

After driving down 6-mile for a while, I went right on Angle Road and headed up to Whitmore Lake. It is a smallish lake ringed by houses, each with its own dock out back. Nothing too ostentatious, just a bunch of middle class homes on the lake. Very picturesque.

The houses are tightly spaced around the lake. This was one of the few places I saw where there
was very little space between dwellings. Cool little village complete with its own little tavern. Judging by the number of ski-boats I saw, this place is probably hopping in the summertime.

Whitmore Lake

At the lake, it was a left turn and head south for Ann Arbor. There wasn't a whole lot going on down there, which kind of surprised me for a small town with a large university, but it was pretty dead. I stopped and had lunch at a place called Kerrytown Market. It's a good sized brick building that houses a couple dozen eclectic shops and eateries. Lunch was generous and spicy, just what I needed on a chilly fall day. There was a nice coffee shop in there but I had one stop I wanted to make yet and I knew if I sat down in that warm space filled with the aroma of fresh coffee I'd never get out.

Whitmore Lake

Next up, "The Big House".

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Michigan Stadium is the largest stadium in the United States. It was built in 1927 and back then it "only" seated 82,000 fans. It has since been enlarged, and the official capacity now is just over 109,000, but it has had as many as 115,000 fans in it at one time. I couldn't get inside, but how you gonna go to Ann Arbor and not at least stop by? You can't, so here it is.

Looking across the campus

My first day in Michigan was a rainy, cold mess of a day. I drove through Ann Arbor that day but never stopped anywhere because, quite frankly, I didn't want to get out of the car in the crappy weather. But there is no denying that it's a very pretty town. There are plenty of old buildings and long established businesses to pique a traveler's curiosity. On this day I didn't have time to get out and walk the downtown area because there was something I'd seen on my previous drive through and I wanted to be sure and get there this day with good light and time to wander.

Forest Hills Cemetery

Forest Hill Cemetery was founded in 1857 and didn't receive its first "resident" until 1859, when Dr. Benajah Ticknor became the first person to be buried there. There are a lot of old gravestones and supposedly the joint is haunted. I walked around for close to an hour and only saw one other person, but alas, no ghosts.

Forest Hills Cemetery

Forest Hills Cemetery

The cemetery was my last stop for the day. It was getting late and I had to pick the wife up at the end of the day. I had no idea what the traffic would be like, so being conditioned to SoCal rush hours I left myself about an hour more than I needed to go get her.

After we got back to the hotel from dinner, it was time to pack up and get ready for the next day. Travel days are never fun days, and after the landing I "enjoyed" coming in to Detroit, I have to admit I was a little anxious about the flight home. There was still a heavy layer of thick clouds here as far as the eye could see in all directions, so I knew it was going to be a little dicey on take-off, but I also knew San Diego was going to be sunny with temperatures in the mid-70's. And as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I looked at the grey skies outside our hotel and thought, "Oh yeah, THAT'S why I
live in San Diego".

I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Michigan and Canada and am looking forward to coming back when the weather's a little nicer and I have more time. Tomorrow I'll put a ribbon on this trip with my usual "Odds and Ends" posting.

Until then...

O Canada

The alarm went off at 5:00 sharp, just like I'd asked it to. Boy oh boy that alarm is annoying, and why can't I sleep like this when I DON'T have to get up? I rub my eyes, try to shake the fog out of my head, roll over and stare up at the ceiling for a bit. This bed is SO warm and comfortable, do I really have to get up right now? It would be so easy to just close my eyes and pretend I don't have to......

I start back awake and grab my phone. 5:41. Damn! I sit up and swing my feet out onto the floor. The plan for today is to drive straight from our hotel in Livonia (Detroit, basically) to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, spend the day there and then head to Toronto. The Falls are about five hours away, Toronto a little over an hour from there. I get the wife awake and we get ourselves together and head out into the dark, wet pre-dawn Michigan morning to begin the journey. It's still completely dark outside and the frigid rain that has been drizzling down for the last two days is still making its presence known. We get in, head to the gas station, fill up, grab a coffee for me and a tea for her, a couple of waters for the road and we're off. We get through Detroit and to the border crossing in just under thirty minutes. The crossing itself takes no more than a minute or two. We are officially on the road, in Canada. Who'd a thunk it?

All my friends know how much I detest Daylight Saving Time because I whine like a little girl at, and in the general vicinity of, anyone foolish enough to stop moving near me at the two times a year when this little stroke of evil genius is enacted. Thanks to this mindless stratagem of misery and pain, I find myself driving across the prairie at the southern end of Ontario in the rain, in total darkness. We mark the time as we cross the border at 6:34 and head east. It's a straight shot across the southern end of Ontario to the little gap between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, where thousands of years ago giant glaciers moving through the area massaged the landscape into what we now call Niagara Falls.

As I'm driving, it's still dark at 7:00. It's still dark at 7:30. At 8:00 it's still dark. At 8:30 the sky is starting to turn gray and I can actually relax a little as I drive through this landscape devoid of man-made light, and as if that didn't make things difficult enough, there are none of those little raised reflective devices marking the lanes. The lanes are merely painted on the asphalt, so the sheet of water on the road renders them invisible. The dark, the rain and the invisible lanes are making the first part of today's adventure a little more stressful than it needs to be, if you ask me. We press on in the dim, but growing, gray of dawn.

American Falls on the left, Bridal Veil Falls (small) on the right.

After five hours on the road and the obligatory stop at McDonald's for a quick Egg McMuffin, we pull into the parking lot at Niagara Falls. On your way through the park into the parking area you cruise past the viewing area and catch a glimpse of the American side of the falls. Wow! Much bigger than I was expecting. The falls average right around 170-feet tall, and about 4-million cubic feet of water go over the falls (American and Canadian combined) every MINUTE! It's damned impressive.

We park and get out, and not only is it still raining but the temperature is hovering just under 40-degrees fahrenheit. It seems that cold and wet are going to be the constants during my trip. The first stop is the visitor's center so we can grab a couple of ponchos to keep the rain that is falling and the mist that is rising from the bottom of the falls from soaking us completely. We get some general directions from the lady in the shop and head out the back door to see up close and personal what honeymooners and daredevils in barrels have been enjoying for the last hundred and fifty years or so.

Panorama of entire Niagara Falls. That is American Falls in the distance.

Niagara Falls is comprised of three separate waterfalls, from east to west they are American Falls, Bridal Veil Falls and Horseshoe Falls. When you walk out of the visitor's center on the Canadian side you are right next to Horseshoe Falls. When you stand there, six feet or so above the lip of the falls and see the mass of water surging over the edge and into thin air you can feel the power. It's a little disorienting to stand there and watch from that close. 

Horseshoe Falls from the edge

If the weather had been a little more favorable we would have stayed longer, but the viewing from inside the visitor's center isn't that great and the viewing from outside on this day was miserably uncomfortable. The crowds were small and no one was really hanging out for long. People would come out, stand at the wall, ooh and aah for a few minutes and then flee the scene. We walked from the Horseshoe Falls down to the American Falls, snapping pictures and enjoying the views and then, after spending about an hour outside (and getting soaked), we decide to head inside for lunch. There is a nice little restaurant inside with great views of the falls and decent, not too expensive food. I figured with the captive audience the prices were going to be high, but it was very reasonable and the food was good. Afterwards, we walked back out so I could snap a couple more pictures and headed for the car.

Horseshoe Falls

On our way out, we asked one of the gift shop folks what was the best route to take to get to Toronto. One thing you'll find if you're ever driving through Canada is that their signage is very different from ours and more than a little confusing. The lady told us we should drive through a little town called Niagara on the Lake on our way out. She said it was a little out of the way, but that it would take us through a couple of local parks and that it was very scenic. If we stayed on that road it would take us right out to the highway that goes to Toronto. We took her at her word and headed that way. If you ever find yourself on the way out of Niagara Falls on the Canadian side, this is the route you want to take whether you're going to Toronto after or not. The drive was absolutely stunning and you also got a good look at the way of life here. It was one of our favorite parts of the trip.

Even in the bad weather the turning leaves were beautiful

As you drive away from Niagara Falls on your way to the little town of Niagara by the Lake, you follow the Erie River and pass through the park that contains the falls called Niagara Parks. It is an impeccably maintained park with running and bike trails criss-crossing throughout and many nice views of the river below. It is worth the time to meander through at a leisurely pace and see what is there. If the weather had been nicer we agreed that we would have stopped and spent some time walking around and taking it in. Definitely worthwhile. After we drove through the park and the town, we headed out for Toronto. In just over a little over an hour and a half we were checked in to our hotel and preparing for a night out.

Erie River downstream from the falls

Floral Clock located in Niagara Parks

Toronto held a few surprises for us. This is one of the few trips I've ever taken with virtually no research done before departure. The opportunity to come to Michigan and Canada wasn't confirmed until about a week before I left, so I just jumped in and figured I'd let the chips fall where they fell. I always heard Toronto was cool, but that was all I knew. After spending about twenty-four hours there, all I can say is, I can't wait to go back.

That night we headed out for a late dinner about 8:30. By now it had stopped raining, but with clearing skies it got a little colder. After a quick stop for some gloves we got busy walking the streets. The plan was a total no-plan. We were just gonna walk until we saw something that struck our fancy or we got so hungry that we wouldn't be picky. It worked out fine.

Saturday night in Toronto, out and about

Toronto is Canada's largest city and the provincial capital of Ontario. More than 2.5-million people live here and it is amazingly diverse. For no reason I can explain rationally, I was totally taken by surprise at the number of obviously non-native Canadians there. The night life is lively and the downtown area is full of crowded bars and eating establishments. Lots of good times to be had here.

We were tired after being on the road since before dawn and spending the majority of the day outside in the near-freezing weather. After a long stroll, we decided we were in the mood for Italian and walked into one of the many malls here that holds dozens of bars and restaurants and not much else. I've never seen anything like it, but it sure was convenient. We had no idea what restaurants would be inside, but the first thing we saw was an Italian Trattoria, and after a quick perusal of the menu we decide it would do just fine.

The dinner was excellent as was the service. Our server Nick had spent eight years in San Diego working at Legoland as a performer, so we had an instant rapport. We had a very relaxed, leisurely dinner before heading back to the hotel. Without even realizing it, we had walked into a building that was so big that it emptied out on to a couple of different streets. Luckily, one of the exits led us out onto the sidewalk right outside our hotel. After a very short stroll back to our room, we indulged ourselves with a little room service dessert and called it a night.

More Saturday night in Toronto

The next morning we woke up to sunlight streaming into our room. I looked outside and saw crystal clear blue skies and a few puffy clouds. It looked glorious. We got ready and decided since it was such a nice day out we'd walk the few blocks to a breakfast spot Nick had recommended to us the night before. It was called Fran's. We asked the concierge if she knew where the place was and she said she did, gave us directions and sent us on our way. What she told us was different than what Nick had told us, but we figured it was so nice out we'd just figure it out as we walked.

After traveling about twenty feet outside the hotel we came to the sudden and shocking realization that it was ungodly cold out here. No, you don't understand, it was REALLY cold! Like, we used to ski Brianhead in Utah every year, and it was THAT kind of cold. Brianhead is ten-thousand feet above sea lever, just so you know. This morning in lake-side Toronto it was life threateningly cold. We got about half a block and decided to ask someone on the street if they knew where Fran's was. We got a third answer. Okay, keep walking before you die. Ask another person, get another answer. Now we've got three possible locations. And you have to understand, every person we asked was dead certain. They weren't waffling with their answers. It was like, "Oh yeah, you go three blocks down to Shuter Street, take a left and it's right there on the right. Can't miss it." Next guy points in the complete opposite direction and says, "Go up two blocks to Central and it'll be right across the street. I work right across the street from there." Okay, we decide to just get indoors as quickly as possible and hope we can get a breakfast out of the deal. Survival was starting to become a real concern. We were standing at the corner the concierge had told us to turn at. We turned, crossed the street and there was Fran's. We had been within 300-feet of the place the whole time we were taking our impromptu poll on where the man-on-the-street in downtown Toronto thought Fran's might be. By the time we got inside the shivering was just beginning. Just for the record, it was 28-degrees out. Look it up.

Upon hearing our story, the waitress and one of the other regulars laughed and said oh yeah, that happens all the time. Turns out they have multiple locations and people show up to meet their friends at the wrong one all the time.

"Hahahaha can I get a cup of hot coffee, stat please?" It wasn't that funny.

We ate our (very good) breakfast, went back to the hotel, checked out and started wending our way back to the greater Detroit area. A little over four hours later we were back in Livonia watching the Chargers choke a game away to the team from Washington. Some things never change.

I could finally take a picture of the trees with sunlight. So beautiful.

Detroit is out there somewhere.

Detroit. Hey, it's hard to take pictures out of a moving car!

Your truly. Thanks for visiting.

That was our weekend. I hope you liked catching up with us. We're having a blast and our weekend in Canada was fantastic. We talked all the way back about how we can't wait to get back when we have time to do it up and hang out. 

Thanks for following along, hope you had a good read. I've got one more day here in the great state of Michigan, and hopefully the weather will be good enough for me to get out and dig in a little bit. See you around. 

Until next time...