Is that a codpiece in San Francisco? What is that? And if it is, I mean what’s going on? Codpieces were all the rage in the 1500s. It’s rather dated. If you want a quick look at what a codpiece is, google Henry VIII. There’s nothing like a good gargoyle, is there?
Juvenile and Immature
What a childish thing to call a post about San Francisco “I left my codpiece…” I am quite disgusted with myself. San Francisco is one of the top 10 most beautiful big cities in the world and here I am making fun of it. Who am I to say such things? Nobody will read this trash.
The Human Touch
We were just traveling through San Francisco on our way to Tahiti. We were there for a day and stayed in the Nob Hill neighborhood. A few months before this, we were also in San Francisco to attend a virtual wedding in San José on zoom. You might be thinking, well, if it was virtual, why did you fly to San José for the wedding? Because there is nothing like the human touch when it comes to weddings. Especially, in the case of a mother seeing her only daughter married.
Grace Cathedral of San Francisco
Resist!
Do you see what I see? The color of these steps is the same as a resistor. Almost right down to the same order. It’s uncanny. Could it be that the Catholic Church is resisting change? That there is a double meaning behind these stairs? Is the Catholic Church indulging in activism against activists? What a mind-blowing thought. Let’s leave it at that. Some things are better left unsaid.
You will not find a photo of the stairs painted these colors. There is one photo, but people are sitting on the steps blocking the paint job. So, no there are no pictures. The church does not want to advertise its militancy, I suppose.
The first time I stepped foot in Ft. Lauderdale was in the eighties. It was a small town then. The rural areas were a lot easier to get to, I mean quicker by car. We found that out by exploring the backwoods with two questionable but super entertaining country boys in a pickup truck. Our liaison with these two lasted only a few hours due to the alarming manner in which the driver sped into the front area of country stores and then both would yell and cuss at innocent people standing outside the store. They loved doing this. It was probably even more exciting for them that we were in the truck watching. After that, we confined ourselves to the strip along the beach and became beach animals for two weeks. That was all we needed: warmth and pleasant scenery. Ft. Lauderdale was paradise, it really was.
The Button in Ft. Lauderdale
‘The Button’ was a popular bar on Las Olas at the time. The first time we went there I sat at the bar and faced the band. As I listened to the music, this big, beefy guy leans on the bar and sticks his face right in mine. It ticked me off because he just kept leaning on the bar, staring at me. Then he says, “You with a guy?” “Yes, of course,” I said. He goes away. Half an hour later he returned and did the same thing only this time he says, “Your eyes remind me of someone.” At this point, I just rolled them and looked away. He stood nearby with his back to me and arms folded for the rest of the night.
Not with a Bang…
His stubbornness paid off. We started to talk. His name was Billy and he was from Boston. He had that Boston accent which I love. He told me he was going to Harvard Business School which may or may not have been true. The four of us: Billy, me, Caroline, and the cab driver moved on to ‘The Playpen’. We danced some more and eventually ended up back at the hotel. Didn’t T.S. Eliot say this is the way the world ends not with a bang but a whimper? That’s sort of how the night ended. Billy hugged me and said, “You’re nice. Nicey, nicey”. He walked away and then turned and said, “Where did we meet, The Button?” “Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow night at 7 o’clock”, he said. “Bye Billy”, I said. I never saw him again.
Stay Sexy and Don’t Get Murdered in Ft. Lauderdale
Caroline dyed her blonde hair blue-black, and we donned false eyelashes. We danced every night at ‘The Button’ and sometimes ‘The Playpen’. One drink was all we had, and one drink was all we needed; we were there to dance. Occasionally, a sketchy dude would cross our path, but that’s all he did. We would walk back to the hotel along the beach. It was a long walk; took half an hour. One night I lost Caroline and walked home alone. She came back a little later wondering what had happened to me. The vagaries of miscommunication. The only phones available were those stuck to a wall.
Photo by Debbie Hudson on Unsplash
Can you even imagine living like that? How did we survive? How did we survive not knowing where our friends were, what they were doing, and what they were wearing every minute of the day? Now that I’m older and listen to true crime podcasts, I wonder how we managed to not get abducted and chopped up into little pieces. We weren’t even afraid of our own shadows back then.
Shadowy Stuff
I made one day trip to Miami on the bus. I found a wig shop and bought a blonde wig with long curls flowing down the back. I’m brunette so it was something different. As I sat on a park bench (not with the wig on) I was joined by a man who engaged me in the wildest conversation. It had something to do with “shadow government”. I’d never heard of this before and was fascinated. We talked for quite a while until suddenly two black gentlemen appeared across the street which was a very wide boulevard with lots of traffic. My companion jumped out of his seat, told me he had to go now, and took off like a shot. The new arrivals tore after him. I got up and walked in the opposite direction. There was definitely some shady stuff happening in downtown Miami that day.
A Day of Firsts
As the sun went down I started to make my way back to the bus station. I asked a cop how to get there. He told me. He also told me that if he had a car he would drive me himself and that I should hurry up and get there before it gets dark. I made it back to Ft. Lauderdale in one piece. The female taxi driver who drove me to my hotel even asked me out on a date. That was the first time in my life I had ever been propositioned by a woman. Flattered, I politely declined her offer.
Some terrible mass killings happened near St. Augustine 450 years before Maureen and I got there. On three separate occasions, Spanish troops killed hundreds of unarmed French soldiers. In the last instance, the soldiers asked if they could surrender. The Spanish said yes. Then, after they were disarmed, the French troops were tied up and clubbed to death or hacked to death with axes. All of this happened in September 1565.
I Do Not Judge
I do not sit here hundreds of years later and judge. They had their own reasons for doing what they did. The King of Spain sent his men to get the French out of Florida. When they got there, they found a Timucuan settlement. The Spanish explorers called the settlement St. Augustine because it was August 28th when a Spanish sailor first laid eyes on it. All the days of the year are named after a saint who died on that day. In some Catholic countries, you celebrate not only your birthday but your saint’s day as well.
Years earlier, Juan Ponce de Leon was the first European to land in Florida. They say he was looking for the Fountain of Youth. He probably was. But the initial purpose of his trip was to find gold in or around Puerto Rico.
The Mother Lode
St. Augustine would’ve made a perfect base from which to launch attacks on Spanish galleons bringing tons of gold and silver from South America. Between 1500 and 1650, the Spanish imported 181 tons of gold and 16,000 tons of silver from the New World. In today’s money, that would be 4 billion in gold and 7 billion in silver. That was a lot of money for that time. Not only did other countries want some of this, but they took it from Spanish ships every chance they got.
So life was cutthroat. There was a lot at stake. Massacres happened.
There is a river, a state forest, a fort, an inlet, a beach, and even a high school all called Matanzas. This word means “massacre” in Spanish.
Easter Parade in St. Augustine
We were in this old town for a non-violent and purely peaceful event. We were taking part in an Easter Parade and rode in the Eastern Star float. And while everyone was looking at us, I took pictures of them and their wonderful beasts. Everybody and his dog were there.
Maureen and I roamed the French Quarter of New Orleans and got lost. It was okay. It’s not that big and our hotel takes up an entire block. I think we wanted to get lost. The whole place was fun and alive. It was part carnival and part adult fairy tale. People were drinking, music was blasting and a crazy amount of lights dazzled our eyes. Finally, I asked a hot dog vendor where our hotel was. He said, “Stay safe”. That was it. Just stay safe. I guess this lady heard us asking and yelled from across the street, “Whatcha lookin’ fer?!” I waved, sighed, and walked on. Just as we were walking away a lady with wings playing the trumpet on a bicycle rode past us. A family standing on the corner hurried to take a picture of her.
Elves on the Dark Streets of New Orleans
We ended up in a quiet place without bars. Ahead of us on the other side of the street, I could make out a small dark figure all bunched up and scurrying along. All of a sudden, it hopped over to our side. Very strange-looking thing. What was it? Oh no, it was an elf! This elf caught sight of Maureen and stopped to talk. The elf thought Maureen was a boy. I asked this sprite where they were going. It glanced up at me with such an amazed and stunned expression on its pale face. “I’m very busy. I can’t stand here and talk anymore.” Then a crease deepened between its eyes. The elf frowned at Maureen and said, “If I were you, little lady, I would think about getting to bed soon. Very soon.” And then it was gone, flying down the dark street and around the corner.
Souvenir
Maureen picked something up off the ground. It was a dark green leather bell about the size of a walnut. “That’s an odd bell”, I said. “It came from the elf! She dropped it.” Maureen’s eyes were wild. “But why leather? You can’t hear a leather bell,” I said. “A secret mission,” she said in a whisper. “That elf had secret Christmas business and didn’t want to be heard.” “Yeah, maybe. But she came over to talk to us,” I said. We both thought about this. Then Maureen said, “The elf told me to go to bed soon. That’s why she talked to us.” That is probably why an elf on a secret mission would risk getting found out: to tell a child to go to bed early on Christmas Eve. The whole thing made sense.
Christmas Spirit
We walked until we reached Jackson Square. Just as we found ourselves at the entrance of the St. Louis Cathedral the doors opened and bells started to ring. Wow…what timing. People came pouring out all around us. They shook hands with the priests wearing long, white robes. One of the priests held a large, gold cross. Everyone looked beautiful in their best clothes and they seemed happy and excited. The feeling was contagious. I wasn’t a part of their group but I delighted in seeing them and was thankful that they were there and we had the good fortune to stand there with them for just a few minutes.
It was getting late. My superior sense of direction kicked in and soon I spied the back of a blonde woman in a full-length mink coat smoking a cigarette. It’s hard to quit. She was standing beside a man in a camel-hair coat. She had a French braid pinned up at the back. Pretty. I knew we were close. Yes, they were standing outside our hotel.
Mark Twain wrote about this yellow fever plague in Memphis in his book ‘Life on the Mississippi’. He describes Memphis as a “beautiful city, nobly situated on a commanding bluff overlooking the river.” But, he notes that the sewage system underwent major renovations after the “Yellow Death” took its toll. He also includes an eyewitness report of a German tourist who was there at the time:
“The city has become a mighty graveyard, two-thirds of the population has deserted the place…Fearful evil! In the briefest space it struck down and swept away even the most vigorous victim. A slight indisposition, then an hour of fever, then the hideous delirium, then – the Yellow death!…noble self-sacrificing men come with the coffin, nail it up, and carry it away to the graveyard. In the night stillness reigns. Only the physicians and the hearses hurry through the streets; and out of the distance, at intervals, comes the muffled thunder of the railway train, which with the speed of the wind, as if hunted by furies, flies by the pest-ridden city without halting.
Mark Twain, Life on the Mississippi. p. 249, Harper and Brothers, New York,1917.
3. Memphis is home of the blues, soul, and rock and roll. Elvis Presley started his career here at Sun Studios.
4. The first Piggly Wiggly opened in Memphis. It was also the very first self-service grocery store. By the end of 1916, there were 9 Pigglys in the city.
Piggly Wiggly Pig
5. It is a very dog-friendly city. In fact, not only does the Peabody Hotel welcome dogs, but it also has a pet room service menu.
Downtown Memphis
We were in Memphis for a Taekwondo tournament. While there, we took in the sights and sounds of the city. The people we met downtown were all friendly and very helpful. We enjoyed ourselves there. When we drove through town on our way home, the landscape changed to something far worse than “sketchy”. There were actual ruins of houses. I mean, a few houses did not have roofs.
The neighborhood looked like it had been bombed by enemy planes. There were also no signs pointing to the highway out of there. When I asked her, Moe chose not to ask for directions from one of the gentlemen standing on a corner. I was momentarily lost until I glanced to my right and saw a major road underneath a bridge. I didn’t know the name of it and I didn’t know where it was going, but I was getting on it. We got on that road and soon found ourselves in northern Mississippi on our way home.
Thank You Big City People
Once on the road, we thanked all those people who live in big cities and keep them open so we, the small town hick rednecks, can come and visit but don’t have to live there. Thanks to the guardians of the big burgs!
It was a dark night in Old San Juan. I’d only been there a few hours when suddenly I heard a mechanical thud and boom, out went the lights. Holy Scheisse. I was in my hotel room watching, “A Christmas Story”. I jumped up and looked out the window. It’s what I didn’t see that freaked me out. The lights on the cruise ship were out. A minute ago it was all ablaze, and now the thing was totally black. Those poor people! What happened to them? And it’s so quiet…
Before
After
Let There Be Light in Puerto Rico
Finally, the lights came back on. But, the ship remained dark. Then it dawned on me that the ship wasn’t even there anymore. That ship had sailed. So the power failure and the departure of the ship happened at the same time, almost giving me a heart attack. I was relieved that those people were all safe and plowing the seas in that death trap – I mean magnificent sailing vessel; a marvel to mankind, actually. Just a side note: if you ever go missing or are murdered and/or kidnapped on a cruise ship, the FBI may, or may not, investigate. It depends on what waters you happen to be floating around in at the time, so heed well my words.
The next morning I mentioned this blackout to the guy at the front desk and he flapped his hand and said, “Oh, that. The whole quarter lost power.” As if this happens all the time. Nice.
Hotel Casablanca, Old San Juan
There are bathtubs on the roof for guests who wish to sunbathe or stargaze. However, don’t go near the edge. The railing is rather low.
The huge windows are complete with hurricane shutters, and they open!
If you like the movie “Casablanca”, you are in luck because it plays continuously in the lobby.
Sydney Greenstreet and Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca
However, there is no phone in the room. The morning I was leaving I scheduled a “wake-up knock” for 4:45 a.m. No one came. Fortunately, my alarm worked and I made it to the airport on time. The satellite dish and wifi connection are spotty. Maid service is not daily. Although, she does come by and ask if you need towels. It’s 9 a.m. and you can’t get a coffee because the waiter hasn’t shown up for work. When he finally does show up, the coffee is $3.75 – no refills. And if the nice lady at the front desk assures you that getting a cab at Piñones beach is “no problem”, don’t believe her. It’s a problem. Other than that, I enjoyed my stay.
Last night, we had two bags of chips and a bottle of water for dinner in our Smoky Mountain retreat. That’s why Maureen looks so disgruntled. She’s hungry. I’m pretty sure she’s not the only hungry animal in these woods. Thank God for vending machines. We got here late.
I took highway 140 instead of taking the I40 through Knoxville. For future reference, anybody, highway 140 just ends in a field. It doesn’t even bother to join up with another highway. There you are at sunset, wondering what happened to the road. Where did it go? Right after that, I ended up in somebody’s long driveway on a hill. I called the hotel. The guy on the phone was trying to be helpful and patient. I could tell. I could also tell that if I kept on driving, I would eventually end up…somewhere.
Come back? We just got here.
Redneck Riviera in the Smoky Mountains
We made it to Pigeon. It’s not that difficult. We got there right before nightfall. It’s a cute place with lots of stuff to do. They call Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg “The Redneck Riviera”. They are only 5 miles apart. There is a road connecting them that runs through the forest. Hmm…drive-thru only $79.99. That’s a good deal. They should have drive-thru divorce services for the same price (for those in need of such services).
Smoky Mountain Sharks
Pardon me? Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back? Excuse me, sir, these so-called sharks of yours did not satisfy me. I expected far larger and way more ferocious sharks in the Smoky Mountains. I would like my money back, please.
Puckers Sports Bar & Grill
So let me get this straight. No bulls are allowed to relieve themselves in the restaurant. That’s hygienic. I’m all for that. The image is a tad unappetizing, though. The lips are right beside the hindquarters. I would say it’s a poor executive decision to put that in the window of a restaurant. But what do I know?
“Bring me back the feather,” Alex said. He wanted the feather of the Phoenix. I actually did find a feather on the street right outside our hotel. It looked kind of lame for the feather of a mythical creature, but I brought it home anyway. I think it was a Pigeon feather. I could dye it red and gold.
Cave Creek Regional Park
I thought Florida was hot. This heat is oppressive and actually kind of scary. We met up with Ranger Mark at Cave Creek around dusk. He said he was “dripping with sweat” because the humidity was at 30%. It’s usually at 3%. He said that we brought the humidity with us from Florida. And Maureen and I were walking around thinking it’s so dry here. As I sit here today in Florida, the humidity is 67%, and it feels good.
He introduced us to the resident Desert Tortoise. He has an aboriginal name. And he likes to be tickled.
Our group consisted of 13 people. We set out at 7:15 p.m. The trail is dusty and rocky so don’t wear sandals.
We climbed to a point where we could see the lights of Phoenix and a long mountain range starting with Camel Back Mountain.
Tragedy outside of Phoenix
Unbeknownst to us, at the very time we were at Cave Creek looking at Camel Back Mountain, a young woman was dying or had already died from the heat on that mountain. Her name was Ms. Angela Tramonte. She was from Massachusetts, and she was only 31 years old. Ranger Amanda at Estrella Mountain Regional Park told us that trails have actually been closed because too many people die while hiking in the desert. In 2020, 323 people died in Maricopa County from the heat. They say that if you have consumed half of your water, then it is time to head back. Ms. Tramonte was found without any water at all. Very tragic.
Desert Storm
That night, while hiking around Cave Creek, I drank more water than I ever have while walking. The hike was 2.1 miles. Even at night, the temperature is in the 80s, and there’s not much of a breeze. There was also a terrible thunder and lightning storm on our way back to Phoenix.
The ranger had been listening for thunder and watching the lightning in the distance. A storm was coming our way, and he would’ve canceled the hike if it got too close. He explained that the “washes” or dry creek beds could fill with water very quickly and cause flooding in no time at all. In fact, if you were camped out there, you stood a really good chance of being swept away in the rain. Imagine drowning in a desert. How ironic. The Sonoran Desert is the wettest desert in the world.
There are no UNESCO World Heritage Sites in the city of Little Rock. If this annoys, disappoints, or discourages you in any way, please move on to another site, and another city (maybe in Europe somewhere), before the full impact of this primitive situation makes its fatal impact on your culturally delicate soul. Thank you ever so much.
Kind Little Rocker
We were on our way to the nearest liquor store when I heard someone calling me. A nice black lady was yelling at me from a hotel shuttle van. I walked over and she offered us a ride. Wow, I thought. People are so friendly here. She doesn’t even know me and she’s taking time out of her busy day to do us a favor.
I told her where I was going. She frowned and said that was far. Far? Somebody at the hotel told me it was just down the street, maybe 5 city blocks. “Oh no, no. It’s farther than that,” she said. Turned out she was right. It would’ve taken all afternoon to get there and back. She even waited for me while I went into the store.
The Daiquiri
I have a daiquiri at night. This is true, especially in hotels. The doctor ordered one (sometimes two) Daiquiri(s) at bedtime. Not a Margarita, a Daiquiri. There’s a big difference. One is Mexican, the other Cuban. NO STRAWBERRIES are in a real Daiquiri. I apologize for all caps but there is no other way to stress how important that is. And nothing is ever frozen. Nothing. Not even the balls off a brass monkey. Those of you who have plied the seas will understand my meaning.
Back to the story. Now that I think about it, there was no one in the street, no pedestrians, none. I saw one or two homeless people, but other than that Moe and I were it. Was that why she picked us up? Could there be a crime issue in Little Rock? Yes, there could. I looked it up. Little Rock, Arkansas, remains the most dangerous city between 100,000-200,000 people, with a remarkably high violent crime rate. Man, that sucks. I wish I would’ve looked that up before I came here. But, now I know. And thank you, kind lady. We will never know what tortures we escaped thanks to your most welcome intervention.
