Winter Bike Commuting

I’ve been biking for years, first on a mountain bike and then on a road bike. When I first started about 10 years ago – I bought a cheap mountain bike – a Murray. It’s a tank, heavy steel, big fat knobby tires, cheap gears, but at the time it was fine; I loved riding through the woods and even on the road.

I finally bought a road bike when I was planning a 100 mile ride on the eastern shore of Maryland – the Seagull ride. That ride did it I got hooked on biking particularly road biking, even if I did crash at the 60 mile point and ended up in riding to the hospital in an ambulance. I was lucky I looked a lot worst than I was; the thing that I remember most vividly was how painful it was being strapped to a board for the ambulance ride. Every bump seemed like a ditch the size of a bus.

But enough of that, one of my 2011 New Year resolution was to ride to work on my bike no matter the weather. I geared up for foul weather and even got the old mountain bike in shape for the worst days. I was fairly certain I would only have to deal with cold and rain, and a little snow. Washington’s winters are generally mild; or rather they were until last year.

As usual I was wrong, the weather has been offal, but I had a resolution to fulfill – I couldn’t bale on it after less than one month. I road home in a white out the night before last – I made it all the way without getting off my bike. When I left the office there was less than 1 inch of snow on ground and the roads were wet and a little icy but not too bad; by the time I got home an additional inch and a half had fallen.

I was thrilled that I made it – it was fun, challenging, and exhausting. I’m going to keep it up – although maybe work on finding a better used mountain bike but nevertheless push on. At the same time I guess I should issue a stupidity alarm. I am tempted to say that this verges on the stupid. Granted I was prepared for the weather, I was light up like a Christmas tree – complete with flashing light, my bike was equipped with big knobby tires, and warm cloths, but you can’t control the drivers – they present the real danger. My neighborhood has more than its share of enormous pick-ups and drivers with excess macho. Don’t get me wrong so far they have been much more patient and considerate of me of the road than they are in good weather – they probably think I’m touched.

However, Washington is what it is, a transient population with a high percentage of people not accustom to foul weather driving – the unpredictability of my companions on the road and their uncertain ability to control their massive hunks of steel (more plastic these day, but you get my point) is my one fear.

Well, I will have to admit to another concern – going down hill on a snow covered road – not as much fun as when it is dry.

Despite my misgiving about the intelligence of my resolution I will continue biking to work, but for those of you that would like to join me on the road I will offer a few words of caution. Be careful, use flashing lights, keep your glasses clean, assume that the gas drivers are a hair’s breath away from being out of control, and don’t be reluctant to dismount and walk when it the weather outpaces your skills on the bike. Hell, it’s a ball riding, even in foul weather; but it is no fun being in the emergency room.

Top Photo: Decked out in my bad weather biking gear - if this doesn't embarrass my sons I give up!

Middle & Bottom Photos: Snow Storm as seen from my front porch upon arrival at home from my bike commute.

Lima - Day 1

November 18, 2010

It’s 6:00 am and I’ve been in Peru for about 32 hours. I made a big mistake talking to you about the ‘hand carry’ practice; I cursed myself – I got caught on my entry into Peru. I was carrying about 6,000 USD of equipment and either by pure chance, my suspicious mug (I cut my hair down to about a quarter of an inch – I now match some profile), or x-ray screening they pulled me over upon arrival to do a hand inspection of my bags – one bag actually. They found the big item I was carrying; they retrieved the paperwork I signed declaring that I had nothing to declare and marched me off to the security area – I guess the whole area is a security area.

After immigration, you claim your bags and then you go to the declaration station; they collect your declaration forms and then you go through a portal and press a green button – if it lights green you move forward, if red you get inspected.

Before I left I asked my contact about the customs situation – his response, ‘press the green button with confidence.’ It did not work. I do not think they actually have the detection technology built into these portals; rather, I think they follow the thinking of the traffic police that set-up blow up cops in patrol cars on the side of the road to make you think they are checking for speeding – bottom line I think it is random. Without getting into too much detail, after opening the bag and discovering the big item they did not look any further and moved on to the interrogation phase – no hot lights or rubber hoses. They were actually pretty polite. All the time I trying to decide the best mixture and truth and lies to use that would be most effect in getting me out of this mess as cheaply as possible.

After two hours of selective lying and the luck that they couldn’t find a value of the instrument online they accepted the value I gave them added a few hundred dollars and told me I would have to pay taxes on that amount, I should not forget the stern lecture on respecting the laws of Peru. I did not get fined or ‘frog walked’ out of the terminal – it cost me a little over a hundred dollars – in cash, no credit cards accepted, I was freed and nothing was confiscated.

It’s been six years that I’ve been doing the ‘hand carry’ thing and the first time I’ve been caught with the exception of the incident at US customs in Miami.

So far, the trip has been productive, the highlight has been we had a meeting with the COO of the Clinton Initiative in a Ramada at the airport – money let’s them do things that we couldn’t even consider – they rented a conference room for the meeting – we’d have just pushed a couple of chairs together in the lobby. The meeting went well enough that John and I were invited for a visit to their headquarters in Harlem for follow-up discussions. I doubt if we will get any direct funding but they have developed IT and patient outreach tools that could be very useful. Their goal in Peru is to sponsor 50,000 cataract surgeries in 4 years.

The hotel we are staying at is a modest one, more than adequate, clean and with free wireless internet – the only other luxury I could wish for would be a coffee pot in the room. When I first arrived and they took me to my room we got off the elevator and everything was dark – they have motion sensors on the lights and the hall lights come on as you walk down the hall and turn off as you pass. A few years ago I would have thought of this was typical developing world energy conservation, now I think of it in terms of things to come in the US.

Today is fairly light, I have to attend a few meetings this morning, and a dinner this evening but otherwise I am free – I have general maintenance work to do on my Program but nothing critical – catch up work. Marilyn, for the first time, asked me to bring her something back from Peru – she wanted me to find her some opals. This is significant since she never asks for anything, so maybe today I will go on an opal search. I would feel extremely bad if unsuccessful, not because she would be upset if I failed but because in all the years we have been married she has asked for so little – nothing really; the things I have gotten her have generally been too lame to mention.

Tomorrow I am off to Arequipa, the Hospital I am visiting has set up a welcoming reception for Friday night or Saturday It is it a Social Clinic – not sure what the next few days hold for me; I do not have a formal schedule.

To be continued....

Old Town Alexandria

January 16, 2011

Yesterday was a cold sunny mid-January Sunday – a perfect day to stretch our legs, have a bit of lunch and see Old Town Alexandria. It's been years since I roamed Alexandria; and even then it was only a quick bike ride down Duke Street on my way to Mount Vernon. I've never visited the Torpedo Factory – after so many years I’m not sure how I’ve avoided it.

It was a choice between Eastern Market, Annapolis, and Old Town Alexandria. Annapolis was too far for my mood, and I’ve visited Eastern Market more times than I care to remember, so Old Town Alexandria was the choice. Alexandria is on the Potomac River just south of National Airport (officially Reagan National Airport but since I am not a fan of the Reagan presidency I still refer to it as National Airport).

Old Town is manufactured quaint - period architecture, quaint (read expensive) shops, restaurants, a river side boardwalk, and art to boot. I may sound a bit sarcastic; it’s nice, clean, safe, modular, and relaxing on a Sunday afternoon stroll. Nothing exciting about the walk; we roamed and had brunch and toured the Torpedo Factory. Old Town is laid out in a grid with names like King Street, Duke Street, Prince Street, and Washington Street as homage to our first president. Straight down Washington Street for 11 miles is Mount Vernon.

The Torpedo Factory is a cooperative of artist studios and galleries. As you might guess the name comes from its history – it was originally a torpedo factory. I’ll avoid the history and just leave you with a link (http://www.torpedofactory.org/history.htm).

Just about all the galleries and studios were displaying beautiful works but ….

It is not a place for deep or innovated work. Don’t get me wrong it’s a nice place to visit, but it is more of a place for tourist, natives strolling on a quiet afternoon and maybe corporate art buyers looking for art with class but nothing controversial. That said there is nothing wrong with derivative art, or even imitation art; hell, I love when song are covered, sometimes even better than the original version. What they created is better than rows of sports bars, pawn shops, or tattoo parlors (let’s put a hold on the tattoo parlor - they can be interesting). Old town is nothing original; many cities have similar areas – the Inner Harbor in Baltimore to name one. If you are looking for a unique experience keep looking, but if you want to spend a relaxing afternoon, get a bit to eat, or just stretch your legs it just might be the ticket.

A disclaimer to avoid hypocrisy:

It you go to my photo site (www.flickr.com/billshields) or my video site (www.youtube.com/sheds1127) I doubt if you will find anything there that is innovative, but give it a look anyway.

Hindu Cremation at Pashupati Temple

Hindu Cremation at Pashupati Temple on the Bagmati River in Katmandu Nepal 2-13-2008.

An Afternoon at Durbar Square, Katmandu

Music in the Park - Katmandu

Once again it is time for an addition to the Notebook. Today I am featuring a Nepalese Rock concert. Well, it probably isn’t an actual rock concert; rather it is the Nepalese equivalent of the rock concert in the park. It’s a short video clip, just to give you the favor of the event. It took place in Ratna Park in the center of the old district of Katmandu.

Ratna Park is not what we in the west would consider a park – it is a dirt field, not a blade of grass grows, the edges are covered with litter. It does have a band shell, but they were not using it for this performance. Despite the lack of the manicured lawns of the west the kids were the same. They loved the music as much as any crowd in the west.

The Streets of Thamel in Katmandu

Finally I am back and I have a lot of things to add to the blog. I recently returned from a trip to Bangkok and Katmandu. Today I have added a short video showing the Thamel neighborhood in Katmandu. Over the next few weeks I will be adding a video of a Hindu Cremation at the Hindu Pashupati Temple on the Bagmati River in Katmandu, a video of a rock concert in Ratna Park in central Katmandu, the story of my experience with Blastocystis hominis, photos from Monkey Mountain in Katmandu and experiences I had in Bangkok and Katmandu. As always comments are very much appreciated.

Why Cigars are More Than Just Big Cigarettes

Everyone has their vices, mine is cigars; and what better place to enjoy a vice than in the French Quarter in New Orleans? Just to give you a little background, about 12 years, 55 days and two hours ago I quit smoking. I gave it up completely. I didn’t just up and quit. I attempted to quit at least seven times over the years. Up until then the only result was a significant increase in weight, but finally with the help of Zaban (Wellbutrin) I was able to quit. So you will understand my vow to refrain from cigars for five years. The time came and went but I was afraid that if I had a cigar I’d start smoking again; so for twelve years I resisted, that is until New Orleans.

It was a beautiful day; I had a few spare hours so I was out exploring the French quarter. While strolling down Decatur on my way to the Café du Monde for a coffee and a beignet; I came across a place called the Cigar Factory, the double doors were open and a great Cuban beat lured me in, not to mention the sweet smell of cigars. It was a great place; they had several rollers, a walk in humidor, and tables to sit and enjoy a cigar. It looked like it had been there fifty years, the walls were covered with photos of visiting celebrities, Cuban flags, and others types of memorabilia, all stained with years of cigar smoke. I resisted but I knew I’d be back. before I left New Orleans, and the next day I was, this time with a colleague.

Calvin was a veteran cigar smoker; he knew cigars and how to smoke them. I think he had even been to the Cigar Factory before. We came prepared, I had a double brandy, and a double espresso, and he had a double scotch. The French quarter is one of the few places in the world where it is not only acceptable to enter a store with a drink in your hand but even to walk the streets drinking.



Maria Dominguez rolls a cigar at the Cigar Factory on Decatur Street in the French Quarter

We picked our cigars from the walk-in humidor, mine a Vieux Carre Rothchild with a Cameroon wrapper, Calvin’s a Vieux Carre Double Corona. The clerk cut the end and started the burn. As I took my first draw on the cigar my fears of tobacco faded, I was home.

A few feet away from our table a woman in her mid thirties, Maria Dominguez, was rolling cigars; she was fast, but relaxed. Her hands stained with tobacco, my hands hurt just at the thought of eight hours of rolling. I struck up a conversation, she was Cuban, and had been in the United States for about a year; Her English was halting, she told me that she could speak a bit but she had trouble understanding so we spoke Spanish. She told me about rolling and how cigars were made.

What a perfect male fantasy, drawing on a cigar while sipping brandy and espresso as the sun goes down over the Mississippi all to the sound of Latin music; it brought me back to Spain, Hemingway and Fundador. We sat talked cigars, and just let time pass.

After about an hour our cigars done and drinks empty we were on our way, it had been a long day; I was tired, smelled of cigars and brandy, and was hungry, so it’s back to the hotel; tomorrow would be another day.

Top Photograph: Maria Dominguez at the Cigar Factory

Second Photograph: Cafe & beignet at Cafe Du Monde

Love those Hippies at Lonely Planet

A few years ago when I first started traveling, I bought my first Travel book – Fodor’s Guatemala. It came in handy, it made my trip much easier. At the time I knew almost nothing about Guatemala; it told me where to go. A few months later, as a Christmas present my family gave me Fodor’s South America – a big thick and heavy book. A few months later on a trip to Santiago Chile, I lugged it along, once again it proved helpful; I know that if I didn’t have it I wouldn’t have visited Viña del Mar. Viña, rememeber it from Missing, the the home base for the CIA and Chilean military as they plotted the coup against Allende.

After Chile, travel books and I were off and running. Now travel books are expensive but I was lucky. I few blocks away is the Wheaton Regional Library which housed the Friends of the Library – the used book donation and selling arm of the library. And what do you know they had a great travel section – one of the advantages of living in the Washington DC area. The Friends of the Library had shelves and shelves of travel books. Fodros’, Moons’, Rick Stevens’, and Lonely Planets’. I knew I’d be traveling a bit in the next few years so I started to keep my eye out for countries of interest. I got Fodor’s Spain and France – I bought those because I wanted to follow La Vuelta de España and Le Tour de France. Hell, they were only a dollar or two a piece; how could I go wrong. I started looking for a country here or a country there; you know, places I thought there was a chance that I might travel. I mostly collected books on developing countries; the developed world was not much of an interest to me , nor was classic tourism – Paris and London were of little interest, but Africa, Central America, and India were exciting, and with my work possible destinations.

And again, the area proved to be a boom – the Friend’s bookstore was brimming with books on the developing world, but they weren’t Fodor’s or Moon’s – they were published by Lonely Planet, so I picked-up a few. Around the same time I came across a program on PBS – Globe Trekker. If you haven’t seen it, it’s one of the many travel shows on television these days, but with a twist; they’re trekkers, they go by bus, they stay in hostels, they eat in the local markets. In short, they avoid the tourist hotels, the guided tours, the places that generally sponsor the travel shows. The host are youngish, not, “Hey, man, this is so cool!’ early twenties, but rather a little wore thirtyish; the woman are attractive but certainly not model want-a-bees. The one man host, Ian Wright, has a face for radio, and a voice that should never be recorded; but they all have personality, and they all can speak without clichés. They give a bit of the feel of aging hippies, but in the good sense, not the flower child stereotype.

The Globe Trekker series was originally called Lonely Planet and inspired by the Lonely Planet travel book series, but I think that’s the extent of the connection. Today they are both independent. The TV series has become more commercial – it has a ten minute segment on shopping at the end of each show, but it is easily avoided.

Over time I began to collect more and more books, I started going to the store just to see if they had new Lonely Plant guides available. It became a minor obsession. Today I have over 50 different countries. I have my obsession under control, yet I still go to the library outlet looking for new ones. I’m more selective; I’m back to only collecting editions of countries that I think I might travel to at some point in the future, nevertheless if you see a newly slim bald guy in the travel section of the Friends of the Library Store in Wheaton, get out of his way; he is still a man obsessed.

El Parque Nacional Tikal

I have finally gotten around to editing some of the photographs that I have taken during my trip last October to Tikal, the Mayan ruins in the center of El Petén in Guatemala. If you recall at the beginning of the year I wrote a long piece on the bus ride to El Flores - the jump off city for El Parque Nacional Tikal. You can find it in the archive, it is entitled ‘Guatemalan Nights’ and is from January 22, 2007.

Two things in particular struck me during my visit, one was that it was a park; it’s set up and designed for tourist. I guess I was thinking that it would be more primitive. Why I thought it would be otherwise I don’t know it seems obvious. And aside form the tourist park aspect of it; it is still primitive, much of it has not been excavated yet. There are many temples and pyramids that are still completed covered by jungle, if it were not for their symmetrical shape you’d completely miss them.

The other unexpected impression was the distance, it’s large; it can take fifteen or twenty minutes to walk between temples, and there are a lot of temples. Again, if I have given it any thought, I would have realized; it’s a city after all, as big as or bigger than many small cities in the United States.

I have only included a few of the photographs on my Notebook site. However, if you enjoy these photographs you can see a larger selection on my Flickr site in the set entitled Tikal. If you are interested in Mayan ruins you might also want to view the set from Chichén Itzá, the Mayan ruins in Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula. For a modern day view of the Mayan of Guatemala I have a set from the Mayan village of Chichicastenango in the Guatemala highlands

Above you will find an audio comment I recorded during my visit. You can listen by pressing the play arrow on the audio player icon below.

So enjoy, and if you ever get a chance to visit take plenty of water, insect repellent, the energy for climbing, a change of clothes – the humidity will have you dripping, and sturdy hiking boots.

Thanks for viewing and listening. And please comment, even negative comments are enjoyed and welcome.

Legends

Top Photograph: Veiw from the Top - Temple IV

2nd Photograph: Concealed Pyramid

3rd Photograph: Temple Raising Out of the Jungle

4th Photograph: Steps to Temple IV

The Bataan Death March or the Baltimore Annapolis Trail

Yesterday was October 7^th 2007, and it was over 90 degrees F. with no breeze; yet we all know that global warming is a myth created by the tree hugger's lobby. Will somebody please send a note to the Enterprise Institute informing them that 90 deg. F. is Washington in August not October?

Yet at 8:00 am yesterday morning it was beautiful, around seventy-two degrees, dry, the sun was shinning – it was a perfect day for a ride. The plan was to meet Howard, a friend of mine from Georgetown, and ride the Baltimore Annapolis Trail, a rail-to-trail paved path between Annapolis and the Baltimore Washington International Airport (BWI). So I was up at five and on the road to Annapolis by seven.

Howard and I were friends from our days at Georgetown. He was raised in the suburbs of Pittsburgh; I was raised on the slopes of Mount Washington, so as ex-Pittsburghers we had a natural affinity. He joined Georgetown after retiring from the Navy, and stayed on until his second retirement. Although I left Georgetown almost ten years ago we remained friends and get together occasionally.

In the early nineties he bought a house on the water in Annapolis, the home of the US Naval Academy. Annapolis sits at the mouth of the Severn River on the Chesapeake Bay – it’s a sailing town that also happens to be the capitol of Maryland. It’s a small tight town with the favor of a resort. It has narrow streets, shops, restaurants and harbor all jammed into a few streets around the crowded harbor. Parking is always impossible. The entrance to the Naval Academy is only a couple of blocks from the center of town, on weekends the streets are decorated with midshipmen all spit and polish. The State capitol is also crowded into the ten block radius.

Yet once you are out on the water the space expands, still crowded but not claustrophobic, the water is broad, you can see for miles. Populated by sail boats, power boats, cabin cruises, and even its fair share of ugly boats; the air is fresh - a playground for the rich.

My cycling companion, Howard, is in his mid sixties, about ten years older than I; he is slim, a sailor, and in good shape. A few months ago we rode the southern end of the trail – the first seven miles to Earleigh Heights Station. The trail is beautiful but not very challenging, for the most part it is straight, flat, shaded and quiet, bucolic even; yet it is only a few blocks off Route 2, a running strip mall between Annapolis and Baltimore. Still 14 miles is a pretty long ride for a novice.

Being our second ride, we planned on going a few miles further up the trial. At the time I thought the trail ran all the way into Baltimore but it ends a few miles from BWI.

I was on my Bianchi Volpe touring bike; he was riding a street version of a mountain bike. The different bikes make riding together a challenge; I had smooth thin tires and he had notched balloon tires, so I glided, and he pedaled. For the first half of the ride we pretty much stayed together. I might get ahead a bit, but when I lost sight of him I’d slow up.

Yesterday we reached Earleigh Heights Station feeling good, so we pressed on. We rode through Severn and Gen Burrie. We only intended to go a few miles past Ealeigh Heights but before we knew it we were at the trail head at Dorsey Road. We could see the planes making their approach to BWI. Howard suggested that since we were close we take the BWI trail for a while – the airport couldn’t be too far. It was a nice trail; it had the feel of riding through a city park. After a couple of miles we arrived at the Tom Dixon Jr. Airport Observation Area. The ‘airport observation area’ is a couple of porta-potties, a parking lot, and a small playground; but it’s at the end of a runway, you can see the airport tower in the distance, so an ‘airport observation area it is. How this place slipped by Homeland Security I’ll never know; I thought sitting around in a isolated area watching planes take off and land would be consider at least as much of a security threat as a pair of nail clippers, but not being a national security expert I will defer to the professionals.

By now it was close to 11 in the morning, the sun was hot and high in the sky; shade was scarce. The BWI trail circles the airport. We still felt pretty good; we were 16 point something miles out. I thought we might circle the airport and then head back to Annapolis; a quick check of the map dissuaded us. The BWI trail was 12.5 miles, we had only covered the first two or so, and we still had the 13.5 miles back on the Baltimore Annapolis Trail. So we traced our steps back to the Dorsey Road trail head, it was a nice glide, I think ninety percent of the way back was down hill.

I got to Dorsey Road a few minutes before Howard, and stopped to wait and take a few photos. Within a minute or two he was back and ahead of me. I wanted to push my legs a little. I was bored riding slow so away I went. I guess I got a little carried away; before I knew it I was at Earleigh Heights Station. I estimated that Howard would be about ten minutes behind me, certainly no more than twenty – it was only about four miles back that I had pushed ahead of him. I stretched, collected some maps and waited in the shade. At fifteen minutes I began to wonder if he had passed while I was in the Station picking up the maps. Now I knew I was an idiot, I didn’t know whether he was ahead or behind me, I didn’t even know if he had his mobile with him. At twenty five minutes I decided I better head back toward Dorsey Road, at least a few miles and see if I could find him. Just as I was about to leave, I saw him coming up the trail.

Well, as it turns out he bonked – the term cyclist use to describe what happens to you when your muscles run out of nutrients, it is also know as lactic acid poisoning. Long distance runners call it ‘hitting the wall.’ It can be dangerous, and after it happens to you once, that’s it, you make sure that it doesn’t happen to you again. I guess it happened a few miles from the Station; he walked part of the way, that was it for Howard for the day. It was still over seven miles to the car, so I took off and was back to pick him up in about an hour.

He was feeling better by the time I got back; he thought at that point he could have finished on his bike, but I’ve bonked and I know it takes longer than an hour; it takes a couple of good meals and a long rest to recover. I never should have left him so far behind. I made the mistake of judging his condition by how I was feeling. The temperature went was ninety that afternoon, and he was riding for over four hours. I screwed up, and he paid for it.

Despite our misadventure it was a good ride - it always is went you see something new Enjoy the Baltimore Annapolis Trail it's a great trail for a leisurely glide even if it is behind the strip mall; just go early and bring a couple bottles of water.

Photographs: First. Baltimore Annapolis Trail
Second. Baltimore Annapolis Trail II
Third. Dorsey Road Trail Head, BA Trail
Fourth. Tom Dixon Jr airport Observation Area, BWI Trail
Fifth. Earleigh Heights Station, Baltimore Annapolis Trail

Images of Opposition

I Remember Franco

I haven’t been to Spain since June of 1972, and who knows if I will ever get back. I don’t remember every day, or even most of them, but I remember enough. Franco still had a few years left in him. His police regularly raided the University, mostly the Medical School. I attended the Facultad de Filosofia y Letras at the Universidad de Complutense de Madrid. The secret police patrolled the Facudad, not that they were very secret, they were big heavy-set guys with crew cuts, tight shinny suits with the tell-tale bulge under their left arm. I’m not sure if students ever dressed in tight shinny suits but in those days the students in Franco’s Spain had adopted the haute couture of the hippie culture of the times.

Our literary criticism professor, Carlos Bustamente, assigned a student to keep an eye at the door to listen for the heavy footsteps of Franco’s minders. We were young we couldn’t take them very seriously, we only knew of Franco’s crimes from stories – we hadn’t really seen any of it. Most of us were from liberal democracies we thought most the ideas were tame.

I love Spain, I miss it. It was intense, relaxed, happy and sad all rolled up in one. But I remember Franco.

Photo Courtesy of the following site:
www.educared.net

So Much Trouble in this World

'So Much Trouble in this world' - Street Musician at the Dupont Circle Farmers' Market in early August 2007.

My apologies to the musician - I did not get his name. If anyone knows his name please let me know.

Enjoy his sound and art.



Left: Chess in the Circle

Below: Soap Lady at the Market








Take a look at my latest uploads on Flickr.com

Violin Girl - Takoma Park Farmers' Market

A young street musician performs at the Takoma Park Farmers' Market on a sunny September morning.

Banjo Man - Takoma Park Farmers' Market

Entertainment at the Takoma Park Farmers' Market on a sunny Saturday in September

Learning Spanish - Podcast & Notes in Spanish

After Destinos along came podcasts; to be honest they were around for a few years before I discovered them. I started out recording them onto CDs before I got an iPod. The first one I found was ‘Trying to Learn Spanish.’ It was produced by a guy from Colorado. His focus was on how to help you learn Spanish rather than learning Spanish. It was delivered in a deadpan voice – the guy voice seemed to say – I’m the most boring person alive, but the information was interesting despite the voice. Actually, I kind of admired the guy, he was doing something; in its own kind of way it was encouraging –he wasn’t letting his limitations stop him. I liked it; it appealed to my ‘power to the people’ inclinations. It hasn’t published in about a year; I wished it was still going.

Next I found Notes in Spanish, published by Ben Curtis and Marina Diez – the Curtis and Diez language and travel empire. I’m not sure how it all began, but what I know of it is an interesting story, and inspiring. Ben Curtis is a writer, he moved to Spain about nine years ago, met Marina – through an intercambios I believe. They fell in love and got married. Marina worked in the computer industry. Ben and Marina started a podcast on teaching the real Spanish – the Spanish that is not taught in book. The idea was simple Ben and Marina would talk about a subject for about ten minutes. The subjects were all over the place, it was easy and relaxed. No language tape regimentation, no language instructors speaking to you like a kid – it was a real conversation between two adults. Don’t get me wrong, it only appeared casual, I am sure that they spend a great deal of time preparing for each podcast -I am sure it is not as easy to do as it sounded – what is? But that’s the beauty of it, it sounds natural and relaxed and it helps you learn Spanish, Spanish culture, and anything else that popped into their heads. As time when on they have branched out, diversified you might say. Currently they publish the following podcasts:

Notes in Spanish Intermediate

Notes in Spanish Advanced

Notes from Madrid

Notes from Spain

Notes in Spanish TV

Learn Spanish: Notes in Spanish Inspired Beginners

They also have a web site, Notes in Spanish; it includes a lively forum that covers language, travel to Spain, living Spain, various threads of interest to the Spanish learner or traveler. Ben also does an occasional podcast for Lonely Planet. One last note before I sound like a complete shill for Ben and Marina; Ben has written a book about his experiences in Spain, entitled Errant in Iberia. I haven’t been sufficient motivated to fork out the money to purchase it but someday I might, it sounds interesting.

Next time, I'll talk about my adventurers i n the world of intercambios.

Language Translation Tool

After several attempts, I believe I finally have it working properly. Courtesy of Google and an unknown author of the code, Bill Shields’ Online Travel Notebook now has the ability to translate my post into other languages. It will be interesting to see how accurate machine language translation can be. I’ll try and occasional check the Spanish translation. Until next time, Buenos Días!

Learning Spanish

Over thirty years ago I spent a year at the Universidad Complutense de Madrid – my junior year abroad. Over the years I lost most of what I had learned. I made attempts to keep up, but mostly to no avail. When my children began to take Spanish lessons in middle school; I decided to bring it back, and actually get good at Spanish this time. That was almost nine years ago. Since then I’ve been working on improving my Spanish, mostly half-heartedly. I could get by; I could almost understand ‘las noticias de la televisión.’

It became a minor focus of my life. I’d pickup a throw-away newspaper, some of them good like “Tiempos del Mundo,” others dreadful. Occasionally I’d pick-up El Pais, or read ABC online. I’d watch Telemundo y Univisión; but that didn’t last too long, the news was at an inconvenient time, the soaps were over the top, and confusing to boot. I learned later that many of them are produced in Brazil in Portuguese and dubbed, which explained my confusion - the lips didn’t match the sounds; my ear and eyes went into over-drive trying to resolve the discrepancy. The variety shows were pre-Ed Sullivan.

I was too unfocused to pull out the grammar books. I had 501 Verbs in Spanish, a few good dictionaries spread around the house, and a Franklin electronic dictionary I kept in my bag. At various times I’d concentrate on reading, phases, listening; it was all an unorganized jumble, and for the most part unproductive. I did make progress, my reading improved, even my listening abilities improved; but it wasn’t quite enough. It was slow. I guess I assumed that I’d learn through osmosis.

Next I discovered Destinos, a beginner’s language course in the format of a telenovela (Spanish soap opera). It’s a great series; click the Destinos link to learn more. It was advanced beginners so I didn’t learn much, but I could understand it; it was a big boost. I began to understand with what I was struggling. I knew about my problems with grammar; it was the struggle to understanding that was frustrating. I guess I understood intellectually that I was trying to learning Spanish by listening and reading from all the different countries of the Spanish speaking world, but when I could understand Destinos clearly I knew there was hope. Simply put it helped, I watched it for a while just for the pleasure of understanding everything.

This is only the beginning of the story of my adventures learning Spanish, next time I'll tell you ablout exploring podcasts and intercambios.

Logo Courtesy of Universidad Completense de Madrid
http://www.ucm.es/

Destinos Photo courtesy of Annenberg Media
http://www.learner.org/resources/series75.html

Thoughts of Pittsburgh

I haven’t lived in Pittsburgh since the late seventies; and I’ve never gone back more than three or four times a year, yet it still feels like home. The neighborhoods, the markets, the roads and bridges may change but not the people. It’s an easy town; the food is not very distinctive unless a Polish, Italian, Irish mix has been raised to the level of cuisine while I wasn’t looking. What the food lacks in subtlety is made up for in quantity. These days my stomach aches just at the thought of the belt loosing portions served in the typical diner. If it’s coffee it’s Maxwell house, if it’s strong it’s burnt, and if it’s right you can see the bottom of the cup.

They use to call it a shot and a beer town, but that’s only true in spirit. Like most places, nobody drinks the way their parents did, or they did years ago. It’s a mill town brimming with world class universities, and now without the mills. The coke plant down the river is the only remnant of the glory days of US Steel. The mill have been torn down, malls, townhouses and sports complexes have slowly taken their place.

These days Pittsburgh is a business center, a medical power house; it’s clean, it’s safe, and it’s old, but it sure has character. The mayor is still in his twenties. There is the Southside on the flat next to the Monongahela and below Mount Washington. When I was growing up Carson Street was bustling with Five & Dimes, Polish deli’s, and seedy mill bars; it was the home to US Steel. Nobody went there, unless you worked in the mills, and most of the mill workers lived there. It was a typical western Pennsylvania river town in the heart of the city.

Pittsburgh’s history is rife with the hero’s and demons of the industrial age Carnegie, Mellon, Frick. They all left an indelible stamp on the city for good and bad. They exploited the labor, polluted the rivers and air, and left art treasures and the first public library system in the country.

Today Pittsburgh is still cloudy, but it’s clean. Allegheny County passed the first air pollution ordinances in the country. The Allegheny and Monongahela still form the mighty Ohio, and the cityscape as you emerge from the Fort Pitt Tunnel is one of the best in the world; even on a cloudy day

Top Photograph: Bridge span over the Allegheny River

Middle Photograph: The Strip District

Bottom Photograph: Downtown