Category: Travel

This travelogue will take you a few of the places I have been. I hope you enjoy the trip.

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Nashville Nights 

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We just returned home from spending a weekend in Nashville, our third trip, but our first concert.

I am not a big city guy, but I like to go and see the things the city offers and then head back to my cozy home in the Cumberlands of East Tennessee.

Nashville is one of the fastest growing cities in America with 2.15 million people living in the metro area, making it the twenty-first largest in the nation, the fourth largest city in the south, and Tennessee’s biggest city.

It feels like a big city because it draws 16.8 million visitors a year who spend almost 11 billion dollars. There is so much to do in Nashville, one could easily stay an entire week in an attempt to sample all the city has to offer.

Nashville has more than its share of monikers, Athens of the South, Music City, and Nash Vegas. I understand each of them, especially the last one.

The street scene on Broadway in Nashville is like none other with wall-to-wall honkey-tonks for blocks and rocking country music leaking out of each one of them. Some have different bands in different rooms. The sidewalks are packed with visitors looking for a good time.

Nashville is indeed music city, but it is also a bustling party town with its pedal bars and bachelorette parties. It’s a different world, like something out of a movie. I am not a party guy, but I have fun looking at all of the honkey-tonk names colorfully displayed in neon and listening to all of the live music.

The Ryman Auditorium has a special place in the hearts of all music lovers. Known as “The “Mother Church of Country Music.” This 2,362-seat venue was originally built as the Union Gospel Tabernacle in 1890 and was home to the Grand Ole Opry from 1943 to 1974 when a new home was built for the Opry. It is on the National Register of Historical Places and has hosted rock artists for decades earning its place as a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Landmark.

For several years I have wanted to attend a concert there.

My opportunity presented itself in the form of The Mavericks, a group that defies categorizing. My best take is country, rock, and Latin music that makes you dance. We have seen them once before in Milwaukee. We love them, though my wife needs ear protection.

We had our tickets for several months, then, sadly the founder and front man, Raul Malo developed a rare and fatal form of cancer. Raul was truly a maverick in creating a style of music that confounded the Nashville musical establishment. 

He put together a touring entourage that included electric guitars, bass, drums, keyboard, accordion, and a brass section. They enjoyed considerable success in the studio and on the road over thirty-five years, developing a committed grassroots following. 

The man has the purest, silkiest voice I have ever heard. It makes you listen with joy. So, I got to see one of my favorite bands at one of the most storied venues in the country. We spent most of the three hours on our feet. Raul was unable to perform, but the band called on a number of their musical friends to cover Raul’s vocals. The night was full of energy and emotion.

Nashville was very much another world than my daily experience, but one I truly enjoyed. If you love live music, Nashville is the place to be.

Raul passed away two days after we attended the concert. His voice, his smile, his passion reached the back row and touched the hearts of many, including me.

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Beach Life

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From the archives. This snowy winter day seemed like a good time to remember a warmer, more hospitable time and place.

The Gulf of Mexico makes a great backyard, though it’s a lot different than life on the Wisconsin/Illinois border near the perpetual chill of Lake Michigan. Palm trees replaced maples. Sand, instead of grass was the new lawn. Lush tropical vegetation, instead of evergreens, still half dead from the last winter’s brutality. No mosquitoes replaced the kamikaze squadrons in my northern backyard. So, we were able to eat most of our meals on the patio, enjoying the ocean breeze. Bare feet worked better than shoes. Shirts were for dress-up occasions. Skimpy bikinis replaced yards of clothing.

For nine days we lived on a barrier island, eight miles long and about a block wide, the Intracoastal Waterway on the east, the Gulf on the west. It’s a little known gem among the vast oceanfront of Florida, usually cluttered with high rise buildings housing thousands of tourists. “Our” little island is “Old Florida,” structures over two stories are prohibited .

About two-thirds of the island is covered by amazing mansions of celebs and other people loaded with assets. The rest is divided among more modest, but still very pricey homes, and a few old-timey motels, apartments, and condos. The only other businesses on our favorite little sliver of land are a beach beach concession stands and a fishing shack. It is the unique combination of extravagant and quaint that makes it a totally charming place.

Each end of the island is accessible by a historical bridge, one is a draw bridge, the other, a rare swinging bridge, and there is a restaurant by one bridge and a couple by the other. You can walk out on the jetty at the south end and see dolphins and manatee on most any day. The jetty fishing shack is an old, cluttered, and quaint place where you can find bait and burgers, and old codgers telling colorful stories.

The other big attraction on the island is the drum circle on Wednesday and Saturday at sunset. Lots of drums. Lots of dancing. Some interesting characters, and a lot of people having fun celebrating the end of another beautiful day in paradise as the sun performs its grand finale. It is an island ritual to carry your chair and glass of wine to the shore to view the sunset, which can be full of a hue of various colors when there are a few clouds to reflect the last rays of the day.

During our stay, I loved having a few “Kenny Chesney days” (no shoes, no shirt, no problem). One day, I never wore shoes, and only put on a shirt to go to the drum circle down at the public beach.

We took in a few attractions in the area, but the very best days, were the ones we did nothing, but enjoy living in paradise.

Originally published July 2, 2014.

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Tropical Island Respite

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Here I am in my happy spot again on this tropical, secluded southwest Florida island on the Gulf of Mexico. I lived most of my life thinking I would never have an opportunity like this, even once. So, coming here for the sixth time in about a dozen years is a tremendous treat.

There is much to like about hanging out here. It’s warm. I like warm and Patty really likes warm. (She is comfortable for about two days in August.) I like sunshine and struggle with the climatological blues called SAD. I also like that warm glistening big drink of water called the Gulf of Mexico. I am looking at it now. I like walking in the sand, splatting in the water, looking for interesting shells, soaking up the rays, and taking in the sunsets. 

I like the laid-back vibe of being able to pretty much forget shirt and shoes for a few days. I like meeting other relaxed folks about my age from all over the country and even other nations. I like the foliage. It’s a lot of color and plants that are unseen where I live. I like eating meals outside on the deck and at open-air restaurants. It’s laid back, low key, and not crowded. There are no high rises permitted on the island. The are no theme parks and pretty much no businesses. The best days are the days we don’t do anything or go anywhere because you just can’t beat where we already are.

We will, however,  go somewhere in a little bit, a favorite local spot on the Intercoastal Canal for a dinner out. Patty deserves a break once and while.

I am a big believer that everyplace needs to be our happy place. It takes more than a location or a comfy climate to make us happy. It takes an attitude. 

I also believe we need to find a little rest, relaxation, and renewal every day. We need to find some things that feed our soul.

Then, once and awhile, we need to do something a little crazy like go to a tropical island. 

It was about a month ago we were there.

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Simple Beauty

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I am looking at the edges of the earth. My panoramic view is so spectacular that it is rounded off at the edges. Even better, it’s the Gulf of Mexico. Better yet, I am sitting on the patio of the villa we have rented for the week.

The warm Gulf breeze, the roar of the sea, the beach shower, the trail through the sea oats to the main attraction, and  the encroaching glare of the sun that will soon begin it’s spectacular plunge into the sea…well, I love it! I have been dreaming of it for over two years. 

I like being a beach bum. Wardrobe: one pair of short for the ocean and another dry pair to slip on around the condo. Simple. Necessities: book, towel, sunscreen, water bottle, beach chair. Like I said, simple.

The place is spectacularly simple, relaxing, and inspiring.

We have had the privilege of vacationing on the ocean seven times and have been here five times. “Here” is a little-known barrier island between Sarasota and Ft. Myers. It is one the last slices of “Old Florida.” New Florida indicates over developed areas with lots of high rises, fake attractions, tons of people, gated communities, and the destruction of natural habitat. “Old Florida” means no structures over two stories and respect for nature. 

This island is almost totally private. Some of the uber-wealthy who live here would like that. But about a third of this seven-mile long, narrow sliver is home to old-timely motels, condos, a big public beach, and a county park. Guess which part we stay on. 

Split-splatting in the edge of the water, fighting with the waves (They always win.), and soaking in some vitamin D are my favorite activities. Shirts are for special occasions, and as an acquaintance reminded me years ago, brown fat looks better than white fat.

A sailboat just floated by under the low late afternoon sun.

I have no words of wisdom today. But I am reminded of the beauty of the cabin in the woods we just left behind in the North Georgia mountains and the very different beauty of this place. 

If you get the opportunity to travel, do it. Try the ocean.

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Inspiration from the Back Porch of a Mountain Cabin

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Hey ya’ll! Yes, that is a southern greeting! And yes, I am in the south. The southern portion of the Appalachians in Northern Georgia, more particularly, the southern Blue Ridge Mountains. 

When I say I am in the mountains, I mean I am in the midst of a majestic mountain forest sitting on the back porch of a cabin that is far more remote than I realized when I rented it. It’s a hard place to get to, a single lane dirt and rock road the last few miles, but it is so worth it.

The cabin is spectacular relatively new construction, full of modern conveniences, including a hot tub about three yards from left elbow. Yet, it  features many rustic touches, like an artistic barn wood design from the fireplace to the top of its vaulted ceiling.

Patty and I are thrilled to be here and to be away from the pressures of her job and our regular covid restrained routine, escaping some of the madness of a nation and world experiencing a perfect storm of crises. 

It’s a vacation postponed from early May due to covid, thinking that crisis would be much improved by now. I know. We went anyway. There is no safer place than out here in this vast forest. I can strain to see the road, which has zero traffic and barely see the roof of another home, which may not even be occupied. We are alone!

So, here I sit in the middle of a majestic forest listening to the constant sound of the water rushing over the rocks in the creek just down the path. It’s still! One of those huge red-headed woodpeckers just flew by. A hickory nut fell from a tree. Squirrels rustle in the leaves. A branch cracks. Birds chirp in the distance. They are gentle, unassuming sounds, light years from the excited voices of the politicians and cable news anchors. Thank God!

I feel like my soul can breathe here for a change. There are things we can do, but nothing we have to do. I am thankful for this reprieve that is even better than I imagined.

Friend, I am now moving from description to prescription. Back when I was in church work, there was an old saying, “Now he’s gone from preachin’ to meddlin.” 

Here it is. We all need a break, maybe only a short, periodic version of what I am experiencing right now. Keeping my soul at peace will again become a challenge when I re-enter the regular, real world, but we all need to maintain our inner selves. We have to figure it out, carve out a little slice of time and find a place so we can keep perspective. You might walk, read, watch a movie, drink a beer, chat with someone who gets you, or pray. 

Anyway, just a friendly reminder to stay well on the inside.

Peace.

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Splish-Splash

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Just above my computer screen are the wild dunes, home to gopher tortoises, anoles, geckos, and who knows what. Many of the sea oats have reached four or five feet in height and there is even a large cactus right in front of me.

Here on the patio, the crows and snowy egrets come around to beg for food. To my left, the outdoor shower next to path leads to the big attraction. It’s loud, rhythmic, and mesmerizing.

It just started raining, again. The area has been stuck in a rainy pattern. Some locals think not having days of non-stop sunshine is the apocalypse.

Now, it’s pouring, so I moved inside. The roar of the waters from the heavens have drowned out the roar of the great sea from which they originated.

That reminds me that my favorite thing to do is to walk the water’s edge. Every morning, I have my first cup of coffee on the patio with Patty and the second one in a commuter cup walking the beach for about two miles.

I pray. I marvel at my surroundings. I encounter characters. I try not to look at shells, so I actually get some exercise, but I always am distracted by shells anyway. But mostly I splish-splash. I feel like a young child trying to splat in every puddle.

It is a just right combination of natural beauty and wonder, the tactile feeling of the sun on your back and sand under your toes, and the rolling tinkling of the shells that were once home to an unbelievably vast variety of little creatures. That’s great backdrop for observing, praying, and just being.

I have had many interesting conversations with people along the way. These encounters happen in the earlier morning and usually toward the public beach. Once I encountered an itinerant evangelist who had quite a life story and had made some sort of shrine in the sand. A couple of days ago, it was an honest-to-goodness beach bum, tall, lean, tan, long blond hair holding his paddle board. There have been many conversations with fishermen. Occasionally, I hear another language.

I usually come back with a story about people or nature to tell Patty.

There is something about splish-splashing. Something good.

I wrote this week we were vacationing on the Florida Gulf Coast in May and June.

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Reflections from Paradise

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It’s not easy living in paradise. I am confronted with decisions, like are we going to hang out on the beach, go fishing, or go for a little drive to gawk at multi-million dollar coastal homes. Maybe I will do a little writing from our porch overlooking the Gulf of Mexico.

These weighty decisions demand my attention. I have to decide which pair of shorts to wear, the ones I wear on the beach to play in the ocean, or the ones I wear most everywhere else. For special occasions, it’s simple, the same sleeveless tee and pair of flip flops, but that’s only when I need to get dressed up. That’s how people dress on our favorite gulf coast barrier island.

There are a few young and beautiful people here, hunky boys, and and bikini clad girls, all with body fat percentages near the age of my grandson. They show up on weekends. But most of the people here are east coast folks and Canadians in their fifties and sixties, some even older. There are other hairy-chested men with big brown bellies. There are older women who overflow their swimsuits, or leaner ones who still show a lot of skin, but look like they were shriveled up by the sun.

We have Russian neighbors, Boris and Natasha and Natasha’s girlfriend. (My limited imagination assigned them names.) I like Boris, who now resides in the Chicago burbs, not far from where we live. He is very friendly and has a bone crushing handshake. We think he is in the “import/export business.” But mostly I like Boris because he is heavier and hairier than me and never wears a shirt. He is my license to go topless in paradise. Being comfortable, a little bold, but unashamed is how one should dress in paradise.

In paradise half naked people can have great conversations with each other without being the least bit self conscious. Everyone here is relaxed. That’s relational paradise.

Everything is so different than where I live in the upper Midwest near the beautiful, but icy shores of Lake Michigan. I saw a pelican eat a rather large fish yesterday. He just had to get it turned around to align with his beak, then it was one gulp and no more fish. We saw a dolphin, well, Patty saw a dolphin. I saw a dorsal fin that might have belonged to a dolphin. But many times, we have seen both dolphins and manatee down at the North Jetty and on the sunset boat rides.

It’s an exotic place. The palm trees, the hibiscus, and hundreds of other plants that grow here that I never will see in my far northeast corner of Illinois add so much color and flair to the landscape, like vegetative eye candy.

Shells are everywhere. Parking lots, sidewalks, and streets are made out of them. When the waves roar in, they rattle and tinkle along the last little ridge by the shore, sounding like a wind chime made of them. I can’t even take a walk splish-splashing along the shore without being sucked into shelling. Today, I even found starfish, along with a four-inch clam shell, whelks and conches.

It was an unusual evening with no sunset over the ocean to toast with a glass of wine. That’s okay. The sunsets we have almost every other day are so spectacular it makes up for a cloudy evening or two.

We eat about seventy-five percent of our meals on the table that sits on our deck overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. That is where I am right now. It’s 8:50, dark enough that my computer screen seems blindingly bright against the night. I sit here listening to the waves crash on the beach a few yards away, with no shoes, no shirt, no problems, and not even any mosquitoes, because I am in paradise.

But in a few days we will go home. The weather will not be great. It never is dependably decent until June or even July. There will be a physical proof of my newest book waiting for me. I will have to pull out all of the stops for the book launch, and authors hate marketing. It is a lot of work to expand your email list and to keep feeding various platforms new information. It’s technical and a lot less fun than writing, but if you want to sell books, it is absolutely necessary. There are other books in various stages to move through the process. There is a bunch of summer homeowner projects from plantings to deck building to cleaning out an overloaded basement waiting for me. There is always stuff to do in advocating for my parents and brother and managing their affairs. There will be unexpected things turn up. That’s what life is like.

So, I wonder in the midst of the mundane, the frustrating, and the difficult, how can I keep paradise alive. I can hold to the memories that we have of this place, which is one our favorite places on earth. But memories of a great vacation or lovely piece of geography will not sustain a troubled soul.

The secret is the soul. It must be at peace to experience peace anywhere. Therefore, maintaining our own soul is infinitely more important than planning our vacation. I could go full on preacher now, but nobody really likes that. Instead, I will throw some “what ifs” your way.

What if you don’t need to strive to please God or do more good stuff or less bad stuff to get him to like you? What if everything is already done for you to have a relationship with God? What if all you need to do all you need to to do is honor that by living a life of gratitude and love? What if God showed us how to live and it is summed up in one word, “love?” What if God’s love toward you were already running a peak level? What if you are free to live out who you really are?

Then paradise would be in our hearts and we would carry it with us wherever we go.

I wrote these words a few days ago while vacationing in Florida.

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Memorial Day Americana

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Nothing says Memorial Day like noise, dirt, speed, heat, and cold. So the announcer proclaimed as the 900-horsepower winged sprint cars were being pushed onto the one-third-mile clay oval before a massive holiday weekend crowd of racing enthusiasts gathered at the county fairgrounds grandstand.

It was sixty-seven degrees when the races began and forty-seven when we left. I was the guy “not from these here parts,” freezing in shorts and flip flops. The “Greatest Show on Dirt” began at 6:45 and still had two races to go when we left at 11:00.

I grew up going to the local dirt track with my parents back in Missouri. So, I love the noise, the danger, the power, and the competition. When I was a teenager, I remember the sheer fear of running from a racecar that left the track, headed for where I was standing at the edge of grandstand. The memory of seeing the bottom of the car as it was airborne is etched in my mind all of these years later. But I still like racing.

Saturday was a big race in the world of IRA Outlaw Sprint Cars, with a lot on the line for people who have racing in their blood. Unfortunately, one driver went for quite a ride, flipping end-over-end three times. His night ended in an ambulance ride, though, he was “okay.”

Racing is a blend of engineering genius, a unique skill set, nerve, competitiveness, evangelicalism, patriotism, beer, brats, burgers, smoke, dirt, noise, power, entertainment, brotherhood, and danger.

Saturday, we listened to the announcer read the “Racer’s Payer.” Then, we were treated to another prayer that somehow blended together everything about racing, making it feel spiritual, and causing me to feel strangely inspired about all of it. We sang the national anthem as the points leaders and pace car motored around the track with a young girl holding an American flag sitting on the back of the racecar. Several times throughout the night God was mentioned, prayer was encouraged, and our troops were honored “who sacrificed so much so we could be here tonight.”

The whole scene might sound odd to you, but I like it. It might be a little warped to mash-up some of the things that get melded together in racing culture, but they speak of the virtuous roots of our nation.

Memorial Day, like all of our national holidays has taken on an expanded meaning. While it grew out of commemorating those who died in The Civil War, then those who fought in other wars, then all of our loved ones who have died. Now, there are ceremonies, decorated gravesites, picnics, cookouts, family gatherings, the official kick-off to summer, and Sprint Car Races.

A mishmash? Yes. Uniquely American? Yes. Is there anything wrong with that? No.

Love the good things about our great nation. Remember the contribution of those who have preceded you in death. Embrace family and friends, and have some fun together. Hold on to all of the positive things in your heritage and celebrate them.

Happy Memorial Day!

Image by Royal Broil. Creative Commons.

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The Fair

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Saturday, Patty and I hung out with prize hogs, bulls, rabbits, geese, goats, turkeys, and chickens (my personal favorite). Baby pigs vigorously tugged on their mommie for their dinner in front of amazed city folk who had little knowledge of the origins of their bacon. Chicks hatched before our very eyes. Roosters crowed liked they were trying to outdo each other. Cows mooed what I think it was some sort of protest or complaint. We saw one poor calf at the equivalent of a bovine beauty shop being prepped for showing. I felt sorry for him as he was trimmed and sprayed (hairspray, paint?) to perfection. It must have been humiliating for a cow. The animals were usually tended by proud teenagers who enjoyed a rare way of life that used to be so common.

We walked through the exhibit halls displaying the very best produce, antiques, and handiwork in the county. In the commercial area, we could have purchased sunglasses, tie-dyed tee shirts or dresses, some kind of new fanged mop, an RV, a tractor, or an ATV.

We didn’t need to browse the row after row of carny food because we always stop at the same places, Uncle Ed’s Bar-B-Q, the Lions Club corn-on-the-cob stand, and the Knights of Columbus cream puff, eclair, and brownie stand that always has a mob of people waiting to get their hands on the Wisconsin delicacies.  The cream puff is THE thing at Wisconsin fairs. We could have had gyros, deep fried Twinkies, turkey legs, or all manner of stuff you would never eat anywhere else.

The abundance of compressed humanity made it an interesting place to observe behavior, appearance, and attire. A few cowboy-hatted men, sleeveless-shirted dudes, and girls in daisy dukes and cowboy boots added to the entertainment. Speaking of which, last night was Kenny Loggins. Usually the grandstand nod goes to country up-and-comers, oldies acts, and, of course, the demolition derby. Kenny L. and his band rocked the horse racing/demo derby track as he covered multiple genres, rock, folk, and sappy numbers with flair and professionalism. Young women stood in the crowd, singing and dancing along with the music. An elderly concert “neighbor” gently and properly complained that the bass was too loud and the robotic lights that shined on the audience were too bright. A young woman swayed near the Kenny swag booth nearer the stage dancing in the night with sexy abandon (and flexibility), occasioning throwing her arms around her young man friend, kissing him in front of the sea of Wisconsinites and a few Illinoisans.

All of this for five dollars to park and nine dollars to get into the Walworth County Fair in Wisconsin. It is one of the largest and oldest in the country and we have been going for about ten years. Fair origins extend back to Roman holidays and medieval festivals and the formula still works.

As I walked away, I tuned to Patty and said, “What has changed about county and state fairs since we were kids?” We concluded, very little. It is a winning formula that celebrates local agriculture, the harvest, and industrious young people. It combines all types of commerce, politics, food, a carnival, and grandstand entertainment in a temporary village that seems like orchestrated chaos.

Fairs are basically parties and the human need for parties persists. They are convenient excuses to socialize, eat something outrageous, get some cheap entertainment, watch people, and see and smell things you would not otherwise experience; and it has remained basically unchanged for centuries.

 

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The Smoky Mountains

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waterfallI am a mountain lover, but I like trees on my mountains, which is why I love the Appalachians. We have been in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina, but never the Smokies. It’s my Dad’s favorite place in the world. So, I wanted visit it on our way back home from the South.

We stayed in a hotel in a quiet foothills town in Tennessee and drove in to check out Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg. They looked like unabashed tourist traps to me, with sign upon sign and shop upon shop. It seems like the American idea of a vacation is to leave the city with its crush of people and traffic and travel to a beautiful part of the country overbuilt with hotels, go-cart tracks, mini golf courses, and the other obligatory crap that is in every tourist spot. In other words, vacationers leave the hordes of the city and its traffic to go to another place with hordes of people and traffic. Not me. We kept right on moving. We did find Gatlinburg a little more palatable than Pigeon Forge. At least it has a really cool rocky creek running right through the middle of town.

Our next stop was one of the National Park Visitor Centers. These always seem to really nice. We bought the last t-shirt of the trip, a park road map and a waterfall map. By then our time was very limited and I did not want to be winding all around the mountains late at night. So, we hit a park road that followed a river. It was incredibly beautiful with huge boulders and occasional waterfalls. Eventually, I had to get my feet wet in the gushing waters. I was totally unprepared for such exploring and did get my shorts wet, no matter how hard I tried to avoid it.

We already want to go back and explore more waterfalls. It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen and was quite a contrast to the Florida beach.

Backing up a little, after leaving the Gulf Coast of Florida, we crossed the state going through Orlando to meet my friend Erik Guzman for lunch. Steve Brown was in his office and invited us to chat for several minutes. Steve and Erik could not have been more gracious. It was a highlight. I love these guys. Then we ate lunch with Erik at the fabulous 4 Rivers Smokehouse.

We stopped off at St. Augustine, the oldest city in America (founded 1565) and toured the Castillo De San Marcos fort, built 1672-1695 and occupied by the Spanish, the English, the Confederacy, and the U.S. federal government. It has never been breached. They have a very nice historical pedestrian shopping district in St. Augustine and probably loads of other cool things that we did not have time to see. Yet, another place we need to return to.

This trip was the best vacation that my wife and I have ever taken. We had no agenda, but loads of fun. Even though we drove 3,500 hundred miles, it wasn’t burdensome because every day was an adventure.

We ate some picnic lunches to save money. While traveling through Georgia, we exited looking for a park or some place to eat our lunch. We couldn’t find anything. Finally, I saw a road and turned around pulling over at a little clearing. I looked at the street sign and it said, Dusty Bottoms Road, and so it was.

This was a great time with my wife and we will cherish the memories for a long, long time.

Thanks for bearing with my little travelogue.

More Smoky Mountains pictures 

More Smoky Mountain Info

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Savannah

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foryth fountainSavannah is really old, really southern, and really quirky. It has a mystical quality about it.

It’s so darn hot and humid in the summer, you can totally understand why it was designed with all those famous squares all over town. They are basically little parks every few blocks. They have monuments to war heroes and statesmen and many of them have fountains. All of them have benches and huge live oaks draped in Spanish moss. 

The live oaks and Spanish moss are prevalent all over town. Streets become spooky tunnels at night as the streetlights reflect off the canopy.

The quirkiness of the place is highlighted in the movie, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.  It is home to millionaires, living in those magnificent anti-bellum mansions and the very poor, also living in very old, but broken down frame homes. 

I love the City Market District with all of its outdoor restaurants and horse-drawn carriages. River Street is the most uneven street that you will ever drive on because it paved with ballast stores from centuries old ships. It is particularly beautiful at night because the hotel and convention center on the other side of the river are so beautifully lit. They make the best pralines ever at River Street Sweets.

Our all-time favorite spot in town is Forsyth Park, with its magnificent fountain which was, believe it or not, was purchased from Sears in 1858. When we visited they were setting up for a huge corporate party with several large tents, professional sound system, and lights strung around and shining up on the trees. We drove by later that night and it was an amazing light show.

We stopped by Tybee Island, a barrier island that serves as Savannah’s beach. It’s a different world out there. Basically, it is hotels, condos, beach rental homes, and lots of shops. It is a beach town where people shop in bikinis and swim trunks. The talcum powder beach is huge.

We love The Crab Shack, a seafood restaurant on Tybee. It is a huge tiki bar/restaurant with tons of outside dinning among giant live oaks, with birds flying overhead and cats roaming around. With huge fans and misters, it is always comfortable. I love their low country boil.

 

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Florida

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This was our backyard.

Our main destination on the trip was an old timey beachside apartment motel, called, Island House Apartment Motel. There are a bunch of them along with a bunch of mansions on Casey Key, a barrier Island on the Gulf Coast of Florida. They call it Old Florida because there are no high rises. The island is about a block wide with the Gulf of Mexico on one side and an intracoastal canal on the other, connected to the mainland by a draw bridge on the South and a vintage turning bridge at North end of the island. The beach is picturesque and literally in our backyard. The water is warm. The sun is warm, but not too warm (in April). Nearly every day is dream beach day with sun, breeze, and low humidity.

It is the perfect place for shelling, sunning, walking, and people watching. On this section of the beach, you see a lot of really tan old people, some wrinkly, some fat, some who didn’t get the memo about the change in swim suit styles. We even spotted a couple of “buddas” in speedos. As you walk the shore to the public beaches, there are families and younger people. One day there were sponges all lying over the beach.

No shirt or shoes needed and that’s the way I like it!

We spent half of our time here doing basically nothing and the other half going places. We went to Mote Aquarium and Research Center in Sarasota which has an amazing shark pool, jellyfish display, manatee tank, and even a Loggerhead Turtle training exercise. The coastal areas are all about protecting the Sea Turtles who nest on the beach and are rightly protected as natural treasures. We also took their excursion boat into Sarasota Bay and saw several islands that were rookeries (nesting areas) for all of the waterfowl and we saw millionaire’s homes on the manmade Bird Island complete with its own canal system. At one point they cast a net and handed around the various kinds of sea creatures in the draw.

Our other outing was to the nearby Myakka River State Park. They have a great “skywalk” through the tree canopy, along with an observation tower. We went on the airboat ride round the lake and stirred up tons of gators. We could even feel them trash against the bottom of the boat.

Yet, the very best thing we did was nothing. Sitting, sunning, and reading on the beach is like hanging out in paradise. We stumbled onto a great little restaurant, called Pelican Alley by the draw bridge and within walking distance.

One evening we kept hearing drums and finally found out why. There was a drum circle gathering on the beach and it had some real characters drumming and dancing. Kind of beautiful.

We met people from all over, developing nice relationships with some people from France, Nova Scotia, and New York. Our favorites were a couple from nearby Tampa. They were an amazingly congenial couple. He looked like every stereotype of a hardcore biker and never wore a shirt. His back was a canvas for his tattoos. Every evening “Gris” was there on the balcony playing his guitar and singing, and he was very good. We also met some very kind elderly people. One man who toured us around his condo and introduced us to his wife and another stopped by to tell what a fine couple we were. Down at the bait shack/coffee shop/hang out, you could find a variety of crusty characters who hung out there with the pelicans and the dolphin and manatee watchers. Yes, we got to see them both in their natural habitat.

We must return to this place!

More Florida pictures.

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Nashville

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nashville

Broadway Street “The Honky Tonk district”

There is a special excitement to beginning a road trip vacation with a new minimalist agenda. It’s a relief just to leave the old routines behind. On the way here, we enjoyed a picnic lunch of fried chicken, saw Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis and a huge crowd at an air show in Louisville.

In Music City, the first thing we did was to hit the Honky-tonk district for dinner, eating dinner at Rippy’s, a Bar-B-Q joint with two rooms of live music. Both groups did a nice job, one traditional country, one a bit bluesy.  

Broadway Street was choked with people on a Saturday night. It was a crushing mesh-up of neon, rock, country, blues, street venders, street musicians, bar security personnel, police presence, young adults, ripped jeans, cowboy boots, girls wearing Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots, lines of people waiting to get into the hot spots, and homeless people selling their own newspaper.

I think the streets were cleaner and the people more considerate that you find in other similar district elsewhere. My hat is off to Nashville for keeping it that way. One block from Broadway is Church Street which has a lot of guess what on it… churches. That’s Nashville churches and bars… both venues for musicians.  Such Americana.  I love it!

Day two we toured the Country Music Hall of Fame, a modern, world class museum that is under construction to more than double its exhibit space. The rotunda where the plaques of all of the inductees hang had a reverential feel about it. I like that you can see into the actual archives of the museum beyond the various exhibits. The museum houses Elvis’ gold Cadillac and the gold and platinum records of all the artists.

The accompanying Studio B tour was fascinating because of who has recorded there and because it is still a functioning studio. Reba was so excited, she ran into the building the building with her car. Elvis damaged a cabinet there. A who’s who of country, early rock acts, and other genres have recorded there.

Elvis recorded Are you Lonesome Tonight? there in the wee hours of the morning in complete darkness at Studio B. I was told there is a very slight thump at the end of recording. It was Elvis bumping his head on the mic because he couldn’t see.

During one session, The King wanted to demonstrate how he could disarm a person using karate. He told one of his guards to pull his gun. Elvis promptly disarmed him with one of his black belt moves and the hand gun was flung in the air landing embedded in the back of the guitar of one his band members.

The Cascade area of The Opryland Hotel is an amazing tropical garden, complete with multiple waterfalls, huge vegetation, and restaurants.

We had dinner at The Loveless Café which is a little drive from Nashville and worth every mile, if you dig great biscuits and jams and homemade southern food, go there.

Nashville is full of striking modern architecture, rich in music history and tradition, and still booming. It is great entertainment venue, yet there is a cool family feel of connectedness there.

More pictures of Nashville.

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Southland

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southern comfort

What is it about the South that makes me love it so darn much?

  • Is it because it is warm?
  • Is it because the people tend to be more congenial?
  • Is it the mountains, the waterfalls, barrier islands, the beaches?

It is probably all of the above and a few other things. Whatever it is, it holds some sort of unexplainable mystique for me.

I have always lived in the Midwest. Some call it flyover country, but I don’t mind it much. Other regions have been interesting to visit and there are areas I still haven’t gotten around to yet that I would like to see, but the South is the only other place I would like to live.

The weather in the Upper Midwest/Great Lakes region generally sucks if you live close to Lake Michigan, as we do. The winters are usually long and hard, with tons of snow. Springs are not at all nice. The summer is short. The big lake plays games with us. If the wind changes, the temps can nose dive twenty or more degrees in the middle of a summer afternoon.

I am a Southerner at heart. I am even beginning to feel nostalgic about humidity. Well, I did grow up in Missouri. I am totally a shorts and flip flops sort of guy who would like to try my hand at being a beach bum.

I like it when servers at restaurants call me “Hon.” I like being drawn into a conversation with a total stranger. Yankees and big city people take themselves way too seriously.