Meg Noble Peterson

Author of Madam, Have You Ever Really Been Happy? An Intimate Journey through Africa and Asia

Author: Meg Noble Peterson Page 16 of 30

CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF RAINIER, part 3….

By

On October 18, 2011

In Northwest trekking

On August 22nd we took a day hike up the East Side Trail, starting from the Ohanapecosh campsite in Mt. Rainier National Park, and climbing past the Ohanapecosh hot springs and Silver Falls on the way to the Grove of the Patriarchs.

Here are some scenes along the trail:

Silver Falls

A bridge above the falls. Hang on and look below!

Hang on and look below!

View from the side

View from the top

The trail followed the river all the way….

We crossed over a suspension bridge and into the Grove, which is located ¼ mile past the Stevens Canyon entrance, and is an old growth forest of gigantic Douglas firs (some of which are over 1000 years old), Western hemlock, and Western red cedar, all at least 25 ft. in circumference.  You can walk through this beautiful park on a wooden boardwalk. To me it was like the mythical forest primeval. Take a look.

Not one of Jon’s favorite pastimes

On the other hand, I love to swing on bridges!

Approaching the grove

That’s one big stump!

Twin firs

I was unable to put a caption under the third picture above, but it’s a twin Douglas fir reaching up to the sky.

I’ve finally cleaned up the basement from Hurricane Irene and prepared the house for winter (all those fun things like putting on storm windows, weather stripping old windows, and stowing the lawn furniture), just in time to welcome a glorious Indian Summer. I’m also peeking at Broadway, again, with the first play of the season for me, the comedy Chinglish, about an American businessman who tries to sell his product in China. The language mix-up is a scream, but I found it exhausting to read all the subtitles.

There’s one more bit of the Northwest I want to share with you next time–the Columbia Gorge and the Lewis River…then it’s back to New Jersey and approaching Fall and winter. I’m afraid I neglected certain late spring and early summer activities, like the Mt. Laurel Autoharp Gathering (a huge success, as always), and my family time at the family cottage on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire (a slice of heaven). But there will be other years. Stay tuned….

“I’M FROM NEW JERSEY. DOES THAT MAKE ME AN IMMIGRANT?”

By

On October 7, 2011

In Uncategorized

I asked the young army officer who stopped me at an immigration checkpoint forty miles north of El Paso, Texas. He had just requested that I roll down the back windows so he could check the back seat, and as I fumbled with every lever on the door, fearing that I might eject myself before finding the correct one, I blurted out, “Sorry, officer, but this is a rental car, and I’m not familiar with….”

“Oh, you’re not from Texas,” he replied, which is when I asked him the question, nervously eyeing the large dog sniffing around my tires.  He laughed. “But you’re an American, aren’t you? New Jersey is still in the lower 48. Go on. Enjoy your day.”

If there’s one thing about Texas you can count on, it’s polite and friendly people. If you get lost on the highway, which I did with regularity, the police practically drive you back home. And they send you off with a tip of the hat and a “You stay safe, M’am, ya’hear?”

Why on earth was I in Texas? I promised in my last blog to relate the final three days of my climbing escapades in Washington State and, suddenly, I’m driving through the Guadalupe Mountains and the wide expanse of desert in the Lone Star State. Well, it’s called medical tourism and, if you’re in the over-60 set, find out about it. It can save you a bundle.

Long story short. I had a dental emergency, which was estimated to set me back about $7,800. I could envision selling my house and actually living in that yurt in Mongolia that I keep threatening to do. Several friends told me about Mexico and their excellent clinics just across the border. I went on line and found Rio Dental in Juarez. Unfortunately, I had to move fast, which meant giving up playing in our first Plainfield concert, but they’ve forgiven me. Frequent flyer miles got me to El Paso and a prepaid stay for six days at the airport Travelodge cost $238 (complete with breakfast and pool…what a deal!). Monday morning a van came for me, and several other Americans, and took us across the border to the clinic. On Thursday my crowns were ready to go and on Saturday I headed home, after a day of sunning myself by the pool. Cost was $980.

During my two free days I drove to New Mexico and enjoyed visiting two of America’s national parks. What an unexpected treat! I can thank my musician friend, Phyllis Bitow, who had just made a trip to New Mexico and gave me the details. Her picture is below.

The first park was at the northern end of the Chihuahuan Desert, where the mountain-ringed valley, the Tularosa Basin, gives rise to one of the world’s great natural wonders…the glistening White Sands National Monument. Great wave-like dunes of a rare form of gypsum sand engulf 275 square miles of desert and have created the largest gypsum dune field in the world. As is customary at this parks, there’s an informative film that covers the fascinating history of the undulating mountains of sand and the animals and plants that have adapted to life in the constantly changing environment. As I drove through the dune fields I felt as if I were navigating through snowfields. The roads were plowed where the sand banks flowed onto the road. I rented a flying saucer, just like the ones our children used in the snow, and careened down steep hills like the wind. Too bad my camera settings had been jolted and the pictures were so faded, but here are a few to give you an idea of the striking scenery.

White Sands Visitor Center, typical of New Mexico park architecture

Road leading to the dunes

The long walk up

T
My saucer at the ready….

Trail on which I slid down to the car

The trail from the bottom

Phyllis on top of a dune

Heading for Carlsbad Caverns

Outcroppings and mountains everywhere....

Beyond these rugged mountains and broad plains is a world away from sunlight…the celebrated underground world of Carlsbad Caverns National Park, an incomparable realm of gigantic subterranean chambers and extraordinary cave formations. I started exploring the chambers from the natural entrance route, descending a mile into the earth and following steep and narrow trails through a tall trunk passage called the Main Corridor. Some of the highlights along the route include the Bat Cave,  Devil’s Spring, Green Lake Overlook, and the Boneyard, a complex maze of highly dissolved limestone rock reminiscent of Swiss cheese. The wonders continued unabated as I arrived at the 8.2 acre Big Room, another 1 1/2 mile eye-popping circular  walkway with every possible rock formation from stalactites, helictites, and stalagmites to “draperies,”  columns, “popcorn,” and “soda straws” (these are all laymen names of formations). I ended my four hours underground with a guided tour of the King’s and Queen’s Palaces and the Papoose Room. Exhausted, I took the elevator to the surface, another engineering feat from my point of view.

Here is just a sample of some of the natural wonders I experienced.

The natural entrance to the cave

Scenes along the way

Varieties of "draperies"

"popcorn"

Typical terrain outside the caves

One cultural footnote of the season. I was thrilled with the Metropolitan Opera’s first production of Donizetti’s Anna Bolena, starring the incomparable Russian soprano,  Anna Netrebko. If you get a chance to see it on HD do so.

THE MANY FACETS OF RAINIER, part 2….

By

On September 23, 2011

In Northwest trekking

One of the things I love about Mt. Rainier National Park is the pristine, carefully- designed campsites. I also love the Indian names that greet me at every turn. Three hours from Seattle we drove through such towns as Enumclaw and Nachez to the Ohanapecosh campsite (that takes a little doing). It was totally full, but four miles south was La Wis Wis, where we found a spacious, quiet spot with water close by and lots of tall pines, cypress, and privacy. The sky was very blue and the clouds puffy and white. A raging river tumbled over rocks not far from our site, and all around were mountains, with an eastern view of Rainier quite different from my previous visits, when I camped on its western flank

On this second morning we headed for Sunrise, another beautiful visitor’s center from which we started climbing to Mt. Fremont lookout (7200 ft.).

en route Sunrise

Sunrise Lodge

Frozen Lake, the water supply for Sunrise

Rainier in the clouds as we began our hike to the lookout….

Campsites at lakes along the way

On the top of this peak, steamboat prow, is Camp Sherman, from which you start up the summit of Rainier

Not my favorite stretch of trail!

Ditto!

This is where you’d go if you tripped….straight down. It’s much steeper than it looks

Berkeley Park, a camping spot down below

Small ponds abound, but they're pretty cold!

Views galore along the way

On top of Mt. Fremont…at last

Can you imagine surviving a winter up here?

I made it and even climbed the tower. It gives me the creeps, but the view was wonderful. I held tight with my sweaty hands!

360 degrees of incredible views

We heard a crash when passing Frozen Lake on our return. It was a mini-avalanche. Notice the waves on the lake.

Compare with first pictres and you can see he damage

On the way home we drove on the Stevens Canyon road past Reflection Lake

Home at last! Our campsite, which could surely use a housekeeper….

Jon did all the chopping

Not bad for a woodland stir fry, eh?

What a way to end a perfect day!

I’m headed for El Paso, Texas, on Sunday for dental work in Juarez, Mexico, but when I get back I’ll finish part 3 and 4.

IT WAS NOT A “GOOD NIGHT, IRENE.” I WANNA’ GO BACK TO MT. RAINIER….

By

On September 12, 2011

In Northwest trekking

…where the sky is clear, the mountains surround and protect me, and the only sound is the wind, the birds, and the rumble of an occasional distant avalanche left over from a record winter snowfall.

Yes, I want to leave my soaking, moldy, hurricane–battered basement and settle into a yurt in Mongolia or the plains of Tibet, trading my car for an amenable camel (I don’t think they make one). And I never, again, want a basement! Desperate, you say. Kind of. But, honestly, I have very few complaints compared to friends in next-door Millburn, or in Vermont and Pennsylvania.

I was lucky to return from the Northwest the day before the hurricane struck, so that, at least, I took up the rugs. It was bad enough to paddle in water up to my shins at 6 AM, without being faced with floating carpets. Lessons learned: 1) Sump pumps and French drains, no matter how expensive, don’t work when the power is out, and 2) Never store precious files and photos and memorabilia in the basement in cardboard boxes or even metal files.

As for insurance, which I have in spades (and have never made a claim), don’t get me started! Evidently a power outage is not covered. This was considered a flood, not a heavy rain. Funny, I didn’t see any rivers rising to my door, but I did see an absence of electricity for 20 hours, during which rainwater kept rising in my basement.   I do not consider this a flood, but a failure of a vital service normally provided by our local power company. The insurance companies, however, do, so I was denied coverage. At this point my only friend is a can of Lysol and a dehumidifier. Oh, yes, and I shall spend many hours wielding a paintbrush…as soon as the walls dry out.

I’m way behind on summer news, so will start at the end and work back. I will tell my story in pictures. They are far better purveyors of the glory of summer than a string of fancy adjectives.

For five days Jon Pollack, yes, the same Jon I met trekking the Annapurna circuit in 1999, camped in Mt. Rainier National Park. I found it exciting to hike over snow at this time of year just so long as we stayed away from cliffs. As you know, I don’t like “exposure,” but I’m getting better, especially on the ascent. It’s coming down, when I can see how easily I could be hurtled into space should I trip, that gives me the Willies.

View of Rainier from trailhead with Little Tahoma peak on the left

That’s mighty deep snow for August!

Glacial lakes along the way

And lots of avalanche lilies

…and bear grass

Brilliant colors....

Blossoms like tiny bells

pristine lake and camping area off the trail

A perfect spot for lunch on the way down

A looming presence as we headed back to camp after our first day on the mountain

We spent one day doing the Snow Lake hike in the shadow of majestic Unicorn Peak near Paradise on Rainier. This was the first time I’d seen the magnificent new Henry Jackson Visitor’s Center, named after one of my favorite Washington senators, “Scoop” Jackson, who did so much to help protect the wilderness and, like John Muir before him, make sure that it would be protected for generations to come.

It was, indeed, a continuing “Paradise” of wild flowers

Indian paint brush

And, now, put them all together....

And now, put them all together…it’s not easy for such fragile flowers to live in this rugged environment

Goodbye, Paradise

This is just the beginning of the saga of the summer. Stay with me, folks, and I’ll tell you about more cool trails in Rainier and the Gifford-Pinchot National Forest and nine days starting in Walla Walla and exploring the Columbia River Gorge and the Lewis River with its numerous waterfalls….

THE PLAY’S THE THING….

By

On June 23, 2011

In Uncategorized

I came back from my class reunion at Emma Willard School in Troy, NY, just in time to catch the Tony’s, my favorite award show. This year it was stupendous and I picked every winner. The only play I couldn’t get tickets for was Good People, which won a Tony for Frances McDormand, but that’s a pretty good track record.

Forgot to show you a photo of Scott Buck and me in front of the marquee of Million Dollar Quartet, which I mentioned in my May 14 blog. Dynamite show from last year’s picks.

M.P. and Scott Buck under the marquee

I was thrilled that my old neighbor, Norbert Leo Butz won for the best actor in the musical Catch Me If You Can, a must-see, which I saw with another old friend from Florida, Barry Hamilton. And nothing topped the revival of The Normal Heart, Larry Kramer’s watershed drama about AIDS, which I saw with my son, Christopher, in 1985. The play starred Ellen Barkin and John Benjamin Hickey, who won Tony’s, as well as a very moving, powerful Joe Mantello.

A week later I visited the Wyman-Kelly family in West Hartford, CT, and was treated for my birthday (you didn’t know I had a birthday? You certainly must have pegged me as a Gemini by now!) to an excellent revival of August Wilson’s Gem of the Ocean at the Hartford Stage. This was one of my favorite venues when I lived in Sherman, CT 18 years ago.

The season came to an end for me with the revival of Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, a play about the relationship between past and present, order and disorder, and the certainly of knowledge. It’s also a mystery. I suggest you read it before you see it. I finally did, having been mystified when I first saw it in 1993. Stoppard is my favorite English playwright. His use of word play and dialogue are unsurpassed, except, maybe, by Shakespeare.

I’m on my way to the Mt. Laural Autoharp Gathering  (MLAG) in Newport, PA, and then on to New Hampshire and my beloved Lake Winnipesaukee. A happy, “cool” summer to you all!

 

 

I JUST CAN’T STAY AWAY FROM SUNNY CALIFORNIA….

By

On June 20, 2011

In Uncategorized

There are, indeed, some fabulous travel destinations right here in these United States. And one of them is the Sierra Mountains of northern California. At the end of May I participated in my first California Autoharp Gathering (CAG), which also included accomplished guitarists, fiddlers, dulcimer players, singers, dancers, and experts in the field of country and bluegrass music. Located in Dunlap, CA, an hour from Fresno, and held at beautiful St. Nicholas Ranch near an old mission church turned Greek Orthodox, this was a multiethnic experience, which included children from the Migrant Education Programs of Fresno County run by Mike Mueller.

I spent four days in the company of the greats of Autoharp playing and luthiers who have encouraged new ways of stringing the instrument since my husband, Glen R. Peterson, and I first took over Oscar Schmidt International in 1961. One of the many celebrations honored the members of the Autoharp Hall of Fame, most of whom are in this picture.

I'm in the front row between Bryan Bowers and Lindsey Haisley. Perfect location!

We had a great time reminiscing and answering questions from an audience eager to find new ways of playing and chording. In 1961 there were only 15 chords on the old A Model instrument. Now there are 21 and a plethora of choices and combinations of chords, giving the Autoharp a versatility unknown in the early days.

From an outstanding faculty numbering more than twenty-six, here are a few photographs, just the tip of the iceberg. I guess the most fun was the jamming, which occurred before and after workshops and late into the night. Music was everywhere!

Left to right: Ann Norris, John Massey, Drew Smith, Dave Rainwater

These next few photos were taken by Marc B. Blake, photographer extraordinaire. I’m sure you can find many more online and on  his website, including some exciting videos of the performances.

Bryan Bowers

Carey Dubbert

Yours truly and Mike Fenton, the English Autoharp maven

Bryan Bowers and Karen Mueller...what a combination!

A superb ensemble: Left to right: Ivan Stiles, Coleen & Neal Walters, Kathy Hollandsworth, Carey Dubbert

When I arrived home I knew spring had finally come. I was treated to my daughter Martha’s rhododendron….

…and my pyrocantha (or firethorn).

ONE CHILD, ONE HELPING HAND

By

On June 17, 2011

In India

Since my return from India, I’ve been reading a lot about the emerging middle class and its affluence, but that even with the proliferation of new apartment complexes, the garbage still piles up in the street and the sewage system lags far behind.  Yes, India has horrendous problems with its infrastructure, but, sad to say, they are not  alone. As you know from my previous blogs, I had very little exposure to these people, since I was traveling and exploring the countryside and small villages, wandering through markets and mixing with school children at the caves or in the airport. The children are always curious about Westerners and not afraid to engage in a conversation, usually starting with “What is your name? Mine is…… Where are  you from? Do you like India?”

This experience changes when you hit the large cities. And it is here that the meandering tourist is accosted by swarms of children in tattered clothes and bare feet, begging. And this is what is most difficult for many Westerners to understand and to accept. I have written about it in my travels in Myanmar, but it is much more prevalent in India. My usual answer when asked for money is to say “thank you” in the native dialect (given to me by the locals, who sympathize with the problem), rather than “NO, GO AWAY!” If you say thank you the right way it telegraphs, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

In Myanmar there were few beggars, but if approached, I always took them to a sidewalk food stand and bought them something to eat. By my third month in India, however, I was losing patience. On my last day I was staying at a charming hotel, Wongdhen House, in Majnu Ka Tilla, the small Buddhist enclave/colony in Delhi. It was a dreary day and I was wandering the small lanes lined with shops and food stalls. There was a tug at my pants leg. I looked down at a most forlorn, pitiful little boy with matted hair and dirty hands and face, gesturing for food with his fingers pointing to his mouth. My emotions ran the gamut from pity to irritation to anger and back to sadness and pity. Where is your mother? How dare you prey on me? Why aren’t you in school? I knew the answers, but that didn’t stop the feelings. He was skinny. He was hungry. He was alone.

I walked over to a fruit stand and bought a banana, handing it to the boy. He shook his head. What, you’re looking a gift horse in the mouth? He pointed to a small bunch of green grapes and smiled hopefully. They were expensive compared to a banana, and as always happens when I travel, I immerse myself in the local economy and do not calculate exchange rates. Here was this little kid being fussy about my gift. He waggled his head from side to side. I looked at the vendor, then at the kid. His eyes were appealing. This must be a monumental treat. I hesitated. The vendor looked at the little boy and, almost imperceptively, motioned with his head for me to give the boy the grapes. The boy’s hands were trembling in anticipation and he immediately started gobbling. I looked at the vendor, who had tears in his eyes. I had never seen this on the part of an Indian in this situation. Usually they appear disdainful of such a child. But what did I know of this man’s life that led to his compassionate act? I said, “That was a lovely thing to do. You are a kind man.” He nodded, wordlessly.

“Here, let me buy some more bananas,” I said. I handed them to the boy. This time he took them, eagerly. A little girl had come by, which often happens when you give something to one child. He handed a banana to the girl and they walked off together.

Looking at the entrance to Majnu Ka Tilla from the overpass

Entering by bicycle rickshaw

Cary at main temple

Gullvi at entrance to Wongdhen House

Typical fruit stand

YOU THINK SECURITY IS BAD AT U.S. AIRPORTS? TRY INDIA

By

On May 14, 2011

In India

Just getting into the airport building in Delhi is a challenge. I thought the new airport would be different, but was I wrong! There are guards at every entrance and the line is long. But don’t push. This is when patience is definitely a virtue and a lack of said virtue can put you behind the eight ball big time. You need to have your ticket handy, your passport, and whatever extraneous information came with your ticket print out. In my mind I ask them if a pint of blood and my firstborn would suffice, but I keep that joke to myself. A sense of humor should be parked at the door along with any sense of urgency.

Once inside you are faced with a swarm of humanity that takes your breath away. As you know, I’ve been traveling for centuries, or so it seems, and you’d think I’d be hardened to such mob scenes. But this was the longest, most circuitous “Congo line” of my life and it snaked like a giant intestine that forgot to stop growing.  I kid you not, I was in line over an hour. At that point I was so tired that they could have stashed me in an MRI machine and I would have remained comatose throughout. Don’t ask me to relate the padding up and padding down. Beaten and bewildered, I didn’t even notice.

A couple more observations about India that I failed to mention along the way are that the vegetables are plentiful, cheap, and superb. Cauliflower, one of my all time favorites, was huge and in every conceivable dish. The carrots were the large reddish variety and sweet, and peas were a special part of the many paneers (cheese dishes) served in a succulent sauce. Being a vegetarian in India is no hardship…it’s a pleasure, for there is so much variety to choose from and unlimited imagination in the preparation. Once I persuaded a particular restaurant in Gokarna to make me “veggies al dente”  (my phrase) without spice, I was in heaven and never wanted to leave. I even ate them for breakfast.

Another food that I had from the very beginning was papaya…huge, ripe, orange papaya. Cary and I ate one a day in Dharamsala and you could get the large ones down south for less than a dollar. I never tasted any like this at home.

Before I leave Gokarna, let me share a few more photos of this charming location.


Lee sunbathing on the beach

Trimming the palms in our front yard

The restaurant next door

Our cozy cabin

Squabble on the path…I’m outa’ here!

Pilgrims swimming in the evening

Watching the passing parade

Beach life

A delightful young man at his sewing machine….

Camel ride at sunset

We exchanged hello’s on the beach

Bargaining at a local shop

Gullvli & yours truly in front of the local "chariot"

Gullvi and yours truly in front of the local “chariot”

Ladies washing clothes in communal wash tanks in the middle of town

…and now they have company

I had to slow down on theater this month because of rehearsals for our last concert. The Plainfield Symphony went out in a blaze of glory led by Charles Prince, our new conductor. We knocked ‘em dead with an evening of French opera featuring two soloists and highlights from Saint-Saens’ Samson and Delilah and Bizet’s Carmen. It doesn’t get much better than that!

I did, however, see some pretty great shows starting with Million Dollar Quartet, and ending with The Book of Mormon, the new smash hit musical, which looks like a Tony winner. Irreverent, totally off-the-wall, it was the first Broadway show by the two masterminds behind South Park. You can imagine the language!

At the Metropolitan opera Rossini’s Le Comte Ory was perfection, starring Juan Diego Florez and Susanne Resmark.

I waited until the end to be sure this glorious spring was not going to go away. Maplewood/South Orange is ablaze with color and here is just one slice. I thrill at the richness of nature that I enjoy on my daily walk up and down the hills of this peaceful town.

My little begonia finally found a home….

GEORGE W. WASN’T THE ONLY ONE WHO NEEDED AN EXIT STRATEGY….

By

On May 10, 2011

In India

I’m still laughing and scratching my head as I remember some of the business strategies observed during my recent three months in India.  Consequences were not factored in; life was totally in the moment; and time and again I would come upon abandoned projects—road repair, half-finished buildings, a trail ending at the edge of a cliff, abandoned fields—as if money had run out or there was no more interest in the work at hand.

I watched one of these projects grow and fizzle during my three weeks in Gokarna, a town south of Goa on the Adriatic coast where I was staying in a small compound on the beach (see Jan. 21st blog). It was a delightful place of simple cottages surrounded by a spacious sandy area with numerous tall palm trees, and an ambitious owner whose plans included the making of a farm, a petting zoo, and an internet café. The last part of the plan depended on his success in finding a wife, which, in and of itself, was a difficult task for a middle-class Indian who needed to find someone of his own “class” with enough money to be a partner in his work. She was to run the internet café, he told me. These were imponderables, which would be settled later. But first he decided to dig a duck pond in the front yard. I had not seen his two ducks and asked him if he realized what those ducks would do to his lovely sandy “lawn.” The head just wiggled to and fro and he smiled at me with the look of, “Don’t confuse me with facts when my mind is made up.“ I shuddered to think of what the ducks were doing to his upstairs apartment and, having had experience with their bathroom habits, could see the cessation of all future moonlit walks through the pristine dunes.

To attest to our owner’s imagination he designed the pond in the shape of a turtle and lined it with stones that resembled a shell. Then he filled it with water and loaded it with lilies and let it sit for several days. At this point the lilies had died and the water had a green scum on it. His little dog made regular sojourns into the water, and sand began to gather at the bottom. Not to be deterred, our man regaled me with tales of the animals he was going to import for his zoo and the grass he was going to grow so they could graze. Grow grass in sand? Hmmm.

The painful knee episode. You didn’t believe me?

It just gets better and better….

Even the camel can’t contain himself….

The digging begins

And the water is added

It really does look like a turtle

When I left, the owner was still planning to take down most of the buildings to make way for his “farm,” but he also wanted his “wife” to start a small restaurant for the remaining guests (all four?). He was ebullient about his plans and the duck pond was soon forgotten. As I made my way past the deserted pond and out of the compound, he was sitting on his swing smiling while the dog splashed in the thick green water. I thought I might return next year to see how his farm was coming along and to share in his ebullience.

I soon realized that a good number of Indians don’t worry about tomorrow. If they did why would they throw garbage on the front lawn? I know, I know. There’s another side of India I may be neglecting, but I’ve always preferred my adventures “down and dirty” as compared to the sojourner who insists on classy hotels and the accoutrements of business travel. Traveling that way you side step the messy parts of Indian life and can simply have your driver pull up to your hotel and avoid the crowds, noise, and dirt. But you also miss the side that I’ve been describing–the color, myriad smells (natural and manmade perfumes; cooking; flowers; fields), and the festive atmosphere that await you in the real India–the crowded bazaars, the thrill of darting rickshaws, and the panoply of flamboyant, imaginatively-dressed people.

A small bazaar along the road

Sunset on the beach outside our cabin

IT’S SPRING FOR A DAY AND I’M SO EXCITED….

By

On April 13, 2011

In Uncategorized

For the first time since my return from India I hung up my down jacket and strolled down the street in my tiger T-shirt from Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserve, exulting in the 80-degree weather and grooving on the flowering magnolias and daffodils. Here’s proof that forsythia can survive under the worst of circumstances. I won’t predict what will happen tomorrow, but I sure enjoyed today!

What a way to fence in a golf course!

Now all we need is leaves on the trees….

Of course I did have a winter respite during my week in southern California last March, when the family gathered to celebrate the end of son Robert’s six months of chemotherapy for colon cancer.  Here are a few pictures to prove it.

Here I am with my oldest, Cary, and my youngest, Robert, hiking in the Santa Monica mountains

Hold that tiger!

It's beautiful in them thar' hills

Son Tom and his fiancee, Carmen, right out of the garden. Martha disappeared before I could get a good shot of her...

And here's a small slice of that garden

Jasmine borders Tom’s garden

Tom is the best plant doctor in L.A.

...and it goes on forever

Marina del Rey, the second largest manmade harbor in the world...right around the corner from Rob and Gwen's home

Ho hum...just another sunny day

Just another sunny day

Balona Creek, the L.A. River

Robert is very strong and has a positive attitude. He’s back in business, full swing, which is an appropriate metaphor for someone who invented the almostgolf ball, is running tournaments around the country, and hoping to launch a TV show. Can’t keep a good man down!

From L.A. I ventured south to LaJolla, a paradise on the Pacific, to visit my old friend, Karen dePlanque. We walked around this beautiful town and even treated ourselves to an evening at the famous LaJolla Playhouse and a production of the new musical comedy, Little Miss Sunshine, starring Hunter Foster, whom I had seen years ago in Urinetown, the musical. Can’t seem to shake my addiction, even when I travel, can I?

Here are some seaside shots that will make you want to dive in….

Wildlife abounds

Seals are everywhere! Awake....

...or sleeping

Two really old buddies...Karen and M.P.

Can't get enough of these waves

Artists dot the shore

Artists dot the shore

Should be a great painting….

Perfect day for a group dive

Birds of paradise everywhere

Coastal flowers in many colors adorn the cliffs

Now the day is over....

This has been a great month for opera, concerts, and theater. I try to be moderate, but living in the New York metropolitan area makes it difficult. Among my favorites were Renee Fleming in Richard Strauss’s Capriccio; the Shanghai Quartet; Carter Brey’s Mostly Music; the incomparable Robin Williams in Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo; Jerusalem, a tour de force for Mark Rylance, and my favorite, Brian Friel’s outstanding play, Molly Sweeney, at the Irish Repertory Theater.

I’m still not finished with India. This kaleidoscopic country confounds and fascinates me. It’s hard to generalize about its people, so I will just pick my particular pocket of experience and try to make sense of it.  Be sure to watch for the photos. They’re coming…slow, but sure.

Page 16 of 30

Previous

Next

Purchase the Book

Book thumbnail
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
iUniverse

© 2024 Meg Noble Peterson