North to Cape Breton . . .

When I visited Novia Scotia back in 2003, on a leisurely trip along the coast, I never thought I'd want to return for historical reasons. But this year's travel plans may well take us back to Canada, perhaps as far east as Novia Scotia, to research those intrepid Scots who immigrated here in mid-19th Century, leaving behind famine, evictions, and the potato blight.

In 2003, we drove north from Philadelphia with friends, mostly interested in hiking and camping along the Novia Scotia coast. One of our stops featured a small hike through a boggy marshland. 

I'm still entranced by the lovely reflections of water plants in still pools (see above), and my first sight of the Pitcher Plant (below), its carnivorous nature reflected in its intense red coloring. Sad be the insect who stops here for a sip of clear, cold water.

We hiked along the coast following along the Cape Breton Highlands National Park, stopping at wooden walkways that seemed to plunge down steep cliffs, right into the mist. That night, we set up tents overlooking a sharp ravine, the ocean below, and in the morning, watched the sun rise.

Also at Cape Breton Highlands National Park, we came across this constructed "crofter's cottage," nothing like those stone cottages I later visited in the Orkney Islands in northern Scotland, though the walls were of stone and the roof of grasses.

The Scottish heritage runs deep in Canada. Lord Selkirk, in 1803, used his funds and connections to send Scottish emigrants to Red River (near Hudson's Bay; this location and its history will show up in my third book, Rivers of Stone) and to Belfast on Prince Edward Island which we visited on this trip.

Once the potato famine began in earnest, the British Government sent thousands of Irish to Canada, The earlier Scottish Presbyterian settlers clashed with Catholic Irish emigrants in the 1847 Belfast Riot. Just a smidgen of research shows crowds with cudgels on election day, many injured and several killed as these two groups fought in the streets. One of the controversies was whether to allow the Bible in public schools, an issue still debated today in the States.

Anticipate more about our travels to the east of Canada in September. Meanwhile, may your travels bring you unexpected pleasures!

Read more about Cape Breton Highlands National Park OR read about the Belfast Riot in "A 'New Ireland Lost': The Irish Presence in Prince Edward Island" by Brendan O'Grady.

From Punto Tombo to the Falklands

My hubby says I should be more disciplined in sharing these photos from trips gone by. He's right. Yet somehow other writing projects leap onto the keyboard, and I find myself doing research elsewhere. Since we're not able to travel most likely until next year, I shall try to stay organized, but not without a final look at the penguins.

Who could not love this moulting penguin from Punto Tombo? Somehow this penguin faced into the wind, patiently still, yet hoping the constant wind would hurry the removal of those feathers to reveal his sleek, new coat.

Continuing south on the Norwegian Sun, we had a stopover on the Falkland Islands, our troupe packed into military green jeeps to careen over the wind-blown, rainy, and muddy moors, hoping for a view of the penguins nearby, yet grateful for a stop at the Sea Cabbage Cafe for hot tea and crumpets.  

Our first wild life was this rather angry looking Dolphin Gull, perhaps because of his very red encircled eyes. 

Next, we spied the lovely, almost delicate Gentoo Penguin, facing into the wind just as their cousins at Punto Tombo did, the mounds of grassy moor covered with feathers.

And, finally, the "Aha . . . " moment of our side trip before our journey took us north again, we observed King Penguins with their young.

We returned to the ship, grateful for warmth and for a haven out of the steady wind. 

Not sure what I will write about next week.  Note: You can click on any picture to see an enlargement.

Further south in Argentina -- with Penguins

Calm crossing, Cape Horn (Camp 2009)

One of the lasting memories of our trip around the Horn on the Norwegian Sun, was a stop at Punto Tombo, a small peninsula very nearly at the tip of Argentina, where a large colony of Magellanic Penguins make their home.

We took a day trip to Punto Tombo with strict admonitions to stay on the path. To our delight, the birds paid no attention to the signs! 

Stay on the Path! (Camp 2009)

These beautiful penguins burrowed in the dirt and near scrub brush to protect themselves from the incessant wind.

Is this my best side? (Camp 2009)

Momma Penguin with lighter chick (Camp 2009)

At home near the ocean (Camp 2009)

Que vista, baby! (Camp 2009)

What a treat to see them in their natural habitat -- during molting season. The wind was fierce; some of the birds stood, their wings oustretched so that the wind would blow away the feathers. Close to the ocean, these penguins dive right in for their supper -- fish!

Moulting in the wind (Camp 2009)

According to Wikipedia, the birds come here by the thousands in the spring to nest on this rocky beach.

Ponto Tombo (Camp 2009)

When we visited, the birds were calm, seemingly oblivious to the tourists passing by. What do you think?

At the end of the day, we returned to our ship, full of amazement we had been able to see with our own eyes this penguin colony.

Click on any image to see a larger version.
More about Punto Tombo on Wikipedia HERE.
More about Magellanic Penguins HERE.

About Argentina . . .

Today's the playoff for the World Cup. Football (or soccer). Take your pick. Germany or Argentina.

Since we traveled with two couples for several weeks in Buenos Aires in 2009, how could I root for anyone but the "white and sky blue"? 

So today's post is a celebration of Buenos and Argentina, that land of tango and sharp, pungent coffee. 

Our apartment was in busy but elegant Recoleta, around the corner from a patisserie . . . each morning, someone would dash downstairs to buy the fresh fruits, the pastries and crema, while someone else would struggle with the coffee machine. Ah, perfection to begin the morning this way.







Each day began differently, Sunday strolls to San Telmo, that funky neighborhood filled with artists, dancers, street musicians, and tango everywhere. 

Every once in a while just turning a corner, we'd be surprised by the sight of Portuguese tiles, the azuela, brilliant blue affirming the history of those intrepid Portuguese explorers, more common in Brazil, but still, here in Argentina as well.


And the surprise of vibrant street art splashed across the walls and buildings also everywhere, transforming narrow streets or tunnels or walkways into another world.

How could we not celebrate the beautiful flowers of the very tall Silk Floss Tree as we passed by? Planted along the streets, these trees, which can grow as high as 80 feet high, gave a sense of respite and shade. The sweet-smelling and sticky flowers attract Monarch butterflies by the hundreds in the spring.

Or the many-footed Ombú  tree that can be 40-50 feet wide and 50-60 feet tall. They say if you visit this tree, memories of your childhood will return to you. This Ombú was immense, so large we could not spread our arms around it, not even if we held hands.

Today's nostalgic photo visit ends at San Martin Plaza, where just in March and April (when we visited), the UNICEF bears representing some 140 countries were on display. 

Perhaps today, they cheer for Argentina!

 

West to Fort Nisqually. . .

Guard Tower with fireweed (2013)

Fort Nisqually here in Washington is a living history museum. But once it was a trading post for the Hudson's Bay Company, and part of the setting for the next book I'm just beginning to research.

Here we can wander, imagining what life was like back in 1850, when we could tell how close we are to the end of summer by how many blossoms yet appear on that hardy wildflower, Fireweed. 

Notice the guard tower and the small cabin in the small cabin above. Here single men slept on one side, with married men on the other. Or so the guide told our friend who brought me these pictures. 

The guide wore clothing of a typical 'country wife' of the 1840s and 1850s, a woman of mixed blood, valuable to the traders for her links to Native American families and her skills for survival in the wilderness.

We can easily see class distinctions in the housing that remains true to the period -- the Commandant with every luxury of the 19th Century, a formal parlour, perhaps even a European wife. 

Officers and gentlemen lived in separate quarters, and the workers in a homely barracks. Notice those Hudson Bay blankets.

While relations with Native Americans at this point were mostly friendly, wooden walls surround the Fort Nisqually compound, with stock and gardens inside. 

Herbs and staples -- corn, tomatoes, squash -- supplemented fresh venison and beef. Even speckled chickens -- true to the period -- scrabble in their pens for food.

Goods, rum, mail, and news drew people to the fort's store, trappers and emigrants alike. Here at the store, people could buy or trade for kettles and pots, hats, bolts of fabric, dishes, blankets, and maybe some tobacco in a twist or maple candy. 

Perhaps one day soon, we'll wander around Fort Nisqually to watch the trader use a fur press or the blacksmith hammer out new shoes for horses. We'll admire the rich traditions of the Native American, Scottish, Hawaiian, French-Canadian, and English people who lived here and who came to this fort built in 1833 on the Puget Sound.

We'll gather around the campfire at Fort Nisqually and listen to the tales of life over 100 years ago, far from the comforts of the 21st Century.

Click on any picture to see a larger version.

For more information, visit the Fort Nisqually site HERE or Wikipedia for a bit more history.

Recalling Ollantaytambo in Peru . . .

I've been transferring pictures very slowly from the old computer to the new computer and came across this set of images from our trip to Macchu Picchu in Peru, just 5 years ago.

As we travel independently, we stopped at Ollantaytambo, a small town along the approximate two-hour hour train ride up from Cusco to Macchu Picchu, to acclimate to the high elevation.

Our charming hotel, the El Alburque, was right beside the train tracks where several times a day, that tourist train to Macchu Picchu made the trip up and back. 

We found ourselves quite at home, Peruvian textiles on the walls of our room and a tropical garden in the back. 


Above the town, Incan ruins awaited to explore later. Everyone said tea helped combat altitude sickness, so properly fortified, we headed to the center of town and the ruins.

We just happened to be in Ollantaytambo on the very day that local farmers brought their cattle to town, properly decorated with ribbons and vegetables for the annual spring blessing of the first corn. 

We joined the costumed dancers and followed the procession to the church, delighted to be a part of the town on this bright and sunny day.

Then we hiked above the town to the Inkan ruins, a formidable jaunt through 15th Century terraced fields and stone walkways that once formed a royal center.  

In the morning, we would leave for Macchu Picchu.

Note: You can click on any image to see a larger version.

A little horse sense . . .

Early May we spent down in eastern Oregon, visiting friends at Eagle Crest for a blissful week of hiking in this high desert country. On one of our walks, we came across a paddock of horses and watched them for awhile. They watched us as well.

On this hot afternoon, the horses were taking turns before they drank deep at a single barrel filled with water on one edge of the field. They seemed to wait for permission from one alpha horse before they dipped their delicate noses into the barrel.

The strong and fattest horses ate first, using nickers and nudges to keep the scrawny horses from getting too close to the bundle of hay spread in the field.

I had never seen horses interacting like this in groups before. Maybe this is part of Darwin's "survival of the fittest," to not waste food on the weak. Or the influence of the environment, this dry, dry land. We sedentary city folk are only a few generations away from living this close to the land, when taking care of animals like these meant survival. 

Any horse stories to share?

Note: Click on any image to see it a little bigger.