Dreams, Moments, Travels
I wish we’d learned about using a UV-A (blacklight) for finding scorpions long ago, such as when Jutta left America with one in her bag and got to Germany to find it, trying to crawl out. My crafty mother-in-law caught that menacing-looking creature and took it to a local museum, where someone graciously mounted it for her.
There are trips we made over the years (I’m writing this in 2018) where, not knowing we’d travel as extensively as we did and certainly not knowing that we’d ever have been assembling a blog of those travels, we failed to take notes or take photos on each and every time we ventured out. This is one of those. Apparently, we had left Friday night because here we were at Goldilocks Filipino cafe in Artesia, California way too early to have driven over on this day. Besides not having any data or images for Friday, when you arrive at the end of Saturday, things will drop off, and we have nothing for Sunday. With the advent of digital photography and date stamps on photos, it is fortunate for us to have a record of when we did what; I only wish we’d been more detail-oriented about documenting these excursions.
It’s obvious why we stayed in Artesia this weekend, also known as Little India; we were here to see this blockbuster film Devdas. Seeing this movie signaled a huge change in our lives as we fell in love with the work of Shahrukh Khan, the opulent beauty of Indian cinema, and the non-aggressive, non-violent storylines, and wanted to see even more Hindi films than we were already watching. We had already been renting movies from a small shop on Bell Road in Phoenix during the previous year, but this movie was a milestone that made us more discriminating consumers of the genre.
Last month, we had Morning Glory at Mix Bowl Cafe over in Pomona; we loved it so much that we drove back across Los Angeles to have it again.
Oh yeah, there was that other dish called steamed Koo chai that we’d tried, this is what they look like. It’s funny that the staff at Mix Bowl are surprised we like these dishes as usually their “white” customers don’t like these things.
And back across Los Angeles into Hollywood for some cruising up Hollywood Boulevard and back down the Sunset Strip.
This was the other reason besides today’s movie for our trip to southern California, a performance by students of a local Halau (Hula School) demonstrating Hawaiian dance.
We are in Little Tokyo for tonight’s entertainment.
It makes us think about going to Hawaii someday.
Moving like snails down the road to Los Angeles, California.
This is the Arizona Territorial Jail in the old town of Superior, and it is either the smallest or at least one of the smallest jails in Arizona. Built around 1916, according to some, although the faded sign on the building says something or other about 1884 and mentions Civil War officer Captain John Walker.
The purpose of this out-and-back single afternoon trip is simply to photograph some decaying buildings and their surfaces so I can either take inspiration from them or allow them to refresh my memories of details of places visited.
The Uptown Theater here in Superior used to sell movie tickets for a mere $0.28, which included a snack and tax back in 1923 when it opened. If only I had the guts to break in, I’d love to see what the place looks like inside and imagine those who were able to see the magic of the movies out in this dusty mining town some 75 years ago.
MacPherson’s Magma Hotel is just waiting for someone to come in and give it some tender, loving care.
The world is not just in front of your face; it is also below your feet should you decide it’s worth looking at. Just think that Sean Penn or Joaquin Phoenix might have stepped right here during the filming of U-Turn.
These old buildings and places that are being abandoned or neglected are a treasure trove of surfaces that have worn beautifully with the passage of time. New is not always the most beautiful.
Signs offer great insight into the history of a place. When was the last time “Agents” made visits to homes and offices?
I tried to learn something about Weis Market here in Superior but have come up empty-handed. Amazing bit of weathering going on.
Old steam trains used to ply these tracks hauling ore out of the mines. Initially, silver was being mined here, but when silver dropped from $1.50 an ounce to only 20 cents an ounce, it was time to shut the mine or start hauling out copper, and for the next 86 years, that’s how the town survived.
I believe I took this near Kane Springs Canyon down an old dirt road, but as I write this much later, my memory could be faulty.
Possibly the oldest gas station ruin I’ve ever seen is here in Hayden, Arizona, another town devastated by the ebb and flow of mining operations.
If I didn’t need constant tetanus booster shots due to the rusting handle, I’d have this doorknob at home in an instant.
From this old town which is quickly turning into a ghost town, came one famous citizen, Dick Tuck. Born Richard Gregory Tuck in 1924 right here in Hayden, he was better known as Dick and was a political consultant, campaign strategist, and political prankster. On the Watergate tapes, President Richard Nixon can be heard talking about the guy.
Rex Theater on Hayden Avenue hasn’t shown a movie here since 1979. This old mining community has an interesting tale that reflects many small towns across America’s similar problems with aging populations, declining opportunities, industries that closed shop, and those who apparently cannot afford to leave. To read more about Hayden, click here.
Paint bakes in the sun, chips off in the wind and rain, and ultimately allows the rest of the building to start turning to dust.
I just love the irregular lines, shapes, and aging that make up these places. While they were perfect in their time, they are worthless to the future.
Just a week ago the Rodeo–Chediski fire was brought under control and about to be put out, but it had burned 468,638 acres (732 square miles) and destroyed 426 buildings since it started back on June 18th. This fire was the combination of two events; one started by an arsonist and the other by someone stuck in the wilderness with a broken all-terrain vehicle, trying to get help. Seeing the forest floor scrubbed clean is strange enough, but seeing the shadows of the leafless trees on the ground adds to the peculiar sight.
Among the trees, the sap that had been boiled out of them was everywhere. Within all this tragedy, I find something beautiful.
I feel for the people who lost their homes and the pain they must cope with at such an enormous loss.
Can’t let the downer of that devastating fire be the extent of what my eyes will witness today, so I turned off the road to detour over to Roosevelt Lake Bridge. Back in 1911, U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt dedicated the dam that bears his name, but it wouldn’t be until 1990 that the bridge was built. The dam was too narrow for modern cars, and so the bridge became a necessity. It is the longest two-lane, single-span, steel-arch bridge in North America. The bridge spans 1,080 feet across Roosevelt Lake, and while one can continue to Highway 60 further south, a shortcut to Phoenix via the Apache Trail is also found right here.
I’m opting for the dusty, unpaved Apache Trail, which is nearly 30 miles of a twisty, winding, sometimes very narrow road that travels through a gorgeous slice of Arizona and leads into the Superstition Mountains over to Tortilla Flats.
Apache Lake in the distance. It’s not uncommon to see trucks pulling boats on this primitive road to hang out at this popular recreation site.
The Superstition Mountains where legend has it there’s a lost gold mine somewhere out in the wilderness.
Some parts of the dirt road are in pretty good shape and are easily navigable, while others are nail-biters with blind corners that induce fear that someone towing a boat should come around the corner and force you to back up.
As I said earlier, it’s a beautiful route for those able to deal with less-than-ideal driving conditions.
Towards the end of the route, you can reward yourself with a visit to the Superstition Saloon in the famous biker hangout of Tortilla Flat.
It’s not even 6:00 in the morning yet but already we’ve missed the sun coming up over the horizon. Time to hit the road for a repeat of some of yesterday. Our motel is located right next to Route 120, also known as Tioga Road, making our next move very convenient.
Up here by the park entrance, the sun is yet to rise, but if you look over my shoulder you can see it on the mountain tops. Yesterday was so beautiful we are throwing caution to the wind, and instead of going home and arriving at a reasonable time, we decided to drive back up the Tioga Pass to catch a few more glimpses of a side of Yosemite we’d not seen before.
Tenaya Lake looks quite different in the early morning, not better, not worse, just different and still magnificent.
We are venturing further into the park than we were able to yesterday as we were losing daylight.
Siesta Lake was as far as we were willing to go, and we accepted that we couldn’t do it all even though we try. Just seeing upper Yosemite in this light has made our detour worth everything we have to give up in sleep.
Back at our car, a proud marmot was posing with its scat that, in its world, must be a super load otherwise, why the staredown?
The view from Olmsted Point offers a look at Half Dome that I’m guessing few ever get to see based on how light the traffic up here yesterday and this morning was, it can easily be surmised that the majority of park visitors only go to Yosemite Valley.
Another view from Olmsted Point.
Our last encounter of greenery meeting water before we descend into the desert and its harsh environment.
Viewed from here, driving over that scree slope looks sketchy.
Hey anyone up for a swim in the salty water of Mono Lake with the brine shrimp and blackflies? Of course, Caroline would be interested in making her way through the swarming critters both in the water and on its surface; she’s kind of a badass in that way.
Welcome to one of America’s largest concentration camps from World War II. This is the Manzanar War Relocation Center, where a lot of Japanese American citizens ended up, but this was only one of the ten camps in America. In total, our country rounded up 120,000 Japanese and their families, removing them from their communities, land, property, and businesses and fully uprooting their faith in the American system of justice.
It was December 1942 when Edward R. Murrow told the American people that the German concentration camps were, more precisely, extermination camps, and yet since February of the same year, the United States was operating concentration camps of their own. While it could be argued that the American position of incarcerating these fellow Americans didn’t result in their deaths, the xenophobia that gives rise to these types of actions are the flames of hatred that, once unleashed, can be difficult to extinguish.
The rusty nails hammered into our freedoms, into the hearts of a loyal citizenry, into our constitution are then pulled out and left in the sun as grim reminders that our sense of right and wrong can be unpredictable and shifted like so much sand in the wind. When we institutionalize hate as we have for Native Americans, African Americans, Jewish Americans, Muslim Americans, Gay Americans, Mexican Americans, Irish Americans, and any of the other ethnic and religious groups that we as a society have sanctioned hatred for, we are not being the best we can be. We descend into petty small-mindedness and debase what we claim to stand for. We are not inclusive; we are elitists who have lost their way.
While the barracks and the majority of the manifestations that America operated a concentration camp system were bulldozed, there are still stark reminders that we have a long way to go before we can lay claim to operating a moral compass that can guide others. How is it in the 21st century that we are still talking about civil liberties, equal rights, educational disparities that appear to be institutional and biased against people of color, a correctional system that also displays an ugly bias, and the list goes on and on? While the barracks are gone now, ask a Native American how different their reservation is from a camp in the desert that took away the rights of a people, ask a Mexican American in hiding from immigration authorities how free they are beyond picking our food or cleaning our yards to travel, or ask a gay couple how comfortable they are to hold hands in public? Hell, a woman cannot even breastfeed her child in public without raising the ire of the intolerant mob.
Our country is vast; its founding documents are inclusive and welcoming. Yet our actions of isolationism scream louder than the words so eloquently placed on that parchment. There is room for all in America, but our fear of others and our disdain for those falling outside of conformity are a weakness that will continue to hamper our future until the time comes when we can confront our stupidity for what it is.
The deep-fried zucchini was pretty good, but the Mexican food was HORRIBLE.
This is one of those signs that let you know just how big America is. Never in Europe would you be warned that you will not find services for the next 162 kilometers; as a matter of fact, you can’t drive 15 km in Europe without running into another village.
The sun sets on the West and our Independence Day adventure. Tomorrow, that very same sun will return, creating a new dawn, but too many of us will not wake up to this idea of reinvention and new adventures; we will instead drag the same old version of ourselves out of the previous day. Race past your habits and desire to stay in place and get out on the road, both in reality and metaphorically. The world is ready to be embraced and experienced, even if it’s in fits and spurts that don’t allow for total immersion. Better to have tasted the victory of knowledge and beauty than to be a prisoner of an outmoded construct of physical and mental stagnation.