SEARCH THIS BLOG: Index by place name and other ways to search

Update: March 29, 2007 --

I've stopped updating this index because Blogger's added a feature that lets me label each post with the names of the countries mentioned in each story. You can now find all the stories on, say, Argentina, by typing "Argentina" into my blog's Search window, pulling up a page that contains a post on Argentina, then clicking on "Argentina" in the "Labels" section at the end of that post. You'll then be taken to all the stories on Argentina, with the most recent appearing first.

I've also added a Google search toolbar to the blog. You can search the Web, but you can also search Ribbons of Highway. Want stories on China? Select "RibbonsofHighway.blogspot.com" in the Google search window, then type in "China." You'll get links to every post with China in its content.
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Once stories slide off a blog's main page, they’re lost, since few people click on “monthly archives” to see what’s hidden there. To give you a way to find “old” stories you might enjoy or find useful, I've created a homemade pseudo-search. You can, of course, try the “Search” window in my blog’s navigation bar, but the results are spotty. Sometimes you get links to specific posts, sometimes to monthly archives, and sometimes only to the blog’s home page. And, there’s www.Soople.com, which lets you search specific websites by keyword. But type in “Malta” and http://RibbonsofHighway.blogspot.com and you get the same kind of results you get from Blogger’s “Search” button -- sometimes useful, sometimes not.

So, to supplement those search methods, I've listed below, in alpha order, destinations treated in this blog. After each are links to the monthly archives that contain stories about that destination and the dates of the posts. Clicking on the link gets you to the right month, then you scroll to the right date.

I’ll update this SEARCH list at the end of each month, and this post will be in my blog's sidebar under "Links":

Andorra – Jan05 (Jan1);Feb06(Feb2)
Argentina – Nov04 (Nov24); Apr05 (Apr14); Jun05 (Jun6) ;Jul05(Jul8);Aug05(Aug30);Feb06(Feb11);Apr06(Apr1);Jul06(Jul18)
Bahamas - Jul05(Jul11)
Belgium – Nov04 (Nov15);Oct05(Oct1)
Belize – Jan05 (Jan25)
Bolivia – Nov04 (Nov11,24); May05 (May1); Jun05 (Jun6);Oct05(Oct28);Apr06(Apr9)
Brazil – Nov04 (Nov24);Feb06(Feb11)
Bulgaria – Nov04 (Nov2)
Canada/Alberta – Nov04 (Nov4);Aug05(Aug23);Sept06(Sept29)
Canada/British Columbia - Aug05(Aug26)
Canada/Nova Scotia – Dec04 (Dec10);Dec05(Dec5)
Chile – Nov04 (Nov24);Aug05(Aug30)
China – Nov04 (Nov17,20); May05 (May6,22); Jun05 (Jun24);Aug05(Aug5);Nov05(Nov4);May06(May30);Aug06(Aug9,31);Sept06(Sept18)
Costa Rica - Dec05(Dec1)
Czech Republic – Nov04 (Nov9)
Ecuador – Nov04 (Nov18,24); Feb05 (Feb1,2)
Egypt – Oct04 (Oct28); Dec04 (Dec27)
England – Nov04 (Nov16); Apr05 (Apr21); Jun05 (Jun13);Jul05(Jul9);Feb06(Feb18);Apr06(Apr1);Jul06(Jul18)
France – Nov04 (Nov16); May05 (May3,14);Jul05(Jul5,25);Feb06(Feb2);Apr06(Apr1);Jul06(Jul18);Aug06(Aug9,31)
Germany – Dec04 (Dec20,25); Jan05 (Jan1);Oct05(Oct26);Feb06(Feb7);Jun06(Jun3)
Greece – Nov04 (Nov20); Mar05 (Mar5,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31);Apr06(Apr19);May06(May2);Aug06(Aug9)
Greenland - Apr06(Apr22)
Guatemala – Jan05 (Jan25);Nov05(Nov15)
Honduras – Dec04 (Dec23)
Hong Kong - Dec05(Dec23);Jun06(Jun14)
Iceland – Mar05 (Mar9);Dec05(Dec10);Apr06(Apr22)
India – Nov04 (Nov22); Mar05 (Mar1); Apr05 (Apr17);Oct05(Oct04);Apr06(Apr29);Jul06(Jul18);Aug06(Aug9)
Iraq – Oct04 (Oct28); Dec04 (Dec10,25,27); May05 (May27)
Ireland – Mar05 (Mar17)
Israel – Oct04 (Oct28); Nov04 (Nov27); Dec04 (Dec27)
Italy – Nov04 (Nov4,9); Feb05 (Feb14); Jun05 (Jun6);Jan06(Jan9,14);Feb06(Feb14);May06(May11);Jul06(Jul18);Sept06(Sept18)
Jamaica – Nov04 (Nov30);Feb06(Feb22)
Japan - Oct05(Oct20)
Jordan – Oct04 (Oct28); Nov04 (Nov27); Dec04 (Dec27); Apr05 (Apr21);Sept05(Sept26);)Nov05(Nov10);Jul06(Jul18);Aug06(Aug14,31)
Kenya – Nov04 (Nov24); Dec04 (Dec3); Feb05 (Feb8); May05 (May1); Jun05 (Jun2);Oct05(Oct17);Nov05(Nov22);Jan06(Jan18);May06(May4);Jul06(Jul5);Aug06(Aug31)
Macau - Jun05 (Jun28)
Malta – Nov04 (Nov1); Apr05 (Apr5); May05 (May25);
Mexico – Dec04 (Dec23)
Morocco - Aug05(Aug17)
Nepal – Nov04 (Nov5); May05 (May6);Oct05(Oct24)
Norway- Sept05(Sept19);Sept06(Sept5)
Pakistan – Mar05 (Mar1)
Peru – Nov04 (Nov20,24); Apr05 (Apr3); May05 (May17);Jan06(Jan23);Apr06(Apr1);Jun06(Jun20,30);Aug06(Aug31)
Portugal – Nov04 (Nov4); Jan05 (Jan1); May05 (May12); Jun05 (Jun6);Aug05(Aug9);Dec05(Dec21)
Puerto Rico - Feb06(Feb25)
Russia - Jul05(Jul26);Aug05(Aug5,13);Sept05(Sept16);Feb06(Feb18);Jun06(Jun9);Jul06(Jul18)
Saudi Arabia – Oct04 (Oct28); Dec04 (Dec27)
Scotland – Nov04 (Nov19); Jan05 (Jan15,21);Jul05(Jul14);Apr06(Apr22);Jun06(Jun25)
Serbia-Montenegro/Yugoslavia – Oct04 (Oct28); Dec04 (Dec27)
Spain – Jan05 (Jan1); Apr05 (Apr24);Jul05(Jul18);Dec05(Dec14);Feb06(Feb2);May06(May24)
Switzerland – Nov04 (Nov4);Nov05(Nov9);May06(May5,20)Jul06(Jul18);Aug06(Aug24,31)
Taiwan – May05 (May22)
Tanzania – May05 (May1)
Thailand – Jan05 (Jan4,9)
Tibet – Nov04 (Nov15,20); May05 (May6); Jun05 (Jun24);Oct05(Oct24);Jul06(Jul7)
Turkey – Feb05 (Feb3); May05 (May14); Jun05 (Jun6);Sept05(Sept8);Apr06(Apr1)
US/America – Nov04 (Nov1); May05 (May27); Jun05 (Jun14);Jul05(Jul20)
US/Arizona - Oct05(Oct12)
US/California - Jun05 (Jun19);Oct05 (Oct31);May06(May8)
US/Colorado - Aug06(Aug31)
US/Florida – May05 (May14)
US/Hawaii – May05 (May14);Aug06(Aug31)
US/Idaho – Dec04 (Dec7)
US/Illinois - Feb06(Feb18)
US/Kentucky – May05 (May7);Jan06(Jan30);Aug06(Aug31)
US/Louisiana – Apr05 (Apr12);Jul05(Jul1);Sept05(Sept1,3);Nov05(Nov4);Aug06(Aug29)
US/Maryland – Dec04 (Dec16)
US/Massachusetts – Nov04 (Nov29); Mar05 (Mar14); Apr05 (Apr24);Apr06(Apr01,12);May06(May11,20)
US/Minnesota – Feb05 (Feb6)
US/Montana – Apr05 (Apr30);Jun06(Jun17)
US/Nevada - Apr06(Apr5,16);May06(May8,11)
US/New Hampshire – Nov04 (Nov29); Jan05 (Jan1); May05 (May 6,14); Jun05 (Jun17);Jul05(Jul1);Aug06(Aug31);Sept06(Sept22)
US/New Mexico – Nov04 (Nov11); Feb05 (Feb26); May05 (May 14);Oct05(Oct07,08);May06(May13);Jun06(Jun6);Aug06(Aug31)
US/New York – Nov04 (Nov9); Feb05 (Feb17,21); Mar05 (Mar3); Apr05 (Apr7);Sept05(Sept11); Nov05(Nov27);Dec05(Dec18,26);Feb06(Feb18);Aug06(Aug31);Sept06(Sept11)
US/Ohio – Dec04 (Dec16)
US/South Dakota – May05 (May 14);Jan06(Jan5);Apr06(Apr25);May06(May11);Aug06(Aug3)
US/Tennessee – Jan05 (Jan17);Jul06(Jul13)
US/Utah - May06(May13)
US/Virginia – Dec04 (Dec16)
US/Washington, D.C. – Dec04 (Dec16)
US/Wyoming – Apr05 (Apr30)
Wales – Apr05 (Apr27);Jul06(Jul18)

Where shall we go next?

Snake oil: Rx, Macau-style

Had I been suffering from a skin or eye infection or sore throat as I passed this Macau clinic, I could have gone inside and asked for a little snake to take the edge off. The Chinese beat the high cost of prescription drugs by using traditional healing products, like these snakes getting perfectly pickled in alcohol.

When your Yin and Yang are out of whack, traditional Chinese medicine can help restore balance and good health. For 2,000 years, snake has been a key ingredient in the traditional healer’s medicine cabinet. Hemorrhoids keeping you up? Rub them with snake skin. Snake gallbladder can quell skin diseases, chronic pain and pesky intestinal hemorrhages. Eating snake soup or snake meat can cure a whole menu of ills. And don’t pass up an offer of snake bile. A few swigs of the stuff can quiet whooping cough, rheumatism, fever and bleeding gums.

The average life expectancy in Macau is 82 years. Next time a snake oil salesman knocks on your door, consider inviting him in.

www.LoriHein.com

Shangri-La Express: Slow train to Tibet

Have a spare 17 grand that’s been burning a hole in your pocket? Book a berth on the Shangri-La Express, due to roll from Golmud, China to Lhasa, Tibet beginning in 2007. For $16,995 single occupancy, you can take a deluxe International Railway Traveler Society rail tour of China that begins and ends in Beijing and includes a 20-hour ride on the 713 miles of track the Chinese government is currently constructing to link Golmud with the fabled Tibetan capital. (The UK’s Trans-Siberian Express will operate the train, and National Geographic Traveler magazine reported that tours starting at $5,600 are available through the operator’s booking arm, GW Travel. That may be, but in this blog, I link you only to sites that pass the Lori Hein test, and gwtravel.co.uk, didn’t. Once on the site, a look at their price list requires a download, a step I didn’t appreciate. If you’re interested, you’ve got the URL.)

When completed, the tracks between Golmud, in Qinghai Province north of Tibet, and Lhasa, will be the world’s highest railway line. For most of the journey, passengers will roll along at over 13,000 feet, topping out at 17,146, and pressurized cabins will mitigate the effects of the low-oxygen environment. (Effects like brain-piercing altitude sickness headaches. Mine reduced me to a weeping pile of flesh, and I ate painkillers and sucked on the hose of the oxygen bottle in my Lhasa hotel room to no effect. I waited it out, all the while thinking my head would surely explode and I would die on the floor of the Lhasa Holiday Inn.)

The advent of the Shangri-La Express is remarkable not only for the wonder of its engineering, but because it will make more accessible a place that has, for ages, been among the world’s most difficult to reach. And it’s Tibet’s remoteness that has helped protect and nurture its gentle 1400-year-old Buddhist culture and has given the land its powerful aura of mystery.

This train to Shangri-La is a watershed railroad. A turning point that signals a point of no return for Tibetan culture and no hope of independence from Chinese occupation. In 1958, seven years after they invaded Tibet and a year before the Dalai Lama fled to exile in Dharmsala, India, the Chinese began construction of the Xining-Golmud section of a planned Qinghai-Tibet Railway. That first link opened to traffic in 1984. The Golmud-Lhasa stretch is the final link in the chain. By laying track through Himalayan plateaus and sacred peaks, landscape heretofore considered virtually impenetrable, and establishing a Chinese rail terminus in Tibet’s ancient capital, the Chinese make a statement: Lest anyone still doubt, Tibet is not merely linked to China, it’s chained.

Now for the upside. I’d choose a 20-hour luxury train ride to Lhasa over the two and a half-hour white-knuckle flight Mike and I took from Chengdu to Lhasa any day of the week. Chengdu, in Sichuan Province, is the key air gateway to Tibet. Starting in 2007, Golmud, which is a road gateway, will also be a rail gateway. It’s nice that travelers will have a choice, because our flight was one of the four scariest of my life. (The others? Fodder for another post...)

We took off from Chengdu. The CAAC flight attendants were getting ready to distribute sad little passenger “box lunches” when a voice announced that the plane had “mechanical problems” and we were returning to Chengdu. One of the four engines had shut down. We circled Chengdu, the pilot using the Chinese flying techniques that had been scaring me to near-death on every flight we’d taken in the country. I was sure we’d never see Tibet. We were going down, our quest for Shangri-La doomed to end in a Sichuan vegetable field.

We landed, I kissed the tarmac, then we sat in the Chengdu terminal for two hours. We talked with some businessmen who’d earlier taken off from Chengdu for Chungking (Chongqing), a 40-minute flight. They’d gotten all the way to Chungking but couldn’t land due to fog at Chungking airport. So, the plane flew back to Chengdu, where passengers and crew sat waiting for the fog to lift so they could try again. Fog talk. An ill omen, I thought. I knew the Chengdu to Lhasa flight wouldn’t leave if there were but a hint of fog in Lhasa. Each moment spent repairing our engine gave the elements more time to blow fog toward Tibet. Hurry up! No, never mind! Don’t hurry up! Take your sweet time fixing that engine, and please do it well! I was a bundle of nervous emotion.

We took off again. I was flying to Lhasa, Tibet, the Roof of the World, a place I’d dreamed of seeing since I was a kid devouring copies of my grandmother’s National Geographic. That I was on my way to this fabled place was blowing my mind, but as much as I tried to relax and let the glorious anticipation wrap around me, I couldn’t help fixating on the engine outside my window. Was that the one that had blown? Did they really fix it? Would it die again, causing the insignificant plane to smack into a 20,000-foot ice-encrusted Himalaya? And the pilot. The guy used reverse thrust and other techniques that felt horribly alien. He was going to land us between Himalayas on a short strip of tarmac at the world’s highest airport? Whoa, baby. Never mind the box lunch. Get me a cognac.

About two hours into the flight, on the plane’s left side, a scene of unparalleled beauty revealed itself. We were some 7,000 feet above the highest peaks of the Qionglai-Minshan Mountains (see post below), an eastern range of the Himalaya. My fear and anxiety found new partners, awe and wonder, when I saw what I believe was 24,790-foot Gonga Shan (Minya Konka in Tibetan) – if not her, a near neighbor – pierce the clouds and seemingly rise to meet the plane. Terrifyingly beautiful. Overwhelming, brutal, magnificent.

The sea of glorious peaks we flew over separate the Sichuan Basin from the Tibetan Plateau. A staggering, powerful, vertical white wall that heralds and holds back the magic that is Tibet. Part of this landscape is Kham, (Chamdo in Mandarin), land of strong, quiet horsemen. Part of this landscape was traversed and explored by Joseph Francis Rock, a botanist and adventurer who led the 1927-1930 National Geographic Southwest China-Tibet expedition. His photographs, many of which were published in National Geographic, are a window to the true Shangri-La. That Rock penetrated such a remote piece of the planet to study plants, geography, people and culture still amazes, and in preparing this post I found a wonderful blog by a present-day Rockphile. Click and enjoy.

We cleared the high Himalaya. I exhaled. We neared Lhasa. I inhaled. I girded myself for another strange Chinese landing, and the pilot obliged by delivering a horrible gut-girding reverse thrust maneuver, then practically diving for the tarmac. Hey, this isn’t a helicopter, pal. I dug my nails into Mike’s arm and prayed we’d live long enough to see the Potala Palace (above).

Next time, I’ll take the train.

Flying to Tibet over the Qionglai-Minshan, a range of the eastern Himalaya. The peak in the foreground may be 24,790-foot Gonga Shan (Minya Konka in Tibetan). 

Father's Day and family trees

That's my family hugging trees on the Avenue of the Giants, a 31-mile stretch of staggering forest beauty that runs through northern California's Humboldt Redwoods State Park. Thanks, Mike, for being such a great dad and helping to keep our family tree strong. (Mike reads this blog regularly, sometimes now on his Crackberry, so this post can serve as an electronic Father's Day card. I have a real card, too, tucked inside a six-pack of Guinness decorated with a big red bow.)

This somewhat forced tree-Father's Day metaphor (hey, I had a picture...) makes me think of a note my own dad wrote to me 30 years ago, which I still have. I'd gotten into Tufts University, a decent school, and he was proud of me. (Actually, he was relieved. I was seventh in my class of 400, but I had an unpleasant, rebellious period during high school and had announced to my parents that I had no intention of going to college because I wanted to be a long-distance trucker...)

When I accepted Tufts' acceptance, my dad wrote me this short message:

"The old oak tree is losing some of its leaves of late,

But, oh, look what is happening to one of my acorns!"

Happy Father's Day to you, too, Pop. (My dad doesn't have a CrackBerry, and he doesn't use his computer, but my mother reads this blog, so she'll show him this post. ) And now, I'm off to see my dad to give him his six-pack of Guinness (and a pack of Heinekens, some hand-made chocolate creams and a box of Jelly Belly jelly beans).

Have a great day, dads.

Where shall we go next?

Homestead and the heart of New England

This is the view from my cottage in Stoddard, New Hampshire, home to 800 souls and an additional 3,500 or so folks like us who spend weekends and vacations on or near seven-mile-long Highland Lake.

We lead a pretty low-tech existence up there. If the rabbit-ear antenna sitting atop our tiny TV is in a good mood, we pick up two television stations -- ABC and PBS. We've become Antiques Roadshow devotees. We have to travel about five miles from our house to get cellphone reception (I pray that no one ever sticks a cell tower on top of nearby Pitcher Mountain), so the kids suffer Nokia and Motorola withdrawl when they're in Stoddard. They compensate by plugging their MP3 players into their ears for the weekend. We have to talk loud to get their attention.

Mike works around the house, relaxes and plays around with his new BlackBerry, a device so addictive we all call it the CrackBerry. I read. I've amassed a huge library by shopping for used bargains at the Homestead Bookshop. I recently wrote an article about the shop for a lovely online magazine called The Heart of New England.

The e-zine, edited by Marcia Duffy, offers glimpses of life in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, but it has readers from all over the world. Duffy has a neat tool -- a Bravenet Guest Map -- on her homepage. I'm a map fanatic, so of course I had to check it out. I found that people from places as far-flung as Wattsville, Alabama, Bainbridge Island, Washington, Australia, France and Turkey get a weekly New England fix from Duffy's magazine. Enjoy some good little New England stories and stick your own pin in the map.

Road trip resources - See the USA in your Chevrolet...

This is a post from my stint as May's Featured Author at BoomerWomenSpeak.com. There was a lot of travel talk during the month-long thread, and several of the discussion participants were about to set off on U.S. road trips and were looking for online travel resources:


I wanted to give you a few links to websites I found especially helpful in researching and planning the "Ribbons" journey and a link to my hands-down favorite overall travel site, www.TripAdvisor.com.

Whether you want to get away for a weekend or a year, these sites are useful in planning a U.S. road trip, and many are rich in links that will bring you to other sites that specialize in niche subjects like camping, RVing, historical travel and the like:

www.roadtripamerica.com -- A one-stop site for tons of links and info to help you travel America

www.randmcnally.com -- Maps, driving directions, trip planning tools. I used a Rand McNally road atlas, along with individual state maps and online distance calculators at www.mapquest.com and www.aaa.com to plan our 12,000-mile “Ribbons” journey.

www.nps.gov -- The National Park Service. You could spend a whole day cruising this site, which has information about every park, battlefield, forest, historic area, monument, lakeshore, seashore and property in the National Park system. In addition to info about the well-known parks that we've talked a bit about in this thread, you'll find info on small hidden gems you might not have known existed. On our cross-country journey, we experienced utter uncrowded magic at less-celebrated sites like Newberry Volcanic Monument in Oregon, Idaho's Craters of the Moon, the Civil War battlefield at Vicksburg, Mississippi with its haunting roads and woods and trenches and rows of soldiers' graves, Petroglyph National Monument outside Albuquerque. So many gems. You might want to consider a National Parks Pass, which, for $50, gives you unlimited free entry into NPS sites for a full year. If you're over 62, you can nab a Golden Ager lifetime pass for only $10.

www.tourstates.com -- This site provides links to the official tourism offices of all 50 states. Then, from each state's individual site, you can order maps and brochures galore to be sent to you via snail mail. I had my poor mailman, Tom, bent under the weight of such deliveries for months.

www.byways.org -- Describes and maps out scenic drives and routes all over the country

www.tripadvisor.com -- I love this site because it's one of the only places I've found where you can get a plethora of good, meaty, unbiased opinions about tours, hotels, resorts and restaurants all over the world from actual visitors. Tripadvisor now boasts about 1.8 million reviews, and, while it's a little unwieldy to navigate, once you get the hang of it and zero in on what you're looking for, you get a boatload of eye-opening information from regular folks who've "been there." They tell you straight whether a destination is thumbs-up or thumbs-down. I've found Tripadvisor to be a great money-saver. You can cruise through this site and uncover great reviews about small, unknown, inexpensive places that the big sites like Expedia, Orbitz and Travelocity don't tell you about. I found the Sunset Beach all-inclusive resort in Montego Bay, Jamaica by cruising Tripadvisor. I wouldn't have found it anywhere else. It was nearly half the price of the other all-inclusives, and we had an absolute blast. I booked based on the hundreds of reviews I read on Tripadvisor, and those visitors/reviewers were right on. Going to Europe? Look for a secret gem of a 3-star hotel in Tripadvisor instead of booking at a chain hotel through one of the other sites. This site is a mother lode of information.

So where's the eclipse, Einstein?

In this month’s Smithsonian, an article by Richard Panek tells about the year that Albert Einstein got on a roll and stayed there, revolutionizing science. In 1905, Einstein made a series of dazzling discoveries and set down theories and mathematical equations that tipped science on its ear and gave birth to modern physics. To celebrate the centennial of Einstein’ s most excellent year, physics organizations around the globe have dubbed 2005 the “World Year of Physics,” and Einstein and his body of work are getting lots of attention.

It was in 1905 that Einstein noted, in the little equation E=mc squared, that at the atomic level energy and matter can be transposable, an observation that gave birth to the nuclear age. The same year, with his theory of special relativity, the quiet scientist made the world rethink notions about the relationship between space and time held since Copernicus and Galileo had dared share educated guesses in the 16th and 17th centuries. True derring-do back then when the world was dealing with the shock of not being the center of the universe and a person could get himself killed for talking science.

But, according to Panek, it was in 1907 that Einstein began to noodle with special relativity, adding another dimension to it. Special relativity deals only with a resting body and a body moving at a constant velocity. Einstein’s brain seized on the challenge of explaining the relationship between a resting body and a body whose movement accelerates. He took Newton’s laws of gravity and rethought them, postulating that acceleration and gravity are the same force. It took Einstein eight years to develop the mathematical sentences for his new theory of general relativity. Once he had the math, he needed a solar eclipse to prove his theory, as the eclipse would enable observation of gravity’s effect on light, key to his hypothesis. A solar eclipse on May 29, 1919 did the trick, and Einstein changed human thought, became a household word and made science synonymous with a mustachioed man with lucid, popping eyes and white, wild hair.

Good thing proof of Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity didn’t hinge on the solar eclipse of 1999. We might still think apples falling from trees tell us everything we need to know about gravity.

We were in Cornwall, England, enjoying a family vacation. In planning our trip, I’d been clueless about the total eclipse of the sun due to be visible over Cornwall on August 11, 1999. As soon as we landed in England, we were bombarded by eclipse things – posters, radio chat, TV broadcasts, bumper stickers, street conversation, t-shirts, tins of “Eclipse” cookies arrayed in eye-catching store window displays (above). Anticipation of the event eclipsed nearly everything else.

We drove to Cornwall, and frenzy heightened. Signs on the motorways read, “Solar Eclipse – Expect long delays on route to the South-West 6-11 August.” Cars heading to Cornwall clogged the roads.

Once in Cornwall, we stocked up on groceries at the Safeway in Liskeard before making our way through seaside Looe to Polperro, where we’d rented an apartment. Safeway cashiers handed out flyers detailing plans the supermarket had made to accommodate the community’s needs when the expected “over a million visitors to the area” descended at eclipse time. A sign posted at a Tesco food shop near Penzance informed shoppers that the store would close “for 2 hours on August 11 from 11-1 pm in order that our staff may enjoy the eclipse.”

At the Bronze Age Duloe Stone Circle, a homemade sign nailed to a gate announced a special eclipse gathering to be held at the Neolithic site (robes optional). At Duloe, Mike concentrated on negotiating the minefield of mutton manure, Adam put his sweatshirt hood up and ran around pretending to be a Druid, and Dana chased sheep. I read the gravestones in the nearby 14th-century church cemetery, including one honoring a 20-year-old boy who “Unfortunately Drown’ed in The Shallow Pool and was Swallowed by The Deep.”

We left Europe on August 8. Back home, I monitored the eclipse reports on August 11. The eclipse was a bit of a bust. National Public Radio announced that “cloud cover made the eclipse invisible” to the millions who’d gathered in Cornwall to view it. (Click here for Martin J. Powell ‘s great account of what it was like to not see the eclipse.)

When I heard that clouds had totaled the eclipse and all those folks we’d met and seen had seen nothing, I figured they’d handled the celestial raw deal with characteristic stiff upper lip and good humor. “Well, then, that’s that, isn’t it?” I imagined them saying as they smoothed out their eclipse t-shirts, popped another eclipse biscuit into their mouths and loaded their folding chairs into the boots of their cars.

What would Einstein have done?

The universal language of pigeon

Feeding pigeons is a universal activity, and the kids have often used pigeon-feeding as a way to hang out with and meet people in many of the cities we've visited.

The spice and carpet sellers around Istanbul's Suleimanye mosque applauded Adam when he threw fistfuls of feed we bought from an old woman into the air, causing scores of pigeons to swoop up and around and down trying to catch some.

In Lisbon, the kids came to know the eccentric lady who spent some 10 hours each day feeding the pigeons in the small square near our hotel. (Since we saw these pigeons every day for a week, Dana became very attached to them. When uniformed officials pulled up to the square in a truck and shot a net over the pigeons and began hauling them into the truck, the pigeon lady wailing at them, we assured Dana the pigeons were simply being relocated to a lovely new home in the country...)

In La Paz, Adam shared his bag of corn with a little boy decked out in a sweatsuit decorated with the Bolivian flag. After they'd fed the pigeons for a while, the boy went to the bench where his parents sat watching and returned to Adam with a soccer ball. The two kicked the ball around the square for an hour, drawing a large, appreciative crowd who sucked on cotton candy from vendor carts.

In Buenos Aires, we joined the Argentine familes who came to the Plaza de Mayo to feed the birds and to view the white kerchiefs painted on the square's center cobbles. The kerchiefs represent the mothers who continue to come to the square, anchored by the government Pink House, for information about the "disappeareds," the 30,000 people who vanished without a trace from 1976-1983 during Argentina's "Dirty War."

In Venice's Piazza San Marco, a pigeon found Adam's head to be a convenient roost (above). After the dramatic avian landing, Adam was surrounded by locals who wanted to meet the American pigeon boy. Teenagers, young men, cafe waiters and small knots of extremely attractive women came to Adam's side to teach him how to throw the feed without making himself a target.

Meanwhile, Dana (below) had zeroed in on the sole white pigeon in the square, and they were becoming friends. Through the din of flapping wings and peeling church bells and chattering tourists, Dana's voice carried through the piazza's great expanse: "Yo, Whitey, my man!"

"Yo, Whitey, my man!"

Feed pigeons, make friends.

The Masai Mara: Twenty-three elephants

On safari in Kenya, our wake-up calls came at 5:45 a.m., and we’d meet Herbert, our driver, at 6:20 for dawn game drives.

On sunset game drives, we witnessed the hunt, lions and other predators crouched in tall savannah grass, craftily creeping toward grazing wildebeest.

On dawn drives, we saw the scavengers, beasts that ate the remains of kills brought down the night before by the carnivores at the top of the food chain. Hyenas and vultures ripping and pecking at the barely identifiable remaining skin and flesh of zebras and gazelles, animals, which, the previous evening, had graced the Mara with their elegant, supple beauty.

Outside of this circle of life and death lumbered the elephants, too big to harass, too tough to be tasty. These herbivores wandered the Mara and places like it in a sort of elephant-only cloud, keeping to themselves and generally being left alone, save for the white bug-picking birds that rode their backs. Like most host-parasite relationships, this one works. Elephants stay insect-free and birds enjoy a moveable feast.

One morning, Herbert steered us into the Ultimate Elephant Experience. We’d sat with other vans, called kombis in safari-world vernacular, and watched a herd of elephants cross the savannah and head down a grassy knoll toward a rare cluster of trees that ran a half-mile or so. As the elephants bounded down the knoll, the other drivers left, confident they’d given their clients enough elephant time for this drive. I’ve no doubt the travelers were satisfied with their morning outing.

But Herbert was a zebra of a different stripe. A man who eschewed mediocrity and settling. An impassioned professional and gentleman whose mission was to reveal his beloved land’s every secret and nuance – or as much as he could reveal during the week we spent with him.

As the other vans turned right to head back to the various camps where their clients were staying, Herbert kicked our pop-top into gear and sped toward the clump of trees the elephants had headed for. I looked at Mike and the kids. Hang on, guys. We hired the right driver.

Herbert knew exactly where the elephants would emerge from the trees, and there we sat. He turned off the ignition, and we waited. My mind blew as, one by one, the elephants we’d seen from a distance walked from the trees not twenty feet from our van’s front grille. We were alone with a sublime parade of land leviathans, and none of us will forget the experience.

Out of the woods came a great bull elephant. Then mothers with babies trailing behind. A big-tusked bull led two babies out of the trees. I asked Herbert the calves’ ages. “About six months and one and a half years,” he said, drinking in this spectacle as deeply as we were.

We watched as, almost within touching distance, twenty-three elephants emerged from the woods and passed before us. I shot a roll of 36 slides in about four minutes. This rumbling, moving herd of pachyderms was one of the most stunning visions I’ve ever seen.

The lead bull led his clan of twenty-three to a water hole hidden in the bushes beyond the small dirt track our van sat on. We watched in awe as the elephants, young and old, small and gargantuan, bent their heads to dip water into their mouths, then moved their trunks into their mouths to drink the water down. We watched them inhale mouthfuls of tree branches and then tuck some extra under their leathery brown chins for future use.

Beyond, behind and aside us, the savannah baked in the African sun, wildebeest grazed in peace until the lion hour, and acacia trees spread and drooped like giant, life-giving umbrellas.

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