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Tag Archives: Travel

A Church-Loving Tourist: This Time in Paris

05 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by WS50 in Art, Travel

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Art, churches, Notre Dame, Paris, Ste. Germain des Pres, Ste. Suplice, The Write Side of 50, Travel

North facade of Notre Dame Cathedral. Late afternoon .

North facade of Notre Dame Cathedral. Late afternoon.

BY JULIE SEYLER

Wherever I go, churches are on the top of my to-see list. They offer up beauty (free), in peaceful and spirital surroundings. Usually there is silence.

Eglise de Sainte-Germaine des Pres.

Eglise de Sainte-Germaine des Pres.

I am not incognizant that these temples to God were built by the David Kochs of the medieval world on the backs of the anguished. But the politics and sociology must be weighed alongside the art.

Yes, the subject matter is one note: the life of Jesus Christ, his journey from birth to death, his apostles and the prophets, sinners and saints that bring life to the Old and New Testaments. But they have been painted and sculpted by the greatest artists of all time — Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Donatello. And they are in situ, placed in niches and on walls in the exact same space and place as when made and hung.

Statue of the Virgin, 13th c. Ste. Germaine des Pres

Statue of the Virgin, 13th c. Ste. Germaine des Pres.

Churches are also more than repositories of religious history. The floors, the pews. The altars and flying buttresses. The steeples. The stained glass windows. The gargoyles tell us what the world used to be like; what people used to believe. And hat they were afraid of, what they strived for, and it’s not far from what we seek today.

The Church was also the social media center from let’s say the 13th century through to the 19th century. Whatever. There is always somehting to look at, and always more to see. These are some of the churches I visited when I was in Paris last October:

Ste. Suplice Church on Rue Ste. Surplice, 6th arrondisement.

Admiring the view

Admiring the view.

Noticing the mid-afternoon light.

Noticing the mid-afternoon light.

The windows are huge.

The windows are huge.

What the windows look outside. Exterior of Saint Germain des Pres.

What the windows look outside. Exterior of Saint Germain des Pres.

Ste. Etienne-du-Mont.

Check out the detail on the staircase.

Check out the detail on the mahogany staircase.

Statue and window.

Statue and window.

Notre Dame

Stained glass window,

Stained glass window,

Gargoyles

Gargoyles

Montmarte

Looking up at Montmartre.

Looking up at Montmartre.

Looking at Montmartre from the Musee D'Orsay.

Looking at Montmartre from the Musee D’Orsay.

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Out West, Where the Weather is Vertical

02 Friday May 2014

Posted by WS50 in Men, Travel

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Frank Terranella, Men, The Write Side of 50, Travel

photo 1

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

One of the prime benefits of travel is to experience the unfamiliar. For example, if you want to see what it would be like to drive on the left side of the road, you need to travel to a British Commonwealth country. And if you want to see the Aurora Borealis, you need to travel to the far North.

Living in the New York area, we are accustomed to little variations in altitude. No matter where you start from, you never experience more than about a thousand-foot variation in altitude within 50 miles of New York. Even traveling to the nearby Pocono or Catskill “mountains” does not significantly change things. These are mere foothills compared to what they have in Colorado. In fact, the entire city of Denver is at a higher altitude than any of the peaks in the Catskills or Poconos.

So since New Yorkers have no concept of altitude, we don’t think of weather depending on altitude. This was brought home to me recently while traveling in Northern Arizona. We were driving from the Grand Canyon to Zion National Park in Utah. As we started our drive, it was raining lightly. This was fine for several hours, but then we began to climb up towards Zion, and suddenly, as we crossed over 7,000 feet, we were in a ferocious snowstorm.

photo 2

This lasted only until we descended down to 5,000 feet, and then it was light rain again. We were seeing first-hand that weather is vertical. That’s why out West, the weather forecasts don’t simply say that such-and-such an area will have certain weather. They say that the weather will be X, but above 6,000 feet it will be Y, and above 7,000 feet it will be Z. And this is all in the same town! We just don’t have weather like that in the New York area. Our weather is horizontal, not vertical.

The next day, it was a beautiful sunny day as we began our drive in Zion National Park at an altitude of about 6,000 feet. We were on a short drive to a mountain lake. As the road began to climb, we noticed that the temperature was dropping. At 6,000 feet it was 55 degrees. By the time we got to 8,000 feet it was 34 degrees. But the biggest shock was that, in 30 minutes, the terrain went from a green springtime pasture to a snow-covered winter wonderland.

The road actually became impassable with snow, and we had to turn around and go back, or risk being stuck there. Yes, weather is vertical out West, and that’s a foreign mindset for many of us. But experiencing the foreign is why we travel. And it’s usually a lot of fun!

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Rock Art in Sedona

30 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by WS50 in Art, Men, Travel

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Arizona, Art, Bird sculpture, Frank Terranella, Men, red rocks, Sedona, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Sedona, Arizona.

Sedona, Arizona.

Our resident blogger, Frank Terranella, is on a road trip out West. Before he left, we asked that he send photos so that we could experience his experience vicariously. This one shows one of the rock formations in Sedona, Arizona.

“What intrigued me is the bird-like figure in the rock,” he wrote. “I have no idea who did this, or if anyone did it.”

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A Courtroom Stop on Our Nationwide Trek

15 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by WS50 in Men, Travel

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Alabama, Frank Terranella, Men, Monroeville, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Mockingbird pic

The courthouse in Monroeville, Alabama, which was recreated in “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

There are a lot of lawyer stories on television, and in movies. Most of them are not very flattering. I think of TV shows like “L.A. Law” and “The Good Wife.” Lawyers are often called upon to do the most unpleasant things for us. They sometimes have to act like monsters, so we don’t have to. It’s no wonder the public has such a poor perception of lawyers. And yet, the practice of law can be an honorable, even a noble, profession.

Exhibit A is a Southern lawyer with the unlikely name of Atticus Finch, the protagonist of Harper Lee’s book, “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Now, there is no nobler lawyer in American literature than Atticus Finch. His demeanor, intelligence and ethical values are what many lawyers aspire to, but seldom match.

Atticus doesn’t want his children to have guns and doesn’t have a gun in his house, but when a rabid dog needs to be put down, the police chief calls on “deadeye” Atticus to make the shot. He accepts payment from poor farmers in produce. He is known far and wide as a fair man. That reputation gets him appointed counsel for a client that no one else would represent – a poor black man in Depression-era Alabama, who is accused of raping a white girl.

If you’ve seen the marvelous 1962 movie starring Gregory Peck, no further explanation of the story is needed. If you haven’t, I envy you the thrill of meeting Atticus Finch for the first time.

A few years ago, my wife and I were touring the Southeast as part of our decade-long plan to visit every state in the nation. We learned that the courthouse in Monroeville, Alabama was the one that was recreated in Hollywood for the movie. That’s because Monroeville is the home, to this day, of Harper Lee. She grew up just a couple of blocks away.

As we headed South on I-65 from Montgomery on our way to New Orleans, we took a slight detour to visit the old Monroe County Courthouse. It’s now a museum, full of items that lawyers of Atticus Finch’s time would have used. The museum is nice, but the star attraction is the old courtroom itself. It looks exactly like the movie, since Henry Bumstead, the art director on the film, came there, and took pictures, and made drawings, so that he could reproduce it in Hollywood.

As you walk into the courtroom, you can just imagine yourself in a scene from the movie. Fortunately, it is possible to climb the stairs up to the balcony, where the less prominent citizens, including children, could watch the proceedings.

In the story, Jem and Scout (children of Atticus), and their friend Dill (who Harper Lee based on her childhood friend Truman Capote), sit on the floor of the balcony, dangling their legs through the wooden supports that make up the balcony railing. The accused’s family sits nearby, along with their minister. Pat at Mockingbird My wife and I were able to sit and get a Scout’s-eye view of the courtroom. It was a surprisingly moving experience.

But that’s the power of good storytelling.

And they do more than just have the setting for “To Kill a Mockingbird” in Monroeville. Every summer, they actually populate the courthouse with actors, and put on a play-version of the story. The audience gets to sit in the spectator portion of the courtroom, while the actors stage the trial. It’s the hottest ticket in Alabama.

In the story, Atticus puts on a splendid defense for his client, Tom Robinson, after which, with head held high, he packs up his briefcase and heads for the door. Tom Robinson’s family waits for Atticus to gather his things and stands in silence while he walks to the exit. In a show of the depth of the respect for Atticus in the community, the minister prods the Finch children to, “Stand up. Your father’s passing.”

Can you imagine a lawyer today being that beloved?

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Travel Perks: A Castle, A Fortress, Some Meatballs, and a Fountain (Of Youth)

26 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by WS50 in Men, Travel

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Frank Terranella, Men, Sweden, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Elisnore Castle

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

The beauty of travel is that it breaks the monotony that life can become. We are all creatures of habit, and our natural tendency is to do what we have done before. Travel takes us away from what we always do, and challenges us to adapt to something new. It’s not really hard since human beings are kinda great at adapting (when we have to).

Recently, I had to travel to Europe on business. The great part is that I have relatives in Copenhagen. So after the business was done, I was able to enjoy some time with them. Early on the morning of my last day there, my cousin picked me up at my hotel, and we headed north from Copenhagen about 45 kilometers to a town that English speakers call Elsinore, but the Danes call Helsingor. If the name Elsinore sounds vaguely familiar, it’s probably because Shakespeare set one of his most famous plays there. Elsinore is the hometown of Hamlet, fictional prince of Denmark. And the Danes have accommodated tourists by actually building a castle there.

But that wasn’t the principal reason for us to go to Helsingor. It’s a charming little village with lots of very old buildings, stores, and an ancient church to visit. And it has a twin city in nearby Sweden.

So since I had never been to Sweden before, we first got on the ferry to Sweden. The ferry was named (wait for it) the Hamlet. It’s only a 20-minute ride, and the town in Sweden where you land is a village called Helsingborg (apparently some guy named Helsing was a big shot around these parts).

FortressHelsingborg features a medieval-looking fortress at the top of a hill from where we got a great view of the town and the harbor. Of course, after that much exercise, two 60-something guys were ready for lunch. We could have played it safe with burgers at the Helsingborg McDonalds or KFC, but we opted for the challenge of local fare instead. We found a tiny restaurant that had a sign outside advertising their Swedish meatballs special. So we went in, and ordered it. Now, I had never before had the opportunity to have Swedish meatballs. Swedish meatballsIt’s not common fare where I live (outside of my local Ikea). And truth be told, I am not a very adventurous eater. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to have my first Swedish meatballs in Sweden. Of course they were absolutely delicious. We were both glad we decided to take a chance.

My trip to the twin cities of Helsingore and Helsingborg brought home how valuable it is for people our age to put ourselves into situations that force us to break out of the everyday way of doing things. And of course, it wasn’t just the Swedish meatballs. It’s not everyday I climb a fortress in Sweden, and tour cities that were around in Shakespeare’s time. It’s unusual for me to be in two countries where the native languages are ones I do not speak. And during the business portion of the trip, I taught a seminar in English to Danish-speaking students. For me, it was a step outside my comfort zone because I don’t normally address an audience in my job.

However, I think that doing these sorts of things keep us young. So there was a real therapeutic benefit to the trip. And in addition to eating Swedish meatballs in Sweden, I got to eat Danish for breakfast in Denmark!

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Amid the Charm of Naples, an Underbelly Lurks

28 Friday Feb 2014

Posted by WS50 in Travel

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Italy, Julie Seyler, Naples, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Delivering newspapers

Delivering newspapers on an uncongested mini-street.

BY JULIE SEYLER

I loved Naples – everything from the congested traffic that strangles the city in dead-end stoppage to the graffiti-strewn buildings. But I am a romantic. When I travel, I put blinders on, and insist upon seeing the beauty and uniqueness of a world that, in some ways, is so different from mine, and in other ways, so parallel. Sheets and shirts blowing in the wind off the balconies is almost a trademark of the city. This, I do not see in Manhattan:

laundry 2On the other hand, a Farmers’ Market is a Farmers’ Market wherever the local growers set up shop. I felt right at home in the Piazza Dante, strolling among the locals ogling the sausages, cheese, honey and vegetables carted in for the day just like in Union Square on Saturday morning: tomatoes

But underneath the red ripe tomatoes, lurks a dark side of Naples. Just before I left for my trip, I had read an article in The Times about 10 million tons of toxic waste that was buried near a region north of Naples, and the remains of the debris had likely leached into the soil. I arrived leery of fresh produce.

“The environment here is poisoned,” said Dr. Alfredo Mazza, a cardiologist who documented an alarming rise in local cancer cases in a 2004 study published in the British medical journal, The Lancet. “It’s impossible to clean it all up. The area is too vast.” He added, “We’re living on top of a bomb.”

With that kind of publicity, who needs a tomato? (Even though they looked so ripe and luscious.) Instead, besides the pizza, there was lots of delicious seafood:

Here's your orata!

Here’s your orata!

And there was the issue of the dog poop. It is scattered everywhere. I cannot say how many times Marianne saved my shoe, but it seems that Naples is on the cutting edge of dog poop technology by actually using DNA to track offenders.

The idea is that every dog in the city will be given a blood test for DNA profiling in order to create a database of dogs and owners. When an offending pile is discovered, it will be scraped up and subjected to DNA testing. If a match is made in the database, the owner will face a fine of up to 500 euros, or about $685.

So who knows if and when I shall return to Naples. But perhaps next time, the streets will be pristine. In the meantime, nothing will dim my memories of a city where I saw the sun rise over Mt. Vesuvius every morning, and a short walk led me through streets lined with baroque palazzi, and into churches and museums stuffed with some of the most beautiful art in the world.

And then there was the 45-minute train ride to the archaeological time capsule of Pompeii, where the remains of the day tell us that 2000 years ago, like today, its citizens elected their politicians,

Apollo in the Forum in Pompeii

Apollo in the Forum in Pompeii.

relaxed in the gorgeously-ornate public baths,

Ceiling of the Indoor Bath

Ceiling of the Indoor Bath.

attended regular sporting events, albeit gladiator matches, not soccer games, at the stadium,

Stadium

Stadium

and last, but never least, always enjoyed a romp in the hay.

Fresco on the Hospitality House in Pompeii

Fresco in the Hospitality House in Pompeii.

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Mt. Vesuvius

26 Wednesday Feb 2014

Posted by WS50 in Travel

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Julie Seyler, Mt. Vesuvius, The Write Side of 50, Travel

BY JULIE SEYLER

vesuvius Mt Vesuvius Sunday 2.16.14 vesuvius-4 vesuvius from castel dell'uovo vesuvius-5 vesuvius-6 vesuvius-7 vesuvius-12mt Vesuvius from the train

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A Four-Day Jaunt Through Neapolis

24 Monday Feb 2014

Posted by WS50 in Travel

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Tags

Italy, Julie Seyler, Naples, The Write Side of 50, Travel

stazione funiculare

BY JULIE SEYLER

It is possible to see one third of the city of Naples, Italy in four days if you start at 7 a.m., and keep walking with an occasional pit stop for pizza and a glass of wine. That will allow for an excursion to Pompeii and Herculaneum, the ancient cities felled by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius on August 25, 79. The point being, Naples, renowned for its three Caravaggios and the Farnese Collection, is a treasure chest of found wonders. The pizza is as delicious as everyone says; frozen calamari is non-existent:

Fresh octopus

Fresh octopus.

The art and architecture is mind-boggling:

Apartment building door.

Apartment building door.

The people are incredibly nice. And safety is never an issue. At least it wasn’t for Marianne (Steve’s sister) and me on our four-day jaunt over Washington’s Birthday weekend. From the minute we arrived on Thursday morning, until we were seated on the plane Monday afternoon, we did not stop.

Naples was founded in 470 B.C., and therefore is older than Rome. Its name derives from Neapolis (new city) because its initial residents were Greek. The oldest part, known as the Decumani, is a labyrinth of streets teaming with churches, stores, book shops, archaelogical excavation sites, pizza stands, restaurants, palazzi converted into apartments, where freshly-laundered clothes hang from balconies, and throngs of people. It has the vibrancy and bustle of 42nd Street on a smaller, neon-less scale:

Entering the Decumani

We walked and walked and crammed in as much as we could, including the day trip to the scavi of Pompeii and Herculaneum, where you can still see the remnants of the ancient brothels, restaurants with vats for serving hot and cold food, the baths, the training field for the gladiators, the theatre, and houses decorated with detailed wall mosaics:

Wall mosaic from Herculaneum from the Casa di Nettuno and Anfitrite

Wall mosaic from Herculaneum from the Casa di Nettuno and Anfitrite.

So after landing in Rome, and taking the train to Naples, we decided that day one would be spent looking for the Pio Monte della Misericordia, a petite church whose founders commissioned Caravaggio to do a painting for the altar depicting the seven acts of corporal mercy. Through light and dark and graphic realism, mixed with the ethereality of angels, Caravaggio’s 1607 painting, “The Seven Works of Mercy,” portrays the compassion, and kindness, of humanity.

Then we ate pizza from a street vendor, and decided we needed more pizza. We went to a restaurant, so we could sit and have a glass of wine. We walked over to the National Archaeological Museum to buy our Arte Card. This is an incredible deal. For $30, you get half-price admission to museums, and free transportation on the city buses, funiculars, and trains, including the suburban train to Pompeii. By this point, we were sort of done-in, and decided to head back to the hotel. And thanks to my inverted sense of direction, a 45-minute walk became a two-hour-and-45-minute walk, and therefore required another sit-down wine moment.

The Crypto-portico under San Lorenzo Maggiore church. 1st-2d c. A.D.

The Crypto-portico under San Lorenzo Maggiore church, 1st-2d c. A.D.

Day two started at the archaeological ruins underneath the Church of San Lorenzo Maggiore. This flipped us because the excavations reveal the foundations of a Greek city dating back to the 4th century B.C. The Romans came next, and it is possible to tour the grid-like complex of ancient streets that once pulsed with a laundromat, meat market and bakery. About 1236, French friars laid the bricks for a church that has been an active place of worship for about 900 years.

Then, after much circuitous meandering, we found The Sansevero Chapel. The floor is an optical illusion of protruding and receding space. The underground chamber houses a testament of medical learning in the 18th century: a male and female skeleton that depicts the circulatory system of the human body (including the heart and lungs), known as the anatomical machines. Every vein and artery that pulses inside our body to make the blood flow is accurately depicted:

Floor. Sansevero Chapel.

Floor. Sansevero Chapel.

The Anatomical Machines

The Anatomical Machines.

But truly the piece de résistance chapel is Giuseppe Sanmartino’s Veiled Christ. You cannot take pictures in the chapel and it is likely that a photograph, while capturing the essential elements of the sculpture, Jesus Christ lying down with a piece of cloth draped over him, could never capture the humanity, sensitivity, compassion, and vulnerability imbued in the marble.

Then it was time for some catacombs. Naples has three different venues for catacomb viewing, but the only one that was still open by this time were The Catacombs of San Gennaro. I assumed it would be filled with skulls, but due to the Black Death in the late 1300s, a city ordinance had ordered that they be removed to a cemetery on the outskirts of the city. No skulls, but in those dark underground passageways, many remnants of early saints and apostles from the 1st and 2nd centuries, when Christianity was first taking hold:

Inside the catacombs of San Gennaro.

Inside the catacombs of San Gennaro.

After we left the Catacombs, we headed over to the Capodimonte, a Bourbon Palace, converted into a museum of fine art. Getting there was no easy feat because Naples, like Rome, has no traffic lights. You sort of put your hand up into oncoming traffic and hope that the cars stop, and let you cross the street. By the time we left the museum, there were no more buses running. We hailed a cab, and sat in the typical bumper-to-bumper traffic, but finally got back to the hotel to go to sleep so we could wake up at 6 a.m. to head to Pompeii. Naples is not a relaxing vacation.

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Old, Retiree Pool-Talk Sank My Young Heart

21 Friday Feb 2014

Posted by WS50 in Men, Travel

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Bob Smith, Men, The Write Side of 50, Travel

Bob pool

BY BOB SMITH

We recently visited Sarasota, Florida to shop for a condominium near the Gulf of Mexico. Now that both of us are retired, there seems little point to hunkering down all winter in frigid New Jersey when we could just as easily be spending those ugly eight weeks called January and February on a powdery beach drinking Coronas at sunset. Given the particular nastiness of winter in the Northeast this year, that seems like an ideal plan.

Still, I’m a bit reluctant, at the relatively early age of 59, to take on the role of full-fledged “snowbird.” What’s next – hitching my pants up to my nipples and shuffling into deserted restaurants for early bird dinners? Wearing loafers and black socks with baggy golf shorts? Surreptitiously shoveling sugar packets, fruit, and rolls from the all-you-can-eat buffet into my voluminous old geezer pants pockets?

Maybe someday, I suppose. But for now, we’ll be the “cool” and “younger” retirees enjoying the “Florida lifestyle.” We’ll boldly stride into the early bird dinner without walkers, and “go commando” That’s right – no incontinence underwear at all. Woo-hoo!

We stayed at a friend’s condominium, located in Bradenton. The complex is tucked into a lush green enclave hidden in a tract of land between two nondescript Florida four-lane roads. The bordering streets are lined with drugstores, strip malls, movie theaters and, of course, a Publix and a Wal-Mart. Inside the complex, however, you’re in a mini tropical forest dotted with exotic colorful flowers, vines, and broad-leafed plants and trees. Oh yeah, and nine million tiny lizards. Walk anywhere, and three or four of these two-inch critters will scurry across your path, scrambling frantically to get out of the way. They’ll stop, look around, then dart away again, peripatetic refugees from a Geico commercial.

We went to the pool, and my heart sank as I overheard the conversations around me. One slim, older, gentleman in the hot tub was explaining to two women on the patio nearby the difference between wet and dry macular degeneration (Apparently, in addition to the obvious moisture-related distinction, one is far more threatening to the eyesight and harder to treat.) While he droned on about the potential total loss of central vision, and the relatively benign need to treat it by taking a prophylactic needle to the eyeball every couple of weeks, one of the women (a spry mid-60’s type) noted that the other woman was now using a cane – which she had carefully set aside before starting her gingerly descent into the bubbling whirlpool.

“Yeah, I don’t really need it, but it makes me feel better,” Ms. Cane sighed as she slowly settled into the swirling bubbles. “That feels good – not too hot.”

“They were talking about raising the temperature in the hot tubs at the board meeting the other night,” wet/dry Mack pointed out, with only his chin jutting above the surface. “I’m glad they didn’t. This is just right.”

“Not too hot, not too cold,” Ms. Cane agreed, her bathing suit skirt coyly rippling above semi-submerged tree-trunk thighs. “Come on in, Grace, the water’s fine.”

“I don’t think you’re using that cane right, though,” said Grace, picking it up and twirling it a-la-Charlie Chaplin before setting the black rubberized end down on the concrete.

She proceeded to explain that a cane is intended to support the weak side, but only temporarily, and only lightly, and that you can develop a rhythm and really walk at quite a smart pace with your aluminum third leg. She demonstrated by taking a couple of relatively nimble, aided circuits around the hot tub, with wet/dry Mack and Ms. Cane expressing approval amidst the bubbles.

Blah, blah, blah.

My eyes glazed over as I dozed on the lounge chair eight feet away. I had intended to soak in the hot tub, but demurred for fear of getting drawn into the gang-of-three’s scintillating discussion of degradation and decay. I thought about taking a swim instead. At the low end of the pool a straw-thin guy with a floppy hat, wraparound visor sunglasses, and a zinc-white nose, was doing ultra-slow laps – walking, not swimming – while three bulbous older women, their backs supported by buoyant neon noodles, kicked their way down the length of the pool, chatting chummily. That didn’t seem like the place for me either.

I read my newspaper, and dozed in the warm sun, imagining myself on a beach with people who didn’t appear to be on the verge of death. Young, supple, energetic folks with muscular bodies, firm butts, high-proud breasts, and vibrant manes of non-blue hair. The only problem with that fantasy is that, to those fictional nymphs and Greek gods, I’m as decrepit as Ms. Cane and wet/dry Mack.

I read my newspaper by the pool. I dozed. I daydreamed. I exchanged innocuous pleasantries with the hard-core retirees around me, hoping perhaps that if I refused to participate in their conversations, or acknowledged our shared concerns, I could delay the inevitable.

Who am I kidding? I have met the enemy, and he is me.

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Why I Love New York City

04 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by WS50 in Travel

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Julie Seyler, New York City, The Write Side of 50, Travel

1st Avenue and 12th Street.

1st Avenue and 12th Street.

BY JULIE SEYLER

If you are someone who loves to travel, I think there is no greater place to live than New York City. When I attempt to walk through the throngs that amass Chinatown, I have a funny feeling I am experiencing a smidgen of a sensation that would descend upon me in Beijing. I am visiting someplace unfamiliar; a little exotic. There are no spaces between bodies, there are markets where all of the food is advertised in Chinese, and I can’t ask what kind of fish is being displayed because I don’t speak the language.

Chinatown Saturday night.

Chinatown Saturday night.

Sometimes I get a hankering for a Greek taverna like what you might find on the Plaka in Athens. I can take the subway a couple of stops to Astoria, and order a salad studded with red-ripe tomatoes and fragrant feta cheese, and an entree of grilled branzino. If I want to pretend I am shopping on the Champs-Elysées, I might stroll along Madison Avenue. And if I pop into any one of the great historical churches built hundreds of years ago with their vaulted ceilings and rose windows, I feel as if I made a pit stop to Europe.IMG_4162

There are the thousands of galleries and museums with works of art that range from 15th century B.C. Egypt to 19th century Papua, New Guinea to 21st century photography.MetWhether I need an emergency fix of turmeric, have an urge to see live theatre, or sense that it’s time to hear a little Beethoven, it really does all happen here. All the time. I love New York. Looking north to the ESB

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