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The Long Ride: Rural Road Trips Texas
The lure of the open road is strong. I love road trips and I love to drive. Today I am behind the wheel of our thirty foot rv which is towing our Chevy pickup. My husband completed the first shift coming out of New Mexico. He navigated White Sands missile range, Alamogordo, and Roswell. I happily did some work and had a snack as he pulled over the mountains.
We couldn’t find a place to park the long rig in Roswell and instead opted to have a sandwich while parked on the shoulder. No aliens were encountered. However somewhere in the mountains, we unexpectedly found the birthplace of Smoky Bear. Who knew, he was a real bear?
I take the wheel near the Texas Border. The road becomes flat and the high winds begin to blow. It takes all my concentration to hold the rig steady on the road. The speed limit climbs to 80 officially. Unofficially, it is whatever you can get away with. At sixty five, our rv begins to sway in the wind. I can sometimes push my speed to seventy, but am uncomfortable going much faster in this wind. I feel like we could easily blow off the road if I am not careful.
The truckers zip by, giving us a bigger push of wind. I try to keep my eye on them so I can brace for the side winds. If I know the are coming, I can steer into the wind and prevent swerving.
To complete the challenge, it is a three lane road. Two lanes in one direction for a few miles and then it alternates to two lanes in the opposite direction for a few miles. This results in a race to see who can pass before the two lanes turn into one. No one wants to be stuck behind slower traffic.
I spend the next hours trying to make sure I make it into the remaining single lane before I run out of road or before I am cut off by a truck and unable to safely merge. It is mercifully flat and straight. High speeds and high winds are tough. A winding road may be too much for my sanity.
The road goes on and on. There is nothing in this part of Texas except grazing land, wind mills, and an occasional oil well. Everyone we meet is in a hurry to get somewhere else. It is a good thing we have a large gas tank, because filling stations are hard to find. And so it goes….
It is at this point that the lure of the open road turns in to, “are we there yet?” My husband asks if I want him to take over. I do, but I see no where to safely pull over. It should only be another hour to Lubbock. We will stop for the night and regroup. He can figure out how to get us to Oklahoma in a few days. Right now I just want to find a way out of the relentless West Texas wind.
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Imperial Palace: Travel Goals Japan
Today we visit the Imperial Palace in Chiyoda, Tokyo. While it is the primary residence of Japan’s Emperor, the inner palace area is closed to visitors. Instead, we head to the East gardens. Both the palace and the gardens are built on the grounds of the former Edo Castle, the seat of the Tokugawa shogunate. There are thousands of people out today. It is a sunny beautiful day and apparently a lot of people are willing to stand in a security line to see remnants of moats and walls.
As we walk toward the East Garden, I am confused by a large number of volunteers holding signs and pointing. They shout something in Japanese to us. Maybe they are selling tours? We ignore them and continue through security into the East gardens.
It is pretty here. There are historic guard houses and beautiful pine trees. Not exactly the palace that I had hoped to see, but interesting enough.
Along the edge of the moat, there are watchtowers. From inside the guard room we can see the nearby hills. The Edo palace would have been well protected. I feel as if I can see forever.
While we are watching from above, I try to find the emperor’s house. I can’t see it. Instead, I notice long, long lines of people down near the palace grounds. They appear to be queuing for entry. Could it be one of the rare days the palace grounds are open to the public? Was that what the people with signs and bullhorns were trying to tell us?
I am on a mission to find out what is happening. It looks like something important. I finally find a sign in Japanese and use Google Translate to discover that the palace grounds are indeed open today in honor of the first cherry blossoms. My husband and son are not thrilled to learn that I want to walk all the way around the moat back to the palace, queue for security and then enter the restricted area. We stand in line with thousands to go through a even narrower and stricter security lines in order to walk through the palace grounds.
We are confined to one street. We walk through the massive palace gates and past administrative buildings. We can’t actually see the President’s house. We just dutifully follow the crowd and watch them ooh and ahh over the emerging cherry blossoms. There are thousands of cameras pointed at the blooms. Families smile and laugh. It has the feeling of a national holiday.
The wait and walk was long. Honestly, we didn’t see much except a road and a few trees. And yet…. The experience was deeply cultural. I had a glimpse into another form of national expression. I walked inside the Japanese Imperial Palace with thousands of Japanese nationals to open the cherry blossom season. I was welcomed warmly and I got to witness people joyfully participating in their national tradition. That is an unexpected gift and reason enough to celebrate.
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War Eagles: Rural Road Trips
The War Eagle Museum is a privately owned museum filled with historic aircraft and cars. It is located at the Dona Ana County airport at the border of New Mexico and Texas. We are only here because it popped up on the GPS as we were driving to El Paso.
I have zero expectations and only mild interest, but my husband loves military history and this place is chock full of WWII and Korean War Era planes. This may be a great stop. You never know.
We are the only people here other than the volunteers so we take our time as we wander along. I find I actually like getting up close and personal with aircraft. I am intrigued by the things pilots painted on their planes. Girlfriend’s names, pinup girls, kill tallies…and sometimes just random doodles like a boy relieving himself on the enemy’s flag. These personalizations make the objects more real. I have a strong sense of young men trying to survive a very bad situation with humor and thoughts of home.
There are large planes and small planes. Every variety of test planes sit all in a row. There are bombers and fighter planes. We walk through cargo planes and sit in helicopters. My husband is like a kid in a candy store.
I find my magic moment in the section of antique cars. They have my first car! I am in love with a 1960 VW bug. Manufactured before my birth, this model is a classic. It is exactly like the car I had to help rebuild before I could drive. My Dad spent hours getting it ready for me. I learned to fix the carburetor. We forgot to screw down the engine block and it fell as I was turning the corner at the courthouse. It took forever to heat up in the winter. My bass clarinet went in the trunk in front of the car. My little brother had me drive and drive and drive while he pretended to be Luke Skywalker and called me Princess Leia (a five year old imagination and a sister that would do anything to make him smile).
I am flooded with memories. This car was a big part of my young life. Still thinking about the happiness of being sixteen and learning to drive, I turned the corner and saw one of the first TWA planes. TWA was an iconic airline based out of St. Louis until they were taken over by American Airlines. It is another blast from my teenage past.
A volunteer invited us into the plane. It pays to be one of the only guests. We are getting VIP treatment. With permission, we sit down. As I look at the couches and China sets, I pretend I am part of an era when plane travel was sophisticated. It wasn’t always a cattle call.
After looking at a unique collection of airplanes made from kits, and I wonder who has enough confidence and courage to build their own plane. What made the early pioneers take to the skies in a plane they made of balsa wood and canvas? My feet would definitely stay on the ground.
I also wouldn’t have volunteered to be in the skies in a b52 bomber. The plane is large and the gun turrets are enough to give me nightmares. Sitting cramped in a glass turret while small fighter planes try to shoot you out of the sky and your fellow airmen push live bombs out of the bottom of the plane is not my idea of a good time. I’m look at holes in the bottom of the bomber and feel just a little more indebted to those that found the courage.
The War Eagle museum is full of planes and automobiles. In museums like this across the country we experience history. We can literally reach out and touch machines that helped win wars. And in each of these small and important spaces volunteers rebuild and maintain the artifacts. They understand the importance of remembering. War Eagle does it better than most.
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Beautiful Surprise: Travel Goals Japan
Just walking through Tokyo, we take a short cut suggested by Google Maps. We are on our way to Tokyo Tower to get an aerial view of the city. Google says we can walk through an ancient wooden door. My husband is leery because it is obviously not a street and Google has taken us to some strange places (including a pasture and a hiking trail in an automobile…..but that is a story for another time). I counter that other people are moving freely through the doors in the massive gate and Google usually knows the way. The worst that can happen is that we are asked to leave.
Just inside the gates a whole temple complex unfolds. A beautiful scene of temple, cherry blossoms, and Tokyo tower takes my breath away. Yay! A bonus temple. My husband rolls his eyes. He often gets weary of my love of churches and temples. He gravitates to a large tree with a sign that says it was planted by President U.S. Grant.
I am fascinated by a garden with dozens of statues of children. They are dressed in a variety of styles. One even appears to be a Cubs fan. They are cheerful and jaunty. But on closer inspection, I find out it is a garden for the unborn. A memorial for children wished for yet unrealized or children miscarried. What seemed fun now seems melancholy. It is a garden of lost dreams and undying love.
Just beyond there is a burial site of the Tokagawa shoguns. I want to see them. The boys have tired of temples. I tell my husband I will meet him at the tower, but find there is no way out of the cemetery except the way I came. I am only a few steps from the tower but cannot exit this way. Sigh. I hurry back the way I came. Back through the garden of stone children. Back past the temple with burning incense. Down a long avenue of glorious trees. Sometimes a short cut turns into a lingering and pleasant surprise.
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El Paso City: Rural Road Trips Texas
From thirty thousand feet above the desert floor I see it there below
A city with a legend, the West Texas city of El Paso
Where long ago I heard a song about a Texas cowboy and a girl
And a little place called Rosa’s where he used to go and watch this beauty whirlI don’t recall who sang the song but I recall a story that I heard
And as I look down on this city I remember each and every word
The singer sang about a jealous cowboy and the way he used a gun
To kill another cowboy, then he had to leave El Paso on the runEl Paso City
By the Rio Grande
The cowboy lived and rode away but love was strong he couldn’t stay
He rode back just to die in that El Paso sand
El Paso City
By the Rio Grande
I try not to let you cross my mind but still I find
There’s such a mystery in the song that I don’t understandMy mind is down there somewhere as I fly above the badlands of New Mexico
I can’t explain why I should know the very trail he rode back to El Paso
Can it be that man can disappear from life and live another time
And does the mystery deepen ’cause you think that you yourself lived in that other timeSomewhere in my deepest thoughts familiar scenes and memories unfold
These wild and unexplained emotions that I’ve had so long, but I have never told
Like everytime I fly up through the heavens and I see you there below
I get the feeling sometime in another world I lived in El PasoEl Paso City
By the Rio Grande
Could it be that I could be the cowboy in the mystery
That died there in that desert sand so long ago
El Paso City
By the Rio Grande
A voice tells me to go and seek, another voice keeps telling me
Maybe death awaits me in El PasoEl Paso City lyrics as sung by Marty Robbins
I am not a particular fan of Marty Robbins. I’m not even sure how I know it, but that song runs through my head all day as we explore the wonderful city of El Paso. I have no real idea what to expect. Songs and movies would have you believe it is overrun with bandits. People in the RV parks warned us away from the border towns. My mother reminded me that we have relatives here who moved two generations ago.
El Paso is a lovely town. It is scrappy, gritty, and proud. We start our visit at the University of Texas El Paso. We are within sight of the border. The parking is a bit confusing and we are really the only tourists in sight. I like it. College campuses are familiar and invigorating. Hundreds of students scramble to get to class. We, on the other hand wander through the desert garden and visit the campus museum.
The exhibits are clearly student created. I love them all the more for their shoe string budget and quirky collections. As a history teacher. This is what history should be. The telling of stories. The juxtaposition of unique perspectives. The collecting of artifacts. And the reasoned sourcing and cross checking that leads to informed opinion. Not perfect, not certain, and ever changing.
After spending time in the UT museum, we head across town to the Magoffin home. It is a preserved nineteen room adobe structure from the late 1800’s. It sits in a neighborhood not far from downtown. The city has grown up around what was once a prosperous borderland estate. Today the neighbors are struggling.
The tour was interesting. Our guide was personable and incredibly gracious to a blind member of our tour group. When possible, he was allowed to touch the items she was talking about. This let him “see” what the rest of us were seeing. It was inclusive in a way I have rarely encountered.
We were surprised to see a diploma hanging in the Magoffin daughter’s bedroom from Washington University. She graduated from the premier university in our “hometown”. They opened in 1853 and began admitting women in 1869. It seems Ms. Magoffin was a trend setter. She was also a gifted artist. Missouri connections can be found in the most unexpected places.
We spent so long at the Magoffin home that many places stopped serving lunch. Siesta is no time to be hungry. After spending an embarrassingly long time trying to to figure out how to use the public parking app (Whatever happened to meters? I had plenty of change.) We rejoice that there is a Subway on the block between parking and our next stop.
I can see a park, a ball park, public art, a street car, and the border. It is vibrant, quirky, and alive. I like this town. It has energy. I wish there was a better way than walling off the Mexican neighbors. I ponder why we find a wall unnecessary at the Canadian border but somehow mandatory here as I eat my veggie sandwich. Somehow the bread seems to stick in my throat as I mull over the intersections of crime, racism, safety, language, nationalism, cultural identity economic interests, and power.
But I am here for fun, so instead I focus on the herd of teenage boys walking in a clump down the sidewalk. Some things transcend culture. I have worked in schools all my life. I recognize the aimless camaraderie. At least it is the weekend, so I know they aren’t skipping school. Truancy is a problem more bite sized.
We walk a short distance to the El Paso Museum complex. With only a few hours until closing time, we opt for the history museum (shocking). It does a wonderful job of celebrating the diversity of El Paso. I loved the cowgirl “charra” exhibit. I even tried an elaborate side saddle. Getting on was a breeze. Getting off was….less than graceful. We wandered through the city’s history, one lovely exhibit at a time.
Perhaps I like El Paso because it reminds me of home. Both El Paso and St. Louis are often dismissed as a lower tier city that has seen better days. But both have a rich cultural history and a diverse population. They having thriving economic sectors. The museums are free. The neighborhoods are quirky and interesting. The people are friendly. Both deal with an element of crime that causes people to fear. Fear prevents people from visiting neighborhoods and causes a level of unhealthy segregation. Nevertheless the people are proud of who they are and their city. But I am not from El Paso and may be making connections that are only in my mind.
We end the day taking a winding road to an overlook high on a hill. From here we can see the city below. On the other side of the ugly border wall we see Ciudad Juarez. I wonder how many people are crossing into Mexico to visit the dentist, doctor, or pharmacy. Apparently medical tourism is alive and well, at least based on the advertisements I have noticed.
It is beautiful here. I find myself wishing for a world that embraced beauty, and diversity, and Somewhere in my deepest thoughts familiar scenes and memories unfold
These wild and unexplained emotions that I’ve had so long, but I have never told
Like everytime I fly up through the heavens and I see you there below
I get the feeling sometime in another world….. -
Team lab: Travel Goals Japan
With our son along for the experience, we journey across Tokyo to find Team Lab. As we wander between office buildings and upscale retail, I am convinced we are lost. Finally, we find the entrance tucked in a remote corner of a very large, sterile mixed use building.
We are directed to put our coats and bags in a locker. There is a timed entry with only twenty people or so admitted at a time. Our cluster of adventurous souls huddles in the entry holding room. We are told, at least by what I am able to understand, that we are entering an immersive and sometimes interactive art space.
It is “Borderless”. There are no routes or directions, but there are many rooms. Some will be hard to find. The digital experiences will change periodically so that we may not recognize a room if we come back to it, even if we have been there before. And we can stay as long as we want. We now have directions and still no idea what we are actually here to see. (I booked based on recommendation of a friend who said we had to come.)
The doors open and we enter a room swirling with flowers. It smells like flowers and sounds like birdsong and bugs and a calming music. The flowers dance and swirl. When I reach for one it transforms into a different bloom. It is mesmerizing.
We follow the flower trail to a field of flowers coming waist high from the floor. It is hard to know where to walk, so I pick my way through. Suddenly the room goes dark and I am standing in a rice paddy. The physical plant structures that stand next to me are the same, but the room looks entirely different. We walk carefully through the field to find a way out into a room of crystals that change color to a musical rhythm.
We follow a marching band of animals down long hallways. We watch a parade of ancient samurai that shimmer like ghosts. We walk through lava fields and take a mind bending walk through outer space. I swear the room is moving and that I am floating even though I know neither can be true.
We visit a magical teahouse. Our tea is served by smiling hosts after we are seated in a long row. A flower grows in my teacup. When I move the cup the petals fall. If I swirl the cup, they float away and a new flower grows. This happens again and again until the cups are empty.
We encounter robotic glowing orbs and charging bulls. The largest room simulates a river with a number of waterfalls. When I walk, the “water” puddles around my feet. If I stand still the “water” diverts around me. If I stand under a waterfall, the “water” separates and cascades down my shoulders. What manner of digital witchcraft is this? Even the sounds adapt with appropriate splashing and sloshing.
We roam in and out of seemingly endless experiences. We walk through a wall of mist only to find a ghost army of Ronin walking towards us out of a second wall of mist. I reach for an object and find it is a hologram. I touch a wall and discover it is really thin material. Nothing is as it seems and everything is fantastical.
Eventually we decide we have to leave. We don’t really want to leave, but it is late and we need to eat. So reluctantly, we go.
Generally, we don’t like the “it” places of travel. You may have read my prior blogs about the disappointing experiences we have in the places everyone says you should go. I don’t know if team labs is actually an “it” place. I am not exactly an influencer. But if I were (I cannot believe I am saying this…..), if you ever find yourself in Tokyo, you have to go.
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White Sands: Rural Road Trips New Mexico
Today we decide to channel our inner elementary school selves. We leave with all the excitement of “are we having a snow day”. But not before we stop and borrow two round “UFO” sleds from our campground. It is hot and fully in New Mexico’s high desert. But Apparently sand dune sledding is a thing, and we are all in on the adventure.
So this morning, we travel the lonely highway to White Sands National Park. Along the way we cross the White Sands missile range, which is an active military test site. It is crazy that you can see missile observation stations from the highway. It is crazier to think that the government actually tested nuclear bombs not far from where I am driving. History is sometimes hard to imagine through my modern lens.
A few sonic booms make me wonder what they are up to today and whether we should even be here. No one else looks concerned, even when we have to come to a full stop on the interstate at a government checkpoint. A flock camera reads our license plate and a border agent asks us questions. I feel a little silly saying I am taking my “flying saucer” to surf a sand dune and I need to cross your missile range, please. They don’t even bat an eye. Since this is the only main highway, I guess they are used to a steady stream of commuters.
At the visitor’s center, we browse exhibits about the dunes, read and hear numerous warnings about trails and consider the very real possibility of getting lost. After all the cautions, we also buy an extra gallon of water. Just in case.
On our first stop, we hike a 1.5 mile trail over the sands. It is beautiful in a surreal way. I get beach vibes without the water. Where did the sand come from? How can one tree grow in a sea of sand?
We are careful to follow the trail markers. It is not always easy as the wind has blown dunes over some of the way finding signs and other directional sign posts are placed in areas that are hard to see. We wander back and forth in deep sand, straining our calves and thighs.
It is hard walking. The sun is high in the sky and searing our skin and eyes. Even my sunglasses don’t seem quite dark enough. The birds and small rodents don’t seem to care. I concentrate on the wind on my face and finding the way back to the truck.
Back at the truck, we drink an ample supply of water and head on down the road. At some point, we run out of paved park road. From here on, we drive on occasionally plowed silica. It is like driving after a Midwest snow storm. I keep trying to use the technique I use to drive on ice or hard pack. It is instinctual and makes no sense in our current situation. But I feel like at any time I could hear the crunch of snow under the tires. In reality, it is more like a washboard dirt road. Thankfully, I am also a veteran of country backroads.
I don’t know how long it will take to the large dunes, but we have been assured that a) there will be a nearby parking lot and b) we will know them when we see them. We also were told not to venture beyond the first few dunes because the trails have not been maintained and no one will be coming to the rescue. Point taken. Noted. Don’t have to tell me twice.
Eventually, we reach mountains of sand. We are not the only crazy people out here. There are others and they also have sleds….and children. It seems we may be the only retirees. Oh, well. Age is just a number.
My husband commences with the waxing of the sled. We are supposed to coat the bottom of the sled with a think layer of wax to help it run smoothly over the sand. While he is working, a car pulls up. A couple that is easily our age (probably older) gets out and asks if we are going to try it. We say, “of course.” They ask to join us.
The more the merrier. It turns out that they are also staying at our campground. It is fun to make new friends so we share a few stories from the road. It seems we all had issues getting our rigs safely down the horribly maintained highway. There are woeful stories of potholes, elevation gains, and high winds.
Eventually it is time to fight my way to the top of the hill through the deep sands. It is harder than it looks. I struggle to climb. Two steps up, a giant slide back down. If I zig zag like a mountain trail, I make progress. Heading straight up is an epic fail. This could take awhile.
At the top of the hill, I swallow hard. It looks so steep from here. Am I sure I want to do this? I wish I could watch someone else first. Oh well. I just throw down the sled and jump on….. I hit the ground and jerk forward. My sled collapses in the middle and takes on a saucer full of sand. Meanwhile my husband zips down the hill.
What the heck? I sit and try to shake sand out of my underwear and wonder what just happened. I try again and ground out once more. Like a beached whale, I slide along, pulling myself with my feet. The sled buries and pitches me forward on my face. I can’t make it go despite a variety of technique changes
I watch my husband with envy. He wisely declines to offer advice. After awhile we decide I should try his sled. I take a running start and I zip down the hill. Whee! This is awesome!
I am so glad it was my defective, floppy sled and not me. I walk up the hill and zip down again. I have memories of trudging through snow up the small hill in my backyard. I am still that small girl in my mind’s eye. I am once again Queen of the Hill. I can do this all day.
Eventually, we tire of the long climb. Our shoes and pants are full of sand. I have gritty grains in my hair, teeth, and eyes. The sun is getting lower over the dunes and it is time to go. We say goodbye to our new friends and invite them to sit at our campfire tonight.
We will need to clean up, and refine the stories of the day. One of the best parts of “snow day fun” was sharing hot cocoa and laughing about the adventures of which you lived to tell the tale. Since we are in the desert, I think a nice cold drink and a pizza may be more appropriate.
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Electric Town: Travel Goals Japan
You want it? They’ve got it. At least that seems to be the case in Akihabara. We are spending the afternoon in Tokyo’s Electric Town. As we walk across the river from the train station, we see police vans blocking off the streets. This allows the thousands of consumers to wander freely through the city blocks of multistory commercial frenzy. It also looks like an opening scene from Godzilla attacks Tokyo. Where are we?
Akihabara is vibrant, literally awash in neon color. Multistory billboards advertise electronics, video games, manga, American movies, anime, and cartoon characters. It is a bit overwhelming. I don’t know where to look. Should look at the signs, the items for sale, the food vending machines, the arcade games, the skyscrapers, the police cars, or the people walking by looking like they stepped out of a comic con cosplay session. We are deep in Japanese “otaku” (geek) country, and determined to embrace it.
We start in a 10 story electronics store. There is just about one worker for every shopper. They don’t hover or make you feel watched. Instead they clean and straighten and are immediately responsive to your every need. It is refreshing after living in the land of self checkout.
We ride endless escalators between floors of watches, televisions, computers, printers, clocks, telescopes, toilet seats, and every conceivable gadget. After a while I can’t remember if the exit is up the escalator or down. A rescue party may need to help me find my way out. I should have left a trail of rice pellets.
The selections are endless. I didn’t know there were thousands of brands of high end watches. I did not have so many varieties of cameras and computers on my radar. I am simply overwhelmed with choices.
Another store is filled with action figures, trading cards, toys, and collectibles. Godzilla is on prominent display, perhaps only overshadowed by Pokémon characters. It is like being in a “Downtown Disney” shopping area for geeks. I am starting to think that maybe I am an unrealized “otaku”.
I am fascinated by the endless arcades. I can play video games or try one of the thousands of claw machines. But it turns out I am mostly drawn to gachapon. Don’t get too excited. Despite how it sounds, that just means I love capsule machines. I put in a few coins and a prize pops out in a plastic capsule. I get a miniature plastic sushi, a Japanese lantern, and even a cloth bag to hold my power cords. I am digging for more change, but my husband drags me out of the store before I start using the credit card. He knows the early warning signs.
What an experience. Two retired Americans spend the day with thousands of Japanese teenagers. We smile and play. We learn some things. As we return to the train, I see a giant advertisement for a new J-pop group. They are posing with thumbs up. I salute them with two thumbs up of my own. Not my scene, but for one afternoon there is nowhere I would rather be.
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Queen of the Desert: Rural Road Trips
Today we head to Bisbee, Arizona. It is a small town built on a legacy of copper. The copper queen mine sits just at the edge of town, a reminder of a booming past. The present condition of Bisbee is the opposite of booming. It has seen better days. Still there are antique shops and restaurants to explore. Like much of this part of the state, the local economy seems to depend on tourists. We try to do our part by visiting the local establishments. We have a day to waste. It might as well be here.
The Bisbee museum is a fun diversion. Inside, we learn about the history of Bisbee. There are displays on mining and local life. We also find out that just a few miles down the road, historic Fort Naco was once home to some of the first Black troops.
Intrigued, we decide to drive to Naco. It sits in the shadow of the atrociously ugly border wall. On each side the land looks exactly the same. A giant, artificial, black slash carves up the beautiful valley. A community is separated and the animal corridors destroyed. Humanity can’t seem to figure out a way to get along and everything suffers accordingly. Failure in ugly, ugly steel bars. A prison of our own making.
We drive around for a while before we find a weed covered Fort Naco. It sits behind a chain link fence, forgotten. We are here to remember. Someone said the locals are fighting to preserve these dilapidated barracks. I hope they can.
Life here was never easy. It’s seems man made barriers and the human condition are determined to confront my consciousness. This feeling of heaviness was not on my things to today. But I will sit with it. The uncomfortable realities spur growth and perspective.
On the way back to town we decide to visit the Copper Queen. Luckily, we are able to join the last tour of the day. They give us hard hats and neon vests. We also have a powerful light “just in case“. I didn’t ask “in case of what?”.
We make our way to the mine train that we are riding a mile deep into the mine. We step up and the straddle a bench seat. A few people had to be helped aboard. As soon as the train made it into the mine entrance a lady started screaming to be let off. She was calmly removed from the tour.
John, our tour guide, had worked as a miner here. He knew the ins and outs of the Queen mine. At some point, the train stopped rolling and we walked to see sunken shafts. He showed us the blasting process and let us practice putting (dummy) dynamite in the drill holes.
John told stories of hijinks and pranks. He shared that a miner might accidentally ride an inspectors rail bike into the mine to avoid a long walk. He showed us the “toilet car” that could be moved along the rail line to be emptied. He was highly entertaining. It is good to have loved your work.
I don’t mind being in an old mine, but I am certain I would not have liked a working one. Dust and explosions and jack hammers and endless dark. No thanks. Not for me. I don’t know how my grandfather drove a mine train for all those years. I guess with eight children to feed he was just thankful for the steady work of the Missouri lead mines.
I love the adventure, but am thankful to see the sun. We emerge into the early evening with the sun going down over Bisbee. A quick stop at an overlook allows us to take a good look at just one of the enormous pit mines. Giant holes in the ground are reminders of the raping of the Earth for the left over minerals. Today, there is nothing left. The companies have moved on. I wish there was a better, more sustainable way.
Today I am reminded that history is not pretty. It is hard. There are boom years and lean years. There is prosperity and poverty. People strive for more, often preferring short term gains to longer term growth. There is exploitation and honor. The struggle continues. You see that clearly in Bisbee. The Copper Queen built a community and then drained it dry.
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Tokyo Tower: Travel Goals Japan
It screams tourist trap. There can be no purpose visiting Tokyo tower except to have a tourist experience. And yet I am drawn like a fly to a flame. Not quite Eiffel Tower vibes, but the smaller Tokyo Tower is impressive when juxtaposed against the monastery that sits beside it. I guess the Tokugawa shoguns buried in the adjacent cemetery didn’t envision this backdrop.
The entry is a riot of color. Good luck fish windsocks wiggle in the breeze. Teenagers eat ice-cream on the entrance patio as they gossip and enjoy the brisk Spring weather. We bypass the shops and head straight to the line. To our surprise, there is no wait. The admission is reasonable and we walk directly to the elevator to take us to the top.
As soon as the elevator starts to move the walls shift from opaque to glass. It is a longer ride than I expected. It is definitely not a fast ascent. Eventually we exit onto the observation deck with a clear 360 degree view of Tokyo.
The monastery we just visited looks tiny from above. I can clearly see schools and parks. Even the skyscrapers seem small. We are surrounded by highways. I think about how light the traffic is compared to American cities and have a moment of longing for better public transportation. This city has figured it out. We should too.
As I am lost in thought, I take a step. I feel the floor move under my feet. As I quickly look down, I see nothing but air and ground below. They have sections of glass flooring! It is a panel that is a little loose. I almost scream, but it comes out as a whimper. Once I realize what is happening I kind of like it. But what an unexpected surprise.
I could wax poetic about the view, or the beauty of the city at night. Instead, I will just say we spent about an hour high above the city enjoying the lights. There was even a free concert with traditional music in a small seating area.
Afterwards, we walk back to the closest metro station….which turns out to be not that close. But the tower is so beautiful at night. I am enjoying the walk. The night is pleasantly cool. The neighborhood is quiet….except…… a rat runs by in the night. Good thing I am looking at the tower. My son thinks it is funny…. Do not. I mean I am already traumatized by surprise glass floors. A surprise rat may be one fright too far.
Prisoner of Hopes
Prisoner of Hopes 