Hanok Village: History as Enterprise, Part 1

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March 11, 2019, Jeonju, South Korea-

After a  brief walk around the farmstead of  my hosts, Shin Dongwhon and Park Miwha (Many Korean women keep their maiden names, even in marriage), they, the new Mr. & Mrs. Boivin and I headed for Jeonju, the capital of Jeolla Buk-do (North Jeolla Province), famous for the hot pot, known as pibimbap (rice, mixed with vegetables, chopped meat and egg, then garnished with hot pepper sauce).  It is also well-known for maintaining historical buildings, as it is the birthplace of the Joseon Dynasty (1392-1897).  The dynasty was founded by General Yi Song-gye, who became King Taejo as a result. He and his heirs instilled a strong Confucian ethos into Korean culture.  They also built Korea’s legacy of distinct language and literature. King Taejo’s heirs included his fourth-born son, who became Sejong the Great.  King Sejong, one of the seminal figures of Korean history, was committed to universal education.  In order for the masses to become literate more easily and quickly, Sejong commissioned the development of a phonetic alphabet, Hangul, which is still commonly used today.  He also commissioned the development of movable type, about the same time as Johannes Gutenberg was developing a movable type printing press, in what is now Germany.

With all this rich history, I was surprised that the emphasis in Jeonju’s historic district was not so much on telling the tale as on showing the buildings as they were and on the selling of goods and services.  Of course, any living community has to strike a balance between legacy and functionality, as Salem, MA, San Juan Capistrano, CA, St. Augustine, FL, Heidelberg, DEU-and Gyongju- a living history city,  in eastern South Korea, have all done.

Here are some photos of the day’s festivities- first of the farmstead, then of Jeonju Hanok Village.  First,  here is the home to which I was welcomed.SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

The koi pond has some rather shy inhabitants.

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Building stones and ollas (for storing kimchi) are essential to any Korean farmstead.

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A newborn rabbit needed warmth and safety.  He is hidden in the shorn fur of one of his elders.

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The rooster and his ladies were in full voice, this morning.

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This is a row of pine windbreak.

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This is  a view of Mr. Shin’s field.

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There, to greet us and send us off, is “Buri” (Barley), the family porch dog.   Korean farm dogs are rarely, if ever, allowed inside the house.

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Now let’s have a look at the first set of photos  of Jeonju Hanok Village.  Below, is the Hanok Visitors’ Center.

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Yunhee and her parents, in front of commemorative stone.

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Our side of the coin.

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“It still could snow, this Spring.”  Here is a traditional Jeollabuk-do tiled roof.

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More traditional Jeollabuk-do tile-roofed houses. Many of these are Guest Houses.

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This is the Year of the Boar, in the Lunar New Year configuration.

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Traditional Chollabuk-do home, with walled courtyard and shrines.

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Here are hanbok, traditional Korean formal dress.

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Here is a more upscale version of the Chollabuk-do tiled roof.  It was probably the home of a wealthy merchant or minor official.

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A more modern variation of traditional water wheel.

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These traditional shirts are actually made of paper.  We visited a paper-making establishment and saw various products, made of durable paper.

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Yunhee is watching a traditional demon mask, made of heavy paper.

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Mrs. Park is demonstrating traditional grain milling.

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It was a little chilly for an outdoor lunch, so we admired the courtyard and moved on.

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Here are some household decorations that graced a merchant’s home, in the early 20th Century.

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Here is a hilltop pavilion, probably used as Confucian shrine.

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“Spring is on its way”, say the cherry blossoms.

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A heavy-duty community level water wheel.

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Commemorative stone, indicating road leading to Confucian shrine.

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There are a number of other photos to share, of this large historic district.  I will post these in the next installment.

 

Changes and Chances

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February 16, 2019, San Diego-

When I set out this morning, from Blythe, I half-expected to see nothing but clouds and moisture, once past the San Gabriels and Mt. San Jacinto.  Neither happened, and while a few clouds sent sprinkles our way, here and there, the weather was cool but pleasant.

With a friend in Riverside County at work and not available to visit, I headed for Old Town Temecula, a place I’ve found off-putting in the past, due to the invariably high volume of traffic spilling onto the I-15 freeway.

The half-mile or so, of preserved and reconstructed buildings gives a trendy air to the historic ambiance of Old Town. It’s not Bisbee, or even Virginia City, but Temecula has charm in abundance.  There is an abundance of wineries in the area, for those so inclined.

I am strictly a coffee/tea person, so my refreshment stop was at Press On, a crowded, happy shop, in the midst of Old Town’s Front Street. The shop is on the left side of the photo below.

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Temecula’s history is shown in a mural, two frames of which are shown below.

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Here are some other scenes of Old Town.

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Temecula’s City Hall is quite impressive.  The water in the front fountain is not frozen, despite its appearance. It didn’t get quite that cold today.

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Humour, of course, helped people get along in the most rambunctious of times.

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Thus invigorated, I headed towards San Diego, for a bit of reminiscence.  On the way, I encountered a vehicle darting diagonally across I-215, between Temecula and Escondido.  The driver managed to stop the vehicle and set it aright, on the grass shoulder of the highway, just shy of a very steep ravine.  I hope to never see such a thing again, but who can say what frights await, in the days and years ahead?

In San Diego, I spent some time at Tuna Harbor, part of the city’s wondrous shoreline and a monument to the civilian fishermen who served as lookouts for the Coast Guard, keeping an eye out for Japanese naval forays, during World War II.  Here, I had a nice,cheap seafood meal, at Marion’s, and caught these lovely sunset views.

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It is a great evening, in a very homey city. I will head north, to Carlsbad, for a night’s rest.  Then, will come a couple of visits with friends, in two very different parts of SoCal, tomorrow. Hopefully, the weather will hold up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Honest Abe and the First Nations

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February 12, 2019-

It is human nature to approach, and evaluate, other people by the same standards one holds to oneself.  It takes a lot of open-mindedness, and patience, for the average person to view people of different cultures as those of different cultures view themselves.  When  homogenization of cultural viewpoint takes deep root in a nation’s dominant culture, there is the appearance, if not the reality, of racism.

From thence, has risen the persistent assessment of people not of the dominant culture as being somehow inferior to those assimilated to said culture.  President Abraham Lincoln, on several occasions, hosted First Nations delegations, at the White House, during various points during his Presidency.  His purpose was to encourage them to assimilate into “the Christian culture of the majority of American citizens.” , as he regarded traditional ways of the nomadic among the indigenous peoples, and their non-Christian traditional Faith Communities, to be just shy of barbaric.

Not addressing the more than 200 years of atrocities committed by Europeans against both First Nations people and African-Americans, in the contiguous territory of the United States, and the nearly 200 earlier years of brutality against people of colour in other parts of the Americas, Mr. Lincoln, perhaps pre-occupied with the Civil War, found time to carefully evaluate, and dismiss all but 38 of the cases against 302 Lakota fighters, for alleged atrocities against the settlers of European descent, in the newly admitted State of Minnesota, during the six-week Dakota War of 1862.  Those 38 men were executed, in the largest non-combat execution act in U.S. History.

His record is far murkier, and less circumspect, with regard to the Sand Creek Massacre, in Colorado 1864 and the Long Walk, of Dineh and Inde (Navajo and Apache) people, from their traditional lands to Boque Redondo, in eastern New Mexico, beginning in 1863.  The Homestead Act and Pacific Railway Act of 1862 made settlement by European-Americans easier, and movement of goods far more efficient, but made no consideration, at all, of the needs of First Nations residents.

In fairness, Lincoln sincerely believed in the importance of  “civilizing” the First Nations people, which the leaders of those Nations, far from being ignorant or savage, viewed as both ironic and ludicrous, given the “brother against brother” reality of much of the “War Between the States”.  Cochise and, later, Geronimo,  saw the propensity for fighting among all groups in the Southwest as being pandemic:  Whites against whites, whites and Mexicans against each other, both groups against First Nations-and vice versa,

Lincoln espoused forward-looking policies towards southern slaves, primarily to ruin the economy of the Confederacy, whilst viewing people of African descent as being “legally” 3/5 of a free white man and viewing indigenous people as only worth the price of the land from which they might be removed-unless they became Christian. Abraham Lincoln was a man of his times, and can’t really be judged solely by the standards of our own imperfect era, however much more enlightened we might like to view ourselves.  He does not, however, deserve to be regarded as a universal emancipator of all those who were being persecuted during his tenure.

My own view is that people of various groups are more alike than different and that we, of each group, have more to learn from one another than we have to impart on others.  This, I have learned, consistently, from visiting many areas of this country-and some parts of other countries.

The Old Year’s New Friends

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December 30, 2018, Prescott-

This fading year brought new people and places into my life, and filtered this life, quite vigourously.

My new friends, both online and in real time, have greatly enriched my life- being both sweet/warm and hot/ferocious.  One needs both in a balanced life.  I am blessed with a new daughter-in-law;  two wonderful branches of a blended family being brought into ours-courtesy of another family  wedding this past summer; a very bright and much-loved grandniece born in February; a smattering of vibrant, creative friends, from this year’s Convergence at Arcosanti; all manner of beloved souls from that site called “Archaeology for the Soul” and so many with whom I just happen to bond, in my wanderings both physical and ethereal.

I have filtered some- though I continue to feel great love for a place called Dharma Farm, prudence has led me to keep physical distance from there, for the time being.  A brief encounter with a distraught soul, this past Autumn, was also brought to an end, at her insistence, and no doubt with the blessing of the Universe.  I am more in tune with the needs of a good friend, here in Prescott.  Communication is everything!  I also dispensed with Twitter, though that means saying farewell to some friends who are only reachable on that medium.

This year brought some new cafes and restaurants into my life, here in town: Ms. Natural’s, Rustic Pie, Firehouse Coffee, Outlaw Donuts , Rosati’s Pizza and Danny B’s (actually in Chino Valley). I have lost none of my older faves here, save Black Dog Coffee,which bid us farewell in November.

New to me, on the road, this year, are Old Town Albuquerque; Moriarty (NM); Salina (UT); Sedalia (MO); Nauvoo and Carthage (IL); Ridgeview Grill ( Wilmette); Lafayette/West Lafayette/Prophetstown State Park’Tippecanoe and Mishawaka (IN); Ridgetown and London (ON); Toronto; Auberge Bishop, Chicha Donburi and La Pantere Verte (Montreal); Plattsburgh/Ausable Chasm (NY); Valley Forge; Alexander Inn and Independence Hall (Philadelphia);  Hostels International, Fort McHenry and Iron Rooster (Baltimore); the Western Shore of Chesapeake Bay; Jamestown/Yorktown/ Virginia Beach/Newport News; Louis Gregory Baha’i Institute/Hemingway (SC); Hot Plate (Timmonsville,SC); New Moon Cafe (Aiken); Calhoun Falls State Park /Edgefield (SC); Falls Park on the Reedy/Smoke On The Water (Greenville, SC); Walterboro (SC); Salisbury and Asheville (NC); Crossville (TN); Hostel Memphis/Young Avenue Deli/The National Museum of Civil Rights/Arcade Restaurant/Beale Street (Memphis); Old Town Alexandria. Each of these just added richness to this much blessed life and I would gladly visit any of them again.

NEXT:  Hails and Farewells

Samson

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December 27, 2018, Prescott-

The evening dinner and discourse, at a good friend’s house, went very well, actually- as I am just not attached to those aspects of my personality that someone finds disconcerting.  The run-up to, and expectations of, a conversation about what people expect from one another, can be uncomfortable and filled with trepidation.  Thankfully, I felt no such angst, once I recited a strong prayer, this afternoon.  My friend was not sure how I would react to her comments, but you know, what she asked is so totally reasonable and fair, that my answer was “Absolutely!” That is how I was raised- with Mom telling us not to hold back with our upsets and distresses, so long as they were stated with dignity and a bit of forbearance.  So, the evening went, a nice meal, a respectful concord and the viewing of the film, “Samson”.

Therein, the story of the Hebrew leader and freedom fighter is depicted, with an earnest but troubled Samson, opposed by both some of his more militant Danite villagers and by the Phillistines, ruled by Balek and his ambitious, conniving son, Rallah, and daughter-in-law, Delilah.  It is Delilah who tricks Samson, three times, into giving the royals the information and strength they need to oppress the Danites and Nazarites.  Rallah, though, is portrayed as a sociopath, killing Samson’s wife and father-in-law, two turncoat Hebrews and Samson’s father, before killing his own father, so as to take the crown.  The tale ends, much as it does in the Old Testament.

Samson’s main point is about integrity and humility, with the superhuman giving all credit for his strength to God, not disputing with his Hebrew opponents, and facing the Phillistine’s challenges without batting an eye.  He experiences angst about not following the letter of the law, whilst removing tunics from dead soldiers, thereby breaking a vow to never touch the dead.  The angst follows Samson, for other actions, throughout the story.

I am likewise committed to integrity and self-purification.  Not being a superhuman, or a member of an oppressed community, my own actions have to be about maintaining both my own dignity and worth, and honouring those of my friends.  It’ll never be a matter of “self-defense”, when questioned or corrected, especially by those who have consistently had my best interests in mind.

Old Town, but Not Cold Town

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December 10, 2018, Alexandria, VA-

In the years in which I was stationed at Fort Myer, VA and  in the several visits I’ve made to the Washington area, since then, I had not been in Old Town Alexandria.  The place was just enough off the beaten path that we always made to the National Mall, that I just never got over here.

The Metro has changed things and Alexandria took its rightful place on my itinerary, all the more so because our family dinner, the night before my mother-in-law’s interment, was held at The Warehouse, a fine dining establishment, in lower Old Town.

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This would be one of the best meals I’ve had, in a long time, and that’s saying  a lot, in a year of fabulous repasts. Yet, let;s get back to the start of this visit.

I took a Blue Line train to Alexandria’s Union Station, just after noon.

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Being a bit hungry, and with dinner nearly five hours away, I stopped in at this simple, but charming, little cafe, across from the train station.  As good as the coffee was, I relished the gyro sandwich, as well.

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Old Town, especially on King Street, has a variety of shops with interesting names:  Hard Times Cafe, Stage Door Deli, and this- a unique place, which was closed-it being Monday.

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Here is an eastward view of King Street. The air was cold, but the vibe in Old Town is uniformly warm.

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Even a broken bench was inviting.

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I spent about ninety minutes enjoying the scenes along the Potomac Riverfront, one of the key ingredients in the Alexandria Story.  This town was one of the first great shipbuilding and sail rigging manufacturing cities in the U.S., and continued in that role, right up through World War I.

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In Waterfront Park, the lone statue is that of a shipwright.

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Oystering is Alexandria’s other claim to fame, and Potomac River oysters are proudly served, both on and off the half-shell.  These pilings are left from an old oystering wharf.

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I could not resist zooming in on the U. S. Capitol, nearly six miles away to the north.

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Animals make do with the weather they’re given.  Here, a duck is grooming its mate, in the bracing Potomac waters.

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Jones Point, named for an indentured servant of the Eighteenth Century, is Alexandria’s largest wilderness park, and the southernmost point of Old Town.  It is the site of numerous archaeological digs, a couple of left-over border markers. From 1801-1847, the City of Alexandria was part of the District of Columbia.  A retrocession was passed by Congress in 1846 and took effect the following year, returning Alexandria to the Commonwealth of Virginia.  During the Civil War, however, the city was occupied by Union forces, thus temporarily reversing the retrocession.

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This house was occupied by the keeper of a lighthouse, at Jones Point, in the nineteenth century.

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On the walk back into Old Town, I noted the area’s awakening Christmas spirit.

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The last forty-five minutes before dinner were mostly spent in Torpedo Factory, which is actually Alexandria’s fascinating three-story arts haven.  More than fifty individual galleries are housed here, as are studios to encourage children’s art.

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The bear reminded me to stop by the small, but heartfelt, Old Town Books, and look for a children’s book-for my ten- month-old grandniece, who was at the dinner. I found a flip book on horses, which she found most interesting, both to sight and to touch, a good early sign!

The superb dinner ended a day, the likes of which “Bunny” always approved.

 

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One Heart’s Fortune

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November 30, 2018, Prescott-

This evening, with a fairly peaceful week of work behind me, and a resolution to the dilemma, that I described in the last post, having been put into motion, I attended the opening night of a play, “Hannah’s Heart”, about a 10-year-old girl in Depression-era Prescott, her family, and two benefactors.

Like many families in the 1930’s, the Meadows’ were a brood led by a swaggering father, who was, ironically, recovering from an injury, and a stoic mother, focused on what she could do to make up for the loss of her husband’s productivity.  The ebb in their fortunes led to older daughter Hannah Grace, stepping up to make tree ornaments, by the sale of which she could provide gifts for her family.

The flow that this effort provided helped reverse the family’s low fortune, at least temporarily.  She was aided in her work by two angelic figures, an elderly woman who lived alone and who was befriended by the Meadows’ and a robust man from Texas, who took on the work, around the family farm, that Mr. Meadows was unable to do.  Both of them mentored Hannah, encouraging her to follow her heart.

I enjoy this sort of down-to-earth, human interest story.  It mirrors the many tales I’ve heard over the years, from both sides of my large extended family, as well as from my departed in-laws.  The format of the play has an elderly Hannah Grace, in the present day, telling her Millennial granddaughter about the events of that long-ago Christmas.  It behooves all present-day youth to learn what they can of that time in history, from those who lived it if possible, so as to be better able to handle similar situations, which could very well arise, in their own lifetimes.

 

The 2018 Road, Day 40: In The Conquistador’s Shoes

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July 4, 2018, Petrified Forest National Park-

The long journey around the length and breadth of North America is coming to a close today, the 242nd anniversary of our nation’s Declaration of Independence.  I have re-entered Arizona, my home base for 35 of the past 40 years and, most likely,for 2-3 years to come.  A relatively short four hours remain, before I am back in my Prescott apartment, and I will face weeds, a small amount of dusty furniture and four days’ accumulation of dirty laundry.

This morning, however, I embraced Independence Day, first by enjoying a simple breakfast on the patio of Sunset Motel, then taking a short stroll in its small garden.

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Moriarty is becoming a bedroom community for Albuquerque, a scant 40 minutes away to the west.  I have been to the Duke City, nearly a dozen times, over the past four decades. Until today, though, I had not set foot in Old Town, Albuquerque’s original settlement, established in honour of the Duke of Alburqerque, who was Viceroy of New Spain at the time the settlement was established, in 1706.  The statue shown below is of Don Francisco Cuervo y Valdes, the founder of Albuquerque.

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I spent a bit more than an hour, on this early Wednesday morning, taking in the sights of a historical district that is still waking up from pre-Independence Day revelry, last night.

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There are many artists’ studios, crafts shops and small restaurants in Old Town.  The centerpiece, though, is the Church of San Felipe de Neri.

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This is the eastern arch, leading out of the church property, into a pleasant promenade along Old Town’s many shops.

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Below, is a view of the west arch.

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The promenades led me to a Salvadoran restaurant, which was closed, and to Black Bird  Coffee House, which was very much open.

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I chatted with the proprietress of the shop, who was pleased that I had made Old Town the focus of this Albuquerque visit and hoped I would feel at home there, on future such jaunts.  She told me that the former owner of the shop had headed to Prescott, hoping to open a coffee shop there.  I wish him luck, as our town has fifteen such shops, counting the chain franchises.

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Near Sombra, there was a curious silver backed bench.

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Old Town was starting to stir, for Independence Day, as I made my way to my car and  back to I-40.

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I stopped briefly at the first rest area in Arizona, near Lupton, for a short nap, then came here, to the Petrified Forest Cafe, for a quick lunch.  Now, it’s time to head out on the home stretch.

 

 

 

 

 

The 2018 Road, Day 39:Plowing On, Through Remorse

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July 3, 2018, Moriarty, NM-

I woke up in Sallisaw, just after 6 AM, which is my usual wake-up, when on the road.  Ed’s Cafe was across the road from Sallisaw Inn, so I headed over for breakfast.  The waitress looked to be a sassy sort, the kind that can handle truck drivers very well.  She plopped a menu down in front of me and took my coffee order, then walked over to a gray-haired gentleman and plopped her cleaning rag in front of him.  I liked her right away.  Turns out, he was indeed a regular, coming by here every two weeks.

I ordered the special, and Sassy Stacey got me to change it to the same plate from the regular menu, telling me quietly that “the boss jacks up the price for the special, when all it is, is more hashbrowns.” So I got a good deal on a very decent breakfast.

I headed straight across Oklahoma, bypassing OKC, and stopping at a Braum’s, in Weatherford, for lunch.  I like Braum’s for their milkshakes and malts, getting one of the latter, to go with my chicken tenders.  Weatherford is a nice little town, so getting in out of the heat there, and giving the Elantra an hour’s rest, made perfect sense.

Next was the Texas Panhandle, a far more magnificent place than many people might see.  My remorse came from not giving old Texas Tidbits enough of a heads-up, as I approached Amarillo.  So, it happened that my only Texas stops were gassing up in McLean and a short meditative visit to the rest stop off I-40, at Alanreed.

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Despite the ominous clouds, I did not get so much as a drop on my windshield today.

After leaving Texas behind, I made two stops in eastern New Mexico, dinner at K-Bob’s, in Tucumcari, taking advantage of the chain’s delicious catfish plate and generous salad bar, then gassing up at a Mom and Pop store in Milagro- just because the young couple are making a heartfelt effort to revive the windswept little settlement.

Finally, the day ended at one of Moriarty’s oldest inns: Sunset Motel.  The widowed daughter-in-law of the motel’s founders runs this place with a velvet fist.  Her business acumen and graciousness do not clash- which I find admirable and reassuring.  She keeps her late husband’s and in-laws’ legacy running very smoothly.

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The 2018 Road, Day 38: Memphis, Part 3-Resolute, Whilst Sitting On A Beale Street Sidewalk

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July 2, 2018, Memphis-

The man to whom I am referring, in the above subtitle, was one of a relative few who were sitting in various spots, along Memphis’ touristy and bustling Beale Street, “Birthplace of the Blues”.  I had no green in my wallet, and so gave him a few quarters-though I generally avoid such donations.  He is a man my age, though, and probably served in “the Nam”, which tends to be more of a bond than many might understand. So, I dug in my pocket.  Of course, it was something of an insult and he yelled in protest, as I made my way back towards my car, parked just off the riverfront.  He struck me as being altogether determined to survive and maintain his place in that particular spot.

There is, in Memphis, a publication called The Bridge, which is sold in tourist areas.  I bought one, from a man working the parking lot of the National Civil Rights Museum.  Ironically, the lead article was about the last regular occupant of Lorraine Motel, who was evicted to make way for its conversion into a tourist venue.  She stands, most days, across the street from the Museum, holding a protest sign and calling for more humane treatment of the very people for whom Dr. King fought.

I did notice, as well, there was a certain hardness about the people, mainly African-American, who were working in the Museum. As cogent and compelling as the subject matter was to me, to them, it seemed like just a job-from the no-nonsense ticket seller to the bored young lady sitting in a nearly empty gift shop, in the annex, across from Lorraine Motel.

I carefully parked my Hyundai in a lot one block from Beale Street.  The place is a sanitized version of the place known by W.C. Handy and B.B. King, and tourists, many of whom perhaps have buried their own Blues, were in full force on this Monday afternoon.  I contented myself with buying one t-shirt, actually one of two trinkets I’ve picked up, this journey.  (The other was a “Moose” t-shirt from Ausable Chasm.) I might have dropped into one of the several restaurants that line the five-block area, but Arcade took care of my hunger, very well.  Beale Street is an area that is worth visiting, at least once. On another trip this way, I would figure to spend more time in places like Sun Studios.

Here are some Beale Street scenes.

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Above, is the west entrance to the entertainment district.  Below, the Orpheum Theater has hosted a good many musical events, for nine decades.

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The name, itself, tells all.

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Here is a view of the heart of Beale Street.

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I got my t-shirt at Beale Street Gifts, an unpretentious and very busy little shop. In the background is the east entrance to the district.

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I came across this sculpture, in Beale Street’s small park, just after my encounter with the leonine man on the sidewalk.

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The widely revered, but tortured, Elvis Presley will always be a part of Memphis.

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Leaving Beale Street, I spent a short time on Memphis’ Riverwalk, paying my respects to the Big Muddy.

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On the river, many visitors took in the sights from one of two river boats.  Here is the Memphis Queen.

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A smaller vessel took visitors further upriver, to the north side of downtown, near Mud Island.

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As I prepared to head towards Arkansas, one last look uptown was in order.  The Pyramid will be on a future itinerary-if for no other reason than that it is there.  Pyramids, even commercial ones, are symbols of hope and unity.

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I crossed the I-55 bridge, wending my way past West Memphis and cruising through Arkansas, stopping only for a light convenience store supper, in Conway.  Sallisaw, OK offered the night’s lodging, at Sallisaw Inn.  The town seems to have grown a bit, since I was here in 2016.