D-Day; or, When in Rome...

Castello del Cinderella

Sleeping Beauty re-enactress; or maybe it was Mary Poppins

Rodent re-enactors; actually the Mouse and his symbols were hardly in evidence

Detail of column in Castello del Cinderella

Grand Mosaic in the Castello

Our favorite scene..."It's a Small World," the penultimate hall, where everything goes White and they all sing in English (we call it the Aryan Hall), at the very, very end: an afterthought-ful Native American...

I am very proud of these artsy-fartsy pix

Ditto; double ditto

For reasons almost beyond explaining, we have visited Disneyworld perhaps a dozen times. It all started at Disneyland in August, 1970, the same night the Youth International Party party paid a visit and then the Anaheim police paid a visit, in full riot gear. (Look it up). We were there, but as young tourists and not as yippies. The park closed early, but I probably did not mind. In retrospect, I see now it was not an auspicious beginning.

Our first visit to the Florida version was in 1971, not long after it opened. A bunch of us then-20-somethings piled into a car and drove from Miami to Kissimmee for the day. Being native Floridians and having family in Florida may explain many of our subsequent visits. Having children provides further explanation. Disney is continually unveiling new rides and attractions. Nostalgia must have something to do with it. More recently, a fascination on my part with simulacra and social criticism has more to do with it. Baudrillard (or was it Derrida?) said that DisneyLand/World was the only real thing in America. Everything else is an imitation, but in DisneyRealm they are at least deliberate and reflective and calculating and therefore authentic about it. ("The absence of any reference whatever to Foucault demonstrates the all-pervasiveness of his thought."). Etc.

So there we were again, last Wednesday. I must admit this was the first time I actually enjoyed visiting the place. Maybe I am getting old, even maturing; or just tired; or maybe my brain cells are expiring more rapidly now. Or maybe it was having all the Sherouses aboard (Rebecca and Rachel). We nearly always visit the Magic Kingdom. I don't think we visited any sites we have not visited many times before. Still I enjoyed it, even to the last of the fireworks and monorail and tram rides back to the ("Donald") parking lot.

It was a beautiful day with a moderate crowd. The day also was helped along by some background literature, namely The Imagineering Field Guide to the Magic Kingdom, which Marie provided; she joined us later for dinner (it was her birthday). Each site, ride, exhibit, whatever, was addressed in this little book, a bit of its history, intent, and technology. Rebecca read the relevant extracts as we waited in lines. Text really helps. It almost became a humanities experience for me...but not quite. Maybe next time.

Missed the Boat

We seriously misunderestimated the time required for an inter-state title change, and so did not get the Grey Wanderer on the boat March 31 for its trip to Southampton (via Bremerhaven). So, now we're aiming for an April 22 ship date, staying with Marie and Norm in St. Cloud, as planned, through April 23 or so. The good news is we will have the camper, and transportation without mooching, through mid-April. There is so much to see and do here in Mordor, I mean, central Florida. The other good news is that we will arrive some weeks before the camper does and will spend those weeks in Ireland as backpackers. Meanwhile, we continue outfitting the Wanderer, planning, coordinating, shopping, returning, shopping, returning (the Myth of the Eternal Return is a Truth) etc.

 

LazyDays RV Center

Clark: "So, when did you get the tenement on wheels?"

Eddie: "Oh, that uh, that there's an RV. Yeah, yeah, I borrowed it off a buddy of mine. He took my house, I took the RV. It's a good looking vehicle, ain't it?"
Clark: "Yeah, it looks so nice parked in the driveway."
Eddie: "Yeah, it sure does. But, don't you go falling in love with it now, because, we're taking it with us when we leave here next month."

We bought the Grey Wanderer from LazyDays RV Center, in Seffner, FL, near Tampa. Normally I'd be suspicious of anything for sale in Florida (watch Marx's Coconuts), and especially real estate or RVs. But our experience with LazyDays was more than satisfactory, in every respect. Their goal is to make every customer a “customer for life,” and with us, at least so far, they have succeeded. Our delivery advisor, Chuck, was mostly responsible, coordinating their variety of services and working a miracle or two on the side.

LazyDays does not claim to be the nation's largest RV dealership, although I am sure they must be, at least for a single site. Their campus is 140 acres, the administrative building alone must be 35,000-40,000 square feet. The service bays are in three different huge buildings. They have 700 employees at peak. When you arrive for delivery, they feed you breakfast and lunch in their restaurant and house you in your RV on site for however long it takes. They have three campgrounds on the premises, a rally campground, the Crown Club (for coaches over $350,000), and the delivery campground, where we stayed three nights. (We had some modifications done.) Strong wifi is available everywhere. Most of their business is the big Class A rigs, but, even with our puny, used Class B purchase, we felt we were treated as well as the half-a-million dollar customer might be. A Flying J, a Camping World, and a Cracker Barrel (of course!) adjoin the Lazy Days campus. See pix at http://www.lazydays.com/supercenterphotos.html.

Aerial view of LazyDays RV Center; I was impressed

Wednesday morning class on baking in convection microwaves (in the 
Learning Center)

Part of the sales lot; a tiny part

Some of the campus golf cart fleet...

Celebration dinner: my 62nd birthday, and the largest Rusty Nail I have ever 
seen; Vicki celebrated her birthday the 29th at Epcot, with Marie (Disney gives 
free admission to birthday persons with appropriate government-issued 
identification...)

Grey Wanderer

While in Missoula, we finally made a decision about an RV for Europe. We had narrowed our choices to a class B (considering vehicle size, European roads and lanes, parking, towns, villages), a Sprinter for some additional size and the diesel engine, a RoadTrek for the two-living/working-area-design, and further by price and location. Needless to say, our search was almost entirely on the Web, with a few visits to RV lots in CA. We settled on a 2008 Roadtrek Adventurous in Tampa, 13,000 miles new, with most of the features and functions we wanted. We'll spend a few days in Tampa outfitting and re-fitting it, then take it to St. Cloud at Marie's and Norm's for more outfitting, and then drive it to Jacksonville for shipping to Southampton. So I guess we are not really homeless anymore.

Oh, the vehicle is white with grey trim and interior, so we have resolved to call it the “Grey Wanderer.” (Exegetical note: Gandalf was the “Grey Pilgrim”; Wotan, in Siegfried, was “Der Wanderer.” People often ask me, “Mark, so how does Tolkien's Ring compares with Wagner's?” About like how Jaws compares with Moby Dick, I say. But I always hasten to add, in fairness to Tolkien, that nothing at all in the world of art compares with Wagner. Nothung. (As Joyce would say.))

The Road Goes Ever On: The Book, Volume I

A special retirement gift was from my daughters, Rachel (publisher) and Rebecca (editor): the book version of my Asia/Pacific blog. OK, it's not at fine bookstores everywhere. But I presume you can buy a copy from Blurb.com. Anyway, I love it, it's going with us on our next travels, and Volume II is already in the works. Thank you, Rebecca and Rachel!

Retired At Last!

Jamie Doggett

Me

Vicki with Jeff Gritzner and Alan Weltzien

Friday, March 13, I finally joined the ranks of the homeless and the unemployed. Humanities Montana, my former employer, honored me with a very nice reception in Missoula. I am not sure how many were in attendance, but there were enough to impress and gratify me, particularly those who drove long distances on mid-March Montana roads. I only regret there was not enough time to speak with each and every one. So many good memories, so many proud moments together. I am particularly indebted to Ken, Kim, Ken, and Clair at Humanities Montana for putting on such a good show. [Thanks for the pix, Ken]. And I am especially indebted to a special person, Jamie Doggett, Montana humanities goddess and legend, who hosted the affair. It was so good to see her again and to hear about all our mutual friends.

Missoula

Missoula, from the South Hills

Our "home," the Hellgate Canyon Storage Center; hey, it

has water features, a great view of Mt. Dumbo, and is near

the confluence of the Big Blackfoot and Clark Fork rivers

The Rott's dog, Zoe, demonstrates the "Corpse" pose

Back home at last! It was so nice to spend some time in a place where you don't need a map or a dictionary, and are not always visiting with strangers, even sympatico strangers. Returning to Missoula after six months was almost like re-discovering it, as we did in 1995. It is truly a special place, with special people, that we love. Our thanks to Phyllis and to Kim and Dave for putting us up, and for putting up with us.

We were in town for two weeks—last work for Humanities Montana, doctor and dentist visits, social get-togethers, some shopping, and a whole lot of work at “home,” our storage unit at Hellgate Canyon Storage, converting from a backpacker lifestyle to that of an RVer. Happily, the weather cooperated, as much as it ever does at spring-time in the Rockies. It started cold, got fairly mild, and then ended with a wintry mix as we departed on the 23rd.

Six cartons have accompanied us, together with the usual carry-on's, for our journey from Missoula to Spokane, then Las Vegas, then Tampa, where we will pick up our new rig. With so much luggage, we elected to fly Southwest with its generous luggage allowance and low fare, with a Greyhound trip across I-90 to Spokane. Except for the driver's injunction against smoking, drinking, drugs, and “profound language” (“The Real is the Rational; the Rational is the Real”?), Greyhound was OK. We've done much worse. Recently. At least we were able to use our cell phone.

Stateside

We are back on the mainland, visiting daughter Rebecca in Menlo Park, CA, regrouping, shopping for an RV for our Eurasia trip, and contemplating our brief return to Missoula. Our blog will be in suspension for awhile, until there is news.

Aloha, Hawaii

Arizona Memorial

Diamond Head

Monday we packed and turned in the Subaru, flew from Kaua'i to Honolulu, retrieved our bags from Bob Buss & Co. (thanks, again, wonderful Humanite people), and then repacked for the trip Tuesday to San Francisco. FWIW, our last night in Hawai'i was in a motel near the airport; not in a car or in the county park.

One might think of this as the end of our trip. Well, it is the end of the Asia/Pacific leg. For now. We have seen so much to which we want to return. For the next several weeks we will reorganize, refit, and re-provision, with our daughter Rebecca in Menlo Park, back “home” in Missoula mooching off friends there, and then in Orlando with Vicki's sister, Marie. There will be a reunion with Rebecca and Rachel in Orlando and a visit to my sister Carole and her family in Weston. And then we will be off again in early May—this time to Eurasia in an RV.

End of Kaua'i

Waimea Canyon, "the Grand Canyon of the Pacific"

Not too many chefs...

Surfing at Anaholi

More surfing at Anaholi

Forester Encampment

Sunday we drove back to Waimea, viewing the Waimea canyon again, and through Lihue, and then up the east coast to Anaholi, where we camped for the night at the county park. We're experienced at this now. Anaholi is an entirely different kind of place from Salt Pond, a very small camping area, all locals but for one other apparent tourist couple. The cove, as it were, is perhaps a mile wide, but the waves were gigantic—beyond the shoals, they looked far higher than the shore—and then they crashed on the shoals and dissipated. The final 100 yards to the beach was entirely calm, a surf of a foot or two. Farther out, half a dozen people were surfing in the watery tumult. See illustration.

We had a great lunch earlier in the day at Bennicke's at Poipu, so dinner was the final left-overs from our travels. I attempted to add roast chicken bits to chicken rice soup with chicken boullion, over coals left by pick-nickers (our propane had run out). The chickens watched with interest. I was tempted to see whether they would eat roast chicken breast, but then I was hungry myself.

Vicki insists I divulge that we slept in the rental car that last night on Kaua'i. It was a Subaru Forester, just like the one we used to own in Missoula, and the rear seat folds down to make a sleeping area just about the size of a 2 person tent. We had already packed for the plane, it was blustery, blowing salt spray everywhere, so, yes, our last night on Kaua'i was in the car, at the county park. At least the crashing surf and the windows rolled up muted the roosters a bit.

Koke'e, Kalalau, and Pihea

So there we were, at 4,000 feet, 20 degrees latitude north (about like Cuba), end of February, wearing our down jackets from the Himalayas. Cold and very wet outside. In order for us (me) to do some hiking in this area, Vicki booked us for two nights in the Koke'e State Park cabins. “Cabin” apparently is an Hawai'ian euphemism for shack or shanty. It was not as cheap as the county park ($3 per person); actually, at $75 a night we thought it was overpriced. There is a wood-burning stove in the “cabin,” and we are feeding it everything that will burn, especially considering the concessionaire charges $7.95 a 5-gallon bundle for firewood. I figure, at this price, a typical Hawaiian tree must be worth about $795 trillion. Ever collected fire wood in a rain forest? In the rain?

Saturday I did my hike. It was raining, of course, when I left the cabin. We are only a few miles from Kaua'i's big old volcano, which, at about 5,000 feet, is officially the wettest place on earth. 450 inches a year wet.

My hike was the Pihea trail, which takes you out via a long sort-of knife-edge ridge over the Kalalau canyon to Pihea Peak, and then down into the Swamp. I arrived at the Kalalau Lookout trail-head in the rain, sat in the car for half an hour while it rained, optimistically, and then, sure enough, some blue appeared, and then some more, and then it stopped raining, and then you could actually see some of the canyon below. I knew, in my non-Islands wisdom, it would clear up, the clouds and moisture would soon burn off.

So I donned my rain suit—just a precaution—and set forth over the red lava slabs that cover, or underlie, the ridge. After a few hundred feet, it became apparent this was the same volcanic mush that constitutes the Kalalau trail. The “rock” degenerates into mud of the slipperiest kind. At the half-mile mark, my clouds-burning-off delusion ended, the canyon disappeared, and it rained, and rained, and rained.

Mercifully, the trail was short. I can best describe it as a mixture of rock-climbing and solo mud wrestling. I am sure there was as much exposure as on the Kalalau trail itself, but the vegetation on Pihea entirely covered it. The wind was terrific, rain blowing side-ways. I reached the summit, photographed the marker--in the white-out there was nothing else to photograph—rested and reflected briefly on how much a person can accomplish through delusional determination and persistence, and headed down toward the Swamp. Here, the State of Hawaii has installed wooden staircases, the only concession to trail “improvement” I have seen on Kaua'i. But, after awhile, it occurred to me that a swamp was even less interesting in a white-out than a “mountain” “peak.” So I headed back, ascending, then descending, step by deliberate step. I slipped half a dozen times, but never actually fell. My ribs still ached enough from Kalalau.

We spent the rest of the day feeding the stove and going over the 38,000 photos we have taken on our trip. I think this is what you have with nearly 40G of pix. A few people have asked for slide-shows, and, of course, we will oblige, cutting it down to mere scores, or hundreds. Eventually, I swear, I will do the Picasa albums I have promised.

The Ohe Ohe cabin at Koke'e State Park

Kalalau Valley from Kalalau Lookout; I think Pihea Peak is the highest point on the ridge

Feral Fowl; or, Avian Flu, Anyone?

Feral fowl Up close and personal Feral cats Feral seal 

 Among its many other attractions, Kaua'i has a very large feral chicken population. Wherever people are, there are scores, hundreds, thousands of them, roosters, and hens, and chicks, but most conspicuously, roosters. See illustration. I am sure we have seen and heard 10,000 roosters in the past week. This is no exaggeration. They are clearly the island's largest biomass. Tyson's should buy this island. The guidebooks gloss over the chicken thing as one of the local curiosities. Most tourists stay in isolated, air-conditioned resorts, and do not have to endure the incessant cockle-doodle-doo-ing. They see them at the “sights” and oogle and even feed them. How cute. Look, Danny, it's a rooster, just like on a farm. What's a farm, Dad? I have asked a number of locals about the roosters and have gotten a variety of interesting stories. All begin with the hurricanes that devastated the island in the early 90s. Lots of fowl flew their coops. According to the more colorful stories, among those fleeing the coop were the King's Roosters. (Elvis? He had roosters on Kaua'i?). They mated with the hens that also flew the coop, and thus, their numberless progeny, as royal Polynesian descendants, are “protected.” According to other stories, people like them because they are “natural.” Personally, I think they are repulsive and possibly unhealthy, but that's just culturally-insensitive old me. Kaua'i also has a significant feral cat population. They are apparently tame, even friendly, most just looking for a hand-out or a good home. Cats are so sly. But they also are everywhere, even the Kalalau trail. Kaua'i benefits from them, however. Unlike the Big Island, we have seen no mice on Kaua'i. And the cats don't start screeching at 3AM. I think the cats should be encouraged to take on the roosters. No one else will. Clawageddon.

Kaua'i South and West

Our site at Salt Pond

Yes! We have no papayas! at the National Center for Tropical Botanical...

The Na Pali afternoon cruise

Returning; the "Forbidden Island," Ni'ihau, in the background
Longer-term campers at Salt Pond

After resting, relaxing, and washing, at the Kaua'i Inn in Lihue (expensive, to us, but free internet, breakfast, and very nice and helpful staff people), and re-provisioning, we drove generally west on the island's one coastal road, from Lihue to Hanipepe, stopping at Poipu to gawk at the resorts, and dozens of vacation homes and condos for sale, then an the National Center for Tropical Botanical something-or-other (vastly over-rated by the National Geographic, IMHO; and expensive, at least for a publicly-supported entity), and then finally camping on the beach at Salt Pond.

In our previous visits to Hawaii, we always wondered about camping on the beach, in a state or county park. Salt Pond is such a place, a favorite among locals. The old guys hang out there all day and well into the night, drinking and smoking in the covered pavilions, and doubtlessly scaring the teenies away. This is good. Salt Pond is a beautiful beach, small, but scenic, on the dry side of the island. There were about a dozen tents, the usual international mix. The one we set up next to the first night, unfortunately, turned out to be a case of local domestic dis-tranquility. We learned lots of new and interesting expressions (“get out of my #$%@-ing life!”; the tent is his; the pick-up hers; the stereo is his; the kids?; etc.). The beach and environs were nonetheless wonderful, if breezy. Hey, if we can hitch-hike on Monday, we can camp in the county park on Wednesday. We spent most of the 60s trying to claw our way into the middle class, rather than dropping out of it, so we have a lot of hippie-time to make up for.

We were awakened quite early the next morning by the island-wide feral rooster population (see next post), about 3AM, to be exact. Earplugs are no protection against these monsters. And, pursuing male competitiveness, they continue all day and into the night, trying to out-cockle-doodle-do each other. At 6:30AM, the park ranger showed up, asking for our permit. Civil servants are so conscientious. We had no permit, but knew we could buy one on the spot when so greeted. We were thinking perhaps the evening before, just after cocktails, not an hour before dawn's rosy fingers. But it's always good to get an early start on the day.

After buying a permit for the next night, moving our site much closer to the beach and away from the love-birds, we drove on to the end of the road, Waimea, Polihale, and the missile range. Even in paradise we have missile ranges. Thank you, DOD, Homeland Security, and USN. All this is a different part of the island, the south-west, dry, flat, 360 clear days per year, right up to where the Na Pali cliffs end on the west side. Another road that does not go ever on, but I'll spare readers the photograph.

We spent Thursday afternoon on the beach, Vicki reading her latest Sara Douglass novel (4th in a series of 6), me fighting off Beach Boredom. We were both born in Miami, had ample beach experience as teens, but have never returned to nor enjoyed the beach MO. The surf and waves are endlessly interesting...for about fifteen minutes. And I do not go in water that does not have significant chlorine content. The major entertainment of the afternoon was a Hawaiian monk seal sleeping on the sand next to us, just a few feet away. The tide was coming in, and every time it reached him he squiggled up a bit further on the beach, then collapsed again into deepest slumber. I wonder what he was thinking, or dreaming...the beach full of people, himself alone, cordoned-off by the life-guards, with signs about threatened species, do not disturb, no flash photography, etc. Was he bored?

Kalalau Curiosities

Avast! Whales; They're There, I Swear

Much of the Trail Passes Through An 
Old Coffee Plantation

Beans All Over the Place

This Was One of the Relatively Dry Spots

Part of the "Campground" at Mile 6; a Disgrace

Feral Kitty on the Trail

Another Hiker, After Quitting the Trail, 
Disgustedly Deposited Her Shoes in the 

Rubbish Bin; I Retrieved Them and Began 
This Incipient Kalalau Shoe Tree at the 
Trail-head

Vicki adds:

February 24, 2009—Kauai

So we are back one day early from our hike of the Na Pali coast. For me it was very disappointing not to have made it back all the way to the last beach. That beach and the surrounding valley and cliffs (and illegal hippie camping), are what everyone wants to see--maybe in my next reincarnation or when we have won the lottery and can afford the helicopter tour. The trail has been rated a difficulty of 9 out of 10 by the Sierra Club, so even to have done more than half was an accomplishment.

The day hike part ends after two miles—that is also the end of most maintenance. One of the semi-permanent residents who was hiking out to get provisions said that Hawaii doesn't maintain it because the rangers don't walk it; they fly into the last valley by helicopter to issue citations for all the illegal campers and then fly out, at $500 an hour. I can see that the state does have a dilemma. If they make it easier then even more illegals will be able to get back there and walk in and out for provisions, etc. However, if Hawaii put a ranger back there and collected the camping fees and enforced the rules, they could probably collect enough money to pay the ranger's salary. We did have permits, but I had a very strong feeling hardly anyone else did. You can only get them by mail or in person in Honolulu and at least 7 days in advance. The weather was part of the reason we couldn't make it. Though it was pretty dry on our four days, it had rained for two weeks solid before. If we could have waited two days for the trail to dry some, it would have made all the difference. But crazy us, we try to follow the rules! I take comfort in the fact that after the day hike part, I saw no woman over 30 and only 1 man our age—a German.

So now we are back at our cheap $100 a day motel, a mile from the bus stop and beach—and not able to get a rental car until tomorrow. Today I rest my knee, wash clothes and boots, and spend hours on the Internet. For those of you not familiar with our future plans, I will explain the need for all this research.

We head back to the mainland next week for 4 days with our daughter Rebecca in San Francisco and then on to our “home” in Missoula for 2 weeks or so. Next we head to Orlando where we will stay with my sister Marie during most of April. Both our daughters are also coming for a 5 day long weekend. Sometime during that 6 weeks, we have to locate a small diesel RV and arrange to have it shipped to Europe for the next 18 month leg of our adventure.

Tsunami Beach

72 Killed, So It Says

Big Waves on the Bench

Just Down from Our Campsite

Despite It All, We're Happy Campers