Scones and Coffee

Food and drink are important aspects of any travel experience. For me, a must when travelling in Scotland or Ireland is an afternoon coffee and scone, which often substitutes for lunch. The scone is even better when it is served with clotted cream and black currant jam. Having it in a coffee shop, where you can slow down a hectic day of travel, people watch and savor the treat is the preferred way to enjoy it.

Selling Flowers in Pittsburgh

On a Friday afternoon in downtown Pittsburgh, a vendor selling bouquets of flowers from white plastic buckets that I associate with industrial foods is advertising to cars on the way home. As I approach on foot, the man, who is facing away from me, is practicing his martial arts moves, punching and kicking objects and people that only exist in his imagination. I thought to myself that his practice session was, perhaps, not conducive to selling his products. Flowers are usually the purview of the marital arts, not the martial arts.  He suddenly turned my way and was seemingly surprised by my presences. He looked at me sheepishly and asked, “Flowers, sir?” 

Vignettes of Shadeyside

"Mother's pure Egg Noodles"

The Shadeyside neighborhood  was originally a small village that was later incorporated into the city of Pittsburgh in the mid-19th century. Today there are several businesses, and remnants of establishments, that attest to the vitality of the area. A sign painted on a brick wall, visible from Pearl Street, touts Boehm Company’s Egg Noodles. Dan Cercone’s Barbershop, in operation since 1931, continues to serve local patrons with old-fashion barber services. It is an area that is alive and vibrant, but not reconstructed in a faux gentrification style that is prevalent today. 

A well-dressed woman, with a black coat and matching beret emerged from a row house on Taylor Street. Behind her she dragged a small piece of rolling luggage. The front window of her house had the curtains drawn, but between the window and the curtain was a tortoise-shell cat studiously watching her human disappear down the sidewalk. No doubt, in the cat’s mind, the well-coiffed woman was off on a hunt to gather food for her feline baby. It struck me, as I walked away, neither the cat nor I would ever know the truth.

Dan Cercone's Barbershop after hours

I had breakfast at Rocky’s, where the topic of conversation among the patrons was the current fortunes of Pittsburgh sports team. Pittsburgh is a city where the community is built upon loyalty to, and support for, the local sport teams. More so than any other American city I know, Pittsburghers are more apt to wear clothing supporting the Steelers, Pirates and Penguins, all of which have some form of black and gold in their jersey. It was a January Sunday morning as I sat in Rocky’s and the Steelers' playoff game conflicted with a Penguins games. The conversation focused on the improbability of a Steelers win, while also debating the general malaise that surrounded the Penguins. While one older gentleman hoped for a miracle win for the Steelers, propelling them into the Super Bowl, the more knowledgeable in the diner that morning were resigned to an inevitable outcome. 

Impressions of San Juan

Sentry Box at San Christobal, built c.1780

It is difficult to know a city whilst only spending a few short days. Nonetheless, urban walks of exploration, supplemented with deliberate reading and choice museum visits can provide several impressions. San Juan is an interesting mixture of Spanish and American influences, where English-language popular culture masks a history that runs deep.

The Spanish settlement that began in the early 16th-century started a process that led to the great artifices of fortresses and laid out a town that charms visitors today. At the same time, while Spanish cultural survives, the preceding Taino culture is all but gone. The remaining evidence of that indigenous culture is limited to a few place names around the island of Puerto Rico and tantalizing exhibits in museums such as Museo de las Américas.

A Statue of LBJ stares passively at the Capitol of Puerto Rico

The capitol building of Puerto Rico is a beautiful building that resembles several state capitols on the mainland. Like other capitals, the surrounding statues and monuments say a lot about Puerto Rican culture; or, at least what those in power would have you believe is the culture. The walkway of presidents, located across the street from the capitol building, commemorates the nine American presidents who have visited the island during their presidential term. It is apparently a popular tourist stop on guided tours around San Juan. I watched as a group of tourist from the mainland piled out of a mini-bus to inspect and photograph the statues. The visit became a veritable popularity contest among the presidents. Among the visitors, Kennedy was, of course, very popular. A woman sat on the lap of Franklin Roosevelt, who is depicted in his wheelchair, and took a selfie. A middle-aged African-American couple headed straight for Obama to take photographs of each other. I was a bit surprised, as I watched, no one had a selfie with, or even paid attention to, Lyndon Johnson.

A sidewalk mural at Parque Luis Munoz Rivera

Beyond the presidents, no one paid attention to most of the other monuments in the vicinity. For example, the Monument to Teacher highlights the value of education in the culture. The Holocaust Memorial and the Lod Massacre monument recalls the substantial Jewish population on the island. Of course, the number of people who stop and ponder these sites paled in comparison to linger at the Castillo San Christóbal and Castillo San Felipe del Morro. As I walked through the tree-lined Parque Luis Muñoz Rivera, named for a poet, journalist and politician who favored the island’s autonomy, I was reminded that the heroes of Puerto Rican independence and nationalism are not well known by Americans.

During my perambulations I mused about the nature of tourism and tourists in San Juan. While at lunch at the Cuartel de Ballaja, the old military barracks, I watched a man constantly interrupt the wait staff with questions about food, time and safety: “In a hurry.” “Is the fish safe?” (read: I am important). It led me to think that several of my fellow companions at lunch were tourists who could not go with the flow.

The advice I often give to novice travelers is to be respectful and blend in. During my exploration of the city walls I kept coming across a pasty-white young man wearing a Wisconsin baseball cap walking around Old San Juan shirtless. Aside from the beach, I saw no other man in San Juan who decided that going shirtless was appropriate.

A woman sitting outside the Museo de las Américas store asked me if it cost anything to enter the shop. I replied, no. (Of course not, they want you to buy things, I thought). She quickly picked up on my accent, “Are you an American?” and proceeded to ask where I was from.  She, being from San Francisco, replied that she too was an American. I did not have the heart to tell her that virtually everyone around were Americans too. They just happened to speak Spanish.  

U.S. Route 98

Although not as well-known as U.S. Route 1 or 101, which follows the east and west coast respectfully, U.S. Route 98 less dramatically follows the southern coast of the United States along the Gulf of Mexico. When it was originally established in 1933, it simply ran from Apalachicola to Pensacola, Florida. Today, its 964 miles takes it from Washington, Mississippi to Palm Beach, Florida. The road’s approximation of the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico in northern Florida, the so-called “Forgotten Coast,” is where the rarely seen America can be found. 

Abandoned building in the waterfront district of Carrabelle

Carrabelle, supposedly named for Miss Carrie Hall, the “belle” of the town, is a small town that was built on fishing. The town today looks as if many of the commercial fishermen have left, yet some of the private ones remain. Several of the buildings in the center of town, near the port, have been abandoned. For baseball enthusiasts, the most famous person to hail from Carrabelle was Buck O’Neill, of the Negro Leagues, Cubs and star of the Ken Burns documentary, Baseball.

The 13-mile drive from Carrabelle to Eastpoint is an enticing drive with Pine Trees on one side and the Gulf of Mexico, literally a few feet from the road, on the other. The welcome sign upon entering, reads: “Eastpoint…Oysters since 1898.” Seafood dives are the only restaurants in town and they are unpretentious and filled with character. 

The remains of a local business

Interestingly, Eastpoint was the site of an experimental cooperative living community in the early twentieth century. In 1901, the Reverend Harry C. Vrooman helped to organize a cooperative plan in which residents purchased shares in the Co-Operative Association of America, which would distribute profits to all workers. Investors, who would be guaranteed a job, had the choice of living and working in either Eastport or Lewiston, Maine. Vrooman wrote, “Industrial co-operation cheapens production and distribution and makes possible a just and equitable division of the wealth created.” This 19th-century optimism is rarely found in the world today. Much like the Shakers and Christian socialists, Vrooman’s belief in a world where equality and fairness can be achieved is rarely found today. Most people in Eastpoint would not even recognize it as a viable option.

An old trailer in Eastpoint

Today, Eastpoint, especially the center of town where US98 transits, is a poor community. Walking through town, one can see that economic prospects are tough. Some still make a living on oysters and seafood, but compared to neighboring communities, especially Saint George Island and Apalachicola, Eastpoint faces many difficulties.

The bridge that crosses the mouth of the Apalachicola River is a six-mile span that is named for the 19th century inventor John Gorrie. In the 1840s, Gorrie devised a machine that would make ice. Although his goal was to provide a way to cool patients who were suffering from fever, the machine would have several practical applications in an era where refrigeration was limited to where ice could be shipped. After he died in 1855, Gorrie’s invention was all but forgotten. Yet accounts of the machine appeared in the September 1849 issue of The Scientific American, as well as the American and British patent offices. His friend, the famed botanist and author Alvan Chapman, did much to revive his legacy. Chapman lived forty-six years longer than Gorrie and would constantly praise his late friend’s work and invention. Gorrie is commemorated at a State Park and Monument in the town of Apalachicola.

The buildings in the business district of Apalachicola is a veritable cornucopia of late-19th and early-20th century rural architecture. The Cook Building, which today is the home of Tamara's Café, was the former A&P Grocery Store and later a five and dime. The interior is a fascinating mix of pressed tin ceilings painted rust red, exposed bricks, and original wooden floors. Yet, the most famous house in town is the Raney House. Built in 1838, the home belonged to some of the most prominent families in town, including the man who built the house, David Raney, who made his fortune in cotton, and his son a Confederate naval hero. One of the stunning features of the house was an original stairwell made from what the guide called Cuban Mahogany, more commonly known as West Indian Mahogany, which only grows in Florida and the Caribbean. The mahogany is a threatened species and is now protected nationally and internationally. I was surprised that we were allowed to walk on it and use the stairs to access the second floor.

 Our guide through the Raney House, who had moved to Apalachicola from Birmingham, Alabama two years earlier, was fixated by the low crime rate in her adopted home. She told the group on the tour, who hailed from England, Spain, South Africa and Pennsylvania, that it was the best thing about living in the area. She went to say that the worst thing was that there was not a lot of shopping around; as a matter of fact, the nearest Walmart was nearly two hours away she lamented. I think she was startled when just about everyone in the group voiced the opinion that this was a good thing.

To be continued… 

The Indignities of Air Travel #3

I was flying out of Panama city airport. What I like about small airports, the relative ease, local flavor, and fewer people, were seemingly mitigated this day. Nevertheless, I had secured a window seat, a rarity for me, and gazed out the window as the asphalt slowly fell away from the wheels of the airplane. As we slowly rose over surrounding wilderness, I was contemplating the beauty of the area. Forests of slash pines, dotted with small crystal blue ponds and meandering creeks caught my eyes. Incredibly straight roads, no doubt to facilitate logging, made me wonder about the accessibility of the area for those who wanted to walk commune with nature.  I found myself thinking about woodpeckers and who would play on a baseball diamond carved into the middle of a thicket of pine trees. Just then, the man in the seat behind me leaned forward and blew his nose in my ear. 

Walking on Saint George Island

Original bridge, now a fishing pier

St. George Island is located in the bay that is formed by the mouth of the Apalachicola River. Thought to be named for the patron saint of England, the island was inhabited by Native Americans as early as 1100AD. There is only one four-mile bridge that runs from Eastpoint to the island. The first bridge to the island was completed in 1965 and was declared unsafe in the early 21st century. Today it is used for a fishing pier, with both sides extending approximately three-quarters of a mile into the by. The current bridge, which was built between 2002 and 2004, is the third longest in the state of Florida.

The island itself is long (28 miles) and narrow (1 mile at the widest). St. George can be divided into three section: The northeast portion of the island is where the St. George Island State Park is located; the southwest portion of the island, which is forested and contains a gated community known as the Plantations of St. George; and, a central portion that has a few shops, a lighthouse (re)constructed in 2005, public beaches and homes.

A slash pine at sunset

Walking on the island is more satisfying than I would have anticipated. The plantation of St. George has large areas of preserved grasslands and pine forests. There are few more satisfying sounds in life than the sound of wind rushing through slash pine trees pine (Pinus elliottii), and because St. George Island is a barrier island, there is always an ocean breeze. The slash pines are very popular with woodpeckers. In addition to the beach walks, and cycling paths, there are a few walking path especially in the area around Nick’s Hole, a wild cove managed by the Apalachicola Estuarine Research Reserve. I found and walked a trail that follows the perimeter of the cove as well as one side of the local, privately owned, airport. While stalking birds among pine trees I spotted several woodpeckers. At first, I was excited to think that they might be the rare red-cockaded woodpeckers; however, since the bird require old (living) pine tree (60-120 years old) I realized that the birds were downy woodpeckers.

December proved to be quite warm and humid. The fog was so dense on Christmas morning that when I returned from my walk each of the hairs of my arm had a small droplet of water attached to the end. In my three weeks on the island, fog became commonplace and created interesting optics. On a walk around Nick's Hole I found several columned stinkhorns (Calthrus columnatus). I read one account from the nineteenth century about the mushroom that was attempting to determine if it were eatable. The writer concluded that it smelled so bad that whether it was poisonous was beside the point. (Apparently, it is not poisonous)

Columned stinkhorn

One evening, near sunset, while walking with Angie and Cody, I looked up ahead and saw in the distance a large animal. Since the island reportedly has no bears, I assumed that it was a large dog. When it got spook, it bounded into the brush; however, when it did it did not move as a dog. Angie became convinced that I had seen a bear. I still had my doubts, hearing repeatedly that there are no bears on the island. A couple of days later, we were at the State Park and mentioned the incident to a park ranger. She smiled and said, "If you think you saw a bear, then you probably saw a bear."

On two places on the island I came across a "Witness Post" sign, indicating that a survey marker was nearby. Both of the signs appeared to be older and invited the reader to write a letter to the Director of the National Geodetic Survey in Washington DC for more information.

Much of the island has beach homes that are rent by visitors. Yet, one suspects, the gate also enforces conformity and keeps bad behavior concealed.  I find it funny that virtually every beach community I have visited in the US has a house names “A Shore Thing.” The idea of a gated community is ostensibly to keep undesirables out, thus making the resident and inhabitants feel safe. I am reminded of the film, The Sure Thing (1985), which, of course, came to the conclusion that there is no such thing. Given the propensity of using the name, do people name their house ironically, or do they think it is a clever pun?

St. George Island is a somewhat odd community along the “Forgotten Coast” of Florida. Most of the coast is underdeveloped and a throwback to an earlier era. It strikes me funny that the only magazine at the checkout stand at the Piggly Wiggly Express is Wine Spectator.