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Random Stop at the Chandler Museum: Rural Road Trips
We find ourselves outside the Phoenix zoo with nothing on the agenda. We drive around the park, but hiking in the desert sun after walking the entire zoo is not appealing. It is too late in the day to pay admission to a large attraction and too early to head back to the RV.
It is time for some Google magic. This is the Hail Mary travel hack. I type in things to do near me and see what pops up. Bingo! We are near the Chandler Museum. It is small and best of all, free.
We enter with zero expectations, besides air conditioning. The attendant is friendly and welcoming. She tells us there are four exhibits. I am unfortunately not paying attention, because there are historical photographs just behind her of the Chandler ostrich races. I guess that used to be a thing. There is even an ostrich statue.
It is the rest of the museum that truly stops me in my tracks. The first room is an honest look at Japanese internment from the eyes of those who endured the injustice humiliation. It is sobering to see what humans will put each other through.
The second room was beautiful photographs of immigrants who were recently naturalized. They are captivating by themselves, but the narration panels tell their stories in their own voice. It is both sobering and I inspirational. I can only hope America embraces their courage and fortitude.
The rest of the museum passes in a blur. I think a room is dedicated to cowgirls and another to local history. I am not really paying attention. I am thinking about identity and how fear is often a terrible motivator. This is pretty heavy for a random stop seeking air conditioned amusement. I can only pray that we are guided by our better angels and learn to make decisions based on liberty, love, and justice for all. That after all, is the real promise of America.
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Phoenix Zoo: Rural Road Trips
It is no secret that I love zoos. Correction, I love animals and zoos have always been a way to get closer to wildlife and encounter more species. A good zoo treats its animals well and works toward essential wildlife conservation. Bad zoos with poor care and tiny cages break my heart. We visit zoos to support the animals and connect with nature.
The Phoenix zoo is ridiculously expensive. I assume most families can’t afford to come on a regular basis (maybe ever). Of course, I am from St. Louis where the world class zoo is free.
With high expectations we enter the zoo. It is spacious and it is clear they care for their animals. But half of the exhibits seem to be under construction and many of the animals are off exhibit. (Note: the area had severe weather last month that may have damaged infrastructure). I joke that we should only have to pay a proportional entry fee based on the number of exhibits actually open. I calculate about a 60% discount.
One of the best views we have is an overlook at the lion enclosure. We can’t actually see any lions. They must be sleeping under the trees. But we can see some bighorn sheep, which ironically appear to be in an area outside the zoo. Leave it to me to buy a $50.00 ticket to a zoo with no animals actually visible, and then stand and watch animals outside the zoo.
We walk through a number of visually appealing exhibit areas where no animals are visible. Some are asleep in their enclosures while hidden by foliage I guess. Some of them may be inside. It is hot and they are hiding. Or else the zoo is playing a crazy Halloween prank and there aren’t actually any animals.
My guy is starting to get a little salty about walking long distances in the heat with very little pay off. Thankfully in the primate house, we find a very responsive orangutan. He is having a great time chewing up primate biscuits into mash and then spitting it out to show me his masterpiece. It is a little gross, but it is making both the orangutan and my husband happy. Plus, it is air condition led. So I sit down and let the orangutan show me his regurgitated lunch.
Close by, we also find a walk through monkey enclosure. The little guys have complete freedom to roam and we try not to get in their way. It isn’t as interactive as the Australian zoos, but pretty neat. A docent tells all about them as we watch the frolicking from underneath their trees. This is what a zoo should be.
All in all, not our best day ever at a zoo. For the money, it is not even a good value. And yet…. I would go again. Given a chance to support wildlife conservation and to take a walk in a beautiful space, I will always go.
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Eating Our Way Through Tokyo: Travel Goals
Tokyo is known as a foodie destination. We are simple people and one of us is more meatasaurus than foodie. So alas, no Michelin stars. Instead, we seek out the unusual and the common. I love to find the places where ordinary people flock to eat. I grew up eating in country diners where pick up trucks lined the parking lots. A general rule of thumb when traveling was to look where all the cars parked. If the lot was crowded, it was worth a try. It is still a good rule.
So this trip we ate in office buildings where we stood in line for amazing Thai food. We waited to have crepes filled with fruit and brownies. One crepe even boasted a filling of cheesecake. Definitely not high brow, but also undeniably delicious. Dozens of local standing in line for a taste can’t be wrong.
We had coffee, pastry, and even cake out of vending machines in subway and train stations. They were surprisingly good purchases. (with the exception of the barley water I mistook for hot tea. It tasted like grass….and not in a good way.)
Eating local is a grand adventure. We laughed until I cried when I couldn’t figure out how to use a ticket vending machine to pay for our meal in a soba restaurant and accidentally ordered two extra meals. oops.
In a suburb, we decided to try the businessman’s steak lunch. As the lone woman in the restaurant, I looked around the space to see if there was some unwritten code. Apparently, the large cuts of meat attracts a certain crowd. They were all wearing giant bibs. Weird.
After we ordered and waited for a while bibs were delivered to our table. We kept talking. The cook came out of the kitchen and marched to our table. “You put on. I bring meat!”, he said forcefully. My son’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Yikes! We put on, because wanted him to bring meat. When our food comes we understand. The plates are red hot iron. The meat cooks in front of us and the sauce they use to baste the meat flies in every direction. Soon our bibs are covered. The men in my life were very happy with the choice. While I don’t love meat, so was I. It was a cultural experience.
Sometimes we ate traditional food with a view. I can say I ate rice and looked over a lake beneath the iconic Mount Fuji. I was entertained by cigar store Indians, a replica of the Statue of Liberty, and even Godzilla himself as I dined. I ate burgers, dumplings, seaweed, and fish eggs.
But most days, in the best sense of the phrase, we ate simple traditional meals. This included a miso soup, a main meat or noodle dish, a bowl of rice, and some pickled vegetables. Filling and unassuming. Just the way we like to travel.
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Saguaro Shut Down: Rural Road Trips
During the latest government shut down, we find ourselves in Tucson. We had hoped to make this a national park trip, but many of our lesser known destination parks have been closed. So with a bit of apprehension we drive across town to Saguaro National Park.
The visitor center and its bathrooms are locked up tight, but the trails and the park road are open. I am actually a little nervous about heading too far from the visitors center. It is hot and desolate and as the signs make very clear, if you get in trouble….no one is coming to save you. Today we are on our own.
The trail that circles the visitor center has plenty of large Saguaro to look at. I alternate from looking at the giants up close, looking at the desert landscape in the distance and looking for rattlesnakes along the trail. Why does everything seem more ominous when you are the only ones present and there are lots of signs saying Beware?
The birds have made holes in the cacti, carving out nests near the top of the plant. The fuzzy cholla pop up every now and then…a new plant (for me at least) that looks like a torture penalty for getting off the approved walkway. I won’t risk it.
Though it is a pleasant autumn day, I am glad I have water. I can’t imagine being here in the summer sun. Deserts are not my happy place. I much prefer a dense forest with a lovely mountain stream. I question the sanity of the people who willingly hike here in summer.
Next we follow the road signs to a trail that leads to petroglyphs. I didn’t know that it would mean a few mile drive over a washboard dirt road. Yikes! It is really desolate out here. It is a good thing that I am a small town girl. As a teenager I could speed down a gravel road and create a dust storm in my wake. As a retired adult, all I can think about is how long it is going to take to wash our big orange truck.
At the trailhead, there is only one other car. No one is visible. I wonder where they could have gone? I survey the terrain. We will have to cross a field of rock debris, climb a large hill and hike around a bluff to find the petroglyph. Each rock pile looks like a rattlesnake hotel. They may as well put up welcome signs.
I tighten my boots and pull up my thick wool socks. If I get bit, I at least want to make it challenging. The walk is easier than it looks from the car. With no snakes or other hazards in site, I relax and take in the view from the top. We can see for miles. There is no sign of the other hiker(s). I hope they know what they are doing out there. I will stick to the trails today.
We came to see petroglyphs and there are hundreds crudely carved into the rocks. Many appear to be lines, wheels, sunbursts. I guess you can think of them as early landscapes. From this viewpoint, all you can see is the sun, a flat horizon, and thousands of saguaro. So a circle for the sun and some lines for the cactus and would be logical choices I guess. Think of them as ancient stick figures.
We head back to the truck. My head is full of wondering. Who made the carvings? What would it be like to ride a horse through all that scrub? What would it be like to get lost out there? How could you survive without shade or water?
Before I know it, we are back to the truck. Soon, I am zipping down the dirt road with the radio on. I am 16 again….in my head. My current self can’t bring myself to roll down the windows and let the wind blow through my hair. I don’t want to deal with the dust.
We stop at the intersection and take a picture of the park sign in the harsh afternoon sun just to prove we were here. What’s a road trip without a souvenir sign picture?
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Inari Tokyo: Travel Goals Japan
Walking down the street in Tokyo in the rain, I pass a colorful temple. It is local, clearly not a tourist hot spot, and very much in use. Since I love the quiet and reverence of sacred spaces, I step inside. This feels authentic, like a local church.
I have only visited one other Buddhist temple in my life and that was just yesterday. I want to be very respectful so I follow the steps I learned to cleanse my hands and lips before entering. I hope I do it correctly. There are only a few other people here so hopefully no one is offended if I don’t get all the steps in order.
This temple, the Toyokawa Inari Tokyo Betsuin is dedicated to an O- Inari who is said to have appeared to a son of Emperor Juntoku while riding a white fox with a rice plant on its shoulder. In Shinto tradition, Inari is said to have come down from Heaven riding a white fox and bringing rice. A vision or sighting would bring good fortune, so farmers began leaving gifts for the fox. This temple is a continuation of the Shinto tradition of prayers to the Kami of foxes. Inari worship was blended into the Buddhist tradition in the 800’s, when Inari was named protector of Shingon Buddhists.
Honestly, the traditions of the Inari and their white fox messengers (kitsune) are so varied and intertwined that I have trouble making sense of all the details. What I know is that this is where you come to pray for prosperity, happiness, wellbeing, and good fortune. I can certainly ask God for peace and happiness while I am here.
The kitsune (fox) are everywhere. They wear red bibs which have been placed by parishioners as a sign of respect. Each is a unique and colorful reminder of messages of peace and abundance. Red banners carry messages of well being. Candles and incense burn as symbols of requests ascending to heaven.
Like most Buddhist temples, you can purchase prayer cards to make a prayer chain or wooden ornaments. At this temple they are in the shape of a heart. Apparently this temple is a favorite place to seek help for romance and family matters.
And so I wander the walkways and try to stay far away from people engaged in prayer. It is not my intent to interrupt their offerings. And yet I can’t help but notice the ritual. It is a foreign concept to me that you would need to pay to pray, but each person leaves some money and bows before they leave. Perhaps it is left in gratitude and not as a means of enticing the Inari to help them. There is so much I don’t know.
I can, however, appreciate the beauty of the temple. Like the cathedrals I love to visit in other parts of the world, this place feels sacred and set apart. There is a reverence in the space as people come to petition for something beyond their own power. While I am Christian, I respect the seeking and the devotion. I recognize the sincerity. I say a prayer of blessing and thanksgiving. I am a stranger in a strange land, and I am grateful for the experience.
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Movie Magic In Old Tucson: Rural Road Trips
I have zero expectations when we arrive at old Tucson. I didn’t even know it was a movie studio set. I thought it was an older part of town. We are only here because our waitress at dinner said we should come.
I am taken aback by the haunted house advertisements and the excessive fake spider webs. What is this place? Why did we pay $50.00 for a guided tour? I feel cheated before we even enter. I may be the youngest person on the tour and even I am retired.
We are met by a historian dressed in cowboy costume. Yes, he is an actual historian who serves as consultant for the Westerns that are shot on this lot. He is also a movie buff. Best of all he is delightfully entertaining. I felt myself relaxing into his stories. This man knows his Westerns.
As we walk the dusty streets, I begin to smile. I have watched a lot of Westerns. My grandpa had all of John Wayne’s movies on vhs. There was always one playing, unless Grandma had managed to find a Cardinal’s baseball game. My other Grandpa was more likely watch Gunsmoke or Little House on the Prairie. You might say I was raised on Westerns. To this day, I turn on Wagon Train or another classic while I do laundry.
As we walked, I realized most of the shows I remembered were filmed here. Built in 1939 for the movie Arizona (1940), it has been used for the filming location of many movies and television westerns since then, such as Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (1957), Rio Bravo (1959), El Dorado(1966), Little House on the Prairie TV series of the 1970s–1980s, the film Three Amigos!(1986), The High Chaparral (1967 to 1971) and the popular film Tombstone (1993). Our guide shared that over 500 productions were shot on these streets.
I stood under the porch where Glenn Ford pulled his six shooter. I walked where John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara fought. I saw the church where a massacre at a wedding started a march toward the ok corral. As I walked I realized that the bridge and the buildings were in almost all the movies I have watched. How did I not notice they were the same? I guess there is something to be said for movie magic.
I found myself quoting lines from movies as we walked. Of course I had to do the Three Amigo salute in the town square. I turned circles on the town board walk looking for the bad guys. I was distracted by the fact that Bonanza, Wagon Train, Rawhide, and Gunsmoke were all shot here. I mean … I was standing in the Long Branch! Grandpa would have passed out already. So many memories.
Before I knew it, it was time to go. I was wistful. I could see the church and the water tank in the distance. We passed the train depot where countless scenes have played out. I was not ready to leave and yet all good things must come to an end.
There was only one thing left to do. I must go back to the RV and find Young Guns and the Sacketts and at least one John Wayne. My husband will have to endure a Western movie marathon. I have a whole childhood to recapture. He likely won’t understand. But like John Wayne says in McClintock, “Pilgrim, don’t tell me. Show me.” Maybe I can win over my favorite greenhorn if I show him enough movies. If not, at least I have Tom Selleck and Sam Elliott to keep me company.
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Remembrance: Travel Goals Japan
It probably seems weird to hang out in a cemetery as part of travel. It did to me once. I am not sure when or how that changed. Perhaps it was in England when I was tracking down ancestors in the Cotswolds. Or perhaps it was in Ireland as I marveled at the magnificence of a high cross. It could have been in Argentina as we wandered through the mausoleums in Recoleta. I know I was moved by the magnificent lanes and trees in the cemetery in Punta Arenas, Chile.
You learn a lot about a culture in its cemeteries. Values are carved in stone. Here in Japan, stone cut in clean lines mark the graves of generals, housewives and artists.
It is a damp and grey day, fitting for a visit to a cemetery. But even here the cherry blossoms are budding. It is a reminder that new life follows the winter and time marches on.
We wander along the avenues stopping at monuments to the shoguns and samurai. I am fascinated by headstones in which guitars and dinner plates have been embedded in the stone. Favorite things placed lovingly beside the people who used them. Here too are long prayer boards called Sotoba. They are purchased at Buddhist temples and personalized for the deceased. Occasionally there are food and drink offerings left behind.
Sandwiched between office buildings and a grove of old trees, there is even a grave for a dog. The famous Hachiko who is known for his loyalty to his master lies beside him in death. Hachiko went to the train station daily for years to wait for a man who would never return. As a symbolic memorial, a city captivated by his faithfulness buried him with honors.
As we leave the cemetery, I am reminded that life is short. I look out over thousands of graves. What did they leave behind?
Character, service, and family are the important things. Everything else is illusive. I am more aware and a little bit pensive after our visit with the dead. The rain drops hit the granite in a steady rhythm. I walk on. There is a chill in the air and I am ready to return to the land of the living.
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Dove of the Desert: Rural Road Trips
In the Arizona desert just South of Tucson is the Mission San Xavier del Bac, known as the “White Dove of the Desert. This historic 18th-century Spanish Catholic mission located on the Tohono O’odham Nation reservation was built between 1783-1797. It is the oldest intact European structure in Arizona and a National Historic Landmark. Many consider it the finest example of Spanish architecture in the United States.
I am a fan from the minute we pull into the parking lot. The architecture is stunning, despite the scaffolding covering part of the exterior. There are Tohono O’odham tribal members barbecuing at the end of the lot, just a church fundraiser. I like the vibe. It reminds me that people always have more in common than we think. Our local Catholic Church fires up its grill every Sunday.
I am anxious to visit the church, but first we visit a complex of tribal gift shops and snack vendors. I love buying local and a native mosquito bite remedy seems like a useful purchase. So does fry bread. After dropping our purchases off in the truck, we finally cross the hard packed dirt to the church.
I’m not sure how it is possible, but the interior of the church is even more stunning than the exterior. People are actively engaged in worship. So I sit where I can unobtrusively look and then pray. I have to remind myself that this is a working parish that has been the tribes spiritual home for over 250 years. Mothers beg for protection for their children. A man sits beside me and quietly weeps. I am moved and pray for their unspoken needs. God hears the cries of the broken hearted.
After my moments of prayer, we leave the chapel and head to areas that hold important artifacts from the church history. There are vestments and chalices sitting next to tribal baskets. Dating from its founding in 1692.
The place strikes me as a beautiful blend of old world European elegance and native simplicity. Amazing paintings are somehow elevated by simple wood carvings with the finest craftsmanship. A mausoleum houses a glass encased wooden carving of Saint Francis Xavier. Locals and pilgrims leave tiny tokens (Milagros) as they pray and ask for miracles.
The lovely cloister walk and peaceful courtyard reminds me that this is working Franciscan monastery. The good fathers have been here since 1767. They have survived Apache raids, fires, wars, and even a change in country of residence.
Eventually, I have to tear myself away from this gem. We walk up the small hill near the church and walk the stations of the cross. I keep one eye on the dramatic vistas and one eye on the lookout for rattlesnakes. I imagine that sums up this special place properly. One eye on God and his wonders and one eye on the harsh reality of life in a hostile environment. For 350 years, the people have been faithful. Despite many hardships, beauty remains.
“Trust (lean on, rely on, and be confident) in the Lord and do good; so shall you dwell in the land and feed surely on His faithfulness, and truly you shall be fed.”
Psalm 37:3 “He wants me to help those in Zion who are filled with sorrow. I will put beautiful crowns on their heads in place of ashes. I will anoint them with olive oil to give them joy instead of sorrow. I will give them a spirit of praise in place of a spirit of sadness. They will be like oak trees that are strong and straight. The Lord himself will plant them in the land. That will show how glorious he is.”
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Shinjuku: Travel Goals Japan
Our neighborhood for the next month is about fifteen minutes (bus) or a half hour (walk) from Shinjuku Station in the direction of Nakano City. It is quiet and residential. There are a few shops hidden in the apartment blocks that front endless back streets of houses. There isn’t much traffic. Here we are much more likely to be run over by one of the many bicycles that come blurring by without warning than a car. Grannies gotta get got to their groceries and you best not step into the preferred path, because they aren’t veering or slowing down for you. It makes for interesting sidewalk travel sometimes.
Today, though, we head in the opposite direction from the station. There are few bicycles as we walk deep into the streets of Shinjuku, but the (car and foot) traffic is intense. This part of town is a strange mix of offices, restaurants and entertainment complexes. Godzilla towers over buildings in one section. Further along King Kong hangs from the side of a bill board. He is sporting red, white, and blue boxing shorts. I guess he has a Rocky complex. Quirky is not an adequate description.
We visit a Don Quixote (one of many in Tokyo). It is hard to describe this multistory department store. Souvenirs have exploded into the aisles among health care products. There is luggage, alcohol, and lots of unidentifiable objects. It is has a circus like atmosphere as locals shop like there is a fire sale at a “Five Below” and tourists wander around with their mouths open trying to figure out what is in that container that looks like a monkey holding a sponge. Or why cookies are nestled between single use colored contact lenses with over enlarged tinted iris enhancers. Seven stories of crazy finds later, we are exhausted and ready to leave the chaos.
We stop for coffee and pastries at an outdoor cafe and watch the world bustle by. After a rest, we walk on to a small corner of the world called the Golden Gia. This is where people flock to experience an old Tokyo vibe. The streets are so narrow they hardly qualify as an alley. The buildings are all attached to one another with electric haphazardly strung. The establishments are mostly bars. Each has only room for a few people to enter at a time. Some charge a fee for the privilege. But it is afternoon and the crowds have not yet descended. I wouldn’t want to be here in the drunken rush. We look in open doorways and walk on.
Our route back to the bus depot takes us through the former red light district. Today, only billboards of beautiful young men and women hint at strip clubs and gay bars. The Japanese are more subtle. If you didn’t know where you were, you may not even pick up on the signals. Wholesome looking college age individuals hand out advertisements and invite you upstairs for a “show.”
Further along, the street once again turns into a haven for business professionals who use the trains. There are shops that sell suits, electronics hubs, copy shops, technology support, briefcases, shoes and leather goods. There are quick food stops for ramen, soba, and udon. And it seems there is a karaoke complex on every corner. Nothing signals the end of a long workday like a sing along with your closest friends.
The many faces of Shinjuku reveal themselves as we walk our way across its many streets. Sometimes the best way to experience a place is just to walk.
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Casa Grande: Rural Road Trips
It is supposed to be a grand road trip to visit lesser known national parks and historic sites. Unfortunately Congress cannot agree on a budget. The ensuing government shut down has caused more than a few headaches on this trip. Sites we intend to visit may be closed and today is no exception.
We arrive at the Casa Grande ruins to find a locked gate. I get a glimpse of the ruins from afar and have to look at photos of the rest of the park on my phone. It is supposed to be a national park day. Now what?
A quick google search tells us we are not for from McFarland State Historic Park in Florence, Arizona. With no idea what we will find, we head that way. The large saguaro cacti line the highway. We pass fields of cotton. It seems longer than a dozen miles, but …..Eventually we pull into Florence, a town that time forgot.
The state park is housed in what was one of the first courthouses to be built in Arizona in the late 1880’s. The building has also been used as a hospital, welfare center and social center. In the 1970’s Senator Ernest McFarland petitioned the state to preserve the building and promised to give them his private memorabilia. They agreed and McFarland State Park was born.
We know nothing about any of the claims to fame. I have never heard of McFarland. Turns out he was a lawyer, a governor, and a U.S. Senator. He authored a small piece of legislation called the G.I. Bill. (At least I am familiar with that piece of legislation.) After his departure from politics, he pioneered television, by opening an ABC affiliate in Arizona. See…..You can learn many things in the most remote places. We come away at least a little more informed.
As interesting as our visit to Florence turned out to be, we had a lot of daylight left. I intended to hike today, so we try a few local parks. They are small with no trails. We don’t have a fishing pole or soccer ball, so that line of diversions don’t quite work out.
Across town, we find the Neon Sign Park nestled behind a strip mall. Casa Grande preserves about a dozen neon signs salvaged from old local hotels and businesses. They are retro kitsch at its best. But the park nostalgia only takes a few minutes to visit and we find ourselves again looking for something to do.
We drive downtown streets, but businesses are mostly closed. The local Walmart provides Halloween candy, just in case we get any trick or treaters at the rv later. There are retirement communities and rolled up sidewalks.
Eventually, I ask the internet to pick a local restaurant. The fast food we pass is not appealing. Through the magic of the internet, we end up at BeDillons. It is a local restaurant inside a former residential home. They have an amazing back patio surrounded by cacti. The place is busy, yet surprisingly no one is taking advantage of the patio. We do and so we have the magical garden to ourselves.
We find ourselves dining under the stars. There is good music and a great waitress. What a find! We mention how much we are enjoying ourselves to the waitress who said, “I’ll tell Dad.” She apparently has an “in” with the owner. Within a few minutes, he appears to chat. After finding out that we were former educators, he opens a large out building full of artifacts he has collected across his lifetime He proudly invites us to inspect his private collection at our leisure and trusts us with the building. We are happy to take him up on his offer.
Casa Grande has not gone as planned. That is okay. We certainly have experienced things we otherwise would never have planned. And that is what makes travel experiences memorable. It is a good day.
Prisoner of Hopes
Prisoner of Hopes 