by David McGuffin | Jul 14, 2002 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, David's Journal, Destinations
It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m in the hills of southern Wales. I’ve taken a break from my tour group. This morning I attended a local Baptist church in Carmarthen and heard a sermon presented by the pastor and children of the church. The sermon topic was Jesus’ compassion. The lesson was presented as a set of readings and dramatic sketches.
While traveling in Europe I think it is important to immerse yourself into the local culture. Attending a church service puts you at the heartbeat of the community. Here you find real people, assembling for a common goal. Try it!
After lunch at the college cafeteria I visited the laundr-o-mat to give my clothes a well deserved treat of a machine wash and dry. (Those of you who have traveled know the chore of continuous hand washing in the hotel sink). It took about an hour to do my wash, then I was on the road heading back to my hotel. I missed my turning off spot in the round-a-bout and decided to take an alternate route. I had planned on going down the road a bit, finding a place to turn around, go back to the round-a-bout and return to my room, but the road quickly took me out of town and before I knew it I was in the countryside.
Today, being headed in the wrong direction wasn’t a bad thing. I had nothing to do and all afternoon free. I had my Ordinance Survey map of the area, backpack loaded with just purchased snacks, and plenty of petrol in the van. So off I went to find what lie in the distance hills.
Picture the blue haze of the Smoky Mountains in east Tennessee. Endless hill upon hill blanketed in a violet blue haze. This reminds me of the gently sloping mountains in the distance. In the near distance is the yellowish-green hue of rolling pasture offset every half-mile or so by the dark evergreen trees and hedgerows. Dotting these pastures are the white specks of sheep grazing contently. As the view draws near me more detail appears.
The pastures turns into roughly scattered patches of grass interspersed with large green weeds somewhat resembling bullrushes which grow in our marsh land in Florida. Scattered about are large pieces of sheep’s wool which have either fallen off the animals, or are the remains scattered to the four corners from the clipping area half a mile down the road.
This is a remote and far away land from London which I fly into just two days ago. Getting away from the crowd and experiencing a little time alone in the mountains is a great way to recharge your tourist batteries. No matter where you travel there is always places like the hills of Wales in which to seek refuge.
Be an explorer, venture out and find new places!
by David McGuffin | Jul 13, 2002 | David's Journal, Destinations
After spending ten weeks in Europe this summer my journal is full of stories about great travel destinations. Most recently, I’ve returned from England, Wales and Ireland and this month I’d like to share my experiences with you.
Last week I had a two hour flight from Spain to England. What a contrast! Although Spain is beautiful, its’ landscape is pretty well fried by mid-July. I left Madrid’s 100 degree heat for the United Kingdom’s moist, crisp, and fresh air.
During the two hour flight the aircraft’s cabin had been filled with the pure unfiltered sunlight that only an altitude of 35,000 feet can bring. As we descended into the UK the clouds were low and dense and I could not see our approach. Finally we broke through the gray misty clouds and there below was the beautiful landscape of southern England. A patchwork quilt of every shade of green lay below. Each patch was a pasture, field, or crop. The colors varied from rich evergreen to the pale green of an un-ripened tomato. Dividing each of these patches were hedgerows of blue-green uncut forest. Now take this complete patchwork quilt and drape it over a rolling countryside, scatter around some stone walls and small houses and you’ve got my impression of England.
by David McGuffin | Jun 24, 2002 | David's Journal, Destinations, Experiencing Europe
Last summer, I had the opportunity to travel alone in Europe for about two weeks. Traveling alone has many advantages: I was able to make all the decisions, my decisions only affected me, I had no schedule or agenda, I was free to roam wherever I wanted to in all of Western Europe. The drawback is that I had no one I knew, with which to share my travel experiences. I made the most of my time while driving in Europe and was able to cover a lot more ground than had I been with a group. I hope you enjoy this tale.
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My first thought was, “This is odd.”
Normally I would not have thought much of it, but I was in Tuscany, the land of olive oil and vino! I was traveling the back roads from Rome to Assisi on a Sunday morning and was determined to keep off the autostrada! My macchina (car) and I were one as we zipped through towns, hills, and valleys. I had rented a Renault in Paris three weeks ago, so we were pretty well acquainted.
The morning was turning into afternoon as I zipped through a small village, I noticed the local church was letting out, and the town center was filling with people rushing home to Sunday dinner. Throughout the morning, I had passed through many of these look-a-like towns which seemed to pop up every 20 kilometers or so.
The hills of Tuscany are deceiving. From a distance they appear to be rolling gently. Wide valleys are filled with alternating fields of amber grain and rich green pastures. The vineyards take over as the valley blends into the hillside. A little higher on the hills the vineyards are replaced with the silvery patina of the olive trees.
Throughout Tuscany, this pattern is repeated time and time again, arranged according to which crop will grow best at an elevation. Once you climb a hill and venture beyond the soil which will produce a crop, the hillside begins to fill with an assortment of weeds, bushes, and conifers. From a distance this adds a rich green cap to the hilltops. In the valleys the farms are each accompanied by a villa. Each villa is guarded by dual rows of very tall cedar trees leading up the driveway. The villas are constructed of golden sandstone with rich red terra cotta tile roofs, which complements the color palette of the landscape.
Just up the hill from the village, I came upon two girls standing in the shade of a tree. Their rich coffee-colored skin stood out beautifully against the brightly colored (and tightly fitting) clothing they were wearing. What were these women, so obviously out of place, doing here in the middle of nowhere?
I put it out of my mind as I continued on my journey through the hills. The next village came into view, situated far below in the valley. In a matter of minutes I was in the village center, passing the local church and heading out of town. Then, it happened again!
There standing in the shade of an old cedar, puffing patiently on a cigarette, was another one of these finely-dressed, dark-skinned women. Now this really began to catch my attention! What was going on here?
I found out about five kilometers up ahead when I encountered a whole slew of these women up and down the road as I approached the next village. These women were HOOKERS! They had migrated from Northern Africa to Tuscany where, for a fee, they will provide “entertainment” for the men-folk, presumably while the rest of the family goes to Mass or takes a Sunday afternoon siesta!
I know what you’re thinking…so I’d better get out of this while I can. Later in the day, while visiting a bar I bought a bottle of wine and shared it with a local gentleman. As he and I solved the problems of “politics and religion” he confirmed my suspicions. He said, “There are many young men, known as momma’s boys, that sneak off on a Sunday afternoon to visit the ladies on the outskirts of town.” Everyone knows it, and it is expected of the young and virile Italian boys. There is no problem!
Of course that’s a man’s viewpoint! However, it just goes to show that getting off-the-beaten-path can open your eyes to a lot more of local life than what is expected.
Travel is more than seeing the sights. Get out and explore!
by David McGuffin | Jun 21, 2002 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, David's Journal, Destinations, Experiencing Europe
At first it appeared on the horizon as a hazy mirage floating up from the sea. The bus filled with sounds of “oooos and ahhhs” followed immediately by the click-click of hastily positioned cameras trying vainly to capture the moment on film.
This scenario is played out every time I take a group to visit Mont St. Michel in western France. The medieval abbey is constructed atop a hunk of rock jutting prominently from the Atlantic Ocean. The abbey has been a religious pilgrimage site since the 6th century when the Archangel Michael told the bishop of Avranches to build a center of worship here. The abbey you see today is a Romanesque church build atop the original Carolingian structure. Saint Michael was the patron saint of many French kings. Consequently this has become a favored site of French royalty through the ages.
Just as thousands of pilgrims have done in the past, our group arrived (by air- conditioned motorcoach) to views of the Mont floating mysteriously above the coastal waters of Normandy and Brittany.
The Mudflats
Mont St. Michel is situated in a bay where the coastal tides rush in at up to twelve miles per hour. In medieval times the ocean was known to rush in at the speed of a galloping horse often sweeping away anything in its path. These tides are the most dangerous in all of Europe. Consequently, many warnings are posted and broadcast via loudspeaker when the tides are approaching..
We arrived in time to walk up the narrow winding street to the top of the Mont to watch the afternoon tides roll in. Although I find it hard to believe that anyone could be so slow as to get trapped by the approaching tides, the warnings were broadcast on a loudspeaker in six languages for all to hear. It took about 30 minutes for the tide to roll completely around the Mont. It happened quickly indeed, but not as rapidly as one would imagine after hearing the stories of trapped people and the tides.
We saw the tides come in along with the hoards of tour groups on the abbey Mont. Everyone was jockeying for a strategic position to see and photograph the tides. Accompanying this was the shout, laughter, and loud talking characteristic of most large tour groups. Once the “thrill of the event” was over, all 500 tourist decided to head back down the Mont at what seemed the same time. As we trudged down the cobbled street we passed souvenir shops loaded with tourist frantically rushing about to making their purchase before their bus left for its next destination.
What made my group’s experience different was that we traveled just 3 kilometers (about 1.5 miles) to our hotel located at the edge of the mainland. Here, from our porch, majestic Abby Mont St. Michel dominating the horizon. We had the whole afternoon and evening to relax and enjoy the essence of western France.
The one and only village shop was kept busy throughout the afternoon by members of the group purchasing snacks and goodies for the evening. You see our plan was to witness the other grand Mont St. Michel event of watching the sun gently set into the Atlantic.
At the supermarché, my daughter Jamie and I purchased drinks and Belín brand crackers. We packed it out to the low-lying pasture lands that defined the end of the mainland and the beginning of the tidal mudflats. We spent the afternoon basking in the sun, stretched out on our ponchos, sipping our drinks and crunching the crackers. There were local folks fishing in the canal, occasionally catching a fish, but mostly whiling away their time while exercising the “art of doing nothing.”
Late in the day we began to see sheep appear, apparently heading toward their home for the evening. Far in the distance we could see a shepherd and his dog encouraging the herd in the direction of the gate located just beyond our position. Finally all the “bahhhhing” ended as we saw the man and his dog pass through the gate and head towards home.
As we past through the gate which marked the beginning of the fortified Mont St. Michel for the second time this day we were treated to a different sight than that of just six hours before. Now at 9 p.m. the island was desolate! Just a few lucky tourists fortunate enough to have stayed on the island for the night. Winding our way up the crooked street we saw the village closing after another busy day. Women were sweeping their shops, there were some people eating or drinking in the local bistro, but for the most part the streets were left for us.
We arrived near the Abby doors, found a quiet spot to enjoy the sunset and waited! As usual, the sunset was beautiful, a ruby red dollop of orange melting into the deep blue sea.
After the sunset some folks in my group found a hidden stairway down to the mudflats on the west (oceanside) of the island. From my vantage point up at the Abbey I could see the kids in the group playing soccer and walking out on the muddy flats left vacant by the receding tide. The kids’ moms and I sat enjoying the view and peace of the Abbey Mont. We noticed our daughters walking way out from Mont St. Michel toward the other island about 2 kilometers to the north. Of course there was no danger because it was low tide and we could see others wandering on the flats too. But unknown to us and our daughters out on the flats, the tide had begun to return for the second time of the day.
We stood helplessly, watching the tide come in and our daughters, apparently unconcerned, making their way back toward us. We could hear their laughter and playful screams as they returned through tidal pools getting wet and muddy. But we also saw the tide rolling in. I was not too concerned, because from our vantage point I could see that they were walking much faster than tide was coming in. The problem was that it was now almost dark. The girls appeared only a shadows on the distant mudflats.
Soon a helicopter began circling the Mont and then headed out to the girls on the flats. As we watched from the safety of the Abbey walls we saw the helicopter swoop down and land near our daughters. This started our hearts racing knowing there must be imminent danger for the helicopter to land and send a person out to get our kids. But to our amazement the would be rescuer approached our girls, apparently said something to them and returned to the helicopter, then flew off toward the mainland. Our girls began heading away from the Mont toward another group of people on the flats. Once they merged with the other group we saw they were taking a route around some tidal pools and then back toward Mont St. Michel.
Mont Saint Michel with Jamie
Finally, they were within a few hundred meters of Mont St. Michel. We could hear their voices and see them covered with dingy gray mud up to their knees. Up the stairs they came, sheepishly making excuses about their adventures. They told us the helicopter guy had come to tell them about the approaching tides and to warn them of pools of quicksand located in their path. He had advised them to join the larger group, which was under the supervision of a local guide. They had joined the group but the guide spoke only French and they could not understand why he was leading them away from the direction they needed to go.
By this time it was approaching midnight. We walked in silence down the Mont and out onto the causeway which connected to the mainland. About halfway across we turned to face Mont St. Michel. There, basking in the beauty of a full moon was the Mont adorned by the ancient abbey, its gothic spires reaching to heaven, a perfect example of man’s handiwork seeking to praise God! .
As the Christian pilgrims have done for centuries I too offered a prayer that night thanking God for protecting my kids “explorations” on the mudflats!
by David McGuffin | Jun 6, 2002 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, David's Journal, Destinations, Eating & Drinking
Il Campo – Seina
Il Campo, the town square of Siena is a big as three football fields. It is paved with red brick and is surrounded by cafes, vendors, and local businesses. Viewed from the air it reminds me of a half completed sunset, red bricks radiating from the central public fountain. Towering above is the bell tower of city hall. Il Campo is a gathering place for all people.
I’ve visited Il Campo at all hours. Early morning brings the local people, merchants and vendors, setting up for the day’s business. The street cleaners are out sweeping with their homemade brooms and gathering the nightly ration of empty bottles and left over food. I love watching a city wake up and morning is my favorite time for catching the spirit of a place. Around the square, shopkeepers too are sweeping and tidying up their places, deliveries are made, the ever present buzz of the APE (the small Italian version of a delivery truck on a motorcycle body) zoom in and out of the square. There are old women walking past on their way to morning Mass almost sneaking into the many community churches. And no Italian town would be complete without the ever present construction site and its busy workers getting down to serious business before the sun runs them inside for the afternoon. Mornings give a view of the real place!
By 10 a.m. the first groups of tourist arrive on Il Campo. Buses, parked outside of town, unload their tourist just a few blocks from Il Campo. The groups trudge from the unloading zone to Il Campo. All are frantically clicking photos and desperately trying to catch the essence of Il Campo. Then the magic takes over. Il Campo funnels the crowds out and into the town. I sit at one end of the plaza and watch group after group arrive, they take pictures, strain their neck looking up at the bell tower, checkout the fountain and local pigeons, their tour guide assembles the group, says a few words and then the group break up to wander around the small streets and allies of Siena. This same scene happen many times, day after day, week after week.
By 5 p.m. most of the tourist have returned to their buses and headed back to their big hotels in Florence. Left on Il Campo are the few lucky tourist, like me, who have a room here in town for the night. The vendors begin to pack up their wares, the umbrellas come down at the cafes around the square as the shade inches its way across the reddish-orange pavement. School children begin to play football and tag, their mothers visiting in the shade of nearby buildings. Older kids talk, flirt, flaunt their stuff for all to see. Tourist like me, grab a seat on the pavement and take it all in. Romantics, hold hands, nestle up to one another and sneak a kiss or two. The square is alive with life. The older men sit in the distance, drinking their wine, smoking, reading a paper, and discussing what ever old me discuss. Across the square, old women again head off to the evening services.
Il Campo at night is a delight. Tonight could have been a washout. The evening begun with rain. Most of the locals have been driven in doors. But I’ve got just tonight for Siena and I’ll make to most of it. My friends find a dry spot under the eves of a store that has closed for the night. Here we spread our ponchos using our packs as a backrests and settle in for the ambiance of Il Campo. Earlier in the afternoon we had shopped for our picnic supper…an assortment of olives, cheeses, prociutto, freshly baked bread, and a ruby red Sangiovese from the hills of Siena.
The stage is set, we’re comfortable and have wonderful views across Il Campo which is practically empty because of the drizzling rain. I’ve never seen Il Campo like this. The light from the surrounding businesses reflected off the rain covered pavement. The fountain can be heard spurting water in the distance muffled just slightly by the clink of silverware and conversation from the cafe guests. This is what makes life worth living, a true travel experience that’ll provide a lifetime of memories.
Later, the rain stopped, the local folks came out from their shelter and strolled across Il Campo. From a dark alley, a group of teenage girls emerged arm-in-arm singing and giggling. Soon, from another alley a group of boys arrived to play football on the square. Football was soon forgotten when they spied the girls. Suddenly, before our eyes, we witnessed a “rooster and hen” show steaming with unbridled energy only available to adolescences. The boys puff up, strut their stuff in front of the giggling girls. The girls sing and chant something, laughing at the boys, crushing their big egos. A few guys get up enough nerve to talk to the girls. As they met in the middle, the boy’s group and girl’s group shout encouragement and throw verbal jeers to their friends. Finally, the girls hurry arm-in-arm from Il Campo, singing their way back down the streets. The boys, leave just as loudly as they entered, each trying to out do the other with their version of their encounter with the opposite sex.
Suddenly, Il Campo is quiet again, broken only by the rustling water, the distant cafe chatter, and the sighs of bliss from me and my friends.
Exploring EUROPE is an adventure. Grasp the moment and make the most of it !
by David McGuffin | Dec 31, 2001 | David's Journal, Destinations, Experiencing Europe
I was standing in my backyard during the final sunset of 2001. After a full afternoon of yard work and chores, I sat down next to my pond to watch the dusk turn into darkness. The sun had illuminated the western sky with vivid oranges and ruby reds. As I watches the dramatic colors fade I began to reflect on my favorite spots for watching the sunset.
Smokey Mountains
I’ve always enjoyed hiking in the mountains. Situated on the border of North Carolina and Tennessee is the Smoky Mountains National Park and at the very top of the park’s highest road is Clingman’s Dome. Watching the sunset from here is easy and a magnificent sight. You can drive all the way up to a parking lot. Be sure to bring a chair and perhaps a picnic supper (KFC makes a finger lickin’ good meal). Now for the sunset… you’re above everything. The views are wonderful for 360°, but you’ll want to look to the west for the unobstructed views across the hazy skies. In the foreground are the dead trunks of the firs and spruce tree which once dominated this mountain, beyond… an endless palette of blues and reds.
Mont Saint Michel with Jamie
Mont Saint Michel is an island just off the coast of France where Normandy and Brittany meet. Atop the mountain is an abbey with a small village spilling down the hill to the water’s edge. During my last trip to MSM I was treated to a sunset and incoming tide, both at the same time. My friends and I had arrived on the island at 9:30 p.m., too late for dinner, but in time to feast on the beautiful sunset. Just three hours before the island had been packed shoulder-to-shoulder with mobs of tourist, but now we shared the streets with the local folks. They were going about their chores, cleaning after a day of entertaining the big bus tours. We enjoyed our walk to the top of the abbey, munching on crackers and cheese at each of our rest stops. The view to the east and south is filled with green fields, herds of sheep… simple farmland. To the west and north is the Atlantic Ocean. The sun began to dip into the ocean at about 10:30. It looked like a dollop of molten lava being dropped in to the cool waters of the Atlantic. Framing the sun was a multitude of reds, oranges, and pinks fading to cool blues and violets as the sun dipped below the horizon and into the cool waters of the sea. We stood leaning against the ancient stone walls of the abbey looking in awe at the beautiful sight. Mont Saint Michel is wonderful after all the tourist leave!
Assisi
Assisi, like Mont Saint Michel, is a town built around a religious structure. It is situated in the heart of Italy in an area known as Umbria. Surrounded by rolling hills planted with amber grains, tall green pines, and red-roofed villages, Assisi is an ideal spot to experience Italian village life. I arrived in Assisi on a Sunday afternoon last summer. I had driven from Rome. After a rather strenuous walking tour of the town, I decided to find a place to picnic for dinner. The city is surrounded by an ancient wall with several castles. They were used to defend the town in the Middle Ages, today they dominate the hillside as crumbled relics of the past. I visited a local grocery to gather my picnic supplies and headed off to the smaller of the two castle known as the Rocca Minore. As I hiked through the shimmering silver olive groves I became aware of the singing birds, children playing in yards below, and rustling of the wind in the trees. I arrived at the castle about two hours before the sunset so I found a spot on the wall, hung my feet over the side and spread out my picnic dinner. I feasted on homemade cheese. prosciutto, olives, oil, and bread washing it down with the local red wine. Finally the cloudless sky began to change from the rich blue to subtle pink. I could hear a religious precession accompanied by singing at the church down the hill below me. The setting sun performs a lot longer across the central hills of Italy than at Mont Saint Michel. I watched as it sank for over an hour through the every changing horizon, all the time silhouetting the large castle on the next hill over. Just about dark the bats arrived, coming from behind me and making their way out into the night diving into the valley below with eerie screeching noises. As lights came on in the town below I packed up my bag and strolled down the hill by the light of the moon.
Buon giorno!
David
