Dec312024December 31, 2024December 31, 2024by Glitterchicken

NIKKO

Posted in Culture, Sports & Recreation, Travel
Listen to the Song "Roadrunner" by Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers
Nikko on Skyline Drive, Shenandoah National Park, November 2023

If you’ve been an observant reader of Glitterchicken, you might remember Nikko. She sat proudly atop a mountain ridge in Virginia, shot in profile for our piece about the Appalachian Trail.  It was a small break in her life, a moment when she could take a well deserved rest after transporting her human to a respite from the ordinary and the mundane.  She had a beautiful red glow showing a proud profile to the camera and the picture captured the love of photographer for subject.  It’s a pose reminiscent of a black and white photo of Brendan MacKaye taken about one hundred years earlier.  The photographer also captures MacKaye in profile and lit from the left.  There is a divine glow around both of them, a crystalline sky above and a long view of a receding mountainous landscape behind.  MacKaye is the man who whose foresight and will gave us a path to walk thru the woods essentially undisturbed by modern intrusions for almost 2200 miles.[1] Nikko and our cars give us the opportunity for freedom, a chance to escape, even if for only a brief time, to recenter, to regain our balance. 

It is almost impossible to overstate the depth of our relationships with our cars.  It is hard to imagine another object that evokes as strong a sense of animism amongst us.  And while many Americans will profess a love of their cars (which seems at best a subjective assessment) the far more interesting and accurate gauge is how many Americans have named their cars.  That number seems to hover around 40%.[2]

Nikko’s name was a manifestation of her human’s dreams.  She (the human) had lived carless in San Francisco for 7 years before moving back East to her home state of Pennsylvania and finding a Toyota Corolla that had barely been driven by her prior owner in Brooklyn, NY.  She(the car) had a snazzy, but not too overstated, “Impulse Red” paint job that screamed adventure. Nomadic by nature and no longer constricted by carlessness, she (the human) drove her (the car) loaded down with her belongings back to California, with a detour in Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, an epic journey that required traversing the Teton Pass (8,432 ft) and the Donner Pass (7,056 ft). Somewhere along the way, Nikko earned her name, inspired by a Japanese hotel chain with many properties in the Pacific region but only one in the continental US, by Union Square in San Francisco nearby.[3] Like the hotel, the car had just the right balance of essential qualities-elegant yet practical, singular yet accessible, streamlined yet soulful.

Entrance to Hotel Nikko, San Francisco

Ironically, as I sat in a local coffee shop pondering the profound relationship between humans and their cars, I overheard a random guy sitting three empty tables away say: “He’s happy he’s alive, he’s happy…well he’s got a car. He’s mobile, he’s ambulatory.”  That coffee house is a place I’ve often gone to write.  I’d never want to go to an actual office but I like going someplace where I can’t fall for the gambit of having to wash my dishes or make my bed, where I can use a bathroom and not feel compelled to clean it. So, somewhat against my will, I was eavesdropping. And scrambling to get the words down on a notepad. They weren’t especially profound. But they were en pointe.  (except for “he’s ambulatory,” which means he can walk, not that he can drive. Nit-picking, but fair game if you’re speaking to someone on your cellphone in my “office”).  About a week later, I was back at the coffee shop trying to write and was distracted again by the same random guy. This time, he was mansplaining chess.  To a man.  Then the conversation took a surprising turn.  He began talking rather dismissively about his current car, but then wistfully about a car he once owned.  A Mercury Marquis.  How great a car that had been, how much he loved driving it, how he looked back with deep regrets about parting with it. Suddenly, random guy became much more real.  I’d “known” him for years, but had never spoken with him, and didn’t want to now because I’d listened to him on his cellphone too many times.  But now I really wanted to know if the Marquis had a name…

1972 Mercury Marquis Brougham

Cars and what they mean to us are interwoven in our collective and individual memories.  Most of us learned to drive at the cusp of adulthood, and the freedom and excitement and solace our cars provided were iconically American. John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath put the Joabs on a road trip to escape dire circumstances.  Jack Kerouac’s On the Road defined hipness and the possibility of a counterculture. Joan Didion gave us Play It As It Lays, a novel in which the protagonist tries to manage the emotional costs of being a woman in late 1960’s California, with long drives on LA freeways in her Daytona Yellow Corvette Stingray. Didion then doubled down, erasing any doubts about her uber coolness, by being photographed, slouching next to her own Daytona Yellow Corvette Stingray (in front of her own LA house) wearing a long dress and a slightly bored expression, cigarette in hand.          

Joan Didion and her Daytona Yellow Stingray Corvette, 1968 - Photo by Julian Wasser

Which brought me back to my friend and her spiritual connection to Nikko, a relationship that defied easy explanation.  She described it as being similar to that between a rider and her horse, grown over years.  When she needed Nikko to do something, Nikko did it. Deep in her heart, in her soul, there resided a trust that Nikko would always be there to take care of her and, of course, she would take care of Nikko.  When Nikko appeared to be faltering earlier this year, she took Nikko to her mechanic, a car-whisperer.  He opened her hood, listening to her as he peered in, thinking about her long life.  He closed the hood, turned to my friend, and slightly shook his head.  “I don’t know. I need to sleep on it.” He called the next day, saying: “I know how to fix her. It came to me in a dream.” It was a mystical moment, a divine intervention, the mechanic and Nikko engaging in a shamanistic ritual that only the two of them understood, which reminded my friend of when she was a young girl visiting her grandfather’s garage.  He was an auto mechanic too.  There was an intimacy with cars in her DNA, a line of almost subconscious memory. 

Nikko at Zepeda Auto Repair/ Weller Automotive, Annapolis MD

Beyond literature, music createsan even more visceral connection to our cars. Even the most barebones models had a radio at least.  Nikko, being a little special, also had a cassette player.  Imagine driving on asummer night, listening to a Beverly Sills aria, or Miles Davis’s trumpet, or “Roadrunner” by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers released in 1974. It’s a song overflowing with the joy of an aimless night drive “with the radio on, with the radio on” and Richman’s proclamations of love for Massachusetts and neon and driving to the Stop and Shop.  I’d like to think that Roadrunner was not just the name of the song but also the name of Richman’s car. When he sings: “I don’t feel so bad now in my car,” you know that underneath it all, “Roadrunner” is really an anthem to Richman’srelationship with his car.  It’s a song I still listen to once a week.   

Nikko was involved in a collision last summer that was traumatic for both car and human.  My friend was not physically injured, but thepain of seeing Nikko crumpled on the side of the road was real.  Nikko took the full brunt of the hit, but still rallied enough to make it back to the shaman mechanic’s garage.  This time there would be no answers in his dreams. Nikko had been a constant companion to my friend as her life evolved. Nikko satisfied her thirst for discovery, carried her across the open country, helped her hunt for Sasquatch in the redwoods, and always got her home safely. Most of all, Nikko saved my friend from harm, loyal and protective to the end. My friend has a new car now, also red, but not yet named.  Decidedly not Nikko Jr. or Nikko 2. This shiny new hybrid has a bunch of modern features (like climate-controlled seats and a rear-view camera) but runs with a disconcerting silence and makes a confusing array of sounds—bells and whistles that are as indecipherable to my friend as a foreign tongue.  She’ll get my friend where she needs to go and I’m sure she’ll have a name someday.  But my friend’s soul will always be shared with Nikko.  The mystical connection is just too strong.

[1] For more about Benton MacKaye, see https://www.glitterchicken.org/history/secrets-of-the-appalachian-trail/

[2] For more details about the American car-naming phenomenon, see https://capitalone.com/about/nerwsroom/nationalnameyourcardaysurvey2019/ In case you're wondering, most Americans name their cars Betsy. https://theshopmag.com/news/bosch-survey-says-most-americans-name-their-car-betsy/

[3] A TripAdvisor review from “Dedicated return guests” reads: “Beautiful polishedimmaculately clean property. Safe, secure, conveniently located. The culture iswarm professional personal and understatedly elegant from bell servicesgreeting to front desk to floor service. Rooms are clean. Views are expansive.”For more info about the Hotel Nikko in San Francisco, see https://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g60713-d80793-Reviews-Hotel_Nikko_San_Francisco-San_Francisco_California.htmland SanFrancisco Luxury Hotels | Hotel Nikko San Francisco


Dec122023December 12, 2023December 29, 2024by Glitterchicken

Secrets of The Appalachian Trail

Posted in History, Nature, Sports & Recreation
Benton MacKaye, originator of the Appalachian Trail

The Appalachian Trail is iconic. You’ve probably heard of it—the 2,190+ mile long hiking trail nicknamed the “AT” that stretches all the way from Georgia to Maine? And if you’ve ever lived anywhere near the East Coast of the U.S., chances are you either know someone or know someone who knows someone who hiked the entire trail.[1]  This massive undertaking, known as “thru-hiking” is a pop culture trend —there are hundreds of books detailing people’s experiences thru-hiking the AT, the most famous being Grandma Gatewood’s Walk (the inspiring story of the first woman who thru-hiked the AT alone at age 67 and who used her celebrity to save the trail from extinction),[2] Hollywood movies about thru-hikes that went wrong — both comedically (A Walk in the Woods) and horrifically (Beacon Point)[3], and at least one college offering students credit for accomplishing thru-hikes![4] And then there are those folks who love a challenge and make it their life’s goal to break an AT thru-hiking record, such as the fastest time to complete the trail (Karel Sabbe: 41 days, 7 hours, and 39 minutes), most hikes completed (Warren Doyle: 9 thru-hikes and 9 section hikes) and oldest person to thru-hike the AT (M.J. “Nimblewill Nomad” Eberhart: 83 years old).[5]

Pinnacles Picnic Area, Shenandoah National Park, VA

But the Appalachian Trail isn’t just about thru-hiking. In fact, Benton MacKaye, the man who first proposed the concept of the AT wasn’t thinking about thru-hiking at all. He was grieving the loss of his wife, Jessie Hardy “Betty” Stubbs MacKaye, who suffered bouts of severe anxiety and committed suicide by drowning herself in the East River at the age of 45. In 1921, MacKaye, a forester, conservationist, and community planner, devastated by his wife’s tragic death, left their home in New York City to stay at his friend Harris Whitaker’s farm in western New Jersey that was “high in the mountains…and not a soul in sight.”[6] Here, MacKaye turned to the task of finding solutions to what he called “the problem of living”— the increased stresses upon the population caused by rapid urbanization and growing economic disparities between the cities and rural areas in the aftermath of WWI. MacKaye envisioned a footpath along the ridges of the Appalachian mountains accessible to the residents of metropolitan areas along the Eastern seaboard that would not just promote economic well-being for small towns in the foothills, but also provide a form of wilderness therapy for city dwellers battling mental health issues.[7]  

Jessie "Betty" Hardy Stubbs MacKaye

In October 1921, long before science confirmed the detrimentaleffects of stress upon mental health, in his groundbreaking essay proposing “An Appalachian Trail” that was edited by Whitaker and published in The Journal of the American Institute of Architects, MacKaye wrote: ”Most sanitariums now established are perfectly useless to those afflicted with mental disease—the most terrible, usually, of any disease. Many of these sufferers could be cured. But not merely by ‘treatment.’ They need acres not medicine. Thousands of acres of this mountain land should be devoted to them with whole communities planned and equipped for their cure.”[8]

Benton MacKaye’s words cut right to the core when you know howpersonally affected he was by his wife’s suicide—a tragic consequence of untreated mental illness. It’s highly likely that Benton was thinking about Betty when he conceived of a multi-state hiking trail because long-distance walking and hiking were among Betty’s favorite pastimes, along with championing progressive causes. A few years before she married Benton, Betty organized and led a walk from New York City to the state capital of Albany—a distance of 148 miles—to advocate for a woman’s suffrage bill! This feat attracted considerable media attention and undoubtedly attracted the attention of MacKaye too as it’s no secret that the MacKaye’s marriage was a partnership of political activism as well as mutual affection.[9]

But why has the origin story of the Appalachian Trail remained asecret when the AT is the most famous footpath in the world attracting 3million visitors each year? I’ve been hiking the AT for decades now, as a“day-hiker,”[10] (someone who hikes the trail all day and goes back to a warm bed at night, or maybe a local brew pub first, a hot tub second, and a warm bed third). I’ve hiked in about half of thestates the AT runs through—VT, NY, PA, MD, VA, WV, and TN. So why did I just learn the story of the MacKayes this year? On my birthday, I decided to visit the Appalachian Trail Conservancy (“ATC”) headquarters, located at the “psychological midpoint” of the AT in Harpers Ferry, WV.[11] I was pleased to meet Dave, concierge of all things AT-related, who bears a striking resemblance to Santa Claus (except skinnier). When I asked Dave about the distinction between the ATC and the Appalachian Mountain Club (“AMC”)[12]of which I’m a member, Dave gave me a detailed explanation of the AT’s origins and directed me to an exhibit containing photographs of Benton MacKaye and excerpts from his illuminating essay, including his idea to utilize the AT’s “acres” as a “cure” for mental illness. I was so touched by MacKaye’s words that tears sprang to my eyes. But I knew I had just scratched the surface; I wanted to learn everything I could about the fascinating couple underlying the myth of the Appalachian Trail.

Dave & Me at ATC HQ, Harpers Ferry, WV

The more I read about the lives of Benton & Betty MacKaye, the more realized why their story might have gotten left out of the AT legend. The MacKayes were socialists who lived during the “First Red Scare” of 1919-1920, which was a time when Americans feared a communist or anarchist revolution in America much like the Bolshevik revolution that had just occurred in Russia in 1917.[13] Although the folks in the MacKayes’ social circle may not have demonized them for their socialist political affiliation, people outside of that circle thought their ideas and tactics were too radical.  For example, when the MacKayes were living in Wisconsin, Benton lost his job at The Milwaukee Leader in the wake of Betty’s controversial proposal for a “bride strike,” where women would withhold sex from their husbands to force them to stop engaging in violence and wars. Brilliant idea but not well received at the time. Sadly, it was after the MacKayes relocated to New York City that Betty’s mental state began rapidly deteriorating. Further evidence suggests that Benton’s theoretical differences with other Appalachian Trail Conference leaders underpinned the reason why he was not chosen to be part of the Executive Committee, despite the fact he delivered the keynote speech at the conference and drafted the constitution.[14]

In the following decades, MacKaye became increasingly disillusioned with the progress of the Appalachian Trail project because he envisioned the AT as a wilderness trail that would serve as a catalyst for social transformation, not necessarily a continuous trail that would serve as a recreational resource as envisioned by other leaders who represented the interests of the hiking community. While the AT may not be the pristine wilderness that MacKaye imagined (for example, Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park that MacKaye fought against unsuccessfully is traversed by 1.2 million visitors each year!), that doesn’t mean MacKaye’s transformative vision has gone unfulfilled.

"Nikko" on Skyline Drive, Shenandoah National Park, VA

I have always thought of the Appalachian Trail as a haven—a place of refuge where you can escape noise, pollution, work and family stresses, the toxic political climate, you name it. When you’re out on the AT, everything else disappears. There’s only the white-blazed trail, and the serenity and challenge it offers. The AT is notoriously rocky, so you’ve got to wear boots with good ankle support. To prevent injury, every step you take needs to be a mindful one. You’ll want to choose the pace that works for you—fast enough to maintain your momentum so that you can get to your destination and back before nightfall—but not so fast that you can’t stop to take in the beautiful scenery, eat a snack, take a few pix, and chat with other hikers. There’s an instant feeling of community out on the trail because you know hundreds of feet have trodden where yours have just landed. But you don’t think about how old those hikers were or how in-shape they were or what race they were or what gender they were. You’re immune from the “cancer of comparison” because none of those speculatory statistics will help you achieve your goal, so that self-defeating cycle of negative thoughts (known as rumination) will drift out of your mind if it ever entered in the first place. All that’s left is a sublime sense of peace.[15]

Toadstool, AT trailhead, Great Smoky Mountains National Park, TN

For me, what’s most valuable about hiking the AT is that it gives everyone the chance to engage in a single-minded physical activity surrounded by nature and free from distraction, a rare opportunity in today’s world of frantic multi-tasking in the face of an endless stream of competing demands. Some people call it a Zen-like spiritual practice, some call it "getting in the zone," but no matter what you call it, science supports Benton MacKaye’s hypothesis that walking in nature provides measurable mental health benefits, including the reduction of anxiety and depression.[16] Some of this has to do with endorphins, the “feel-good” hormones our body produces when we exercise, but it’s our reconnection with nature that’s the key to the mental clarity and freedom from rumination that distinguishes hiking from working out at the gym.[17]  If he were alive today, I believe Benton MacKaye would be pleased to know there’s a non-profit all-volunteer organization called HIKE for Mental Health that’s dedicated to organizing hikes to promote the mental health benefits of hiking and raising funds for mental health research and trail conservation.[18]

Ascent to Mary's Rock, Shenandoah National Park, VA

During the COVID pandemic, when wewere all coping with unprecedented stressors without our usual social outlets, I started hiking portions of the Appalachian Trail in Shenandoah National Park between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and by now, it’s become a tradition. The looming approach of these two holidays arriving in rapid succession at the end of the year never fails to fill me with a sense of dread, and I’m not the only one. “Holiday Dread” is a very real thing. Google it and hundreds of articles will pop up. According to a 2019 survey, 61% of Americans dreaded the holidays; a 2021 survey put the number at 48%.[19]  An obvious cause is the fear of overspending in light of the exaggerated focus on obligatory gift-giving, which has intensified due to inflation. But there are also the emotional pangs from missing loved ones who have died or family members estranged by feuds or divorce. And what about just feeling worn-out and exhausted at the end of a long year, like a runner at the end of a marathon, craving rest and relaxation rather than overeating and incessant conversation? But I think it’s the unrealistic expectation of a month-long state of cheerfulness that’s the worst part of all, like when people tell you to smile and you just want to punch them in the face.

This year, on the weekend after Thanksgiving, I hiked the 7.1 miles of the AT from the Pinnacles Picnic Area to Mary’s Rock and back. Although it had been a year ago when I last completed this hike, it felt as if I had just hiked it yesterday. When I reached the summit, which is a special place to me that I envision in my prayers, I was thrilled to find it looked exactly as I had pictured it in my mind! On the way back down, I was suddenly struck by the idea to write this piece about the MacKayes, the origins of the AT, and the mental health benefits of hiking (there’s that cool mental clarity thing again). With Christmas just around the corner, it hasn’t been easy to carve out the time to get these thoughts out of my head and into the computer. But I felt it was absolutely necessary that I did write this now, if only to convince you that it’s precisely at times like these, where you feel the agonizing constraints of time and money and social pressure tightening like a Victorian lady’s corset that you really need to get out in the fresh air and take a hike! Not to diminish your importance here, but the world won’t fall apart if you take a day off from your daily routine. Ask a friend or neighbor to walk your dog. Leave some money for your kids to order takeout. Tell your boss you’re taking time off to fulfill some personal obligations. Give yourself the gift of hiking this Christmas because you’re worth it! Your body, mind, and soul will be eternally grateful.

Mary's Rock Summit, Shenandoah National Park, VA

[1]This probability is an example of the “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” principle.See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Six_Degrees_of_Kevin_Bacon#:~:text=Six%20Degrees%20of%20Kevin%20Bacon%20or%20Bacon's%20Law%20is%20a,ultimately%20leads%20to%20prolific%20American

[2] Veryfew people knew about the AT before Emma Gatewood appeared on TV and SportsIllustrated to shed light on the unsafe stretches of trail and issue a call toaction to maintain and preserve the trail for posterity. For more about“Grandma Gatewood” and her biography written by Ben Montgomery, see https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/18527222

[3]This article reviewing the best AT movies (including documentaries where youget a sense of reality) is featured on a blog written by thru-hikers forthru-hikers that also contains a lot of good resources and practical tips foranyone interested in hiking the AT. https://appalachiantrail.com/20140806/10-best-appalachian-trail-movies/

[4]For more info, please see this article about the Emory & Henry College“Semester-A-Trail” program at https://www.backpacker.com/news-and-events/news/emory-and-henry-college-credit-hiking-appalachian-trail/

[5] “NimblewillNomad” is Eberhart’s trail name. Thru-hikers are like an unofficial club thathas established its own trail culture, jargon, and etiquette. A well-known featureof trail culture is the use of “trail names,” which are nicknames thru-hikersuse to refer to each other on the trail. You’re not supposed to make up yourown trail name, your “trail family” are supposed to give it to you, and dependingon how sick and twisted they are, it can be based on something very stupid or embarrassingyou’ve done that will literally follow you wherever you go. For some of  worst trail names ever, see https://www.reddit.com/r/AppalachianTrail/comments/wg90do/worst_trail_names_2022_edition/

[6] FromHarris Whitaker’s letter to Benton MacKaye in 1921, excerpted from TheTragic Origins of the Appalachian Trail (thedailybeast.com)

[7]For more about the life and career of Benton MacKaye, see AppalachianTrail Histories | Benton MacKaye · Builders (appalachiantrailhistory.org)

[8] Ifyou’re a hiker or a nature lover, I strongly encourage you to read MacKaye’sentire proposal. It’s beautifully written from the heart, but also incredibly visionaryand forward-thinking even by today’s standards. AnAppalachian Trail: A Project in Regional Planning | Appalachian TrailConservancy

[9]For more about the life and work of Betty MacKaye, see Biographical Sketchof Jessie Belle Hardy Stubbs MacKaye | Alexander Street Documents

[10] Fora great beginner’s guide to day hiking the AT, see https://appalachiantrail.org/explore/hike-the-a-t/day-hiking/

[11] Establishedin 1925, the Appalachian Trail Conservancy  (“ATC”) is the leading organization tasked by Congressto oversee the maintenance, management, and conservation of the AT andsurrounding lands. https://appalachiantrail.org/explore/faqs/.The precise geographical midpoint of the AT is inaccessible to the generalpublic, so Harpers Ferry is considered the psychological midpoint because it’s closeto the midpoint and accessible to the general public because it’s adjacent to aNational Park.

[12]The Appalachian Mountain Club (“AMC”) is comprised of many local chaptersstretching from the Northeast through the Mid-Atlantic that provide volunteeropportunities for education, conservation, and recreation along the AT. The AMCchapters up in New Hampshire and Maine are particularly robust, offering lovelyvisitor accommodations in lodges and cabins, as well as a variety of courses fromwilderness first aid to landscape and wildlife painting. Home | Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC)(outdoors.org)

[13]For more about the First Red Scare, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Red_ScareAppalachian

[14]See “Success and Failure” in this wonderful article published on the ATCwebsite. AppalachianTrail Histories | Benton MacKaye · Builders (appalachiantrailhistory.org)

[15]By extolling the mental health benefits of hiking, I am by no means suggestingthat going out for a day hike will eradicate all forms of mental illness andsuicidal tendencies, only that there is scientific evidence indicating that it mayimprove symptoms and possibly prevent suicide. Certainly, if you or someone youknow has been having thoughts of suicide or is severely depressed, contact theAmerican Foundation for Suicide Prevention at https://afsp.org/

[16] Agreat example is this 2105 Stanford study https://news.stanford.edu/2015/06/30/hiking-mental-health-063015/

[17] Thiswarm-hearted blog post written by a thru-hiker discusses 4 ways that hikingimproves your mental health https://thetrek.co/4-ways-hiking-improves-your-mental-health/and it contains a link to a scientific study showing that increasing ourexposure to nature reduces rumination and promotes mental well-being.  https://www.pnas.org/doi/pdf/10.1073/pnas.1510459112

[18]For more information about HIKE for Mental Health, or to donate or volunteer,see https://www.hikeformentalhealth.org/

[19]See https://www.fox5dc.com/news/61-percent-of-americans-dread-the-holidays-because-of-spending-survey-suggests and https://www.lendingtree.com/credit-cards/study/holiday-shopping-sentiments-survey/


Nov302022November 30, 2022June 16, 2023by Glitterchicken

AFRICAN SAFARI

Posted in Nature, Travel

IT SUCKS TO BE A CHEETAH

You may have known that the cheetah is the fastest land animal, capable of going from zero to sixty miles per hour in three seconds. But did you know that the cheetah is considered “vulnerable,” meaning that the cheetah population has declined to the point where it’s on the verge of being added to the endangered species list? [1] Why? Despite their lightning speed, cheetahs are not the strongest animals; they’re preyed upon by lions, leopards, and hyenas. Unlike leopards, cheetahs do not have retractable claws so they can’t climb trees to escape their predators’ attacks; their defenseless cubs are especially likely to be devoured. And if that’s not trouble enough, after cheetahs make a kill, they’ve got to gulp down their dinner as quickly as possible before other animals—even vultures—show up and try to steal their meal. Because cheetahs have relatively small jaws compared with other big cats, it’s not uncommon for cheetahs to abandon their food in the face of aggressive bullies, forcing them to expend the energy to hunt again without adequate nutritional refueling. No wonder why cheetahs are finding it so hard to survive.

Sucks to be a cheetah, right? I had no idea until Kristina Tao told me the facts I just imparted to you. I had always thought it would be sexy to be a cheetah, whizzing around like a bitchin’ Camaro, sinking my claws into flesh, luxuriating in my fabulous coat, the envy of the savanna. But as it turns out, there’s no glamour in being a cheetah; the only thing cheetahs have in common with supermodels is the eternal hunger part! It was Kristina who enlightened me and totally changed my perspective, and not just about cheetahs, but about the entire African safari experience. Hopefully, Kristina’s story will not only open your eyes and your heart and give you a fresh new perspective too.

CHOOSEYOUR OWN ADVENTURE

Kristina Tao’s fascination with cheetahs and leopards started the way it does for most people—from watching spectacular BBC nature programs. But while most people are content to commune with nature without leaving the comfort of their couches, Kristina had the desire to immerse herself in the Animal Kingdom, “where the animals were in charge, not the humans.” A recently retired anesthesiologist and empty-nester, Kristina seized the opportunity to cross the African safari experience off her bucket list in 2019. Her husband, Brian, was totally on board, and he hadn’t even watched any of the BBC shows!

A financial engineer by profession, Brian adopted the role of “travel agent,” researching flight and lodging information and communicating with tour companies. The Taos eventually selected a tour operator based out of Nairobi, Kenya, called Asili Adventure Safaris, that flexibly accommodated the Taos’ atypical requests.[2] Whilethe standard safari is 7 days long, the Taos extended their trip to 10 days in order to increase their chances of animal sightings. Instead of just traveling to one country like most safari-goers, the Taos opted to visit two countries; specifically, Maasai Mara National Reserve in Kenya and Serengeti National Park in Tanzania[3]because different types of animals live in these distinct habitats, thereby boosting the probability of viewing a greater variety of animals. Following similar logic, the Taos deliberately chose to go on safari in August when it is “the peak of Spring, the greenest time, when the grass isn’t too high yet, so you can see the animals better.”

SCOUT’S MOTTO – “BE PREPARED”

Kristina emphasized important health and safety precautions you should take before going on safari, including a mandatory yellow fever shot, and a physician-recommended regimen of antimalarial antibiotics starting 2 days before departure and ending one week after return. Essential travel items in their suitcase were sunblock, brimmed hats, and plenty of mosquito repellent. But there’s one item no one advised them to bring that Kristina highly recommends—a face mask to prevent inhalation of tiny particles while driving along dusty roads![4]

Airfare wasn’t included in Asili’s package, requiring the Taos to arrange their flight well in advance of their tour dates. Brian booked a flight with a Zurich layover because there were no direct flights from the U.S. He also reserved an Airbnb that offered transportation to and from the Nairobi airport. This way, they got a good night’s sleep before their driver picked them up the next morning to begin their great adventure!

GLAMPING SAFARI STYLE

Safari tourists typically behave like gypsies, moving from one tent village to another in pursuit of animals, and the Taos were no exception. Kristina and Brian usually only stayed one night at each tent village, but occasionally, they stayed for 2 or 3 nights in order to increase their chances of spotting certain creatures that were known to frequent a particular area. “But you don’t have to pick up your tent and move it with you.” Kristina said. “The tents are permanent structures and although they have canvas walls, you would never know it.” Canvas is an ideal material for blocking the sun and providing air flow; the zip-up entrance keeps out the mosquitos and pesky monkeys who wouldn’t hesitate to “trash your belongings in search of food!”

Their swanky living accommodations defied Kristina’s expectations. Roughly the size of a 2-car garage, each tent was equipped with modern amenities, including a king-sized bed, double sinks, and a tile shower! “Mosquito nets over the bed were VERY important,” she emphasized.  Sanitary conditions were much better than Kristina had expected too. Everything was clean and they were provided with fresh towels and linens upon request. The Taos made sure to leave a few dollars for their housekeepers each time they checked out of a tent village as they would do in a hotel.

Initially concerned about what the food would be like, Kristina and Brian were pleasantly surprised to find nutritious, flavorful meals made with fresh organic local ingredients. First, you were served a tasty pumpkin or vegetable soup, which was Kristina’s favorite part of the meal. Next, you could go to the buffet, where you could choose free-range poultry or grass-fed meat (occasionally, there was fish or lamb), a staple such as rice, potatoes, or bread, and root vegetables. Brian was particularly fond of the “wonderful honey on fresh bread.” Their diet was so well balanced that Kristina never had to open the beef jerky from Costco she had packed just in case they didn’t get enough protein. The food on Safari “was the ideal healthy diet people strive to achieve.” Plus, they never sufferedfrom any food poisoning or digestive troubles!

Kristina admitted that at first she was scared to go to sleep at night surrounded by noisy wild animals! “You can hear hyenas howling in the distance and feel the heavy vibration of a male lion’s roar. What happens if they crash into your tent?” she wondered. But after a while, she got used to the creature chorus, acknowledging that the animals were not intruders. “It was we humans who were intruding upon their territory.” Eventually, Kristina and Brian got used to living with their animalneighbors so much that they actually enjoyed it. One morning, “we woke up to find 3 gazelles grazing right beside our tent,” and another time, while walking to the dining hall for breakfast, “we were ambushed by a monkey gang looking for food, which we found amusing.”

BABY, WON’T YOU DRIVE MY JEEP?

Jeep drivers for safari tour companies hold high social status in Kenya and Tanzania, not only because they cater to tourists who support the local economy, but also because they’ve got to be good at wearing many hats. Besides being able to handle tank-like vehicles in difficult driving conditions, they’ve got to be resourceful mechanics, tour guides who can communicate with guests from all over the world, experts in animal behavior, and medics in emergency situations.

In Kristina’s opinion, the success of your Safari experience is largely dependent on the competency of your driver. [5]  But it is also important that you clearly state your priorities, hopes, and fears from the outset so that your driver will be better able to customize your adventure according to your individual preferences. Asili provided the Taos with one driver for the Kenyan portion of their tripand a different driver for the Tanzanian portion. Kristina wasn’t shy about informing both drivers that their number one priority was to see the greatest variety of animals they possibly could, and that they were especially hoping to see cheetahs and leopards. Her Kenyan driver knew she was dead serious when Kristina offered to get up as early as 3:00 am and skip the dining room entirely to get a jump start on spotting nocturnal hunters (especially leopards) and migrators who preferred coming out of hiding in the silent hours before the swarming jeep traffic. Her driver told Kristina that it was too dangerous to drive into the park that early in the morning because the roads aren’t lit and they’re terribly bumpy. But he offered to give them the earliest possible departure time each morning, which necessitated talking to the kitchen staff to make take-out breakfast and lunch arrangements.

So while most travelers were still snoozing, Kristina and Brian jumped into their jeep barely before sunrise at 6:00 am, with 2 small paper bags each (one for breakfast and one for lunch) and a thermos filled with coffee or tea. Kristina usually opted for tea, but one morning she chose coffee, which went through her system faster; when she anxiously told her driver she needed him to stop, he was sensitive to her situation, saying: “We must all answer nature’s call!” and found a parking spot that offered Kristina some privacy, or so she thought, until she realized an ostrich was standing a few yards behind her! “If there had been a group of ostriches there, that would have been dangerous,” says Kristina, “but only one ostrich, that was fine,” she laughed. So the moral of the story is: choose tea!

THE PAYOFF IS WORTH THE PRICE

Kristina’s driver wasn’t joking when he said that the condition of the roads leading in and out of the national parks and the road system within the parks present challenges for drivers and passengers alike. Whirlwinds of dust make for poor visibility and can create respiratory difficulties if you inhale too much dust when your windows are rolled down; hence, Kristina’s recommendation to wear a face mask!  Huge ruts in the road created by hundreds of intersecting jeep tire tracks get filled in by tiny stones, requiring jeep drivers to cut their wheels at an angle to traverse the rough surface, producing a jarring “bump, bump, bump” effect on the passengers, especially at faster speeds. Admittedly, it’s the polar opposite of a smooth ride, but it’s well worth it, Kristina says. Jeep drivers talk to each other on the radio all day, communicating intelligence on animals’ exact locations. “Sometimes you have to drive fast in order to get up close to them before they move on,” says Kristina. “And you’re grateful your driver got you there in time.” Witnessing the great migration[6], Kristina poked her head out of the roof of her jeep so that she could get a 360 degree view, and was shocked to see thousands of animals surrounding their jeep! Awestruck, she realized: “We’re like ants to them, barely even noticeable. Because this is THEIR KINGDOM. They have their own lifestyle and social order and we humans have no control over it. We don’t matter here.”

THE HUMAN CONDITION

The Maasai are a semi-nomadic pastoral tribe inhabiting the African Great Lakes region whose lives revolve around their cattle herds, which they believe are a gift from God.[7]Watching Maasai herdsmen by the roadside grazing their cattle in volcanic ash-enriched soils piqued Kristina and Brian’s curiosity, and they decided to visit a Maasai village. Their driver told them that lions were the greatest enemy of the Maasai because lions killed their cattle, and traditionally, a Maasai boy had to prove his manhood by killing a lion and wearing its teeth around his neck; only then could he marry as many wives as he could afford to keep. Now, Maasai elders discourage this coming-of-age ritual due to laws prohibiting lion hunting, but polygamy is still alive and well in Maasai country because a man’s success is not only based on how many head of cattle he has, but also how many children he fathers. Multiple wives guarantee the likelihood of more children and greater social status. Ironically, the Maasai hierarchy resembles that of their nemesis, the lion, where each male rules over a pride of females and cubs.

After making a donation to the chief, whom Kristina suspected of “swallowing their money,” the Taos were allowed to enter a typical Maasai house. At first, it was so dark inside that at first Kristina could not see a thing! After her eyes adjusted, Kristina suddenly she realized there was a mother nursing a baby right next to her! “It was such a tiny room,” Kristina recalled, “maybe 5 by 6 feet across, with no windows or ventilation except for a mug-sized open hole in the roof.” There was no furniture, just an open fire with an aluminum pot, and 2 pieces of clothon the ground that served as a bed. Kristina felt “very sad” to witness such austere living conditions. Kristina explained that when a Maasai woman is ready to marry, she must build her own home by digging a ditch, setting up a circle of sticks in the ground, adding mud to the walls, and lashing it all together. Then, she’s got to wait around hoping for a man to show up! I’m thinking I’d rather be a cheetah.

WHY DON’T WE DO IT IN THE ROAD?

On the Tanzanian portion of their tour, Brian and Kristina opted for take-out breakfast and lunch too. One morning, their driver parked so that they could enjoy a bounce-free breakfast, and while Kristina was peacefully drinking her tea, she suddenly noticed a male lion standing right next to their rear window! A lioness was standing behind their jeep like a lookout! Kristina explained that only lionesses hunt as a team; the male’s job is to ward off potential threats to the safety of the pride; that’s why grazing prey animals like gazelles and wildebeest don’t run scared from roving male lions.

As it turns out, most safari tourists see lots of lions because they’reeverywhere, “like deer,” says Kristina. They really do “act like kings” and they have no problem having sex like no one is looking!  Near the Ngorongoro Crater, Kristina and Brian saw a pair of lions “make love” 7 times by the roadside, after which they took their sweet old time crossing the road, completely stopping traffic. Apparently, the average lion copulates 30-40 times a day during mating season.[8] “Lions rest a lot to conserve energy,” Kristina told me. No wonder they would need to rest if they’re that busy getting busy!

SHE PERSISTED

Another day in Tanzania, while driving along a low section of road that had been flooded due to heavy rains the previous evening, their jeep got stuck in the mud! Kristina worried that they would have to get out of the vehicle, giving the animals an opportunity to attack. Discouraged, Kristina wouldn’t have minded returning to camp if their driver would have suggested it. But what seemed like a big deal to her was only a minor setback to their experienced driver, who convinced Kristina to keep on going, “luckily for us!” Soon after another jeep arrived and helped them out of the ditch, they spotted 2 beautiful cheetahs! And these were not the first cheetahs she saw, Kristina reminded me. First, there was the “feeding cheetah” she saw in Kenya. From 15 feet away, Kristina could hear the sound of bonescrunching as the cheetah chowed down. I guess the lesson here is that you’ve got to be persistent like the cheetah to enjoy the payoff.

YOU DON’T WANT TO MEET A HIPPO IN A DARK ALLEY

Driving past Zebras grazing on a wide flat plain at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro, with its snow-capped peak, they came to a riverbed lush with palm trees overhanging the banks. Here, white birds that looked like “kind of like pelicans, and kind of like cranes[9]” were fishing while hippopotami were bathing nearby. Kristina explained that the reason why hippos are always in the water during the day is that they can get sunburned, and they use mud as their sunscreen! Hippopotami hang out in a group called a “bloat” consisting of one male, several females, and their babies. Although this scene was placid enough from a distance, Kristina and Brian didn’t get too close because they had already been warned that hippos can get aggressive towards humans who invade their territory. “Once, we camped by a lake where hippos grazed in the common area between the tents. In every tent, there was a phone so that guests could call security to escort them through the common area at night,” which Kristina found very reassuring, because getting attacked by a hippo is no bueno.[10]

DEAF LEOPARD

On one memorable occasion, while waiting for a herd of gazelles to show up and cross the river, their driver heard some radio intel that prompted him to suddenly turn around and drive so fast that Kristina and Brian had to stand up hold onto their seatbelts. ”Brace for impact!” Kristina warned Brian,” but then they abruptly slowed down. “Look!” said their driver, pointing to a tree about 30 feet away where a leopard was sleeping like a baby on a branch. Their jeep pulled up even closer until they were only 10 feet away! Kristina worried that the sound of the engine would startle the leopard, but their driver reassured her that leopards are so accustomed to jeeps that he won’t feel threatened. Spellbound, Kristina and Brian watched the leopard for 15 minutes, and sure enough, he didn’t seem to notice that they were there. He barely moved, except for a little leg twitch. He didn’t even open his eyes. But Kristina’s eyes were full of “tears of joy thatwent streaming down her cheeks.” Leopards are THE most difficult animals tospot in the savanna. Because they hunt nocturnally, you rarely see them by day and when you do, their spotted coats blend into the grasses so that you can barely get a glimpse of them. Kristina was struck with the realization that she was witnessing something incredibly rare. Her greatest wish for her safari adventure had been fulfilled and she felt fortunate indeed!

HURRY BOY, SHE’S WAITING THERE FOR YOU

If you think you’ll never get to go on safari because it’s prohibitively expensive, think again! Remember that both Kenya and Tanzania are trying hard to attract tourists and the cash they pump into the regional economy, so bargain hunters can definitely find good deals. Kristina notes that the cost of a safari tour package can vary widely, depending on the travelers’ priorities and the level of luxury they desire. For example, the cost of Kristina and Brian’s package was $3,720 per person, which included food and lodging, as well as daily jeep tours. Kristina’s friend paid $20,000 more for her posh package, where “they set up a table with white linens and chilled wine,” Kristina said, “but she didn’t see any leopards or cheetahs.”

Kristina passionately believes that “everyone who loves nature” should go on an African safari adventure at least once in their lives. “I highly recommend it. There’s no place else on earth where the animals are in charge and you are just an observer,” she says. “It’s a life-changing experience that humbles you. It’s unique. There’s nothing comparable.” Kristina made me promise that I would go someday. Now, all I’ve got to do is find a way to turn that promise into a reality. Easier said than done, but so much easier than being a cheetah!

[1] For facts about cheetahs and the survival challenges they face, see https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/cheetahs-brink-extinction-again/

[2] For more information about Asili Adventure Safaris, see https://www.asiliadventuresafaris.com/

[3] To learn more about Maasai Mara and Serengeti, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maasai_Mara and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serengeti_National_Park

[4] Remember, Kristina &Brian went on safari in pre-COVID days, before face masks for travelers becameubiquitous.

[5] Itis customary for safari tourists to offer a minimum gratuity of $100 to theirdrivers at the conclusion of their tour. The Taos were so pleased with theirdrivers that they gave each of them $200.

[6]Thousands of wildebeests, eland, zebras, and gazelles migrate from the Serengetiinto Maasai Mara from July through October, which, are the most popular monthsfor the tourists herds too. https://www.masaimara.com/great-migration-kenya.php

[7]For detailed information about the Maasai people, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maasai_people.

[8] Thiswebpage from the San Diego Zoo contains fascinating scientific data about lions,including their reproductive and child-rearing behavior. https://ielc.libguides.com/sdzg/factsheets/lions/reproduction

[9] Justspeculating, but I think these birds were yellow-billed storks. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellow-billed_stork

[10]Ok, so maybe its sensationalized, but you won’t be able to stop reading thisarticle about a canoe safari guide who was unlucky enough to get attacked by ahippo. https://nypost.com/2022/03/14/a-hippo-ripped-off-my-arm-and-threw-me-around-like-a-rag-doll/


Jun262022June 26, 2022June 17, 2023by Glitterchicken

Symposion

Posted in Culture, Music
“We are the music makers. We are the dreamers of dreams.”—Willy Wonka

THE SCENE

Santorini! The name conjures up images of whitewashed blue-domed buildings drenched in sunlight, perched on cliffside terraces overlooking the sapphire sea. The crescent-shaped island in the Greek Cyclades has risen to mythic status as a vacation destination. But this story is not about Santorini. It just so happens to be the scenic backdrop for a story about what it means to live creatively. It’s a story that could happen in any city, any town, any village, any hamlet, anywhere in the world. It could happen to you if you let it.

The exemplary protagonists are Argy Kakissis and Yannis Pantazis—two individuals who were both carving their own unique paths that merged on Santorini, prompting them to join forces in designing and breathing life into an ongoing creative endeavor linking music and mythology called Symposion that serves as a source of inspiration for local visitors and global travelers alike.

THE HEROINE

Born and raised in Ohio, the daughter of Greek immigrants, Argy Kakissis did a study abroad program in Athens and Santorini in 1993 that awakened her desire to further explore her rich cultural heritage. After graduating from Ohio State with a history major/art history minor in 1996, Argy returned to Athens—not for a man or for a mission. “It was wanderlust that drove me.”

Like her studious father—a physician—and pensive sister whom she admired, Argy was intellectually curious, “always looking under the stone to see what’s under it.” But unlike her family members who had the tendency to brood, Argy was “overly optimistic…with the memory of a goldfish, happily swimming around my plastic castle.” Her father loved her over-optimism and encouraged her curiosity, which resulted in an unrestrained adventurous spirit.

Living in her own flat in Athens, Argy worked at some interesting jobs like the Athens News and a naval shipping company and earned her M.B.A. in Public Relations/Communications. She didn’t return to the U.S. until 2000 to visit her family at Christmas time. Although Argy kept up her annual holiday visits, as the years went by, it became apparent she was never moving back to the U.S. She hadn’t gone to Greece with the intention of becoming an expat, but that’s exactly what happened.

Before long, she had saved enough money to make a successful investment that financed her move to Santorini in 2007. Thrilled to find folks that she had met back in 1993 still living on the island, it was while rekindling these connections that she went to a BBQ at the house of a master potter in June 2008. “In walks this beautiful man with this crazy instrument I’ve never seen in my life. I found him very intriguing…”

THE HERO

Surrounded by music since his birth in the town of Grevena in Western Macedonia, Yannis Patazis grew up listening to his father playing “traditional” percussion professionally and his mother playing “Elvis records” at home. Although his first instrument was the “tennis racket” he imaginatively transformed into a guitar, the first musical sounds he made came out of a saxophone he picked up during a school program when he was 11, and within no time he had become “a maniac with saxophone”–earning enthusiastic applause with his renditions of “La Bamba” and the theme from “The Bold and the Beautiful.” When the program stopped suddenly, Yannis stopped playing sax because he didn’t own his own instrument and started playing albums as a DJ in a nightclub when he was only 13 to earn some cash. “My Mom let me loose because she trusted me…I was not an animal.” While working as a DJ, Yannis discovered Muddy Waters and other Delta Blues artists. “I fell in love with the Blues…bought a harmonica was I was 16,” and before long, was impressing friends with his skillful playing.

At 17, Yannis asked himself: “What are you going to do with your life?” Reminded of his joyful childhood experiences with the saxophone that generated positive feelings in others who told him was gifted, Yannis enrolled in conservatory in 1997 to study music theory and saxophone while playing blues harmonica professionally. After a mandatory stint in the army,[1] Yannis moved to Larissa in Central Greece, where he played blues harp in clubs and picked up a side gig as a DJ. One night while spinning discs, a distinctive sound transported him back to when he was 9 years old, watching a movie where the hero—a Robin Hood type—“cheated death” by dancing to traditional Greek bagpipe music as the police shot him down. Captivated by this memory, Yannis yearned to know more about the ancient bagpipe called the tsabouna, but where to begin? He had never even seen a tsabouna, let alone heard one played live! When a friend told him it originated in the Cyclades, Yannis moved to the island of Naxos to see if he could find any tsabouniers still living. Despite his outsider status, Yannis met an old shepherd who kindly introduced him to the tsabouna, and after playing it for the first time: “I felt numb…I knew my life was going to change.”

After months of obsessively practicing on Naxos, Yannis travelled to the islands of Paros and Mykonos, meeting with every tsabounier he could find and learning “as much as he possibly could” from them—not just about how to play the instrument, but also how to construct it out of goat skin, cow horn, cane, and bone. In 2007, his quest led him to Santorini, where he began playing the tsabouna at folk festivals, and bringing the “crazy instrument” to social gatherings, like the BBQ at a master potter’s house in 2008, where he met Argy Kakissis.

THEIR FIRST “BABY”—LA PONTA

After their initial meeting, Argy went to see Yannis at a jazz bar in Fira, the capital, where he worked as a DJ, spinning an astounding variety of classic jazz tunes, funk, and R&B reminiscent of her childhood in the U.S. but rarely heard in Greece. Nostalgic and fascinated, she wondered: “How the hell did this Greek boy know all this great American music?” and she went back to the club again. Maybe the third time truly is a charm, because after her 3rd visit, “we fell in love.”

“We began creating together immediately,” recalls Yannis. First, they dreamed of “building an amphitheater” on Santorini and inviting musicians from around the globe to play there–a fresh take on a classical form of performance art. “But we couldn’t find the space,” Argy says. Instead, they rented the tower in the medieval Venetian fortress of Akrotiri, lovingly and tenaciously restored it, and called it at “La Ponta,” which means “the peak.” By 2012, they had established a tsabouna exhibition at La Ponta, where they also hosted musical performances and educational workshops, and Yannis hand-crafted traditional flutes, bagpipes, and percussion instruments.

Yannis and Argy knew that their work at La Ponta and their presence at folk festivals had been generating local interest in the tsabouna; young people had been increasingly coming to Yannis for instruction, including descendants of celebrated tsabounier Stathis Arvanitis but they were unaware that a bagpipe revival was sweeping across “Germany, Italy, Spain, Estonia, Russia ... the entire European continent.” In 2015, Yannis suddenly found himself featured in a two-part BBC series cleverly titled Pipe Dreams, which documented the history of the bagpipes, establishing the tsabouna as the oldest known member of the bagpipe family of instruments and Yannis as its preeminent spokesperson.

After more positive news coverage from media outlets around the world, “we were on the map!” Argy recalls, and the visitors came pouring into La Ponta. Then, in 2017, BOOM! Just like that, they lost their lease…

THEIR SECOND “BABY”—SYMPOSION

“Devastated” but undaunted by their loss of La Ponta, Argy and Yannis sought out a new opportunity for fostering creative expression and cultural conservation on Santorini. In 2018, they co-founded a cultural center called Symposion[2] in the historic village of Megalochori.[3] After noticing nine ventilation holes in the main chamber of the stone building designed by Zorzis Ioannis Saliveros, Argy and Yannis were inspired to design Symposion’s progamming around the 9 muses of the arts. [4] Although Argy and and Yannis “use the identity of the space as a vehicle for creative expression, which allows the muses to guide their visitors,” Argy clarifies that they do not espouse “a particular religious dogma, belief system, or philosophy;” nor do they promote “a resurgence of the Dionysian cult.”[5]

Open daily to the public from April through October, Symposion effectively caters to a broad swath of visitors with varied interests. Let Argy guide you on a historical tour of the turn-of-the-century winery that now houses visual art and performance space, as well as the artisan’s workshop where you can make your own pan pipe from local cane with under the tutelage of Yannis. Dance and play along as Yannis demonstrates 15 hand-crafted traditional Greek instruments via a mythological narrative. Take a crash course on the Philosophy of Wine and ponder the role wine played (and still plays) in the creative arts while sampling 4 indigenous varietals. At the Muses Wine Café, wine is not the only beverage on the menu; enjoy organic beer, Greek coffee, or tea garnished with fresh herbs from the Homeric botanical garden, along with your charcuterie and fruit plate.[6]

Or simply soak in an evening performance in thecourtyard and let the spontaneous Symposion experience wash over you like awave at high tide, which is exactly what I did.

I was fortunate enough to visit Symposion when the Harvest Moon was waxing close to full. It was the final performance of a four-part summer series showcasing the talents of a group of musicians from the local conservatory playing arrangements of Greek rock songs.[7] On one of the tunes, Yannis was called to the stage to play harmonica and blew the doors off the place. How could he have done that when an outdoor stage, which by its very definition, has no doors? The only answer I can give you is that there are doors in your mind you don’t know you have until they’re blown out. William Blake, in his poem The Marriage of Heaven and Hell said it best: “If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is: Infinite.”[8]

FUTURE MUSINGS INSPIRED BY MUSES

Creativity is defined as the ability to transcend traditions, rules, ideas, patterns, relationships, and create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations. Argy and Yannis are the embodiment of creativity and they show no signs of slowing their roll. Plans are underway to build a Cave of Polyphemus beneath the current Symposion site that will serve as a recording studio and acoustic ecology[9] lab in collaboration with Grammy award-winning producer and curator Christopher King.[10]

Argy and Yannis have adapted their original common dream of building an open air theater by travelling farther back in time to Santorini’s first known civilization—the Minoans. Instead of a classical amphitheatre, they’re designing a performance space in a “sunken home inspired by a Bronze Age house.”[11] Meanwhile, Yannis is sharing his lifelong interest in mythology via his blog on Quora[12] and is compiling a “2-volume introduction to symbolism and dictionary of symbols from the psychic and astronomic points of view.”

When Argy and Yannis moved to Santorini, they had no clue it would become a mecca for celebrities like Robert De Niro whose new hotel in Imerovigli is scheduled to open this year. “Now Michelin-star chefs are popping up everywhere and people with private jets are flying in,” Argy laughs. Yet they remain unfazed by the rapidly changing social climate. “We’ve created our own little Utopia” where the entire world can “come to be inspired.”

OBSERVATIONS & TAKEAWAYS

Judging from my observations while visiting Symposion and my extensive interviews with Argy and Yannis, the first key to their success is that they’re shutting out the external noise so that it’s quiet enough to hear their inner voices. They do not own a TV (Argy calls them “idiot boxes”), eliminating much of the pollution contaminating people’s minds, and they keep the wolves of social media at bay.[13] In the absence of constant negative reinforcement, Argy and Yannis have cultivated a profound peace that I instantly sensed at Symposion, and in that peace, creative powers have the chance to thrive like carefully tended plants.

The second key is that Argy and Yannis are listening to each other’s voices and offering each other support and encouragement. From the outset of their relationship, no one pooh-poohed the other one’s ideas as cray or unrealistic, saying: “That will NEVER work! They’ll NEVER come!” While I’m not privy to their personal discussions, I suspect the exact opposite might be true; their wackiest ideas seem to generate the most enthusiasm and eventually manifest into reality.

The third key is that Argy and Yannis are avoiding the pitfalls of stereotypical thinking that always include the word “CAN’T.” Argy could have said: “As a woman, I can’t just go live in another country by myself without a concrete plan. Think of all the terrible things that could happen to me!” Yannis could have said: “As a man, I can’t just drop everything to go on some crazy quest; I’ll lose my status in society as a professional musician. Dudes won’t look up to me. Ladies won’t love me!” They both could have said: “Now that we’re married, we can’t just make art anymore. We’ve gotta start making babies or we’ll break our parents’ poor Greek hearts!”

Neither Argy nor Yannis have allowed doubt in themselves or one another to creep into the cracks of their solid foundation, which tragically causes so many talented people to abandon their dreams. This does not mean Argy & Yannis adhere to rigid mental constructs of how things must be. Instead, they respond to obstacles in their path resiliently and adjust their goals flexibly, with a steadfast focus on how things could be.

Argy sums it up like this: “We’re just simple folk.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Put your hand on your heart and ask yourself what you really want to do and you can do what we did anywhere,” says Yannis, like “the guy who opened a gourmet restaurant in a remote village in Sweden and now people are coming from all over the world to eat there.”[14]

While Argy and Yannis offer the twin tools of music and mythology to their guests, they “leave it up to you to decide what it all means.” For me, Symposion represents an oasis in a world where we’re incessantly being inundated with political propaganda, marketing and media messaging, Not being told what to think and what to feel is an extraordinary soul-liberating experience. A door in my barricaded mind opened wide enough for me to glimpse the clouds of endless possibilities shift from past, to present, to future, and back to past, in a continuous cycle. My complacency disguised as contentment was stripped away, revealing the divinely inspired urge I share with other human beings to build and leave behind an eternal legacy. Although you wouldn’t know it from reading the news, we’re not just here on this earth to compete and destroy; we’re also here to collaborate and create. Argy Kakissis and Yannis Patazis are living proof.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Special thanks to Clay Cofer, whose boundless enthusiasm for classical Greek art and mythology inspired me to visit Greece, Dimitra Kotinandes, whose Yoga Adventure brought me to Santorini (see https://dimitrayoga.com/adventures/dimitra-yoga-adventure-in-santorini/), Rich and Salli Innes for introducing me to Symposion, and Argy Kakissis and Yannis Patazis for graciously inviting me into the Symposion family and patiently sharing their stories with me.

[1] Greek males between the ages of 19 and 45 are legally required to perform military service for 12 months. See https://greekcitytimes.com/2021/01/22/greece-military-service-12-months/

[2] Derived from the Greek word sympinein –“to drink together,” the idea behind the name Symposion is that through drinking together, we discover our individual and collective identities, our present and our past.” See https://www.symposionsantorini.com/

[3] See Why You Should Visit MegalochoriSantorini - TripAnthropologist for an especially well-written overview. My personal favorite shop is Transit Mask, a fine quality leather goods workshop owned and operated for over 30 years by master craftsman Stelios Drosos, whom we affectionately called “the leather man.” See Transit Mask – Hand Made Leather Creations for more info, including videos of Stelios at work!

[4] For a basic introduction to theNine Muses of Greek mythology and their respective powers, see https://greekreporter.com/2021/08/15/muses-of-greek-mythology/.

[5] The cult of Dionysus originated inMycenaean Greece and spread to mainland Greece and the Cyclades during theclassical period, and was introduced to Southern Italy in 200 BC, where it is rumored to still exist. See What is the Cult of Dionysus? Greek Mythology Mysteries | Mythology Planet

[6] For more info, including videos, ofSymposion’s offerings, some scheduled daily and some by request, see https://www.symposionsantorini.com/events-at-symposion. For more info on the Muses Wine Café, see https://www.symposionsantorini.com/cafe. It is also worth noting thatSymposion can be booked for private events. See https://www.symposionsantorini.com/private-bookings

[7] With the guidance of guitarist/vocalist Christoforos Gavalas, this performance on Saturday, Sept. 18, 2021, featured Maria Xamis on vocals, Themis Kapetsonis on guitar, Eva Kontou on double bass, and Antonis Eleutherakis on drums.

[8] This poem inspired the title ofAldous Huxley’s book The Doors of Perception, which in turn inspired the name of L.A. based psychedelic rock band The Doors.

[9] See An Introduction to Acoustic Ecology (ciufo.org)  by Kendall Wrightson.

[10] For more about self-described “auricularraconteur & sonic archeologist” Christopher King, see http://longgonesound.com/about

[11] For an idea of what a “sunken home”might possibly look like, watch this video of the computer generatedreconstruction of the West House by the archeological society of Athens. West house reconstruction - Akrotiri- YouTube

[12] See https://www.quora.com/profile/Yannis-Pantazis-1

[13] Argy uses social media only to promoteSymposion and stay in touch with friends and family, many of whom are back in the States that she rarely gets to see in person.

[14] Yannis is referring to chef MagnusNilsson, and his restaurant Faviken in Are, Sweden, 400 miles north ofStockholm. In 2018, Nilsson added a pop-up restaurant Uvisan, cocktail barSvartklubb, and café/bakery Krus, which all occupy the same space on a rotating basis throughout the day. Nilsson says the pop-ups give Faviken’s pool of talented sous chefs the chance “to take more responsibility, develop, and be creative.” See https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/10/travel/uvisan-restaurant-faviken-are-sweden-review.html


Jul112021July 11, 2021June 17, 2023by Glitterchicken

CALAVERA BAR & GRILL

Posted in Culture, Food & Drink, Music, Travel
Mexican legend VICENTE FERNANDEZ photo courtesy of Sony Music

“You guys look like somebody sold you a sandwich without any meat,” the dude behind the Fox Rental Car counter at the Phoenix airport said to us. My brother Brian shook his head and laughed: “Yep, you nailed it. Exactly.” It had been that kind of day.

The start of our epic Southwestern road trip had gotten delayed by 4-5 hours because our hotel had decided to stop running its free airport shuttle due to the COVID pandemic, but had not bothered to update its blurb on Hotels.com to let the world know they were no longer running the shuttle, and so we got stranded in the hotel lobby because no taxi cabs would come and pick us up, despite the fact our hotel was only 10 mins away from the airport.[1]

After the most expensive Lyft ride in history, we finally arrived at the airport but it took us forever to find the rental car counter; we mistakenly boarded a bus headed back to the terminals and if a kind passenger had not warned us to jump off, we might have just said “Screw it,” and hopped on a plane to Mexico.

Maybe because he had only been at the job for 2 weeks and had not become jaded and cynical yet, or maybe just because he was just a righteous dude (his main job was running sound systems for raves, this was just his side gig), the rental car guy totally hooked us up by waiving the additional driver fee, and our luck started to change.

After brief pitstops in Apache Junction (Goldfield Ghost Town and Superstition Mountain Museum) and Arcosanti, we headed north on I-17 and made a left onto AZ-260, entering the Verde Valley. Although we had booked a Sedona Vortex tour[2] for 9:00 am the next morning, if you’ve ever travelled to Sedona, you’ll know that reasonably priced hotels are a rare find, so we had decided to stay in Cottonwood for the night.

Upon checking into the Lux Verde Hotel[3] ataround 9:00 pm, the front desk lady informed us that restaurants in downtown Cottonwood had already closed at 8:00 pm. On a Saturday night. My brother and I just stood there staring at each other in shocked disbelief. If she would have told us a UFO just landed in the parking lot, we would have been like, “ok, cool, thanks for letting us know,” but we could not wrap our heads around the concept of restaurants closing their doors at 8:00 pm on a Saturday night. Inconceivable! But true! Maybe it was a residual of the pandemic wreaking havoc on the restaurant industry or maybe it was just the way they did things in Cottonwood, AZ, but whatever it was, we had just gotten slapped in the face by hard cold reality for what seemed like the millionth time today. “What do we do now?” I asked, trying not to sound as dismal as I felt.

Fortunately, while I had been driving, Brian had glimpsed out the passenger door window a roadside bar called the Calavera Bar &Grill. “Maybe the kitchen will still be open,” I said, with a glimmer of hope, “because it’s a REAL bar, which would naturally respect the commandment that bars shalt not chase away hungry customers on a Saturday night.” Silently praying to the gods of weary travelers, I called (928) 634-9618, took a deep breath and asked the nice lady who answered the phone if the kitchen was still open and to my delight she said “YES!!” And it was going to remain open until the wee hour of 10:00 pm!! My prayers had been answered.

When we walked through the door, we saw hundreds of skeletons and very few living, breathing human beings. True to its name, “La Calavera” was inundated with Día de los Muertos imagery. Brightly colored smiling skulls were carved into the tall chairs, dancing skeletons swayed from the ceiling, and the walls were covered with paintings of folks wearing the distinctive sugar skull makeup traditionally worn during Day of the Dead parades.[4]  When our charming hostess appeared, we eschewed the cavernous dining area that had already emptied out except for a few lonely leftover tortilla chips, and asked to sit at a table in the bar area, which still showed signs of life.

We did not ponder the menu for long because we were famished and we knew the kitchen was closing soon. Within minutes of placing our order, we were sipping on margaritas as big as a baby’s head and wolfing down chips and salsa like there was no tomorrow.   Then our meals arrived piping hot on enormous platters. We immediately started taking pictures of everything–the drinks, the food, the décor, ourselves–out of the special kind of gratitude that can only come from a day that starts out shitty and appears to be ending on a high note. I wish I could tell you exactly what note that was on the scale, but whatever it was, we were tuned into the Universal frequency and we heard it LOUD and CLEAR! It was coming out of the impressive sound system hooked up to the enormous TV behind the bar. We stood up in our seats and craned our necks to try to see who was singing.  

He was a mustachioed man wearing a sombrero almost as enormous as the TV. He was dressed in the kind of suit and tie and cowboy boots typically worn by Mariachi musicians, but he wasn’t playing an instrument–not in his hands, anyway–this guy’s instrument was his voice! And what a uniquelygifted voice it was! He wasn’t exactly a spring chicken–he had some years on him–but he could belt out high notes with the strength and vibrato of a young operatic tenor but with the richness of tone that comes from maturity and with the lyric expressiveness of a troubadour. Knowing we were in the presence of greatness (albeit televised), we both started talking at once: “Who the hell IS this guy?” asked Brian. “He’s got to be a superstar,” I said. “Yeah, he isn’t just anybody.” “Oh no, I said, “He’s somebody alright! Who can sing like that? And at his age?” “INCREDIBLE!!”

Brian stood up. “I’m going to go find out who this dude is,” and as he walked over to ask the owner of the restaurant, I munched on the fruit that garnished my margarita and watched the crooning vaquero in stunned amazement. Brian returned to our table and excitedly informed me the dude’sname is Vicente Fernández and he’s a Mexican cultural icon. “Like the Mexican Frank Sinatra,” I said. “Exactly,” said Brian. Known affectionately as El Ídolo de Mexico and El Rey del Música Mexicana, Fernandez has won 3 Grammy awards, 8 Latin Grammy awards, 14 Lo Nuestra awards, and his records have sold over 50 million copies worldwide, making him one of the most famous Mexican artists ever. And he started out as abusker. Unbelievable! But even more unbelievable was that we had never heard of him until now.

Our meals were tasty and satisfying enough, but not nearly as extraordinary as Vicente Fernández, who by this point, had become the focal point of our attention–Brian was literally making a video of the televised concert with his phone. Some of the bar patrons must have noticed our new obsession because they would turn around in their stools every so often and tell us little facts about Fernández and his music; for example, his genre is known as ranchera, a traditional form of Mexican music originating from rural folk music that pre-dates the Mexican revolution. The most common themes of ranchera are love, nature, patriotism, and honor and a recognizable feature of many ranchera songs is the grito Mexicano, a shouting cry that punctuates the verses. Most of Fernandez’s greatest hits evoke sorrowful pining over lost love, which heexpresses with a vocal style that sounds like he’s sobbing while he’s singing.[5]

As we finished eating the last morsels of our dinner and waited for the check, we noticed that the music had changed. El Ídolo de Mexico had been replaced by two younger artists who had traded in their sombreros for cowboy hats and their mariachi suits for jeans and button-down printed shirts. Their musical style was different too. Their songs were structured more like pop tunes with verses separated by musical interludes but this was not rock music; nothing even close. This was unapologetically country music sung with a swagger. Sometimes, the musical accompaniment was sparse, consisting of an acoustic guitar, an accordion and a tuba,[6] and sometimes there was an entire horn section, but what all these songs had in common were their pared-down simplicity; they lacked electrified instruments, electronic sounds, and elaborate arrangements.Another similarity between these two young cowboy singers is that they bothplayed starring roles in melodramatic music videos with plots like telenovelas, wherein the star got into an argument with a dolled-up sexy woman (presumably his wife or girlfriend) that always involved a cell phone as well as plenty of temper tantrums, tears, boozing, and maybe some horses and cattle thrown in for effect.

In terms of sheer vocal talent, no one could beat Vicente Fernández, but these tunes were so catchy and the videos were so wildly entertaining, Brian and I remained transfixed to the TV after we had paid the bill. We looked up the names of the two young cowboys, who both wore full beards to mask their baby faces so they could appear more macho. The one with the dramatic tenor voice and the roaring lion logo was Carin Léon, or just “Léon” for short.[7] The one with the booming baritone with a penchant for leather jackets went by the stage name El Fantasma, or “The Ghost.[8]”  Their genre, known as Regional Mexican music, is broader than ranchera, although it is rooted in traditional folk music and incorporates ranchera elements, it also includes the corrido–anarrative tale about history, oppression, criminal lifestyles, or other pertinent social issues that first became popular during the Mexican Revolution and remain popular today.[9] Both Léon and El Fantasma have achieved pop star status due to the widespread semination of their music on social media outlets.

Begrudgingly, Brian and I started mumbling about how we should really get going so that the server could clear our table, but neither of us got up. We simply did not want to leave; we were having too damn good of a time. Suddenly, one of the bar patrons swiveled around on his stool and invited us to sit next to him. “Come on, the party’s just getting started,” he said as he waved us over. Judging from his shirt, he looked like he worked for a landscaping company. Brian and I looked at each other incredulously, not just because this random landscaping dude had just read our minds like a psychic, but also because it was well after 11:00 pm. “Whynot?” I shrugged and Brian agreed. We sidled up to the bar and ordered Pacifica beers, curious as hell to see what was going to happen next. A few more guys entered from a side room that I didn’t even know existed, sat down at the bar and ordered a pitcher of beer. I noticed one of them was carrying a microphone. I nudged Brian. “I think there’s going to be some audience participation here soon.”

Occasionally, instead of videos, song lyrics would appear on the TV screen and the microphone would get passed around from one brave and/or borracho[10] soul to another, including the adorable girl tending the bar, whom everyone applauded vigorously.  Nowhere near as egocentric and annoying as karaoke, this practice felt like it was bonding all of us seated around the circular bar together in our shared appreciation ofthe music, rather than providing a stage for individuals to compete forattention. I felt like a participant in an ancient ritual that pre-datedChristianity, like Native America was rising up from the red earth and embracing us.[11]

If we didn’t believe things could possibly get better, they wouldn’t have. Because nobody got up to leave, our hosts interjected some energetic dance music into the video show to keep the fiesta going into the morning. Highlights included Mi Matamoros Querido by Rigo Tovar, a cumbia with an infectious rhythm and a good old early-70’s organ sound reminiscent of The Doors,[12] and the dance mix by Banda El Mexicano, the spunkiest old geezers you’ve ever seen wearing sparkly space suits, busting out riffs that hook you and beats that make it impossible for you to sit still in your chair.[13]

But the all-time favorite video with the Calavera crowd that they played no less than 3 times during our visit was the song Yo Ya No Vuelvo Contigo by El Grupo Firme. Set in a large wooden pavilion, 4 vocalists passed the microphone to one another (not unlike our buddies at the bar) while a large band of musicians (accordion, guitars, horns, woodwinds, and percussion) backed them up and mouthed the lyrics. When not singing or playing, they ate tacos and drank copious amounts of beer and tequila straight from the bottle. The guy sitting next to me explained that this musical style is called Banda, which means “band” in English. Banda is yet another form of Mexican Regional music characterized by the large size of the group (generally 10 to 20 members) and the breadth of the repertoire, which can include dance music such as cumbias, boleros, bachatas, salsas, sambas, polkas, and waltzes, as well as rancheras and corridos. Often bandas have more than 1 vocalist and often employ 3-part harmonies as well as the ubiquitous grito Mexicano.[14]

Our buddy at the bar explained that El Grupo Firme is not your traditional run of the mill banda group. They emerged out of the midst of the COVID pandemic via social media to become one of the hottest acts out of Mexico and are now immensely popular among Mexicans and Mexican-Americans living in the U.S. Upon further research, we learned that El Grupo Firme is smaller than typical banda groups and as they hail from Tijuana, the instrumentation they employ and their resulting sound is closer to the norteño genre from Northern Mexico, that relies heavily on the accordion and the rhythm of the polka.[15]

Perhaps the most accurate way to characterize El Grupo Firme’s repertoire is to say that they’re expertly crafted drinking songs and while they may lack the melodic grace of Irish drinking songs, El Grupo Firme makes up for it in the raw, unbridled emotion they convey as they pour the tequila into their mouths and they pour their hearts out of their mouths, like an inhale and an exhale. This is Zen, Mexican style. And their fans, many of them laborers separated from their loved ones back in Mexico, can relate wholeheartedly. Finally, someone is speaking directly to them and creating art out of their everyday experiences and this undoubtedly has an empowering effect.

The good times rolled on until we closed down the place, paid our tab, said our goodbyes to our new friends, and sauntered back to our rental car under the light of the full Worm Moon.[16]

“What happened back there? What was THAT?” we asked ourselves, shaking our heads, trying to process it all as we drove back to our hotel. THAT was a situation that would not have occurred if things had gone according to plan. THAT was a situation that occurred organically precisely because things did NOT go according to plan.  Instead of letting ourselves get thrown off course by the bumps in the road, we opened ourselves up to what the Universe might have in store for us instead of what we had envisioned, which brought us to the right place at the right time with the right people.

We learned more about Mexican music that Saturday night at the Calavera Bar & Grill than we had ever learned from multiple visits to Mexico. Had we taken a college course on Mexican Regional music, we wouldn’t have had nearly as much fun. And we didn’t have to pass an exam to prove our knowledge. Our only requirements were observant awareness of our surroundings, appreciative engagement with our fellow humans, and active participation in the present moment that was unfolding. These are theonly essential items you need to bring with you when you travel. You can always buy water and sunscreen when you get there.

[1] We think the reason for the dearth of taxis in Tempe is that they all went to Scottsdale because hundreds of tourists had just arrived for MBA spring training and the cab drivers figured it would be more lucrative, but this is just speculation.

[2] Read our Trip Advisor review of Dynamic Journey Tours at https://en.tripadvisor.com.hk/ShowUserReviews-g31352-d21504638-r794278514-Dynamic_Journey_Tours-Sedona_Arizona.html

[3]The Lux Verde was a totally decent play to stay at a good value in a convenient location. There are flat screen TVs, microwaves, and refrigerators in every room as well as free breakfast and a nice outdoor pool and hot tub that we did not get a chance to enjoy due to our hectic travel schedule. https://www.booking.com/hotel/us/hotel-w-sr-a-cottonwood.html

[4] Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) is a 2-day holiday celebrated in Mexico and many regions of the U.S. with vibrant Mexican American communities, such as San Francisco, San Antonio, and Alberquerque, on Nov. 1st and 2ndto honor deceased family members by making altars called ofrendas and sharing their favorite foods that they would have enjoyed in life. The ofrendas, typically placed on the gravesites, are decorated with marigolds (Flor de Muerto) that are believed to attract the souls of the departed to join the party and smiling sugar skulls (calaveras) that not only mock death but remind the living that death is the great equalizer. Candlelight processions of peopledressed in colorful attire wearing calavera face paint is another traditional feature of the holiday that has its roots in Aztec culture. https://dayofthedead.holiday/  For some of the largest Day of the Dead celebrations in the U.S., see https://www.afar.com/magazine/the-most-spirited-day-of-the-dead-celebrations-in-the-united-states

[5] I hope you take the time to listen to the songs, but even if don’t, you’ve got to click on this link just to see thepix of Fernandez dressed in red, holding a red rose, with rose petals falling down from the sky. VICENTE FERNANDEZ LO MEJOR DE LO MEJOR SUS GRANDES CANCIONES - YouTube For more about Vicente Fernandez and the ranchera as a Mexican National symbol, see https://www.panoramas.pitt.edu/art-and-culture/ranchera-music-mexican-national-symbol

[6] Yes, that’s right, a tuba. The quintessential instrument that supplies the bass in Mexican music. And in New Orleans Second Line music too, for that matter. https://www.frenchquarter.com/secondline/ Have you ever heard of a rock band with a tuba player in it? If so, please write to us. Seriously.

[7] Carin Léon is the multi-talented singer,songwriter, musician and leader of the charting Mexican Regional band GrupoArranke. https://www.allmusic.com/artist/carin-leon-mn0003902290/biography Here’s our favorite Léon video they played for us at la Calavarera. Carin Leon - ME LA AVENTE (Video Oficial) - YouTube

[8] Known affectionately as “The King of the Underground,” the mystery surrounding El Fantasma’s identity is part of his allure. Believe it or not, this chart-topping artist for the Afinarte label is in reality a humble gardener named Alexander Garcia. See http://elfantasma.tm-g.org/bio/ We watched his video for the song Palabra de Hombre at the Calavera. And we loved it. You absolutely must watch it! You will love it too. But beware – this song will get stuck in your head! El Fantasma - Palabra DeHombre (Video Oficial) - YouTube

[9] Derived from the romance (a literary genre popular in medieval Europe), the structure of the corrido consists of thegreeting, the prologue, the plot of the narrative, and then closes with themoral and the farewell. In terms of subject matter and poetic lyricism, it can be compared with the blues and rap/hip-hop/spoken word in the U.S. although it is altogether different melodically and rhythmically due to its lack of African origins.

[10] Spanish for drunk, inebriated, shit-faced, however you want to call it.

[11] It was an unusual feeling to feel so comfortable in a place where I had never set foot before. While I’ve often felt like a foreigner in the cities where I’ve lived, worked, and paid taxes, I felt right at home on that barstool with the smiling skull carved into it, clapping for each singer. While it was the first time I felt this way in Arizona, it would not be the last. It has everything to do with how genuinely welcoming and inclusive people are, so that the distinction between “you” and “me” and “us” and “them” ceases to exist.

[12] The cumbia is a form of popular dancemusic that originated in Colombia and spread to Peru, Mexico, and other Latin American countries. This excellent NPR article includes some wonderful audio selections of cumbia music and explains why it can thought of as the backbone of Latin American culture. https://www.npr.org/sections/altlatino/2013/09/30/227834004/cumbia-the-musical-backbone-of-latin-america Maybe it was Ray Manzarek’s brother from a Mexican mother playing the organ on this track. MATAMOROS QUERIDO - YouTube

[13] After watching this video at the Calavera, Brian and I wanted to catch the next plane to Mazatlan. This is honestly the happiest music I’ve ever heard and most fun video I’ve ever watched.  MIX BANDA EL MEXICANO PARA BAILAR 2021 - YouTube You’ll note the young dude who doesn’t play an instrument and doesn’t sing and whose sole purpose is to dance; that’s the band leader’s son. If you’re unhappy after watching this video, you need antidepressants. Unless you’re unhappy because you’re not the band leader’s son. Then you’re totally fine.

[14] Banda music started in the middle ofthe 19th century when villagers, trying to imitate military bands, formed their own brass bands to entertain their communities. German and Czech immigrants to Mexico had a profound influence on banda music, with polka music interlapping with Mexican dance music. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banda_music

[15]  For more about the phenomenon that is El Grupo Firme, see https://www.billboard.com/articles/columns/latin/9529898/grupo-firme-strategy-regional-mexican-group/ and for more about the norteño genre,see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norte%C3%B1o_(music). Here’s the video of the Calaveracrowd’s favorite song: Yo Ya No Vuelvo Contigo -(Video Oficial) - Lenin Ramirez ft. Grupo Firme - YouTube. Andhere’s my favorite El Grup Firme video: Grupo Firme - La Estoy Pasando Mal - (Official Music Video) - YouTube Similar in its narrative style to the Léon and El Fantasma videos, it’s much more polished and culturally refined, including a visit to a beautiful art museum at the center of the melodrama between the band leader, Eduin Caz, and his mamacita.  

[16] The full moon in March was so named byNative Americans because it coincides with the time earthworms come wriggling out of the ground because the frost has thawed and the earth is softening to make way for the Spring plants to shoot up. For more about the Worm moon and other Native American names for the full moons in other months, see Full moon in March 2021: When to seethe 'Worm' moon - CNN


Sep212020September 21, 2020June 17, 2023by Glitterchicken

CRITTERS

Posted in Nature
Psyche by Alexandre Cabanel (1881)

It was a summer like no other in our memory. No ball games with the “CRACK!” of the bat hitting the ball and the raucous cheers of the fans. No blockbusters and salty popcorn at the empty theater. No festivals, carnivals, amusement parks, pow-wows or fairs. No drum. No bass. No melody. No dancing under the brightly colored lights. No cotton candy or cracker jack. No striking up a conversation about the weather while standing in line to buy beer: “Hot enough for you?” No brushing past one another while strolling down the boardwalk, dodging the tram car with its loud robotic voice repeating: “Watch the tram car, PLEASE watch the tram car!” No smelling suntan oil in a hug and tasting salt water in a kiss.

Here on the East Coast of the U.S., it was as if all the familiar sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of summer had suddenly abandoned us. Only the humidity remained, like a lazy dog lying all stretched out and sleepy-heavy on top of us, breathing in our faces. “Get up, you big old dog!” we said to the air, “You’re smothering us. We can’t breathe.” But the dog wouldn’t budge. Wearing masks kept us safe but exacerbated our respiratory problems. “Oh well,” we said, “we’re just going to have to learn to live without breathing.”

And then, into our oppressively humid sensory deprivation tankof a life, came the critters.

First came the giant frog we named Kermit.[1] We were gardening at night to avoid getting scorched by the sun, and he came leaping out of the darkness from 4 feet away, right into the hole we had just dug. “Hey, you gotta get out of there, dude” we said, “that’s for a tomato plant, not a frog.” He got out of that hole but then he jumped into another hole we dug on the other side of the yard. “Hey, you better be careful or you’ll get buried!” Then it dawned on us that maybe Kermit wanted to get buried; animals repeat certain behaviors for biological reasons, unlike people who are creatures of habit. Curious, we did some research and learned that, to survive winter, most frog and toad species burrow down into the soil beneath the frost line and the high glucose concentration in their vital organs acts like antifreeze while they hibernate.[2] We also noticed Kermit sitting right up next to our lantern, staring trance-like into the light, so mesmerized that we were able to get this close up.

We discovered that frogs and toads are attracted to light because light attracts yummy insects.[3] A few nights later, our lantern enticed a frog we thought was Kermit until we realized he was smaller and not nearly as fun. He just pooped on our patio and hopped away. Total bummer. The Cope’s Gray Treefrog (Hyla chrysoscelis) clinging to our sliding glass door made up for it, though. Knowing that the light coming from indoors will deliver “fast food,” it was amusing to watch this hungry guy snarf up bugs like a teenage boy devouring a pizza.

One day, while walking to the mailbox, we saw a gorgeous Tiger Swallowtail (Papilio glaucus) fluttering around in our neighbor’s butterfly bush. If you want to bring these beauties into your yard, and you don’t have enough space for a butterfly bush, try planting black-eyed Susans, purple coneflowers (Echinachea purpurea), sweet pepperbush, or phlox, all of which are “attractive nectar sources” for Tiger Swallowtails and other pollinators.[4]

In many cultures, a butterfly landing on you is a good omen. This Common Sootywing (Pholisora catullus) might have confused the floral print on this bathing suit with actual flowers but instead of flying away disappointed when there wasn’t any nectar, she floated around the pool on our raft, just chillaxing. According to dream interpretation, close contact with a butterfly means liberation and new beginnings. According to Christian symbolism, it means resurrection and immortality. And in ancient Greek mythology, it represents Psyche, the Goddess with butterfly wings who personifies the human soul. But scientists say the butterfly just wants the salt in our sweat. Like us, they can’t live on nectar alone.[5]

Another insect that enjoys engaging with humans is the katydid.  As kids, we called them leaf bugs because their camouflage mimics the bright green color and shape of leaves and the way they move mimics the rustling of leaves. Apparently, they got their name from the mating call that the males make by rubbing their wings together that supposedly sounds like “KA-TY-DID!, “ but I think it sounds more like a cross between buzzing and rattling. Because katydids are nocturnal, you’ll know if you’ve got katydid neighbors because this sound gets louder as the night wears on just like bros get louder the more drinks they consume. Every night, by 2:00 am, the katydid frat party would make an infernal racket in the woods behind our house, but we knew the cops would have been powerless to stop them, so we didn’t bother calling.

One evening after coming inside from the back yard, we noticed this guy gingerly stepping along our shirtsleeves! You can’t tell from the picture, but he was a big boy, 3 to 4 inches long. Without making a fuss, we persuaded him to walk onto this fan made from palm fronds, seeming cooperative enough. But when we tried to get him to leave the house, oh no, he wasn’t having any of that!! He jumped off the fan, and then leapt up onto the kitchen wall. Somehow we managed to get him to go back on the fan and stuck the fan out the sliding glass door. Then, he rubbed his wings together and let out a great big “KA-TY-DID!” as if he were yelling at us for kicking him out so rudely: ”But I just got here! I didn’t even get to sample the buffet!”

We later learned that there are over 200 species of katydidsand that our house guest is known as the Greater Angle-Winged Katydid or Broad-Winged Katydid (Microcentrum rhombifolium).[6] We’re thinking that katydids must be able to sense there’s food in our houses because it’s not uncommon for katydids to attempt to endear themselves to humans. And yes, people have been known to feed katydids and keep them as pets![7]

Unlike extroverted katydids, leaf-footed bugs are the wallflowersat the party. We had to get up super close and personal to take a picture of this prehistoric looking Leaf-footed bug (Family Coreidae) creeping around on our fern. Fortunately we didn’t scare him, because like skunks, these bugs can “emit a strong odor when threatened or handled.”[8]

On sunny days, we would find these adorable lizards scurrying about on the patio chasing bugs. They’re called 5-lined Skinks due to the 5 white or yellow vertical lines running from nose to tail like the lines painted on the road. Only juveniles have blue tails like this little girl who blends right into our colorful rug made of recycled plastic threads. Apparently, the male clamps his mouth around his partner’s neck before mating. Kinky skinks! [9]

The only frequent visitors who managed to escape the camera entirely were the dragonflies. The ones we saw must have been females; they didn’t have the male’s chunky white tails but they had the checkered wings denoting a Common Whitetail (Plathemis lydia). All summer long, they landed on the rocks and plants in our garden, on our sidewalk, on our flip-flops, and on various body parts. But we could never produce the camera in time. Or getting out the camera made them fly away. But that’s life, isn’t it? Our closest encounters are often the most fleeting. Although we can’t produce any proof that they happened at all, we know that they did because they open our frightened hearts, allowing hope to crawl inside and burrow down deeply enough to find the warmth to breathe and stay alive.

[1] Now we’re thinking now that, due to his bumpy skin and his love of getting into holes in the ground, Kermit may have actually been an Eastern American toad (Anaxyrus americanus). https://thefroglady.wordpress.com/2019/03/07/frogs-of-maryland/

[2] For more on how frogs and toads survive winter, see https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-do-frogs-survive-wint/

[3] If you want to attract frogs and toads to your garden, see https://dengarden.com/gardening/Attracting-Frogs-and-Toads-To-Your-Garden

[4] Ifyou want to attract Tiger Swallowtails, see https://butterflywebsite.com/articles/tiger-swallowtails.cfm

[5] Formusings on the meaning of when a butterfly lands on you, see https://www.thelist.com/166664/what-does-it-mean-when-a-butterfly-lands-on-you/#:~:text=%22A%20butterfly%20landing%20on%20you,be%20trusted%20with%20delicate%20things.%22

[6] Here’s a fascinating video about Katydids. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdMMUoKRBSk.

[7] This family tells about the katydid they named Bartholomew, whom they found living in their house and decided to feed and keep as a pet because they were so enthralled with him. https://www.csmonitor.com/2000/0927/p22s1.html. WikiHow tells you how to keep a katydid as a pet. https://www.wikihow.com/Take-Care-of-a-Katydid-Insect

[8] For more details about these bashful insects, see https://www.thoughtco.com/leaf-footed-bugs-family-coreidae-1968621

[9] Formore info on the kinky skink, see https://www.chesapeakebay.net/discover/field-guide/entry/five_lined_skink


Apr162020April 16, 2020June 17, 2023by Glitterchicken

Dallas Arts District

Posted in Architecture, Art & Literature, Music

When you mention Dallas, sports fans think of the Cowboys, foodies think of barbecue, and history buffs and conspiracy theorists think of JFK’s assassination. But does anybody think of art? How about architecture? No? Well, keep on reading. On a business trip to Dallas, I stayed an extra day to seek out wonders existing right under my nose that I had been too busy working to explore. That’s when I discovered the Dallas Arts District and was totally blown away. Where else can you find world class museums, concert halls, and performing arts venues conveniently located on 19 contiguous city blocks spanning 68 acres? Nowhere. Dallas is the only place in the world where it exists.[1] And it gets better. On those 19 blocks, there are no less than 5 buildings designed by Pritzker award-winning architects.[2] Luckily, I had time to visit 2 of these architectural marvels because I went to the Arts District on a Friday when many of the museums offer extended hours. More about that later . . .  

My first stop was the Crow Museum of Asian Art of The University of Texas at Dallas, an unexpected treasure trove in light of the fact that the Dallas- Fort Worth region does not have a sizeable Asian-American population (5.9% compared with 13% in New York City and 35.8% in San Francisco). Why the Crow? I’ve been fascinated by Asian art ever since I was a kid, captivated by the Zodiac signs on my Chinese restaurant placemat. Although the size of my wallet is considerably smaller, I can related to the museum’s founders, Trammel and Margaret Crow, who fell in love with Chinese art forms on their first visit to China in 1976 after the death of Mao Zedong when decades of icy relations with the U.S. were just beginning to thaw. Over the years, the Crows amassed a sizable collection of Chinese art and as their travels expanded, they added more pieces from Japan, India, and other Southeast Asian countries. With the expert assistance of Clarence Shangraw from the Asian Art Museum of San Francisco, they selected the pieces forming the core of the permanent collection and achieved their goal of “bridging the gap between East and West” when the museum opened its doors in 1998.

The Crow Museum defines Asia as “endlessly diverse, and not of one place, time, or idea.” Visitors are invited to explore these dual themes of infinity and timelessness, which cease to be abstract concepts when you’re eyeballing objects originating from a kaleidoscope of cultures that literally spans the centuries. For example, contemporary Japanese ceramics of all shapes, colors, and sizes were exhibited on the ground floor, meticulously carved jade sculptures from the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911) were exhibited on the upstairs level along with a mid-career retrospective of Master Shen-Long’s innovative ink paintings, and a Japanese bell from the Edo Period (1615-1868) hung silently in the courtyard, waiting in vain for a monk to come along and strike it with a wooden mallet. In honor of its 20th anniversary, the building underwent a multi-million dollar expansion in 2018,[3] which doubtlessly reinforced the Crow Museum’s nickname “the Jewel Box of the Dallas Arts District,” alluding to the fact that the true gems can be found within, not unlike the Three Jewels of Bhuddism.[4]

On to my second stop–the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center, aka “the Meyerson”–which opened in September 1989.[5] As you enter the lobby and pavilion, you walk along a curving pathway connected to other curving pathways constructed of what appears to be miles of Italian travertine (30,000 square feet as a matter of fact). A physically commanding experience that’s absolutely breathtaking, you feel like you’re inside a giant nautilus shell straight out of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, with all paths leading everyone to the central chamber where the Eugene McDermott Concert Hall is situated.[6] It’s worth noting that internationally renowned architect I.M. Pei who designed the Meyerson wasn’t thrilled with the concert hall’s shoebox design that had already been decided upon by the trustees, complaining that it was “too conservative” for him to fully express himself. This illustrates what I believe to be a universal truth–when a modicum of restraint is imposed upon an artist, the resulting work is more impressive. Like when you put a small gift in a large box to instill a sense of mystery and surprise, Pei was prompted to “wrap another form” around the shoebox, giving birth to the curvilinear shape that he later admitted “created excitement in that space.”[7]

Conservative or not, audiophiles will tell you there was good reason for the concert hall’s shoebox design. Celebrated acoustician Russell Johnson succeeded at his goal to create a acoustical masterpiece similar to the Vienna Musikverein and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw.[8] According to Jaap van Zwede, Dallas Symphony Orchestra Music Director: “The acoustics of this hall are comparable to the great concert halls of Europe, and of the world. The concert hall itself becomes an instrument of the orchestra, and we adjust to it and fine tune our music-making to the hall week after week.”[9] I stayed to watch the performance of resident master percussionists, D’Drum, and I can attest to the sonorous quality of the room; instead of all the vibrations rising up to the balcony like heat waves, it sounded like the musicians were down in the Orchestra Section with me, minus the unsettling reverberations that usually accompany the beating of drums and banging of gongs at close distance.[10]  

While the Crow Museum was intimate and contemplative and the Meyerson was impressive and arresting, my 3rd stop–the Nasher Sculpture Center–was open and engaging.

The brainchild of Raymond & Patsy Nasher, “The Nasher” as it’s affectionately called by locals, is one of the first museums in the world exclusively dedicated to modern and contemporary sculpture. Interestingly, it was the Nashers’ travels to Mexico sparking their interest in pre-Columbian art that led to their lifelong love of modern sculpture–a profound example of how learning about the ancient past can produce a deeper appreciation of the present. Besides the popular rotating special exhibitions, the Nasher showcases more than 300 works by Giacometti, di Suvero, Matisse, Rodin, Picasso, Moore, Serra, Miró, Kelly, and other luminaries.[11]

Now, I’m not an expert in modern sculpture–far from it–but in my humble opinion, the building housing the Nasher collection and the adjoining sculpture garden are the real masterpieces. You don’t have to give a fig about sculpture to thoroughly enjoy being there.  The immense 54,000 square foot building designed by architect Renzo Piano has an archeological aesthetic, like a classical ruin in an urban landscape, undoubtedly a homage to the Nashers’ early interest in antiquities. But the building’s design is scientific in a functional sense too; it utilizes the best features of the surrounding natural environment to help visitors see and appreciate the sculptures while neutralizing the harsh effects of the merciless Dallas sun. The ivory, low-reflective Italian travertine tiles provide lightness and minimize glare, the glass walls facing the street and garden connected by 500-foot long corridors provide unobstructed views and create the illusion that the sculptures are floating in mid-air, and the glass roof shielded by a sunscreen comprised of hundreds of cast aluminum shells that looks like a giant honeycomb is a miraculous feat of engineering–direct sunlight is kept out so that only the soft northern light can come in, making the forms and textures of the sculptures really pop.[12]

The 1.4 acre sculpture garden designed by California landscape architect Peter Walker[13] (who co-designed the World Trade Center Memorial in NYC along with architect Michael Arad) is a further extension of the Nasher Center’s successful harmonization of art and nature. As you stroll through the grounds, the sculptures appear to sprout out of the earth like the trees, making you wonder if they have roots too. Many of the sculptures are bigger than you are, creating a Alice-in-Wonderland fantastical effect until you get up close to them and they lose their intimidation factor when you see they’re just big hunks of metal like the playground equipment you climbed on when you were a kid. Maybe that’s not the best example, you’re thinking, because you’ve witnessed jungle gyms and monkey bars viciously attack an unsuspecting kid (maybe you, perhaps?) but if you get out of your own Pandora’s box of traumatic memories and pause for a moment, was that painful bloody mess really the sadistic intent of the equipment or just the unfortunate result of the kid acting recklessly without thinking? The moral of this story is no matter how fun it might look, don’t go climbing on the sculpture at the Nasher, or bad things will happen.

What you can do, though–and I can’t recommend this highly enough–is go to the “Til Midnight at the Nasher” event that occurs every 3rd Friday night during the warm-weather months. You’ll find the building and the garden bursting with activity. Indoors, people are nibbling delectable tidbits at the Wolfgang Puck-inspired café and wandering the corridors learning about the sculptures from enthusiastic, informed employee guides like Heather Joy (don’t know if it’s her real name or a nom de plume, but it’s on her name tag and it fits her perfectly). Outdoors, talented local musicians and DJs perform for a lively crowd. When it gets dark, folks lounge about on the lawn watching films projected on an inflatable movie screen.

Bring your wife and kids! The films are totally family-friendly (they were showing the O.G. Men in Black the night I visited). Or bring your date! I recall passing by a couple kissing under one of the majestic willow trees bordering the reflecting pool. Behavior that would have seemed tasteless and vulgar if it had happened in a bar was somehow touching and aww-inspiring in that sublimely romantic setting. Just don’t bring your wife and your date simultaneously; that would go in the same category as climbing on the sculpture – no bueno. But if your wife is your date, well then you’re Superman and you can do whatever you want.

Or just bring yourself! Take off your shoes and feel the cool grass on your toes and listen to the cricket chorus after a long day of absorbing the sights and sounds of art being created on a great big Texas-style scale.

But first things first, procure a cold beverage and a snack! I sidled up to one of the outdoor satellite bars, eschewed the fancy schmancy signature cocktail, and ordered a can of my favorite local brew, the Dallas Blonde from Deep Ellum Brewing Co.[14] The bartender, a charismatic chap named Chris, talked me into purchasing popcorn sprinkled with the Chef’s special seasoning; he didn’t have to twist my arm because it was packed in a retro-style bag with a smiley clown face printed on it. I was probably 6 years old the last time I saw something like that at a carnival, only this bag was 3 times the size; it was Texas, after all . . .

Now, the popcorn in that bag couldn’t possibly have been coated with crack, but it might as well have been because I couldn’t stop stuffing it in my mouth. Standing there swilling beer with pieces of popcorn falling out of my face, I decided it would be a great time to interview the bartenders for this blog. (Yeah, I’m that smooth). Luckily, Chris’s cohorts, Carolyn and Matthew, were equally charming and gregarious and didn’t seem to mind. When I asked each of them what they liked best about working at the Nasher, they all said similar things: the chance to interact with people from all over the world, the diversity of the visitors, and the positive feedback they get. Judging from our brief conversation, they seemed genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work in such an idyllic environment, ripping to shreds the stereotype about the younger generation’s inability to interact with other humans face-to-face.

Speaking of human social interaction (remember that?), when I reflect back on that balmy Friday evening I spent at the Nasher, it seems even more like the Garden of Eden now that we’re prohibited from gathering in groups due to the fear of spreading the coronavirus. Only time will tell how long our current fall from grace will last. Meanwhile–if we have the means–there’s nothing preventing us from pledging our financial support to special places like the Dallas Arts District that exist for the purpose of bringing us together to appreciate the beauty of our shared human creative legacy.

[1] Formore info about the Dallas Arts District, see https://www.dallasartsdistrict.org/about/and for a quick visitors’ guide, check out https://www.visitdallas.com/things-to-do/trip-ideas/24-hours-in-the-dallas-arts-district.html

[2] Forsome great photos of the “Fabulous Five,” see https://www.architecturaldigest.com/gallery/tour-the-dallas-art-districts-amazing-architecture

[3]https://www.nbcdfw.com/entertainment/the-scene/crow-museum-celebrates-20-years-with-new-name-and-expansion/262267/ Incredibly, after all this money was spent on renovations, admission to the Crow Museum is still FREE. That’s right, you don’t have to pay for time travel throughout the Asian continent, although a suggested donation of $7 for adults and $5 for seniors is greatly appreciated.

[4] Dharma, Sangha, and Bhudda. See https://www.lionsroar.com/trusting-the-three-treasures/

[5] Fun fact: Ross Perot donated $10 million for the right to name the building in honor of Morton Meyerson, former president of Electronic Data Systems and former chair and CEO of Perot Systems, who worked with the Dallas Symphony Association for 10 years to create a home for the Dallas Symphony Orchestra.

[6] The “counterpoint of curves” phenomenon is discussed in this fitting tribute to I.M. Pei, for creating the Meyerson Center, in the wake of the architect’s death. See https://www.dallasnews.com/arts-entertainment/performing-arts/2019/05/23/thank-you-i-m-pei-for-the-meyerson-symphony-center/

[7] Pei’s remarks were featured in this better than-adequate bordering on good Wikipedia article. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morton_H._Meyerson_Symphony_Center   

[8] Johnson was so enamored with his creation that he requested to be buried in the Meyerson, and while urban legend says that Johnson’s remains are interred within its walls, the facts say otherwise. https://www.dmagazine.com/frontburner/2009/11/russell-johnson-sought-meyerson-burial/

[9] For more about theacoustical qualities of the Meyerson, see https://www.dallasartsdistrict.org/performing-arts/meyerson-symphony-center/ And if you want to geek out on the acoustics of concert halls generally, see http://www.angelfire.com/music2/davidbundler/acoustics.html

[10] Do yourself a favor and checkout D’Drum. Percussion is so much more than drums. Even drums are so much more than drums. http://www.pureddrum.com/

[11] For more info about the Nasher sculpturecollection, see https://www.nashersculpturecenter.org/visit/about-the-nasher

[12] For more about the Nasher’s marvellousarchitecture, see https://www.nashersculpturecenter.org/Portals/0/Documents/Learning-Resources/Nasher-Architecture-Resource-Advanced-Level.pdf?ver=2020-03-06-174152-353

[13] Apparently, Walker got into a big brouhahawith a neighboring building owner, claiming that the glare from the Museum Tower is burning his vegetation. https://www.dallasnews.com/arts-entertainment/architecture/2013/06/13/landscape-architect-peter-walker-who-designed-the-nasher-garden-strongly-denounces-museum-tower-and-its-ownership/

[14] Here’s what the Beer Advocate had to sayabout Deep Ellum Dallas Blonde. The dude who said it tastes like what heimagines a skunk’s ass would taste like must have had a bad one. https://www.beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/27403/83956/


Jan262020January 26, 2020June 19, 2023by Glitterchicken

THE BRUCE

Posted in Food & Drink, Nature, Sports & Recreation, Travel

Like most kids, I loved games of make-believe. One of my favorites was playing spy. Whether it was lying prostrate in the back of my parents’ station wagon imagining myself being chased by Russians (seatbelts were optional then), jotting down quirky observations ofpeople in a little green notebook, hiding at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop on the grown-ups, or donning my mom’s dresses and heels to form a disguise, I was always pretending. Commonplace events took a sinister turn. No one was who they seemed, and every thing was a mystery I was determined to solve. In other words, I wanted to be Nancy Drew!

For those of you who their cut their teeth on those books, you’ll remember the girl detective was adept at managing watercraft and many of the stories took place near lakes or involved water sports. Nancy Drew would have been right at home in a place I visited last June - the Bruce Peninsula.[1]

In every good mystery story the setting, whether it be exotic or mundane, is as important as the protagonists. So let’s start with the basics of the Bruce Peninsula - location. “The Bruce,” as it’s known in local vernacular, juts out like an index finger into the crystal cool waters of Lake Huron, approximately 250 km northwest of Toronto. It’s part of Bruce County, Ontario and hosts two national parks; Bruce Peninsula NP and Fathom Five National Marine Park. Some of what makes the area geologically unique is that is contains part of the Niagara Escarpment[2] on the east side along the Georgian Bay. This contributes to an unusual phenomenon botanists find interesting in that the hardiness zones on the peninsula change from east to west rather than north to south as in most places, with the cooler side being on the east as elevations rise. (More about plants later).

The Bruce is an important part of the migratory bird flyway and a unique natural area, being home to the largest remaining untouched forest in Southern Ontario, otherwise known as a “mega-woodland” where you can find some of the oldest trees in North America and many other plant and animal species like black bear and Eastern Massasauga rattlesnake. While there may be plenty of wild creatures, there isn’t much on the Bruce in terms of creature comforts. That’s part of its allure, but it also means you need to go prepared. (Nancy was always infinitely prepared, you’ll recall.)

As you head north from Toronto, you’ll find quaint little towns like Orangeville and Owen Sound where the activity is centered along main streets flanked by funky shops and restaurants. Eventually this gives way to the more sparsely populated Highway 6, an evergreen-lined, two-lane road which transects The Bruce vertically from northto south. Along it, you’ll find a few hardware stores, the ubiquitous Tim Horton’s, a grocery store, and a few mom-and-pop fish ‘n chips stands, where you can gear up and have a snack.

The Bruce is a goldmine of outdoor activities. In fact, if you’re not partial to fishing, hiking, camping, kayaking, or boating, there’s little else to attract you – unless you consider pure, unadulterated nature insignificant. I wasn’t there to do any of those things, though. I was part of a convocation known as the Native Orchid Conference,[3] and the Bruce Peninsula (specifically, the town of Tobermory) was the locale for the organization’s annual symposium. In case you were wondering … the Native Orchid Conference or NOC is a non-profit group focused on the study and conservation of native, mainly terrestrial orchids of North America. Consisting of members from around the globe, the organization’s primary activity is hosting a yearly conference, where participants listen to scientific lectures before heading off into the bush to find and photograph flowers.

Tobermory is a like a shining pot of gold waiting for you at the end of Route 6. It sits at the northernmost point of the peninsula where two harbors, Big Tub and Little Tub, carve themselves into the landscape. Most of the activity centers on Little Tub Harbor and its marina. There you’ll find The Tobermory Princess, a modest, family-run hotel with restaurant. You’ll also find eclectic boutiques focused on all things nautical and outdoorsy, quaint coffee shops, and restaurants like the Tobermory Brewing Company and Grill, which serves up hefty burgers, a healthy pumpkin and sunflower seed hummus and some tasty brews. But you can’t leave the Bruce without having at least one fish n’ chips meal complete with vinegar in a spray bottle! Lee’s was touted as the place to get it, but unfortunately our limited schedule precluded us from having the full Tobermory experience. A good excuse to go back!

At the heart of Tobermory is narrow Little Tub Harbor. Here is where you can park your boat or charter one for a snorkel tour or a dive. Tobermory happens to be the “freshwater scuba diving capital” of the world with 24 shipwrecks and a unique underwater topography that divers find appealing. From Little Tub Harbor one can also get on board the MS Chi-Cheemaun (Ojibwe for “Big Canoe”), a ferry providing daily passenger/vehicle service between Tobermory and the town of South Baymouth on Manatoulin Island, the world’s largest freshwater island.  But our group of conference members were on a special mission, so we opted for the jet boat via Blue Heron Cruises[4] to take us to Flowerpot Island. Some housekeeping here: Joining the cruise takes a bit of maneuvering. The ticket office is in one location, car parking in another. A short but steep walk through town takes you to where your tickets are validated before gathering at the embarkation point.

This is where the plot, and pardon the pun, the fog thickens. Although the Great Lakes have an overall moderating effect on climate, if you’ve spent any time there, you know how mercurial the weather can be, particularly in summer. The morning we set out for Flowerpot Island was rainy and cool. As we boarded, our skipper passed out blue plastic ponchos – more to keep our bums from getting damp than to mitigate the rain and mist. We settled into our seats and off we went on the Flowerpot Express!

The unique rock formations that lend the island its name are formally known as sea stacks.[5] These formed thousands of years ago when the last glaciers retreated. Flower Pot Island is composed of dolomite, which was strong enough to survive the grinding of the glaciers. After the last ice age, when the glaciers retreated, surface water filtered through cracks in the earth and eroded “softer” rock behind the formations. Wind, rain, and wave action did the rest, resulting in the towers of rock we see today.

Remember, the objective of our visit was to observe the plethora of orchid species which occur naturally and in abundance on The Bruce. Yellow Lady’s Slippers, elusive Coral Roots, and ethereal Listera cordata with their millimeter-sized blossoms were our targets. But the gems of the Bruce are Calypso bulbosa or the Fairy Slipper orchid. Calypso are diminutive, rare, and quite beautiful, which puts them at the top of most orchid hunters’ checklists.

As in any good novel, there are plot twists to follow and problems to overcome. It was cool and wet like everywhere else in the eastern half of North America last year. Want to see a grown man cry? Tell him the bloom time of the orchids is a week or two behind schedule because of below normal temperatures. But don’t fear – orchid hunters are perennial optimists. So what if the plants aren’t in bloom? We can still look at leaves and inflorescences in spike. So what if it’s raining and the ground is saturated? We can still writhe on our bellies to find just the right angle to point our macro lenses. However, Calypso are an entirely different animal. They’re the Holy Grail, and some people will stop at nothing to find them.

With wooded trails, hidden coves, mist, and place names like Devil’s Monument, Old Woman’s River, Singing Sands, Cave Point, and Spirit Rock, The Bruce is an ideal place for nature lovers who like a little intrigue mixed in with their botanizing. And yes, orchid hunters are not immune to some minor subterfuge in order to have the plants all to themselves. Sleuths refer to them as “red herrings,” but in the orchid world it’s known as the vague direction, the slip, or failure to divulge. Some of this has merit. Unscrupulous people with heavy feet can cause damage – or even worse, dig up plants. When a few people in our group got wind of the exact location of a few Calypso, they sent the majority of us off on a wildgoose chase culminating in a dead-end trail. Said scofflaws surreptitiously went off trail, found the plants, and returned gleefully boasting to the rest of us about their “good luck.” Criminal!

Orchid hunting is a lot like spy work. There are clues given by fellow explorers. There are hazards – black flies, mosquitoes, bogs of uncertain depth, ticks, chiggers – all must be overcome to reach your goal. You sometimes have to “trespass.” You frequently rely on cryptic messages to get to the final prize. You get help on where to look fromclues like companion plants – in this case, false Solomon’s seal, trillium, and Indian cucumber root. But in the end, just as Nancy always solves the case and the bad guys get exposed and all is well with the world, the same was true for us. We found the orchids, took our photos, and reveled in nature’s mysteries and the beauty of the Bruce Peninsula. Although I’m pretty sure Nancy Drew would have gotten those fish n’ chips!

Travel Notes:

Bruce Peninsula essentials: (1) Apassport (if you’re not Canadian); (2) Rain gear; (3) Insect repellent; (4) Hiking shoes; (5) Dress in layers; (6) Camera

Other Notes:

*If you’re really adventurous you can volunteer to man oneof the Flowerpot Island Lighthouse. It’s a 3 week gig. Caretaker duties include performing light maintenance and greeting visitors. 

*Parking: The biggest mystery on The Bruce is the obsessionwith parking. In Tobermory and surrounds you’ll find parking kiosks throughout the park, even along wooded roads.

[1] The Bruce Peninsula wasnamed for James Bruce, 8th Earl of Elgin and Governor General of Canada from 1847-1854. One of his less savory claims to fame is the burning of the Old Summer Palace in Beijing during the Second Opium War while holding the position of High Commissioner and Plenipotentiary of China and the Far East.

[2] The Niagara Escarpment is essentially a steep slope running in an east/west direction from New York and Ontario through Michigan and Wisconsin into Illinois. The area holds a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve designation as it has some of the oldest forest ecosystem in North America. As its name implies, the escarpment is best known as the cliff over which Niagara Falls descends.

[3]Native Orchid Conference: https://www.nativeorchidconference.info/

[4] Blue Heron Cruises: https://www.cruisetobermory.com/

[5] Point of clarification. SeaStacks can be found on the Bruce, not Sleestaks, which are only known to exist on The Land of the Lost. See https://landofthelost.fandom.com/wiki/Sleestak


Sep232019September 23, 2019June 19, 2023by Glitterchicken

Annapolis Sailing School

Posted in History, Sports & Recreation

From my seat at the helm, it looked like our boat was coming in close enough to the dock, but our approach wasn’t pretty enough for my sailing instructor, a fastidious Belgian named Phil. On Phil’s cue, I tacked and we glided into the space behind the row of boats perfectly parallel to the dock with only a few inches to spare. Then, like Jehovah when he’s pleased, (not when he’s pissed-off), a deep sonorous voice called out loudly from out of the heavens: “GOOD JOB! WAY TO GO!” punctuated by raucous cheers and applause. “Could that voice be talking to me?” I wondered, “Where’s it coming from? Who could it be?"

After we disembarked, Phil showed me how to tie up and de-rig the boat; I tried my best to imitate his meticulous knot-tying techniques, but the distracting questions kept coming: “Was I having a mystical experience? Or a psychotic break?” While bending over and rolling up the mainsail, I saw 2 feet. “Oh no, it’s a visual hallucination now, “I thought as I looked up and saw that the feet were attached to legs, attached to a barrel-chested torso, attached to a round mustachioed face with a jolly grin stretching from ear to ear. I stood up, thinking: “If they’re going to take me away in a straitjacket, I might as well go bravely like Joan of Arc. It can’t be that bad…Maybe I won’t have to pay taxes….”

I was relieved when Santa Claus of the Sea started talking. Could he be a real person? “That was THE best docking job I’ve seen a student do on their 1st day all season!!” he said excitedly. (And that was saying a lot because it was the 3rd week of Sept. and the season had started in April). “Hi, I’m John Cosby,” he said, smiling. As we shook hands, I introduced myself, saying: “I only did what Phil told me to do.” “But YOU did it!!” he said exclaimed, the word “YOU” resonating in the air like a sonic boom. It must have been the voice I heard! “That was you cheering when we docked, wasn’t it?” I asked. “Oh yeah, that was definitely me!” he said, laughing heartily before heading upstairs to his office.

Over the next 2 days, I practiced tacking, jibing, man overboard and figure 8 drills, reefing the mainsail, and heaving-to, as well as rigging, de-rigging, and docking the boat. I had a different instructor each day, and while they all demonstrated an extraordinarily high level of expertise, they had distinct personalities and individualistic ways of doing things. My instructor on the 2nd day, Chris, was an intuitive, who trimmed the jib behind his back as he watched me steer. “How can you do that without looking?” “Oh, I can tell what’s happening from the sound it makes.” Incredible! My instructor on the 3rd day, Island John, barely touched things and they moved in a big way. “Let the wind do the work for you,” he said calmly, like a hypnotist.

After enduring a 100-question written test that did not include 1 single question about swearing (much to my disappointment, because I have considerable expertise in the subject) and successfully tying a few knots, I had passed my Basic Keelboat Sailing (ASA 101) course at the Annapolis Sailing School, and became a certified member of the American Sailing Association. And here I thought I was certifiably cuckoo-bird crazy only to find out I’m really just a sailor! 

It’s widely known that the Annapolis Sailing School is the oldest commercial ASA sailing school for adults in the U.S.,founded by Franklin “Jerry“ Wood back in 1959, who 11 years later, co-founded the U.S. Sailboat Show with Bennett Crane.[1] But not everybody knows the back story about the people behind the legend. Glitterchicken is hereto deliver the goods!

In 1961, Wood asked the renowned Olin Stephens[2] to design him a boat that would bring 3 drunks home safely in a storm.[3] Stephens sketched out the plans for an uncapsizable, indestructible 24’ sloop on a dinner napkin, which ultimately evolved into the blueprint for the  Rainbow boats the school uses to train its students to this day. This isn’t just nautical myth. “It’s a true story,” attests John Cosby, who currently serves as Managing Director and Head Instructor.

Cosby began working for Woods for a mere $18 dollars a day as a junior instructor when he was 15 years old. A native of nearby Severna Park, Cosby’s father had been a U.S. submarine commander who purchased a sailboat after retiring from the Navy.  Faced with the futility of arguing with his father, Cosby spent countless hours on the Magothy river as “forced crew,” wherebyhe established sailing skills that surpassed instructors twice his age. Cosby rose quickly through the ranks due to his impressive skill set and his work ethic, becoming Marina Manager when he was only 21 years old.  In those days, General Manager Rick Franke was in charge of classroom instruction at a facility in Eastport, while Cosby was responsible for on-water training operations at the school’s current Bembe Beach location.

Although Cosby stopped working at the school in 1983 to pursue career goals that eventually took him out of the boatingbusiness for a spell, his connection to the Bembe beach property deepened further when he married girl-next-door Hilary Wilson in 1985. The Wilson family owned the property immediately adjacent to the school, where they had a rustic beach cottage they used as home base for summer sailing activities. Over the years, 5out of the 7 Wilson siblings worked as sailing instructors, Which is a no-brainer when you consider the fact that kids were expected to earn their own spending money back then and the Wilsons lived so close to the school they could have sleepwalked to the docks in the morning. Although it would have added adash of spice to this story, Cosby won’t admit to sharing any romantic moments on board the Rainbows with Hilary. The way he tells it, they started dating when Hilary was attending college. (Bland, we know, but Glitterchicken faithfully upholds the journalistic duty to tell the truth, no matter how yawn-inducing it may be).

DON’T STOP READING NOW! True, we can’t give you a titillating screenplay for a Rom-Com or Coming-of-Age flick,  but what happens next has all the hallmarks of a great Drama: a series of cataclysmic events occurs, presenting our characters with obstacles that would have been insurmountable had they not joined forces, and at great risk, taken a leap of faith into the abyss, hoping that their innovative solutions would not only save the sailing school from ruin, but breathe new life into it, making it better than ever before! (This is called foreshadowing).

The 1st event that shook the Annapolis Sailing School’s foundation to its core was the death of founder Jerry Wood in 2003. His widow, Kathy, bravely carried on the business until her death in 2005, after which the estate sold the property, all the structures on it, and the entire fleet (which had grown to be quite substantial by that point, including 12 cruising boats) to Tim Dowling, who, like John Cosby, had started as a junior instructor when he was 15 years old and had worked his way up to GM.[4]

Unfortunately, Dowling’s plans to build upon Wood’s legacy and further his vision were cut short by the 2nd apocalyptic event, the Great Recession of 2008 and its painful aftermath that lingered well into 2012. Like all leisure industries, “the boating industry was practically decimated,” says Cosby.  For the thousands of Americans losing their jobs to layoffs and their homes to foreclosures, trying out a new sport wasn’t exactly at the top of their agenda along with food and shelter.  Confronted with rising costs and drastically reduced revenues, Dowling was forced to start selling off assets little by little in order to stay afloat (Pardon the pun).

Then, one fateful day in 2012, Cosby, who was staying at the 2nd incarnation of the Wilson family’s summer home next to the school, accepted receipt of a certified letter. He recalls the “visceral” reaction he had when he read the notice of Dowling’s intent to sell the Bembe Beach property to commercial marina developers. Not only would this spell death for the sailing school, but it would negatively impact the serene, woodsy residential neighborhood surrounding Bembe Beach road and turn it into a bustling thoroughfare, which would increase traffic congestion, speeding, pollution, and overall “obnoxiousness.”

The Wilsons held a brainstorming session to figure out if there was anything they could do to prevent catastrophe from happening. Enter Rick Nelson, investment management executive from NYC married to Hilary’s sister Jenny, who had also been an instructor at the sailing school back in the day. A plan was hatched for Rick and Jenny to buy the property and the business, including the fleet, which by this point had deteriorated to “maybe 18 decrepit Rainbows and 2 Beneteau cruising boats,” according to Cosby, who was to quit his job at West Marine to become Managing Director and Head Instructor. Faithfully executing their plan, the Nelsons officially became the new owners of the Annapolis Sailing School in November of 2014, beginning a new chapter in the school’s rich history.

I first met the Nelsons in 2018 at the bonfire party (complete with apple cider and s’mores) they hosted for KeelboatClub members during the Fall Sailboat Show weekend.  I felt instantly comfortable with Jenny. She struck me as an anti-princess, who wouldn’t hesitate to chip in and get her handsdirty doing whatever kind of work is necessary to fulfill a task, instead of sitting back and complaining about the “help.”[5]  I found Rick to be extremely approachable and easy to relate to because he has a bit of the dreamer in him as do I. Within minutes, we discovered we had a shared love of classic films and we were concoctinggrandiose visions of sailboat cruises for film buffs.

What Rick tells me is heartening.  He points out that the school’s “primary goal” is to encourage new sailors “to have a good time while being safe” and emphasizes that the school’s official tag line is “Seriously Fun,” distinguishing it from other sailing schools in the region that focus on competitive racing techniques. In this respect, he and Jenny are staying true to Wood’s original concept. On the other hand, Rick is cognizant of the fact that times have changed. Thus, the Nelsons have re-imagined the school to appeal to the “modern sailing family.”  Glitterchicken’s here to tell you how they did that.

First of all, the school expanded its fleet to better accommodate its children’s summer program called KidShip that was started back in the late 80s. Many of today’s parents want to engage their kids in healthy outdoor activities without the pressure and time commitment imposed by joining traveling sports teams. They’re delighted to see their kids “out there enjoying themselves out on the water, detached from their electronic devices,”[6] says Cosby, pointing out that there’s no other children’s summer sailing program in the region like KidShip. Sure, there are 2 private clubs offering children’s sailing camps, but they’re all about being “first to cross the finish line,” the antithesis of chillaxation.

Furthermore, the Nelsons have also made substantial improvements that enhance both the beauty and functionality of the beachfront property located at the tip of the peninsula on the south side of Back Creek Inlet, which boasts spectacular views of the Severn River. With the assistance of dedicated staff, they totally repainted and refurbished the main building, which is home to the administrative offices, restrooms, some of the classrooms, and the repair shed. Other enhancements include a sizeable tented event space that the school rents out to private parties for weddings and other events, and floating docks that are used not only by sailing school students but are leased out to the Blue Lotus Yoga Studio for their unique on-water yoga classes and festivities such as their Summer Solstice Bash.[7]

But my favorite improvement attributable to the Nelsons is the conversion of the former sail storage shed into a glass-walled Club House with a sliding door opening out onto a darling little deck overlooking the boating activity on Back Creek  and the “Maritime Republic of Eastport”[8] beyond. I did not believe in love at first sight until I sawthe Club House. Now, like Davy Jones of the Monkees once said: “I’m a Believer.”[9] Here’s where instructors and students hold graduation ceremonies and Keelboat Club members gather to debrief over cold beers while watching the sun set after Monday night Rainbow regattas. Still dubbed the “Sail Shed” by instructors who have been working at the school since its barebones days, the Club House is tastefully appointed with nautical-themed décor and furnishedwith tables and chairs, sofas, a full-sized bar, Keurig coffee/tea maker, mini-fridge/freezer, an enormous TV, and musical entertainment provided by Alexsa. Although not a huge space, with all these amenities you could safely say the Club House is swank. Or if you’re a Brit, you could say it’s downright posh.

It’s noteworthy that the Nelsons have also made substantial investments to expand the school’s cruising fleet,which includes 2 Beneteaus (37’), a Catalina (30’), and a Newport (30’),which are used for the ASA cruising courses and “Evening Sails,” where the general public can charter a boat with a captain for a few hours; BYO beer or wine on board and the school will provide the hors d'oeuvres. You can ask to steer or serve as crew or just lay around on deck like a diva while your fiancé showers you with rose petals.[10]

And finally, although not as well-publicized as their ASA course offerings, the Annapolis Sailing School offers private instruction (aka “PI”) for new boat owners. There are 6 captains for hire that will take you out on your own boat, give you docking practice, or help figure out some other “bugaboo that you need to get past,” Cosby says.

Although the first 2 years after the Nelsons took over were “rough” as the school struggled to rebuild its fleet and secure its footing in the post-Recession economy, Cosby is pleased to report that the school is experiencing its 3rd straight season of “fantastic” growth.  He maintains his guiding philosophy that if the school continues to focus its efforts on “being successful with our students, the financial stuff will follow.” A humble man by nature, Cosby credits his instructors and staff as “the key to the school’s success.” Although I agree wholeheartedly with this statement, I would add that Cosby deserves a good portion of the credit for the level of excellence demonstrated by his employees.  He makes 100% of the hiring decisions and when asked what’s the most important quality he looks for in an instructor, he replies that while sailing skills are an important factor, they’ve got to be “people persons” first and foremost. Cosby explains: “I’d much rather take a really great teacher and teach him or her to sail instead of taking a great sailor and teaching him or her how to teach.”  

From a student’s perspective, the value placed on extraordinary teaching ability at the Annapolis Sailing School is readily apparent. Although they differ significantly in age, experience, personality, and technique, all the instructors I’ve encountered have one thing in common. No matter how dense you are, and how long it might take for your muscle memory to “get it,” they don’t treat you like an idiot or a screw-up, which would only demoralize you, thereby thwarting the school’s goal of getting you to enjoy sailing. Nor do they dwell on what you’re doing wrong, prompting you to ruminate on past mistakes, which would only cause you to make more mistakes.

On the contrary, Cosby’s sailing instructors highlight the things you’re doing right, which puts those things at the forefront of your conscious mind, where you’re more likely to repeat them. By employing this coaching method, they keep you focused on the present, where you always need to be whether you’re on the water or on land. In this way, the art of sailingbecomes a metaphor for life and if you bring a positive attitude into the boat, you just might acquire some wisdom and mental fortitude along with some cool knot-tying skills you can bust out at cocktail parties. I can honestly say that the greatest gift I’ve received from Annapolis Sailing School instructors is that they have helped me to believe in the concept of limitless possibilities, which used to sound like a cliché phrase, but now feels like an unwritten natural law I had always known but had somehow forgotten along the way.

In my estimation, the secret to the school’s success is that Cosby embodies the qualities and demonstrates the behaviors that he wants his instructors to emulate, which is the very definition of leadership. Cosby serves as the central role model for the hands-on, practical coaching method described above that is referred to as the “Annapolis Way” developed by Jerry Wood and his protégés, with the intention of luring random people in off the street and engendering in them a lifetime love of sailing. Sounds ambitious, right? Yeah, well Cosby makes it look effortless. He gleefully chuckles, bellows encouraging words, and beams with pride when he witnesses his students’ accomplishments the same way a father glows with excitement when his child takes his first steps or rides her bike without training wheels.[11] That’s why my nickname for Cosby is  “Happy Pappy.” And the analogy is fitting. No matter the birthdate on our I.D. cards, all newbie sailors are babies and the powerful effect of these paternal reactions cannot be underestimated; they inspire in us an immediate sense of confidence and trust in our own capabilities. This means the world to a klutzy, uncoordinated girl like me and was always one of the last kids picked to be on anybody’s team in gym class and still walks into furniture stone-cold sober.

Another important factor contributing to the school’s success under its new management is that Cosby doesn’t take for granted the valuable contributions made by his remarkably capable staff members including the Nelsons’ amiable son Ricky, artistic Brenda Reed, and liveaboard cruiser Kara Finneren, who do all the behind-the-scenes work required to keep the place running. On top of that, I can attest to the fact that the staff are perennially welcoming and accepting of students and Keelboat Club members from diverse backgrounds and lifestyles and do their very best to answer our questions and accommodate our requests. They’re the kind of folks who give you faith in the human race.

Despite his deep appreciation for his faculty and staff, Cosby says that the school’s greatest challenge (besides the weather, which nobody can control) is finding and retaining employees that measure up to the school’s high standards of quality. Sailing instruction is a part-time seasonal occupation, and while the staff positions may have more full-time potential, they can hardly be described as lucrative either. It’s hard to pay the bills for people with mortgages, kids, and car payments, so these jobs appeal mainly to college students and retirees, making turnover a constant headache.

Nevertheless, due to the school’s highly regarded reputation and its proximity to the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area, Cosby still manages to attract stellar new talent, such as Dan Nichols, a former State Dept. employee who currently consults for non-profits. Nichols learned to sail on Lake Erie (Pt. Abino, Ontario) before honing his skills on the competitive racing circuit in Newport and Nantucket. This season, along with sailing instruction, Nichols began officiating Monday night Rainbow regattas for Keelboat Club members along with Jack-of-all-Trades Andrew Moe (you name it, he can fix it) and Buddha-of-the-Bay Art Holt (nothing short of nuclear war could harsh this dude's mellow) who have lent their own personal touches to overseeing the Rainbow regattas, maintaining the school's fleet, and caring for its students.

Nichols “agrees completely” with Cosby when he says that “it’s the people behind the school.” (He’s praised Moe, Holt, and other instructors and staff in previous conversations). But I can’t help thinking that Nichols is one of those edifying people who’s already making the school a better place. Not only does he add a touch of class to Cap’n Cosby’s crew, but he’s a devoted father who’s most likely drawing from a similar paternal emotional well when he says: “It’s such a joy to meet new students who are anxious to fulfill their dream.” When asked what he likes best about this gig, Nichols says: “Teaching here side by side with top instructors and seeing the smiling faces of our new sailors is very rewarding. And the sea is the most beautiful classroom in the world.” I couldn’t agree with him more as I sit on the deck in front of the Club House with a cup of tea in one hand and a book about nautical lore in the other. Looking up, I see a sleek cruising yacht unfurl its sails as it heads farther out into the channel towards the Bay Bridge, the horizon appears infinite, and it feels good to be alive.

[1] The first all-sailboat, in-water show of its kind, the U.S. Sailboat show was wildly popular from its inception and by now it’s become one of the largest, most prestigious sailboat shows in the world, making a significant positive impact on the local economy. Boat show owner Paul Jacobs estimates they’ve paid the City of Annapolis $20 million over the past 46 years just to lease the dock space, and that’s not counting what the restaurants, bars, hotels, and retailers rake in from the party scene naturally generated twice a year when hordes of sailing enthusiasts from all over the globe descend upon the colonial capital. See https://www.capitalgazette.com/business/ph-ac-cn-sailboat-attendance-0504-20170503-story.html.If you want to join the party, go to Pusser’s Caribbean Grille for the “breakdown” at the end of the show where everyone gathers drinking Painkillers as they watch the boats gracefully glide down Ego Alley and pivot into the harbor like runway models. For a Painkiller recipe and more info about the tropical cocktail’s link to Chesapeake Bay culture, see https://chesapeakebaymagazine.com/chesapeake-cocktail-the-painkiller/

[2]Stephens was famous for designing the best competitive sailing yachts in the world as well as amphibious vessels used by the U.S. Navy during WWII, which earned him commissions to design boats for guys with beaucoup bucks and names like Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, and Disney. See https://sparkmanstephens.com/our-story/history/.

[3]The precise number of drunks is in dispute. John Cosby says it was 3, an anonymous source says it was 6, and this article says it was 4. https://www.soundingsonline.com/news/a-half-century-of-lessons-on-the-pleasure-of-sailing

[4] For some good Dowling quotes on the subject of the school’s mission to make sailing fun, thereby turning people on to sailing as a lifestyle, not just a competitive sport, see  https://www.soundingsonline.com/news/a-half-century-of-lessons-on-the-pleasure-of-sailing 

[5]Case in point: for this year’s annual July 4th party (which was a really big deal because it was also the school’s 60th anniversary celebration), Jenny chopped by hand what appeared to be 30 pounds of fruit salad. It was delicious, btw.

[6] Children from the ages of 5 to 15 are grouped with peers according to skill level. The 11’10’’ RS Zest training dinghies are the newest and smallest boats in the Kidship fleet. There are also 16-ft catamarans for intermediate students who want to hone their skills and 12’ Lasers for competitive racing for students at the advanced level aged 13-15.

[7] I attended the BLYS Summer Solstice Bash this year, which was held on a radiantly gorgeousJune 21.st For an admission fee of $35 for BLYS members and $45 for non-members, you got your choice of beer, wine, or non-alcoholic beverages, scrumptious food by Grump’s catering, and live music by Guava Jelly. You could shop at the local vendor tents or sign up for paddle-boarding classes taught by Capital SUP instructors as wells as yoga classes taught by BLYS instructors. The event closed out with a blissful sunset meditation and everyone was sent home with a goodie bag. What’s not to like?

[8]Nickname applied to the laid-back waterman’s neighborhood of Eastport by spirited residents who formed a tongue-in-cheek secessionist movement when the bridge connecting them to downtown Annapolis was closed for repair back in 1998.

[9] Not to be confused with Davy Jones, Captain of the ghost ship Flying Dutchman. I don’t want anything to do with that octopus-faced dude and his infernal locker.

[10]Someone told me this rose petal proposal actually happened on board one of the Beneteaus. Whether it's a true tale or a romantic fantasy or reality is irrelevant; you could totally do it!

[11] Case in point: as I was interviewing Cosby for this piece, he briefly excused himself to "hand out high-fives” to newbie sailing students who had just docked a Rainbow for the 1st time.


Apr302019April 30, 2019June 19, 2023by Glitterchicken

Longwood Gardens

Posted in Architecture, Nature

My great-grandfather wore a fedora and a pinstripe suit. My great-grandmother wore a floral print dress, a fur stole, and a black hat decorated with white loops of ribbon that looked like macaroni. They stood in front of a circular fountain bordered by fields of tulips. Behind them were brick walls, more fountains, and a row of trees. “Our relatives back in Italy probably thought this is where we lived,” my Aunt Mary chuckled as she handed me the photo, which was obviously not taken in my great- grandparents’ tiny backyard. “What is this place?” I asked. “Longwood Gardens,” she told me, “down near Delaware. It was owned by the DuPonts, a really rich family from Wilmington. It’s open to the public now. Mom & Pop used to take us there every Easter.” I scrutinized the photo, absorbing every detail before announcing: “I’m gonna go there someday.”

My fascination with Longwood Gardens started with that old family photo when I was just a little girl and it hasn’t ended yet. I’ve visited Longwood Gardens countless times with family and friends or alone with sketchpad in hand. And not unlike a love affair, every time I enter that familiar terrain, I exit with a new discovery.

Turns out good old Aunt Mary was right. Longwood Gardens started out as the weekend residence of the DuPont family from 1906 until 1954. Pierre S. DuPont originally bought what used to the be the Peirce family homestead in order to save the adjacent old-growth forest (known as Peirce’s Park) from being chopped down by lumberjacks. But it didn’t take long for P.S. DuPont to recognize the property’s potential, and it became his lifelong labor of love. By 1914, he had laid out the 600-foot-long Flower Garden Walk, begun hosting his famous June garden parties, and installed the Italian-inspired Open Air Theatre, thereby starting Longwood’s tradition of live music and dance performance that continue to this day. P.S. DuPont fed his passion for horticulture by first expanding the courtyard of his home (the Peirce-DuPont House), into a conservatory[1], and eventually building the elegant Conservatory that opened in 1921 and still functions as the crown jewel of the estate. Apparently, it was P.S. DuPont’s childhood dream to build a greenhouse that is open to the public.[2]  Not only has his dream been realized on a grand scale, but the Longwood Gardens of today is so much more than a big greenhouse filled with exotic plants. Renowned for its excellence in horticultural research and development, Longwood hybrids such as the Victoria water-platter[3] are sought after by collectors worldwide.  Longwood Gardens is also an ecosystem consisting of a vast arboretum, two lakes, a waterfall, and a meadow, all of which provides valuable habitat for many native species and serves as a stage for wildlife conservation and land stewardship efforts, often in conjunction with local universities. The bluebird houses in the meadow are a prime example.[4] Furthermore, Longwood Gardens is an educational institution in its own right, offering courses for professional horticulturalists, programs for K-12 students or college interns, and continuing education classes for professionals and hobbyists in a wide variety of fields, such as floral design, horticulture & gardening, landscape design, and creative arts.[5]

But most visitors are totally unaware of everything going on behind the scenes at Longwood Gardens. They’re coming to see the show. And what a phenomenal show it is!

It’s easy to understand why my great-grandparents ritually took the family to Longwood Gardens at Easter time because this is when the verdant landscape of Southeastern Pennsylvania really springs to life. If you visit Longwood during the Spring Bloomsseason that lasts from the last week of March through the first week of May, it’s like a Hollywood red carpet parade of over 245,000 bulbs! Early in the season, you’ll be greeted by glory-of-the-snow, winter-aconite, and crocus. . . the golden narcissus is next to arrive. . . and finally (trumpet fanfare) . . . the tulips . . . row after row of candy-colored tulips cover the Idea Garden grounds, in adjacent squares evocative of a Mondrian painting. Their glorious cups bobble slightly when their stems wave in the wind, creating a breathtaking ripple effect. When standing amidst their splendor, you can totally get whytulip mania wreaked so much havoc on the Dutch economy in the mid-1600s.[6]

The abundance of graceful flowering trees such as Japanese Cherry (early in the season) and Dogwood (in the middle of the season) is another reason why so many visitors flock to Longwood Gardens for Spring Blooms, but I wouldn't want you to think Spring is the only time to go! Like Vivaldi’s famous concerti, all four seasons at Longwood Gardens offer something spectacular.

The Summer months at Longwood are known as the Festival of Fountains. Inspired by his trips to Italy, Mr. DuPont had several elaborate fountain gardens constructed on the grounds, all of which have been lovingly maintained in accordance with his vision. The star attraction is the recently renovated Main Fountain Garden.[7] Every day, at multiple scheduled times, 175-foot tall plumes and 1,719 swirling jets of water dance to the rhythm of the music. In the evening (Thursday through Saturday), you’ll be treated to a gorgeous multi-colored illuminated performance. As if that weren’t enough, staggered throughout the season, there are 6 shows combining the dancing musical fountain display with fireworks![8]

Now, I’ll clue you in to the less obvious but no less beautiful fountains you should check out if you visit during the Festival of Fountains. The Italian Water Garden, built in 1927, with its terraced slopes and sparkling water reminiscent of diamonds, is one of the most romantic spots on the property.[9] The bench under the shade of the tree is the perfect spot for kissing. (Or meditating upon the meaning of life. Or applying mosquito repellent. Whatever strikes your fancy). If you’re happily hiking through Peirce’s Park, head Eastward down the path to the Sylvan Fountain, an idyllic woodland oasis tucked away in a grove of bottlebrush buckeye (Aesculus parviflora). If you’re puttering around in the Conservatory, take a moment to play in the Children’s Garden fountains, where even grown-ups are allowed to splash around and get wet.  Go ahead and stick your head under the rain curtain; it's so refreshing!

The highlight of Autumn’s Colorsat Longwood Gardens is the Chrysanthemum Festival, the largest display of exhibition chrysanthemums in the U.S. In the Conservatory, you’ll be amazed at the sight of over 17,000 chrysanthemums that Longwood’s expert horticulturists have painstakingly nurtured and trained into all kinds of crazy shapes such as spirals, shields, columns, orbs, and pagodas. Taking center stage is thejaw-dropping “Thousand Bloom Chrysanthemum,” a horticultural marvel measuring nearly 12 feet wide and taking 2 years to grow, created by cultivating a singlechrysanthemum plant to produce 1,000 or more uniform evenly spaced blooms according to an ancient Japanese method known as Ozukuri.

There are precious few growers in the world skilled at the technique of training a Thousand Bloom mum, whereby a team of trainers must meticulously pinch and tie the chrysanthemum plant to a wire frame designed by an architect that can be adjusted as the plant grows. Then, they must arrange the blooms into a dome shape and train the plant to achieve as many blooms as humanly possible. Longwood’s team is led by Yoko Arakawa, who travels frequently to Japan to train with master chrysanthemum growers.[10]

In homage to Japanese culture and aesthetics, every Autumn, the entranceways and hallways of the Conservatory are festooned with brightly-colored paper lanterns and this year in the Ballroom (on October 26th& 27th) there will be special displays and demonstrations of Ikebana and Bonsai, which are not just ancient Japanese art forms but also Zen Buddhist spiritual practices.[11]

While the Chrysanthemum Festival is nothing short of a miracle that looks like something only the Oompa-Loompas could have created, you cannot fully appreciate Autumn’s Colors without putting on your down vest and stepping outside to view nature’s great masterpieces: the reflections of the towering trees in the 2 spring-fed lakes that once served as jumping-off points for Pierre S. DuPont’s boating parties and the wide expanse of the grassy meadow ringed in fiery red, orange, and goldforest, the perfect spot for plein airpainting or sketching.

Unless you’re a local who’s grown accustomed to maddening traffic congestion due to the throngs of visitors coming to and from “A Longwood Christmas,” you might be surprised to learn that Winter is by far the most popular season to visit Longwood Gardens. After strolling the grounds, where over 500,000 twinkling lights magically transform the grounds into a Winter Wonderland, you can warm up with a cup of hot cocoa at the terrace café while listening to the joyful sounds of carolers at the entrance. You’ll find the Conservatory packed from floor to ceiling with evergreen trees and wreaths creatively decorated in accordance with a single theme, such as birds, ice, or France, just to name a few. After playing the guess-the-theme game, you can sing along to the sounds of the season at a Longwood Organ holiday concert.[12]

While it’s easy to see how A Longwood Christmas has become a beloved tradition for many regional families and a “must do” on the bucket lists of visitors from around the globe, the Orchid Extravaganza in late Winter (Jan. through March) attracts serious horticulturalists, photographers,and plant lovers alike. Admittedly, we have made it our tradition to visit Longwood every year during the Orchid Extravaganza when outdoor temperatures are still too cold for trees to bud and bulbs to emerge from the earth, but the heated 4-acre Conservatory is teeming with life and bursting with color. It looks like the Oompa-Loompas were hard at work again!

Nearly 5,000 blooming orchids of many varieties (including Phalaenopsis, Cymbidium, Cattleya, Dendrobium, and Paphiopedilum) are amassed into giant hanging orbs, massive panels, and cascading curtains. Orchids drip down from ceilings, cover walls, encircle benches, and spring forth from containers, creating that feeling that you are enveloped by them. Longwood’s talented team of growers intersperses other stunning flowering plant species into the display to add richness and depth; enormous lilies and vibrant anemones are staff favorites (and ours). If you visit in early March, don’t miss the rare Himalayan blue poppies (Meconopsis ‘Lingholm’) that Longwood’s gardeners force to bloom using an artful technique. But beware these flowers are so alluring that they act as a magnet for humans! Don’t be surprised if you find yourself fixated to the point where you have trouble pulling yourself away. You won’t be the first person whose phone runs out of juice because you can’t stop taking pictures of the blue poppies, trust me; it happened to me and my friend.

Now, for some visiting tips geared to specific audiences. First, for children of all ages and the kids in all of us, don’t miss the Children’s Garden in the Conservatory; it’s whimsical animal sculptures and delightful water features provide an oasis of enchantment that’s open year-round. You’ll also want to check out the Garden Railway (open during Autumn’s Colors and A Longwood Christmas). Another fun game to play is to ask for a Gardens Map when you get your ticket for admission, and then once you’re inside, see if you can find the 3 treehouses on the grounds (1 of them is easy to find, but the other 2 are hidden in the woods). The topiary garden is fun too; the bushes are trimmed into cool animal shapes, like Alice in Wonderland.

And now, for the adults. You can’t find a more picturesque and tranquil setting to soak up a live music or dance performance. While some concerts (such as the Longwood organ) can take place during the Fall and Winter months, most of the action happens during the Summer Performance Series, where rising stars or established artists take the stage in the Open Air Theatre. This year’s lineup features Leslie Odom, Jr. of Hamilton fame, Roseanne Cash, and BalletX.  The annualWine & Jazz Festival, a 2-day event that occurs the 1st weekend in June, is also immensely popular. Tickets for these summertime events sell out super quick, so be sure to make your reservations well in advance.

For all the craft beer aficionados, Longwood boasts a beer garden that will make you wriggle in your lederhosen. If you’re feeling traditional, you can sip on a signature draft brew designed especially for Longwood by local favorite Victory Brewing Co. while munching on a Bavarian soft pretzel, but if you’re in need of something meatier, you can choose from a selection of pizzas, burgers, sandwiches, and bratwurst (of course). All the while, you can stargaze while listening to excellent live music ranging from roots rock to gypsy jazz to progressive bluegrass to Caribbean steel drums. And if you’re not into the whole beer thing, you can buy French wine for $9 a glass. What’s not to like? Note that the beer garden is only open, weather permitting, on Thursday through Saturday nights from 5:00 to 9:00 pm (May 9th – Aug. 31st) and from 4:00 pm to 8:00 pm (Sept. 5th – Oct. 26th).

Last but definitely not least, for those explorers among you (like me) who enjoy wandering far from the madding crowds, ask for a Gardens Map when you purchase your admissions ticket, and go to the Chimes Tower, the Grotto, and the “big loop” trail bordering the outer edges of the Meadow Garden. In these serene, seemingly private spaces, you can pause for a moment of gratitude or prayer, or just simply reflect on the boundless beauty of nature.

[1] All you history buffs, be sure to visit the Peirce-DuPont house, which has been converted into a charming museum featuring a film and walk-through exhibits on the life of Pierre S. DuPont and the creation of Longwood Gardens. The original courtyard conservatory, which is home to some fabulous old plants and fat lazy cats, has been lovingly preserved and maintained.  https://longwoodgardens.org/gardens/peirce-du-pont-house

[2]For more information on the grand Conservatory, see https://longwoodgardens.org/history/1916-1926

[3]For a behind-the-scenes look, including videos, of the debut of the Victoria ‘Longwood hybrid’ water-platter at the Philadelphia Flower Show in 2010, see https://longwoodgardens.org/blog/2010/02/03/longwood-water-platter-ready-for-flower-show-debut

[4]For more about Longwood’s bluebird program, seehttps://plantexplorer.longwoodgardens.org/weboi/oecgi2.exe/INET_ECM_DispTour?TOURCODE=BLUEBIRD

[5]For more on the plethora of Longwood’s educational offerings https://longwoodgardens.org/education

[6]The Dutch Tulip Market Bubble, aka “tulip mania,” during the Dutch Golden Age, was one of the most famous market booms and busts of all time. At the height of the craze, the rarest tulip bulbs traded for as much as 6 times the average person’s annual salary. For more details,see https://www.investopedia.com/terms/d/dutch_tulip_bulb_market_bubble.asp

[7] Tolearn more about the $90 million Main Fountain Garden renovation project, visit the Historic Pump Room & Gallery at Longwood Gardens or see https://www.pennlive.com/gardening/2017/03/fire_on_water_longwood_gardens.html

[8] Bearin mind that the daytime and evening fountain displays are included in the cost of Garden Admission, but the Fireworks & Fountains shows require an extraticket. Due to their popularity, advanced reservations are highly recommended. Don’t forget to bring your own chairs and/or blankets and start packing up your stuff before the finale or it could be Christmas by the time you leave theparking lot. If crowds and kids aren’t your thing, just forget about it and watch the video; you can thank us later.

[9] The layout of the Italian Water Garden is remarkably similar to the one the DuPonts saw at the Villa Gamberaia near Florence. Pierre S. DuPont planned every detail of its design from the sculptures to the hydraulic calculations.

[10]For more about the Chrysanthemum Festival, including a time-lapse video of the creation of the Thousand Bloom mum, seehttps://longwoodgardens.org/events-and-performances/events/chrysanthemum-festival.

[11]For the NYT perspective on The Rise of Modern Ikebana, see  https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/06/t-magazine/ikebana-japanese-flower-art.htmland for an interesting take on why people treat their Bonsai trees like children, see https://qz.com/quartzy/1550988/theres-a-good-reason-bonsai-growers-think-of-trees-as-their-children/

[12] Composed of 10,010 pipes divided into 146 ranks, The Longwood Organ is the largest Aeolian organ ever constructed in a residential setting. Pierre S. du Pont had it custom-designed in 1930, and it remains in Longwood’s Conservatory, where each year the best and brightest young organists compete for prizes before a panel of esteemed judges in an International Organ Competition. The top prizewinner takes home the Pierre S. duPont First Prize of $40,000, the biggest cash prize of any organ competition in the world. For information about the 2019 competitors, see https://longwoodgardens.org/international-organ-competition/2019-competition/competitors