The Wedding of Math, the Pontiff, and a Fishing Hole

I'm late for the wedding.

I hurry my pace towards the church. Layers of English schoolchildren fitted in azure-blue blazers man all the traditional checkpoints. One hands me a program at the threshold of the narthex, and I mumble "thanks," self-conscious of my American accent. My wife and boys follow.

The church interior is light and airy. It looks much bigger on the inside; this is clearly a cathedral. It instantly reminds me of where I was married in Kingston, Ontario. But the ceremony has already started, and I scan the pews for seating; we're supposed to sit on the left side. I hastily pick an open pew several rows back. Pope Francis is in the front row, sitting among several other attendees from the Vatican I suppose, and I don't want to draw his attention as a latecomer. From behind, I can tell it's Francis from his white vestments and zucchetto.

Happy Second Anniversary!

The image above was taken by my son on our recent visit to Rome. The scene captures some of my favorite aspects of travel -- relaxing summer heat, gelato, and surprises to be discovered just around the corner. I'm thankful that a whim decision two years ago to write about my favorite memories was more than just a passing fancy.

I'd like to think this site is enjoyed around the world, by a few special people. I'd love to share your memories. If you've found the content useful, or it's provided a few laughs (usually my main objective), please drop a note to let me know what you think, or share the address with your friends. Or, let me know where I can do better.

Thanks for sharing the memory,

Mike

Thanks for the Memory

Bob Hope and Shirley Ross from "The Big Broadcast of 1938"

This week I passed a small milestone, eclipsing my goal of 10,000 views in the first year of this blog. Page statistics tell me it was someone from Russia or the United States, more than a month ahead of schedule. Whether it was 10,000 individual viewers who ran away screaming or a few people visiting several thousand times, I'm thankful to have been at least mildly entertaining with nearly 100 travel stories focussing mostly on life's ironies--and mediocre photography.

It's been particularly challenging in a year where I haven't really "gone anywhere." Ok, there was cottage camping in the Adirondacks, and this blog is generally about how local places can be just as meaningful and enriching as Rome, the Grand Canyon or the Sydney Opera House. And there were many trips to Costco. But I mostly had only good memories to work with as we focussed our attention on another stressful home move and navigating turbulent career headwaters. I intentionally avoid desperate site pimping on Twitter, and I'm still not exactly sure what "SEO" is, and I hope it stays that way. I'd rather just share a few stories from others who have taught me something, and a little of my own absurdity.

So thank you for visiting and sharing my memories. May you have 10,000 more pleasant diversions, or at least one more that doesn't frighten you away.

Wonder in Everything I See

“We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of wonders.” 

- G.K. Chesterton

The new-looking 737 has unfamiliar markings. I shuffle from the terminal along a loose string of still-sleepy miners boarding a sunrise crew charter to Wabush, Labrador serviced by Air Inuit. That itself is novel, and I wonder how many frequent fliers have even heard of this airline that has linked Nunavik communities since 1978. But the lines of our gleaming transport are familiar enough, the fortnightly process is clearly routine for the other passengers, and my mind comes back to personal travel rituals. Crosswords always help the air time pass by. Settling into my self-assigned aisle seat, I immediately search the pocket in front of me for the ubiquitous in-flight magazine. In my hands is volume 1, number 1 of Inuit.

Something new deserves a look, and as I read I barely notice our smooth liftoff from Pierre Elliott Trudeau International airport in Montréal. Despite a lot of white space, the crisply-designed magazine is a worthy first effort, focusing on Nunavik cultural heritage and reflecting obvious pride in the Inuit-owned and managed Air Inuit. I'm struck most by feature stories prominently written in symbolic Inuktitut characters and accompanied by French and English translations. It's a reminder that some parts of Canada have more than the two standard official languages. But more than that I'm intrigued by the aesthetic geometry of the printed Inuktitut language.

Picture of the Moment - Almanzo Wilder homestead

There is a subculture of leisure travel dedicated to romantically rural sites of factual or fictional literary interest that speak nostalgically of a "simpler" time. Perhaps devotees of Lucy Maud Montgomery's fictional  Green Gables series are the best known, flocking from worldwide to bucolic Prince Edward Island locations that inspired (or were inspired by) the book series.

The best American example may be the widely-scattered historic homesteads of Laura Ingalls Wilder, her husband and their families. Similarly passionate enthusiasts of Wilder's loosely autobiographical Little House children's series plan whole road-trip vacations around seminal locations of the series from New York, through the Upper Midwest and Missouri.

This photo was taken near Malone, New York at the boyhood home of Almanzo Wilder (future husband of Laura Ingalls), restored from largely original materials. The 84 acre farm and surrounding countryside looks much as it may have in 1865. I've followed my own wife's interest here and to De Smet, South Dakota, and such sites do add a third dimension to one's impressions of past generations, and a greater appreciation for the challenges of their "simpler" way of life. Today's McMansions have individual rooms the size of this little house, which sheltered a family of five children. But there is life lingering in old boards and something poignant about a commonplace item--maybe even a lowly nail--that someone I've read about may have handled.

Open for the summer from late May to October, general admission includes a guided tour of the restored farmhouse, reconstructed barns, and the (free) museum. Adults: $8.00,  Seniors: $7.50, Children 6 - 16: $4.50. 5 and under: Free.

To get there from Malone:

Drive northeast on US Route 11 for about 2.5 miles (towards Burke). Turn on County Route 23 to the first right, Donohue Road. Take Donohue Road to a T-intersection at Stacy Road and turn right. The Wilder Homestead is about 1/2 mile on the left at 177 Stacy Road.

http://www.almanzowilderfarm.com/visitus.htm

July, 2014.

Leaves

This is, after all, a creative writing space masquerading as a travel blog, so occasionally I need to give into temptation.

Besides, life is the greatest journey.

Business and Pleasure Travel From a Common Man's Perspective

The new year is traditionally a time for resolutions and starting anew. This blog is born of a challenge from my wife - stop saying you'd like to try writing someday and write now. Someday will never come. I can only honestly write about my own experience, and – as a professional with a +2500 hour/year, high-travel job and family – what I know about is airport delays, expense reports, week-long getaways with my wife, and road trips with warring children. And, as an exploration and mining geologist, work periodically takes me to some less-travelled backwaters. I also know about moving house...a lot.