Crescent City and south . . .

Sunset at Oceanfront Lodge, Crescent City (Camp 2013)

Made it to the ocean. We're here in Crescent City, and it seems we're following a trail of mermaids along the way. The ocean is that calm inviting blue of northern California that invites us to walk along the beach, but 'tis far too cold to swim.

Crescent City has that look of recovering from some dreadful economic disaster. I didn't realize the impact of the tsunami from 2011. We're seeing boarded store fronts and closed shops, not much road traffic. This small coastal town stretches out into the ocean and is most vulnerable to tsunamis, suffering millions of dollars of damage when the waves came last time.

Construction crews are rehabbing our hotel even as we enjoy the views. Last night we had an amazingly fresh fish (salmon, swordfish, and hallibut) for dinner at the Chart Room perched out on a spit by the bay. We found one pier crowded with honking, smelly sea lions who somehow had made their way over the rocks and up on the pier. Below, on a second, floating pier,  Harbour seals chummed next to the sea lions at the end of the day. Next stop, the redwoods!

Harbour Seals (Camp 2013)

I almost forgot about the mermaids. I'm guessing if you live near the sea, this siren is never far away. We found three mermaids here: one outside, a large wooden carving with the mermaid riding on a shark with very large teeth, and two inside, both guarding the small bar.

At the end of the day sometimes it hard to recognize how quickly the time passed by. And what did we do with these precious hours? Yesterday we walked for hours in the Royal Botanic Garden here in Edinburgh and we came away feeling somehow nurtured by this series of gardens, ten greenhouses (called glass houses here), one begun in 1670. I think their claim to fame is having the largest "glass house" in Britain, filled with towering palms.

For me, it was enough to simply walk through one humid zone after another, discovering a beautiful purple and yellow water lily, nearly stepping on a frog, or admiring the sway of Spanish moss, and, of course, the ferns. My pics are updated at Webshots, if you like.



Today we went to the National Museum of Scotland and managed somehow to complete another floor, balancing the camera with those silly audio wands. Yet even here I'm finding mermaids. It turns out that mermaids are one of several mythical creatures revered by the Picts and show up on various Scottish crests, namely that of the MacLarens.

We also saw The Maiden (a guillotine), grisly thumbscrews, Pictish crosses, and a few pieces from the lovely carved Lewis chessmen from the 12th Century.


Notice the richly detailed carved backs as well. The king and queen seem rather grim,though some have called their expressions comic.


If I were to give directions to our apartment here in Edinburgh, I would say walk down the Royal Mile, head in the direction of Holyrood Palace, and turn right at the sign of the mermaid. Ha, fooled you. There's a Starbucks on the corner.

Valparaiso farewell . . .

Now that we’ve left Valparaiso, Chile, for Vina del Mar, the weather has turned to pure autumn. We’re sleeping under feather comforters at Casa Genross, a lovely old bed and breakfast run by Canadian-Chileans Brian and Lea, just fifteen blocks from the sea. Their home is decorated with oriental art and Navajo weavings, the mellow parquet floor shines next to wooden book cases, and I’m listening to German opera on this quiet afternoon. Our friends have left for home, one couple to the east coast and another to the west, and we are once again vagabonding, just the two of us. Though already I miss their sweet company, the next month beckons, an open road.

We stayed in Valparaiso for three days at the Casa Hostal 199, with a sweeping view of the bay here and right next door to the Artilleria ascensor, those wobbly tin can cars that rise up impossibly on cables, from the valley floor.


Valparaiso spreads out along the docks and over forty-six hills. At night, lights twinkle as far as we can see, and the moon rose, a deep orange harvest moon.

Just yesterday, we visited Pablo Neruda’s home (sadness, no pictures allowed), but what a thrill. We wandered through his hillside four-story home, one of three here in Chile, now administered by the Pablo Neruda Foundation. From the entry, we were struck by the creativity Neruda brought to every detail of La Sebastiana. Each floor looked to the sea, and each room retained its original furnishings, artworks, and personal effects. Occasionally, we’d spot a poem. At the very top of the house, we found his workroom, books lining the shelves, including mysteries which he loved to read. We saw a door-sized photograph of Walt Whitman in full beard. Apparently, a workman asked Neruda if that photo was of his father. Neruda paused and then said, “Yes, he is my father.”

Everywhere Neruda's house shows a love of color with stained glass doors and windows, and a sense of whimsy in, for example, a tiny bar where only Neruda would go to mix drinks for his friends. Here I saw a painting of a Victorian mermaid, the muse, resplendent in orange scales, playing a violin.

We also went on a fabulous walking tour with Michael, the German Pirate. Our all-day ramble took us throughout Valparaiso, inside the Stock Exchange and to lunch at the Fire Station, run by volunteers, inside a few old Baroque buildings, with marble and wood brought from Europe, past the Sotomayor monument, and up the Concepcion asensor (in service since 1883), to crooked streets, many decorated with the most amazing art graffiti, including, of course, a mermaid or two (click on any image to see a larger version).



Most of the buildings in Valparaiso are made of a mix of corrugated iron for walls and roofs (once ballast from ships coming around the horn), adobe (a mix of mud and straw), and with what I would call lathes, small, narrow boards, for wood is rare and termites are a problem everywhere. The resulting housing on hillsides looks precarious, but no earthquakes have struck, at least no major ones since 1906. So we ate at several restaurants, Allen’s favorite – paella, perched out over ravines that seemed bottomless as we peered out our scenic windows.

We’ve been told that internet will be sketchy as we travel to northern Chile, our next stop San Pedro de Atacama. So I wish you well where you are, north of the equator, spring comes; here, I can smell winter.