Nubble Lighthouse, York Beach, Maine

Travel Blog 06 08 15

My Sister Jackie and her husband Frank (aka Uncle Frank) have a cottage in York Beach, Maine. In Colorado we would call it a cabin, in the tropics it’s called a bure, in Mexico, heck they call it a villa. Anyway, a short walk down a dirt road and BOOM, you have your camera in your hand. The Nubble Lighthouse looms in the distance demanding your undivided attention. Perched on a small “nub” of land poking out of the Atlantic Ocean, the lighthouse was built in 1879 to protect  mariners from Maine’s rocky coast. It is one of the most photographed lighthouses in all of America.  A quintessential New England House (red roof) is attached to the lighthouse by a covered walkway. It is very old and very picturesque. Nobody lives there anymore because the light house is now “automated”. My imagination creates scenarios of romance, weather and the Atlantic Ocean mixed with New England grit. I’m glad they keep it up because I don’t want to give up my Nubble light house photos- thru- the ages. Every visit I fall prey to the allure of taking its picture; in front of, to the side of, backed up against, The Nubble. Every cell phone I ever owned has season upon season of the Nubble. We have an oil painting of it in our living room. It sticks with you.

Travel blog: Peto, Yucatan, Mexico

Sticks and Stones

4/30/2015

I am sitting in the court yard at the Hotel De Rodi y Eve in the city of Peto, Yucatan, Mexico. We drove four hours from Puerto Morelos (Quantana Roo, Mexico) to arrive in this city. We are in search of the convent trail, some churches, missionaries, and other religious sacred ground. Peto is not on the ocean, but the interior, somewhat arid, somewhat jungle. It is made of sticks and stones. Old sticks and old stones, new sticks and new stones. A Guernsey cow sits at the entrance to town, she is stunningly beautiful, shiny brown and primly flopped down in a giant pile of freshly cut branches. She is munching when we rolled in and she was munching when we rolled out.

Peto’s economy is clearly not focused on tourism. Matter of fact, we seem to be the only gringo’s among 22,386 locals, we stick out like a 4^th of July parade. I turned to my husband Mike and said, “What do you think we have to do to not look like such gringo’s?” He turns to me and says “It’s not going to happen.”

After that exchange we march on to the town square with our friends Dave and Bev, and try to procure a tri-cycle motor scooter to give us a tour of the city. Funny thing is, it was very difficult to explain we didn’t want to go anywhere, we just wanted a “tour”. The- would- be driver kept indicating “where to drop off?” After dragging in several folks from the now gathering crowd to (not) translate he let all four of us sit on the little bench arrangement mounted on the front of his 2 stroke motor scooter. The scooter whines with the efforts of pushing four not so small humans along the cobbled street, but alas, off we go. To the driver’s credit, he did not let us miss one street, alley, square, home or tienda, and drove us by every stick and stone. Why was this an amazing tour? Because it wasn’t a tour, it was a physical emersion into a culture that has probably not changed in the past 100 years.

Folks socialize and walk around the square, they go to the Catholic Church, and they eat at a small taco stands along the side of the road. They cook on open grills squishing corn balls into tortillas. The woman where traditional embroidered clothing, the men where trousers and short sleeved cotton shirts. They are nice to strangers.

6/8/2015

Travel Blog: Kennebunkport Maine

I was pretty excited when my brother in law Frank asked me if I wanted to go to Kennebunkport. It’s a place I somehow missed on all my New England adventures. He talked about Walkers Point and visiting the Bush’s. My sister Jackie placed the stamp of approval on the trip and we took the shore road from York Beach. We passed homes large and small, fancy and not. I got dizzy thinking about the maintenance. I saw numerous proud owners tinkering on never ending yard chores. God knows what was going on inside. We went by the lobster pounds, the little bays and beaches, the grand stately homes. It was beautiful. A tiny “Clam Shack” announced our arrival into Kennebunkport. There was a healthy line at the “Clam Shack” and I thought the morning hour a bit early for an $ 18 dollar lobster roll.

As we rolled into town it became quite evident (by the plethora of banners) that Barbara Bush was celebrating her 90the birthday. I always liked her no nonsense demeanor and was happy we were there to celebrate the day. I also loved her when she said ”there is a slim svelte woman somewhere in this body”. After passing thru town we soon encountered the Episcopal Church where the party was to be held. I was hoping my membership would allow us passage; but alas, no cake for us. We proceeded on to the Bush compound and were not disappointed. They have actually established a lookie-loo pull-off. The compound sits on a point (obviously Walker Point) and has a little “Bush Bay” and little “Bush Beach” which is quite lovely. In Bush Bay there floats one big- ass scary- looking fast boat. All of Kennebunk must vibrate when they crank that baby up. Back at lookie-loo point; there is a giant anchor and plaque honoring George H.W. Bush It says: “An Anchor to the Windward “as he was for our nation and world during four years of tumultuous and historic change so, to, has Kennebunkport served in the words of St Paul, “as an anchor of the soul both sure and steadfast” to him.

Nice Place, I would love it too.

Mike and I have not been to the Franklin County Fair since 1983. For us Greenfieldites it was a highlight of the beginning of fall and the closing of summer.  As little kids we rode the rides with total abandon, wasted our quarters on “sure to win” games meandered thru the Roundhouse, Dole Building and always cheered for the underdog at the horse pull. Touring “the Barns” was an adventure for those of us who didn’t own a cow, and how can you resist cooing at all those bunnies and chickens? Guess what, it’s all still there!

We were amazed to see the Franklin County Fair dishing out all our old favorites, including the Firemen’s Muster, Demolition Darby, Rotarian Hot Dogs and Robbins Memorial Apple Pie, I can’t list it all, but OK, we went on some crazy ride I didn’t exactly recognize from the 80’s, wasted $ 5 on some kind of “put your quarter on the spot” game ate a bunch of French fries, and sat around for utter judging (really).  For those of you who have never been to a great county fair. Take in the Franklin County Fair, Greenfield Massachusetts, and have a peek into many different lives.

This is my first posting on my travel blog.

I feel there is no better place for me to start than in my own back yard, Fort Collins, Colorado. I’m literally in my back yard getting ready to ride my bike in the annual Tour de Fat. I get Bruce out of the garage. He is grumpy because he has lost his hat. I tie Bruce on the fender of my bike and ask Mike to take our picture. Mike is slightly alarmed at the over all look of me and Bruce but knows this will be small potatoes compared to what is to come in the streets of Fort Collins. Mike is not joining us, but agrees to ride with us to the farmers market which is close to the start. It is a day of mayhem and craziness as 15,000 or more riders dressed in their finest take to the streets. Come join us one of these years!