On the weekend we made a little overnight trip down to Seward.  We had reservations on Sunday morning for a six hour boat tour of the fjords and glaciers, and we arrived on Saturday early enough for a great lunch by the water and a little walkabout.         

Seward is a beautiful little spot on God’s earth.  Everything is pricey up here, but it’s well worth the trip.  As was our boat tour, which for my money was worth every penny.  More on that later.                   

But first a picture up on Hatcher Pass.  The road over Hatcher Pass connects the highways that go north up toward Denali and Fairbanks.  In spite of the lateness of the season, and the fact that the road is all dirt, there was still a lot of traffic on it.

I took this photo as a comparison in my own head.  Hatcher Pass tops out at only about 4,000 ft. of elevation.  The mountains I’ve traveled in my life are all forested up to about 10,000 feet and become mostly barren above that.  These mountains lack forest at a much lower elevation because we’re in the tundra.  Different climate, different geography.  Ok, fine, wake back up.  It was interesting to me.

Thunderbird Falls is a great little treasure for my niece when she has guests.  It’s pretty close to where she lives and it’s a hike most anyone can handle.  Speaking of niece’s, here are my traveling companions on this trip.

This is my sister Joan, my brother-in-law Bud, and their daughter Stephanie.  That’s Bud on the right. 😉

The hiking trail up to the falls stays high above the river until the very end.  Then there’s a spur trail that drops down to the river level just below the falls.  This warning sign along the trail has a cute little graphic depicting a guy falling to his death.  A nice touch.

The banks are very steep and damp with mist near the base of the falls.  If you want to risk getting wet, you can get closer than this.  I chose the common sense image.

Anyone know if this mushroom is edible.  We all decided that mushrooms with color generally are not.  And we weren’t hungry anyway.

Who knew?

One of the good things about travel is you learn stuff.  I had to come to Alaska to learn that they don’t call this hill Mt. McKinley anymore.  Instead it is now known simply by the native identification of Denali.

I also learned, as many do who come here, that one gets to view the mountain only about twenty five percent of the time on average.  Three out of every four days this mountain is shrouded in clouds.

This photo, admittedly not the greatest, is testament that we were lucky enough to drive up here to Denali Park and actually see the mountain.  And I’m very serious about feeling lucky.  To the naked eye it is still a very majestic hill, even when you can only see the top third.

Telkeetna’s claim to fame is that it is perched right on the eastern boundary of Denali National Park.  It’s at the end of a fourteen mile highway spur.  The only transportation choices beyond are float planes, ATVs, river rafts, and a train that goes up into the park.

There’s also this taxi but it’s strictly local.  It’s also the only thing I could find in Telkeetna that was remotely photo worthy.

Telkeetna’s sign says, Population 800, which I suspect goes to about 80 when winter sets in.  During the tourist season, given it’s size,  there are a surprising number of choices for eating and other treats. And as luck would have it, Denali Brewery.  The parking lot for tour busses is about as big as the whole town itself.  And as you might expect, there are more than a handful of souvenir shops.  Surprise, surprise, they all sell the same stuff.

My only previous experience with Alaska was a stop in the airport on the way to Viet Nam, so I am enjoying everything I see.  Still no moose sightings yet in spite of the fact that there warning signs everywhere, even right “in town”.  Out on the highways there are signs that say Moose Crossing Next Five Miles.  Then about three miles further there’s another one.  They should just have signs that say, People, don’t be stupid.  Keep your eyes open for moose.

I didn’t really tell many people I would be making this trip and blogging, so I don’t know how many of you might be “out there”.  But I am well and hope you all are too.

Ok, so it’s been awhile. Sue me. 🙂

I’m on a trip to Alaska with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece.  My niece, Steph, is with us, but is actually returning to Palmer, Alaska where she lives and teaches.

I don’t sleep on planes, (it’s not for lack of trying), so when granted a window seat I often pass the time contemplating all manner of stuff wondering around in my head, as well as what I see below.  Here are a few pics from my little window on the world below.  

My contemplative time on this aerial journey was spent wandering back and forth between two musings, one being a consistent favorite of mine.  In my travels I have spent hours and hours thinking about and imagining what it was like for early natives, pilgrims, settlers, and mountain men who lived and journeyed into vast areas of wilderness.  Flying over northern British Columbia and the Northwest Territories one can literally fly for hours and not see evidence below of humans.  I know there are at least roads down there somewhere, but I don’t see them.  Even today, crossing this wilderness would not be for the faint of heart.  When I think about what it was like one to two hundred years ago and before, it rocks my imagination.  But I am so completely drawn into it.  At the risk of sounding trite, I’ve often thought I was born about 100 years to late. There is a lot to revere about the mettle of the people who came before us.

So what’s the other one you wonder.  Funny you should ask.

I just started a book titled “Breathing Under Water”, written by Richard Rohr, who I’ve read before.  It was recommended by my great friend Tim, who had it recommended by another friend of ours, and so it goes.  After reading just the Introduction, spending a couple of hours meditating on it, and then reading it again, I feel comfortable passing this recommendation on to anyone out there reading my humble ramblings.

At the great risk of too much simplification, it seeks to equate the teachings of Jesus with the teachings of the Twelve Step Program. Sin and addiction, salvation and recovery, just to name a few.  I had to go back and make some notes, something that’s not typical for me, so I could keep track of the many things that spoke to me in just the Intro.  Even if you don’t think of yourself as a very spiritual person, or don’t directly identify with either of these two things, this is a very thought provoking book.

Writing this book became a written organization of a series of talks Rohr had been giving over the years.  And the talks were all inspired by, and rooted in, a poem by Carol Bieleck, r.s.c.j., that I’ll leave you with for now. (Sorry, I don’t know what those letters stand for).

I built my house by the sea.                                                                                             Not on the sands, mind you;                                                                                           Not on the shifting sand.                                                                                                   And I built it of rock. A strong house by the sea.                                                  And we got well acquainted,                                                                                        the sea and I.                                                                                                                            Good neighbors.                                                                                                                Not that we spoke much.                                                                                               We met in silences.  Respectful, keeping our distance, but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.                                                                                                                    

And then one day, – and I still don’t know how it happened – the sea came. Without warning.                                                                                                      

Without welcome, even.                                                                                                 Not sudden and swift,                                                                                                      but a shifting across the sand like wine,                                                                     less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.                                           Slow, but coming.                                                                                                            Slow, but flowing like an open wound.                                                                    And I thought of flight and I thought of drowning,                                            and I thought of death.                                                                                                   And while I thought the sea crept higher,                                                                 till it reached my door.                                                                                                    And I knew then, there was neither flight nor death,                                            nor drowning.                                                                                                                   That when the sea comes calling                                                                               you stop being neighbors                                                                                              Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors                                            And you give your house for a coral castle,                                                              And then you learn to breathe underwater.

On Monday, my last day in Guatemala for this trip, I was out on a walkabout and took this picture down at the Central Bus Station in Antigua.  As I was standing here I was thinking how you can get anywhere in Guatemala from here, if you have the time.  You also would need a good map of Guatemala and the ability to ask some basic questions in Spanish.  Like where do I catch the bus to, ……….          The buses are all identified by destination, thus the need for a good map.  Livestock must be smaller than a goat. 🙂

I’m afraid I don’t have any update on Benjamin.  I checked all of his usual spots today without success.  I asked some of the other street people I know, but no one else has seen him during the time I haven’t seen him.  I’ll keep him in my prayers.

As I’m writing this, I’m back in my apartment thinking spring.  My plane ride was greeted with a snowy day on Tuesday and the prospects for significant warming seem pretty far off.  Last night I had a great reunion with my kids that involved pizza and beer.  Seeing them realigns all of the heavens for me.

So I’m closing up for now again.  Future travel plans (and blogging) include a trip to Alaska with my sister and brother-in-law in early September, a trip to the Holy Land next February, after which I’ll return to Guatemala.

Thank you so much for being out there.

Next to Santa Ana is another little village called San Cristobal.  Up on the ridge above is San Cristobal El Altas.  There’s a farm to table restaurant and the slopes surrounding it are orchards, gardens, and nursery.  Some marketers that make their way up every day.  It’s an idyllic place.

The girls lives are becoming increasingly busy, so it’s becoming more difficult, but we always try to make a trip up the hill for lunch when I’m here.  Almost all of the seating is outside, and as you can see the view of Antigua is special.

This was an interesting contrast of old and new.  The bike you see in the photo looked like it was brand new.  There’s no telling how old this loom is, but if I was to hazard a guess, it is at least several decades, probably more.

There was some bargaining going on for some window plants.  Left to right are Sami, Seidi, Lourdes, a nursery worker, and Stefani.  Stef was “negotiating” with her phone, and Renato stayed safely away.

As I’m posting this, it’s the day after Easter.  We celebrated this special day in our usual way.  Mass at the Cathedral, followed by breakfast.  I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter.  It was a blessed day for me.

Today is one last walkabout in Antigua to empty my pockets of alms and look for Benjamin.  Tonight, dinner with the fam, followed by a 4 AM shuttle to the airport in the morning.  If all goes well, touchdown at Twin Cities International, (remember when it was called Wold Chamberlain), at six o’clock Tuesday evening.  A quick check with Weatherbug tells me it might be snowing when I get there.  Not to worry, I can handle a little winter knowing spring is near. 🙂

I was able to stand right up next to it after Mass yesterday.  The float for this procession is massive.  It’s as big as a semi trailer.  Seventy bearers.  It honors St Francis, the church’s namesake, but Jesus and Mary are ever-present in the processions of course.

This is the day the crush of the crowds kinda got to me.  After the procession had exited the church grounds, it took me nearly an hour to make my way outside.  There were rails through the North Gate.  The procession turned left, went to the corner and turned left again. The streets outside were clogged with people.

The Apostles

I usually use this title when I can’t think of anything else to call a post.

I’m worried about my friend Benjamin.  I haven’t seen him since I returned from the lake.  Benjamin is a friend from the streets who lost his legs in a motorcycle accident eight years ago.  He was 24.  Given his circumstances, he’s a very affable and upbeat young man.  Luckily he has a place to live, but now he spends his days hoping to beg enough money to keep him in food and to buy the medicinal cream he needs for his leg sores.  Usually I won’t see him for a couple of days because he just needs to take a break from being in his wheelchair.  I’ve learned I have to ask him if he needs “extra medicine”.  Sometimes he needs to buy antibiotics because his chair sores get infected.  I’ve never gone this long without seeing him.

He’s a variation of the starfish story.  He survived many years before we met, and he’ll survive after I leave.  But in the meantime, I try to make a difference for him.  It’s a cliche, but I really do feel like I get more from him than he gets from me.  He’s that pleasant to know.

On lighter note, I was in my favorite quiet spot, the Cooperative Espana, (put the little squiggle over the n please) the other day, and had an encounter with this little friend.  She was doing her best teasing routine while I took her photo so I had to do what any gringo would do, I bribed her.  Even when she finally took her hands away, you can see she had this little, I’ll show my face but I’m not going to smile, smirk.  I love these people.

I have a few more procession photos to put up and then I’ll stop.  I’ve taken many, shared some, and it’s beginning to feel repetitious.  Right now some of you are thinking, do ya think?

Good Friday is the culmination of the processions.  There are five different processions with two of them going through the night and into morning.  Being in Antigua during Holy Week has been a mixed blessing.  Experiencing it has been something else, but at some point it becomes like being at the state fair every day.   On it’s busiest day.  Don’t know what future winters down here might bring, but I don’t think I would plan to be here the entire week again.  It’s gridlock without cars and I feel like I reached my limit a couple of days ago.

I won’t end this post with my usual tag line because health wise I could be better.  Don’t worry, nothing that serious. 🙂  I’m a few days away from my trip home and I’m ready.  But I always leave Guatemala with mixed feelings.

Del Silencio is an evening procession that begins and ends at El Calvario.  In previous photos, you’ve seen El Calvario from outside the grounds.  This is the church entrance inside.  Flanking the entrance are two of the final Stations of the Cross.  These Centurions, while stern faced, are having a hard time looking scary.

The start of this procession comes complete with talking heads.  And below, the before and after of the carpet that was created just outside the church entrance.

A moment before the float emerges from the church.  This photo gives you some perspective of how deep the sanctuary is.  To give you a sense for how slow the processions move, the movement of the float from the front of the church to the entrance was about twelve minutes.

No procession is complete without the work of the diligent clean up crews.

I was taking these photos right at dusk.  My camera flash was set on automatic and the light was able to fool it.  It kept jumping back and forth, flash, no flash.  First time I felt like my iPhone was more confused than me.  Well, wait a minute.  There was that time in Google Maps ……………

Fine, so it wasn’t that funny.  It was funny to me.

Stations of the Cross Banners

I was pointing my camera up the street at the exact moment they turned on the lights on the float.  Below is what enables the lights.  It’s a gas engine and generator with a very long cord that runs up to the float.  If you remember from previous posts about the processions, the musicians are immediately behind the floats.  The long cord enables the engine noise to stay well back from the music.

The float of the Blessed Mother, and that’s Agua in the background if you’ve been keeping up with your geography lessons.