Music on the Road

Today as I work on final preparations for my 2nd epic road trip I pulled together my Road Trip 2017 play list. This meant a day of downloading songs I purchased or owned already into my media player to create the ultimate mixed CD playlist.

On past journeys I've done similar things so I would have all my favorite songs right at my fingertips and avoiding taking my massive CD collection with me. (Yes I still do CD's and love them!) I've driven through Yosemite to the tunes of a unique guitarist. I've flown down the freeway to California motivated by Rascal Flats' Life is a Highway. I've climbed the freeways to Northern Arizona to the strains of Sheryl Crow and weaved my way through a vineyard listening to Under the Tuscan Sun.

The emotion I felt as we emerged from the red rocks into Page still sings through me as I listen to Lenka's The Bright Side and Celtic Women sing with me as I relive driving down the roads of Ireland. All have tied those lovely songs to wonderful memories of the trips I've taken.

There are so many memories tied to the music I listen to, so many trips that stay with me through that music. As I prepared my CD playlist for the next journey, I organized the songs, figured which I indeed wanted to take with me on this trip and then spent the next couple hours burning those CD's. Now as I've just completed the task and have the small stack next to me waiting until I tuck them into my travel CD case. I look forward to the memories I will get to make with that music. I just hope my rental car has a CD player.

Visiting Inishmore dun Aengus

It sounded like distant thunder. I kept looking around, the day had been threatening rain but nothing that looked capable of producing the booms I heard every couple minutes. As we climbed the mildly steep trail I looked at mom and asked if she new what it was, she didn't either. We continued our way up the trail from the visitors center, today we were going to be seeing Dun Aengus on  Inishmore. you may not be familiar with the name, but I'm positive if you've seen cliff pictures of Ireland, you've seen the cliffs by this historical fort. It was a beautiful walk up from the visitor center. Rock walls, sturdy in construction but appearing haphazardly constructed lined the pathway. Most followed the path but some rule breakers climbed over the wall and headed toward the cliff face. 

To the left I could see where the land ended in a sharp drop off and knew the sea would be far below. To the right was a gentle slope downhill to the ocean. Both sides though I could see the sea stretching far out ahead. Ahead up the hill was the stone fort, a massive structure surrounded by a wall. A single entrance, large enough for one person. Despite the number of people, there wasn't a wait to get through the opening. We just went inside the fort. I was surprised to see how open and large the space was surrounded on three sides by rock walls. The fourth side, there is was, the view I'd been waiting to see. The view that had been on my bucket list for ages. The famous cliffs of Inishmore, I was finally here. 

As I neared the edge of the cliff, it occurred to me the booming noise I'd been hearing wasn't thunder, it wasn't a canon shooting in the distance. It was the ocean hitting the bottom of the cliffs. It was amazing to stand at the top and see the wonder of the landscape and feel the power of the ocean. Far below the water had carved a hollow at the bottom of the cliffs, when the water slapped the rock, a loud boom could be heard. It was beautiful, majestic, breathtaking there, a view I will never forget.

After a time we finally had to peel ourselves away from the cliffs, we had a guide waiting for us at the bottom. As we traversed down the trail back to the visitor center I knew that this was an event that would never leave my mind. I knew that for years to come I'd remember that feeling of standing at the top of the cliffs, feeling the breeze on my skin, smelling the salty ocean, seeing the dizzying height, and hearing the thunder of the sea against rock.

Salad and Soda in Ireland

One thing I learned in my three weeks in Ireland was that communication wasn't always as easy as I thought it would be, even when visiting an English speaking country. I knew of the commonly used differences in language like "lift" instead of "elevator" and "boot" instead of "trunk" but there were so many others that I'd never heard of until I was there. I learned quickly to ask for directions to a "petrol" station instead of a "gas" station if I needed to fuel the rental car. Asking for a gas station just led to directions to getting propane. If you ordered food and wanted it "to go" you asked for "take away." Those differences were easy. There were two things though that I never did quite master in the three weeks, one I still haven't figured out how to do.

First, salad. In the states, salad is often in references to a group of ingredients tossed together. Fruit salad is several types of fruit cut up and tossed together in a bowl. Tuna, potato, and egg salad have the main ingredient by name plus mayo and other staples that often end up in the bowl, mixed up and served. In Ireland, salad was lettuce and tomato unless otherwise noted. If the sandwich you ordered was advertised as having salad it didn't mean a salad on the side, it meant there was lettuce and tomato on the sandwich. An egg salad sandwich wasn't what I thought it would be. Instead it was a fried egg (the yolk cooked through) on bread topped with lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Not bad but a little weird when your expecting the states version of egg salad. By the end of my time in Ireland, I'd pretty much sorted out that bit of information and had mastered many of the other differences in language. (although I will admit I never did figure out what the street sign "traffic calming" meant.)

There was one thing though I never did figure out. That was ordering a soda. I understand that throughout the states alone there are different ways to order that fizzy drink you want. In some parts you might order a pop, in some a soda (like we do here in Arizona), still others you order a coke regardless of what type of soda you want. In Ireland, I tried ordering a pop and got a confused look. I tried ordering a soda, they thought I meant a soda water. I tried ordering a fizzy drink, no luck. I tried all the different ways that I could think of and each time I resorted to describing drink brands, Dr. Pepper, Coke, Pepsi, Sprite, etc and the server would then understand what I was requesting. Never once did they correct me, and I really wish they had because I still don't know to order a soda. One day when I go back I hope that I'll be able to figure out exactly how to master this particular challenge. One can only drink so much water and tea before wanting a little variety in the sweet icy coldness of a soft drink.

A Vineyard Tour!

We rolled along a gently rising road, music played softly in the background, the soundtrack to Under the Tuscan Sun. This music was fitting as we drove up toward Firestone Vineyard with rows of grape vines stretching out in both directions.

The day had been perfect and we were finally doing something I'd wanted to do for a long time. Visit and tour an honest-to-goodness vineyard. It was gorgeous! We made our way into the parking lot, mom, who has been my companion on many of my journeys was in the passenger seat of her car snapping pictures as quickly as she could.

 The main building which housed the tasting room, a small gift area, and where you purchased tour tickets was huge! Inside was beautiful, large glass windows filled one wall giving way to an amazing view of the hills surrounding the area. The bar tops and walls were beautiful with rich wood polished to gleam. Two words could describe the place, elegant and beautiful!

On the tour we were able to see where the grapes were crushed, learned about the differences in wines, and saw where the fermenting process took place. We saw the vineyards up close, standing right next to a row where the tour guide showed how the vines were protected and harvested. The entire experience was like stepping out of reality and onto the set of a Hollywood movie, it was all so perfect. The beautiful buildings, the breathtaking vineyards, the well-kept but more rustic rooms where the grapes were harvested and turned into wine. As the tour drew to a close, we stopped at an odd looking tree, we learned this tree was a cork tree. The bark of this tree is harvested to make corks for wine bottles (which doesn't hurt the tree). It was interesting to feel this tree and the spongy texture one might expect from a natural cork.

I was sorry to leave the beauty of the vineyard but loved the experience. The elegance, the beauty, and yet the knowledge that hours of hard work went into making the place what it was at that moment.

Oh the Jellies!

I watch as the waves roll onto the stone steps and black rocks. The scenery is beautiful at the tip of St. John's Point in County Donegal, Ireland. Mom and I have just finished walking about a mile from the car to this point. Behind me is the road I'd just walked away from and the lighthouse we'd walked out to see. The lighthouse itself was alright but nothing spectacular. A simple white tower with a little trim of red but completely inaccessible as it was surrounded by a wall and signage that made it clear that entry was not permitted. For the entire walk to St. John's Point we'd seen no one, it was just us, the grass, the waves, the lighthouse, and a few cows off in the distance. It was beautiful.

As I walked away from the lighthouse toward the water, I noticed a small concrete walkway with steps that led down to the ocean. I supposed people used this point to enter the water or possibly, tie a boat up to the shore. I neared the walkway and immediately came to a stop, perplexed I noticed little blueish-purple blobs dotting the cement all the way down to the water. Curious, I continued down the steps toward the water, careful to avoid the blobs, but it was quite impossible since there were so many of them. I studied them wondering what they were but then noticed the same little blobs were floating in the water. Only those little blobs had shape, some were pulsing in the water even. Then it hit me, Jellyfish. Thousands of Jellyfish were floating in the ocean, caught in the gentle waves that buffered them against the rocks and cement. These little creatures had no hope of surviving where they were. I wondered as I watched them swirl in the water, how had they ended up in this little cove?

I longed to help the Jellyfish but knew that it was impossible. I felt a bit sad for the little guys, my sadness was short lived though. Mom, not noticing the little blobs on the sidewalk had zipped past me to the lowest steps she could get to without being hit by the water. Her camera was focused on the water, she was fascinated by the little blobbies and was taking as many pictures as she could, trying to get the perfect image. At this point she asks what they are so I tell her Jellyfish and mention they must be caught in the current to be getting washed up on the sidewalk.

She paused in her picture taking to look up at me, then realization dawns on her as she looks back down at her feet and sees the Jellyfish dotting the cement. "Oh my God!" She cries and immediately tip toes her way back up the steps and off the cement walkway doing her very best to keep from stepping on any of the little blobs. This doesn't stop the fascination though, before long, she's back to the walkway and takes several close up photos of the walkway blobs before zooming into the ocean again to capture images of the ones in the water.

As sad as it was to see all these Jellyfish, there was a beauty to it all. The experience of life and death at the hands of nature, and the knowledge that this circle of life continues regardless of anyone's presence or knowledge of these occurrences. In this circumstance, it seemed that life just is.

Lighthouses

Three Lighthouses, three experiences, all amazing. In my travels I've been lucky enough to visit and climb three different lighthouses. Each experience was unique and had wonderful views from the top.

The first lighthouse I'd ever visited was on Bald Head Island just off the coast of North Carolina, the lighthouse, Old Baldy, was a concrete tower and not the round shape I'd expected of a lighthouse. In my mind, lighthouses were striped standing tall with a regal light twirly regally at the top. Not in the case of Old Baldy. This old guy was concrete gray with angled sides. I'm not quite sure if it was badly in need of a new coat of paint or if the concrete is starting to crumble on the outside. The light part itself, wasn't perched regally at the top but rather off kilter to one side of the top. The light itself was long since gone as the lighthouse was no longer in operation. The stairs, made of wood, creaked under my feet as mom and I climbed to the top, she oo'd and ah'ed at the views taking pictures at every window of the island and marsh below. The fact that the landings all creaked and cracked beneath our feet not fazing her in the least. I however, was a little more concerned about the reliability of the old wood. I slowly followed mom up the steps, flight after flight as the stairs curved around, hugging the concrete wall. We finally neared the top where a single metal ladder led the way into the very top where the light would have been housed. Not to be swayed from going to the very top for the ultimate pictures, mom scampered on up the ladder. Me on the other hand, I stayed where I was at the top landing and waited for her to come back down. My sense of adventure my be into exploring but where heights are concerned, this part was just a little to far out of my zone. Eventually she'd gotten her fill of pictures and made her way down the latter. We slowly climbed back down the stairs, mom moving slower than I as she paused A LOT to take more pictures. Me, well, I moved as quickly as my legs could handle and didn't stop until my feet hit the ground outside the lighthouse. It was neat to see for sure, but a little more adventurous than I'd like. Still though, the history of the place, the peacefulness of the island made this a great and slightly scary first lighthouse experience to have.

My second lighthouse experience was just outside of San Diego on Point Loma, I visited the Old Point Loma Lighthouse. The lighthouse was shorter than expected but still neat to visit. Mom and I wandered the property, taking in the information and history of the keeper's house and the lighthouse. It was neat to see the garden and the different buildings. This lighthouse had a set of stairs leading near the top but not going all the way up. Unfortunately, the lighthouse offered no views from inside of the outside. The simple grey stairs had a dizzying effect as they were tight and swirled up with little break from the greyness of the interior. Going down was more challenging as the colors ran together, messing with your eyes in trying to watch each step while making your way down. Each person had to take a turn going up or down, there was barely enough room for one to navigate the steps, passing nearly impossible. This lighthouse though, I have a favorite picture of mom. She is climbing steps to the lighthouse building, the simple white building with the small tower of the lighthouse itself sticking out above the rest of the structure stands brightly in front of her. Her back is to the camera as she looks up at the lighthouse. It is an angle that shows her and her love of the lighthouses she visits. A memory and picture I'll cherish.

The third and final lighthouse in my journey's was Hook Lighthouse in Ireland. This beauty is the world's oldest operational lighthouse and has quite the history behind it. When this place came into view, this was the quintessential lighthouse I'd been looking to visit. Massive in size, black and white striped exterior. Tall, straight, and round with the light at the top swirling majestically around. Coupled with being shrouded in mist, this would be the lighthouse to beat, at least for me. We were lucky enough to go on a guided tour, like always, mom had camera in hand ready to shoot pictures of the interior and outside from every window at every level as we climbed. We learned of the history of the monks who ran the lighthouse, the origins of phrases light "by hook or by crook" inspired by this structures location, and other tidbits on modern operations. We climbed to the observation deck on concrete stairs embedded in the walls of the lighthouse. Each flight was flanked by walls until a landing was reached and the floor opened up with a space designed by the monks for a specific purpose, a chapel, the kitchen, and sleeping quarters. The view from the metal observation deck was gorgeous and one I love to relive.

It has been interesting to see the difference between the three lighthouses and I'm sure in my future travels I will have adventures exploring other lighthouses, most likely with mom at my side as she loves the things. Me, I mostly prefer the view from the ground but with mom's sense of adventure, it's good to get out of the comfort zone and climb those stairs. Wood or concrete, rickety or solid, defunct and old or well cared for and operation. All these lighthouses have one thing in common. They are amazing with a history that can't be beat.

Air Travel

Many of the trips I’ve taken involved going by plane. From my very first plane ride to my most recent plane trip there has been a uniqueness to each individual journey. Sure some of the broad details are the same. The terminals of Sky Harbor airport never change, I can count on that sameness in knowing what to expect each time I travel. The wait to board the plane is always the same (once you get to the gate that is). The uncomfortable knowledge that the person who is annoying the hell out of you on the ground, may very well be your seat mate on the plane. There’s always the gorgeous man, totally drool worthy but you keep your eyes off him as much as you can because inevitably, there will be an equally gorgeous woman who joins him, either for the flight or at the other end of the flight. Then the know-it-all, the one who tells everyone else in the group what to do, all the information anyone will ever need to know about anything, this one seems to know.

 Of course, there are the smattering of other groups, the hopelessly clueless older generation, the I’ve-got-it-together travel smart ones, the hot mess couples with kids barely in control and stuff barely strapped together (you know these guys, one funny look at one of their bags and sproinngg!! their bags will pop open and stuff flies everywhere.), then there’s the youth, slumped in their chairs, hair tied up in messy buns, yoga pants and tank tops, perhaps a small carry on but the rest is checked in.  I must admit, I’m not immune to any of these groups, I myself have ranged from the hot mess (minus the children) to the careless youth in yoga pants, and I’ve even moonlighted on occasion as the “I’ve-got-it-together” group.

Once the wait is over, that long (even though it might just be a half-hour) interminable wait to finally, finally board the plane. The announcements begin. Special boarding privilege folks get called, along with those who need extra time and assistance. Priority boarders all slowly make their ways down the jet way to the plane. Then general boarding begins, the cattle call. It used to be the time when my stomach would begin to jump, jitters taking over my body as I wait to board the plane, terrified that somehow I’ll still miss getting on my flight. After all, I’m still not on the thing that will be leaving. Now that has changed, the jitters no longer take control and instead I fight the urge to loudly moo at everyone cramming together to get in line. Instead of jamming into the rest, I’ve begun chilling in my seat waiting until it’s absolutely necessary to get in line with my assigned area group. I figure the longer I wait to board, the less time I’m sitting board in my seat.

When finally, we get settled into our seats, thankfully head unbashed by someone who’s carry-on really should have been checked, we wait until they began to departing process. The announcements and safety instructions begin. The plane begins to move, I’m counting the minutes until the wheels will lift from the runway in the exciting but stomach dropping lift from the ground. I’m waiting until I get to see the ground from way up high, the unique perspective of cloud formations. I’m looking forward to hours of uninterrupted reading and writing time (my personal little bit of heaven).  I’ve found that I like being in the air. Once I’ve overcome the stress of making my way through security, finding my gate, and getting onto my flight concerns drop away with the ground below the plane. I turn my attention to the present, and think a little about my upcoming destination. I wonder about what my journey at the other end of the flight holds for me but really, it doesn’t hold my attention all that much. I’m mostly in the moment. I’m heading on a destination to a new location, the annoyances of my fellow travelers has disappeared. I’m in my own cocoon of space, an introvert’s paradise. A window to my left, a book in front of me, and a combination of plane noise and music from my headphones have all but blocked out the rest of the passengers.  This right here, is what the journey comes to, the trip instead of the destination.

Once the wheels touch down, the concerns will return, worry about finding my connection, or finding the rental car company, the hotel, just finding my way in general. Now, right now, in the air, I’m free. Nothing I have to do, nothing to worry about, no responsibility. I can’t wait until I can fly again.