my-travels

Walking Prague's Royal Route

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 07:21:40 +0100

I left a RIAS Berlin Kommission meeting at the German embassy to the Czech Republic, high on a hill in what is known as Lesser Town in Prague. It was a rainy and chilly afternoon, but there was a lot to see in one of Europe's most vibrant and historic cities. And I couldn't let a little weather stop me now that our morning full of meetings was at an end.

Our group left the embassy, the site of a mass exodus of East German refugees from behind the Iron Curtain before the 1989 revolutions. We were headed up the hill, careful not to slip on the cobblestone streets, toward the Prague Castle - the official seat of the Czech president. It would be there - with a commanding view of the city - where we would begin our walk on Prague's Royal Route.

Long ago a traditional route to the Prague Castle was taken by Bohemian kings after their coronation. It is also the path most visiting dignitaries took when entering the town. This is because it was an impressive avenue of sites, passing through the old city gate, Prasna Brana, and through Old Town, across the Charles Bridge and on up to the castle.

Today it is just as impressive as it ever was - even walking it backwards.

Our group, fracturing along the way into smaller parties, slowly walked down the hill which the castle sits upon. We crossed the Vltava River and came upon the Charles Bridge once again. With a few moments of free time the night before, we walked to Prague's Old Town and took a moment to sit on the bridge and enjoy the evening.

The darkness surrounding the city only seemed to enhance the atmosphere. It was a bustle of tourists snapping photos and trying to look sheik and interesting in an area that appeared to be avoided by locals, save those who worked in the area selling their wares to the throngs of people who flock to the city each year - over four million annually. It was an exciting feeling, so I savored each minute I had available.

We passed by the Charles Bridge and wound our way through the maze-like streets of Prague's Old Town. The rain was persisting, so our small group stepped into a warm restaurant for a cup of soup and a hot drink. It was a nice and - dare I say it - cozy way to take a break from our walk. It fortunately also allowed enough time for the rain to pass by overhead.

With a new reserve of energy, we continued on to the Old Town Square, stopping only for roasted glazed pretzel snacks. We had stopped the previous night to witness the tradition of the astronomical clock (above) performance. It was anti-climactic, not nearly as exciting as we had hoped, but fun to watch as the little figurines danced out on the clock's face at the top of the hour. We laughed this day at the recent memory and continued on into the square.

The flavor of fresh roasted pork clung in the air. I wanted a sandwich, but refused since I could already taste it in my mouth. Several other small shops that weren't there the night before were set up adding to the buzz of the day. Ducking in and out of the tents, connecting with other members of our larger group, we took in the day in the shadow of the Gothic-designed Church of Our Lady of Tyn.

The Church of Our Lady of Tyn dominated Prague's Old Town Square, drawing attention away from the astronomical clock and old town hall. None of us had heard of it before, either, so we were flustered and speculated about what it was and how it looked so beautiful. Had there been more time, we surely would have made the Baroque-decorated interior our next stop. Instead, needing to begin making our way back to our hotel and on the Belgium, we continued on walking the old Royal Route - taking one last look back at the Old Town Square.

Back in Lesser Town, in the shadow of Prague's Castle, we had earlier skipped a chance to tour Franz Kafka's home. None of us were huge fans. But as we ducked into a couple of shops on our way to the Powder Tower - the Prasna Brana - I suddenly became curious and picked up an English translated compilation of his work for later study. It was my souvenir from my one day, a dreary and cold afternoon, in the Czech Republic.

We picked our way back through the winding streets to our hotel. It was amazingly easy to find amongst the zig zagging avenues. We stopped as time allowed, snapping our last photos of interesting looking buildings and impressive sculptures; the artist's names would likely always remain a mystery. It was the perfect afternoon for a Prague tourist, yet lined with saddness; we wanted more time to explore the city. But it would have to wait for another time.

Olympic Memories: Ten Years Later

Thu, 02 Feb 2012 07:17:44 +0100

I stood outside the Wasatch Brewery, saddened. The darkened building was closed. It was the eleventh anniversary of my mother's death and this particular pub held a sentimental spot in my heart for the occasion. Ten years ago my father and I traveled to Salt Lake City to see the 2002 Olympics, buying tickets for the events shortly after she passed away. And it was the Wasatch Brewery where we spent our first night in town for the Games.

We sampled the beers - the Polygamy Porter was outstanding, so bring some home for the wives! - and walked the length of Main Street in the falling snow. We paused to watch the president speak on television at the Opening Ceremonies down in Salt Lake City. We meandered past some of the Park City venues where athletes would be going for gold the very next day. And we trekked back through drifts to our condominium in the Prospector Square area of town.

Ten years later the memories are still incredibly vivid. I can easily recall time spent at the events - from a woman scraping a windshield on our bus in order to be able to see the icy roads to front row seats at the U.S. men verse Finland ice hockey game - it's still as strong and clear today as it was when we were there. So on a recent Utah Office of Tourism-sponsored trip, I was buried by a crush of memories when I saw all of the old spots for the first time since my Olympic trip with my father.

I loved every minute of the memories, simply able to relive so much in my mind by just seeing the venues. The luge track in Park City brought back more than a few of those memories. We had a spectacular time watching Armin Zoeggeler from Italy beat out long-time stalwart Georg Hackl from Germany for the gold; standing so close to the track watching the sleds rumble by is an amazing experience. Unfortunately it was missed a second time with the doubles luge, since I was back in our room sick; a week of standing out in freezing temperatures finally did me in.

I also experienced an amazing rush by walking through downtown Salt Lake City in search of our Olympic Legacy Plaza brick. It had been ten years since I was there, but I was somehow able to figure out my way around simply by the familiarity of the buildings I saw in the area surrounding the medals plaza. It was there that we had fun playing some games (right) and seeing the Barenaked Ladies play a live concert (below) after the medals earned during the day were awarded to the athletes.

The memories didn't end there, though, as I was also able to see the ski jumping hills agains. It was there that we witnessed an amazing upset as a virtual unknown in Swiss Simon Ammann garnered the gold in both the K90 and K120 jumps. I couldn't believe what we witnessed, and it was practically the talk of the Games for the week we were there.

I choked on the air and the memories all of these places produced. I couldn't put what I was feeling into words, so I'm sure my fellow writers were more than a little befuddled by my actions and feelings over seeing all of these venues again. The years since seeing the Olympics has not dampened my feelings at all, instead it has only served to make my memories of them and their connection to my mother that much stronger; being there on the anniversary of her death, immersed in such an environment, created difficult and overwhelming emotions.

It ended with a smile for me, though, as I made one last stop before leaving Utah. A brief stop at Rice-Eccles Stadium on the University of Utah campus warmed me the way in a way it was impossible to do when we stood out in the cold ten years before. It was here that the opening and closing ceremonies were held. And it was here that a full circle was made, from the night my father and I first arrived in the state for the Olympics to my departure from this trip. It was an amazing feeling of closure, walking outside of the stadium once again.

Old memories have now been remembered, ten years after the Olympic Games were played in Utah, and new ones have now been created. It is an amazing feeling and sense of relief that can only be described through a continuous stream of never-ending ramblings. That is for another time, though, as I surely want to return and experience more from the Utah Olympic venues. After all, many of them are open to the public now.

Exploring Arizona's Ancient Dwellings

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 17:46:51 +0100

After driving several miles south on Interstate 17 in central Arizona, it occurred to me that I wasn't going to make it to the Montezuma Castle National Monument. There were no signs directing me to it from where I got on the highway at Camp Verde, so I didn't know where to go. I felt no regret, though, since I had already seen several of Arizona's ancient dwellings.

I had a preconceived notion that all of the ancient cliff dwellings and Pueblos were largely concentrated in southwestern Colorado and southeastern Utah in places like today's Mesa Verde National Park and the Natural Bridges National Monument. And then I came across a somewhat similar place - Puerco Pueblo - in the Petrified Forest National Park.

No, the Puerco Pueblo wasn't a cliff dwelling like others I had seen to the north, but instead set on a hilltop overlooking the area. Much of the defensive planning - a good overview of the area and difficult to approach - seemed to be instituted for this structure just as it was with the cliff dwellings. Yet it was completely different.

I pulled off Interestate 40 on a whim. I had been driving for a couple of hours and wanted to stretch my legs. The Walnut Canyon National Monument seemed like a good opportunity to do so. I had no idea what it was, but I assumed there would be a good hiking trail in my future in the canyon.

There was a good hiking trail, I guessed correctly, but there was also much more. I was surprised to find cliff dwellings, just like those at Mesa Verde National Park. They were wedged into the walls of the canyon. It was a spectacular site, a whole community of cliff dwellings still in existence approximately 800 years after being built. They certainly weren't in any fit state to entertain, but it was a fantastic treasure to see nonetheless.

My head cold was doing its best to move into my lungs, so climbing back up the 240 steps (185 feet in elevation) felt like it was going to be the end of me. But it was worth it after having explored some of the cliff dwellings, actually being able to step inside their shells and lay my hands on the bricks and clay used so long ago.

I left for the Sedona area with a smile on my face. Never had I known there to be any sort of cliff dwellings in Arizona - not that I'm an expert on them, mind you - and it was a treat that makes road trips worth the while. Still, I had something else in mind - something that was planned from the start of my trip - and I was looking forward to it. I was going to see the Tuzigoot National Monument.

Tuzigoot National Monument was never on my radar before I picked up a map of Arizona and looked at where I wanted to drive. And when I saw the name Tuzigoot printed in little red letters just west of Sedona, I knew that was a place I needed to stop. I didn't know anything of the history or the location, I simply just wanted to stop because of the name. It intrigued me.

Tuzigoot is the Apache name for "crooked water," a reference of nearby Peck's Lake and the Verde River. I'm nowhere near an historical expert on the place after my visit, but I found the meaning behind the name rather amusing, since it was the Southern Sinagua (Without Water) who once inhabited the area. They, too, also inhabited the area that is now the Montezuma Castle National Monument, the one I was skipping for lack of good directions.

What I found particularly interesting in my exploration of Tuzigoot was that at the same time the Sinagua were building Pueblos in the Verde Valley, so were others building cliff dwellings in Walnut Canyon. But those who were building in the canyon were related to those who built in today's Petrified Forest National Park. So while they may have been of different cultures at the same time - the Sinagua or the Ancestral Puebloans - their engineering and building skills obviously crossed over. It more came down to a matter of what was preferred and practical for a group settling an area - pueblos or cliff dwellings.

I stood atop a watch tower at Tuzigoot thinking of these things. A commanding view of the Verde Valley lay before me, just as it would in Walnut Canyon for those who lived in the cliff dwellings. And it was all equally impressive to think what was accomplished long before anyone crossed a great ocean from the east or west.

Learning About History at Utah's Historic Wendover Airfield

Mon, 23 Jan 2012 07:21:11 +0100

When I was at the bookstore last, I picked up a copy of The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes. It is apparently the authoritative book on the events and people surrounding the invention of the atomic bomb and its use. After a recent trip to Utah, of all places - standing where history was made at the Historic Wendover Airfield - I have become more interested in the history of the bomb and how it was developed.

The first atomic bomb, nicknamed Little Boy, was dropped on Hiroshima, Japan on August 6, 1945. Three days later, Fat Man was dropped on Nagasaki by a second B-29 bomber team. Decades later, there is still much controversy surrounding the bombings and whether or not it was the right decision to use the atomic bomb as a weapon of war. There is an immense amount of history surrounding it. This is the reason why I picked up the book. I wanted to try to better wrap my head arround the history and reasons for the bomb's use. This was all inspired by a visit to Utah's Historic Wendover Airfield.

I stood in an old hangar at the Historic Wendover Airfield on an Utah Office of Tourism-sponsored trip. It looked like a relic long since forgotten and better off scrapped and cleared off the airfield for safety. I couldn't imagine the building ever being used again - I stayed close to the entrance, fearing collapse - it's time obviously over.

"We're standing on an important part of where the Manhattan Project took place," explained James Petersen, the president of the Historic Wendover Airfield. The hangar was once and briefly the home of the B-29 Superfortress bomber the Enola Gay. It was named for the mother of pilot Colonel Paul Tibbets, the man who flew it and lead the mission to drop Little Boy on Hiroshima.

It never occurred to me that atomic bomb history had taken place anywhere else but Los Alamos, New Mexico. It was in that area that the first atomic test blast occurred and it surely must have been in that same area where everything else happened. But that isn't even close to true; there were several locations around the United States and Canada where research, preparations, and organization were all done for the dropping of the atomic bombs before the planes and the bombs were taken west from the United States to ultimately be used on Japan.

The Enola Gay hangar, now undergoing preservation renovations, isn't the only historically important aspect of the airport. As a matter of fact, the whole of the Historic Wendover Airfield is important to World War II history in relation to the dropping of the atomic bombs. It was at the airfield where B-29 bomber teams were trained to drop the bombs.

The U.S. Army initially purchased the land for additional bombing ranges in 1940. Western Utah, far into the desert and away from any major metropolitan area by at least 100 miles, was an isolated area with consistently good weather that would be perfect for target practice. A few years later, Colonel Paul Tibbets would change the airfield's history by choosing it over locations in Kansas and Idaho for the 509th Composite Group's training location.

Today the Historic Wendover Airfield is a shell of what it once was in the 1940s. Then it was home to nearly 700 buildings, which included such things as a hospital, housing units, a movie theater, and much more for a city that blossomed to a home for thousands from what was once only a town of about 100 individuals.

Attention is once again being paid to Wendover's airfield, but the renovations are slow because of the lack of funds. Our group learned this from Petersen as we stood inside the entrance to the Enola Gay hangar. Money is not only needed to renovate the hangar, though, but also for museum expansion and the pit where the "pumpkin bombs" were attached for training.

We stood at the edge of the hole, looking down into it, learning from Petersen that it was there where the large, round and sometimes painted orange test bombs were attached to the B-29s before their test runs. They would get the bombs, drop them on precise targets in order to test the circuit and radar systems, and then bank hard to avoid the subsequent blast which would come from an atomic bomb explosion.

Before my visit to the Historic Wendover Airfield, I had naively assumed that all history surrounding the atomic program occurred in New Mexico. But after learning about the historic importance of the Wendover Airfield - as well as so many other locations around the United States and Canada - I believe the overall renovation plan for the Historic Wendover Airfield is worthy of attention. Walking through the museum, stepping out onto the tarmac where history was made, and hearing the stories from President James Petersen made me believe this; it is an important and tangible piece of our history, both good and bad, for not just the United States but also the world.

A Drive Through the Petrified Forest National Park

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 16:22:17 +0100

Stopped at the exit to Arizona's Petrified Forest National Park, the ranger in the booth asked me how I liked my visit. I answered instantly. But all day long I had been thinking about what someone else had told me before my trip. They said the park is a waste of time and there's nothing there to see. After three hours, I knew exactly what I thought.

I pulled off Arizona's Interestate 40 at Exit 311 and right into the Petrified Forest National Park. What I had seen thus far on my drive gave me little reason to believe that the topography of the landscape or the scenery would change. It was an unforgiving desert filled with scrub brush, mesas, and endless miles of horizon.

I took the scenic drive north into the Painted Desert. My guidebook seemed to have set the itinerary for me, suggesting what I assumed to be all of the right stops. But the first one I made - Tiponi Point - was unschedule and it was goregous. I threw the book in the back seat, knowing it'd be best if I did it on my own.

The road arched to the west and back south. And I hit most every stop along it. I was impressed by everything I saw; the Painted Desert Inn National Historic Landmark, Pintado Point (top), and the hsitoric Route 66 stop were all fantastic. I was immediately impressed and wondering if my friend had actually visited a different park than I was seeing.

That is when it dawned on me: I was in the Petrified Forest National Park and I had yet to see any petrified wood. Maybe this is what they meant. Maybe it was the lack of the park's namesake that actually made it such a huge disappointment. And maybe these oh so impressive views were only inspiring because of the absolute nothing I had experienced for hundreds of interstate miles ever since turning right at Albuquerque.

I crossed back over the interstate and a Sante Fe Railway line, both cutting through the center of the park. Scrub grass covered the landscape and it was as boring of a drive as I had experienced since leaving my hotel in Gallup, New Mexico. My gut clenched at the thought of only seeing more of the same as I drove south.

In an attempt to eliminate the boredom, I pulled over at the first opportunity - the Puerco Pueblo pullout. In the middle of the short loop trail is the excavated remains of an ancestral Puebloan village abandoned in the mid-14th century. It wasn't as grand as the ruins I toured at Mesa Verde National Park, but still amazing amongst all of the boredom. The same could be said for the few etched petroglyphs on a spur trail.

Shrugging at what I had seen, trying to feel impressed, I climbed back into my car and continued south. I took the very next pulloff, hoping to find anything - anything at all - that could make me happy. My guidebook, retrieved from the back seat, said the Newspaper Rock was quite possibly the most impressive location in the national park.

Yet, the supposedly impressive site was only visible through telescopes at a viewing platform.

I glanced around, taking in the view, hoping something would jump out and command my attention. Nothing did, so I stuck an eyeball on the end of the telescope. It was a bright blur. I repositioned it and then it all came into focus.

What I was looking at through the telescope was truly impressive. The rocks were covered with more than 600 petroglyphs and it was amazing. I had never seen anything like it before.

My attention was snapped back to reality by the arrival of another car. I took this as my cue to leave. I had my time to admire the petroglyphs on my own and felt it only fair I offered the same opportunity to the next visitor.

I found the Blue Mesa loop drive not to be quite as impressive as the Newspaper Rock, but stunning in its own way. The ever-eroding mesa continually offers a new view from any of the pullouts or the trail below. I wanted to hike it - the trail begged to be hiked - but I was still under the weather from a cold that had set in two days previous. So I instead took the time to pause at each of the vantage points and appreciate what would never look the same on a future visit - a grand collection of badlands.

With new faith in my guidebook, I skipped the next three stops. It suggested the reader do so - and since they were crowded I did not argue - and instead continue on to the Long Logs and Agate House trailhead. I knew this would be the motherload - a collection of petrified logs I had only seen sprinkled throughout the rest of the park - and so I sped on ahead.

My cold had me winded within a mile from the start of the flat, well-paved trail. But I was determined to continue on to see all of the Long Logs area. The Agate House, an ancestral Puebloan building reconstructed in the 1930s on a spur trail from Long Longs, would have to wait for another time. I knew I couldn't do it without pushing myself beyond my limits. The petrified forest was a must, though.

The crumbling trail wound amongst the petrified logs, some of them criss crossing on top of each other. Others lined the trail, stretching for dozens of feet and only separated by an occasionally naturally-created crack. If the weather had been warmer and my cold not present, I could have spent hours admiring the collection; they all deserved more time than I could presently offer.

The road had come to an end at the Rainbow Forest Museum and visitor center. Courtesy my guidebook, I knew there was a petrified tree there ten feet in diameter at the base. In the grand scheme of things, this is as impressive to me as the world's largest ball of twine. It is really quite meaningless and unimportant. But I had to see it anyway.

A short trail of just under a half mile brought me to it. Well, it took me right past. Old Faithful - the large stone log - was so impressive that I almost walked right on by it. In truth, I did walk right by it, but caught myself in enough time to turn around and snap a photo of it to prove I had been there and done that.

And so I left the Petrified Forest National Park, stopping at the ranger station. Did I have a good time? "Yes, it was excellent," I told the ranger, truthfully. The park had similar features to other parks I have visited, like the Badlands of South Dakota or Teddy Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota, but it had so many unique features. And it was those - the Newspaper Rock, the Long Logs, and the Blue Mesa - that made it such a special visit.

Treat Yourself with Valet Airport Parking in the UK

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 22:15:13 +0100

When Nothing But the Best Will Do Why Not Valet Airport Parking?

Sometimes you need to pull out all of the stops and really treat yourself. One of these occasions is if you are taking the trip of a lifetime that will create fantastic memories for the rest of your life. Take a cruise that you have booked as a celebration for the end of your retirement, for example. This is just one of those times that warrants a little bit of pomp and ceremony and therefore a little bit more cash than usually thrown at it.

So you have booked a fabulous trip that you just can’t wait to take and you are planning on driving to the airport. What else can you do to make sure that you make the trip to the airport and then the trip home again something that is that little bit special? Well you can book valet parking!

This is a great service and is usually run at many of the major UK airports. Valet parking is essentially a service where you will drive your car straight up to the terminal building and be met by a driver who will take your car from you and leave you with your luggage.

As you will have met the driver right outside check-in, it means that you can then make your way straight to the check-in desk and start your holiday without having to worry about finding the car park and then taking your luggage over to the airport on the shuttle bus, which is what you would have to do if you booked the standard park and ride service.

Obviously the valet parking service will cost more than the standard service, but when you are taking a trip of a lifetime it would compliment the rest of your holiday perfectly.

Valet parking needs to be booked in advance and it is a good idea to book this when you are booking your flights. Then you can make sure that there is availability and also that you get the best deal possible.

A quick search and you will be able to find valet airport parking at the following:

Birmingham Airport Parking
Bristol Airport Parking

Heathrow Airport Parking

Manchester Airport Parking

What better way than to make sure that you and your loved ones are made to feel like VIPs on what could be the best holiday of your lives!

NOTE: This is not my own experience, but instead one provided by www.parkbcp.co.uk. Please visit their site for more information.

A Tradition of Golden Gopher Hockey

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 07:14:38 +0100

In one of the best rivalries in all of college sports, the Uni versity of Minnesota will clash with the University of North Dakota this weekend in a two game hockey series. Both teams - perennial contenders for the NCAA national championship - have less love for each other than Cain did for Abel. So a bitter, hard-fought series with vicious hits and spectacularly memorable moments will be a certainty. Such is the tradition of Golden Gopher hockey, which I always try to enjoy in person on my winter visits back to Minnesota.

A friend of mine was lucky enough to get in on season tickets this year. That is not an easy task, since there is an impossibly long waiting list that makes one wonder if your name will be called for tickets before you turn to dust. So, I jumped at the chance to take a pair of tickets off his hands when he offered them for a game when I was visiting Minnesota. Accompanying me was my brother, a fellow Minnesota alum.

It wasn't an epic battle against the hated North Dakota Fighting Sioux, but instead versus visiting Niagara University. They were in Minneapolis to face off against the Gophers - who got their school nickname from an old Minnesota political joke - in the Mariucci Classic. Sadly, these are two hockey traditions that will soon be at an end when Minnesota moves to the newly created Big Ten hockey conference in the 2013-13 season.

The rivalry, to me the most important tradition of the two, will end when Minnesota switches conferences, since there is a school ban on any university team playing a non-conference opponent with what is considered an offensive nickname - as in the Fighting Sioux. So, when we are no longer in the Western Collegiate Hockey Association with North Dakota, it will no longer be possible to play them if they keep their current name. It is in the works to be changed, but there could be a few years where the fire in the rivalry cools, if not entirely goes out.

The Mariucci Classic, a small holiday weekend tournament, will also likely come to an end once the conference shift is made by Minnesota. This is because we will be more interested in keep our in-state rivalries with the likes of St. Cloud, Mankato, Duluth, or Bemidji State going in a different tournament rather than inviting out of state teams like Niagara in to play. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but only if the name of Mariucci lives on in the new tournament.

John Mariucci, for who the University of Minnesota arena is also named, is one of the state's favorite hockey sons. As a coach, for which Mariucci will likely best be remembered, he built on and continued the tradition of keeping only Minnesota-born players on the squad. It is a tradition that has recently been broken, actually to no huge protest, but one for which the state has taken pride in for decades. We still do, as the squad remains predominantly Minnesotan.

Regardless of the shift in conferences, the games will go on, as will the deep tradition of the University of Minnesota hockey program. Gold medal Olympians, national champions, All-Americans, and the tangible smell and touch of something as intangible as tradition will always continue with Minnesota hockey just as it did when the team moved from the Old Mariucci Arena to the new one, now just known as the Mariucci Arena.

The University of Minnesota will continue to win, just as they beat Niagara 5-1 the night I was there, and they will continue to proudly move forward while always remembering a heralded past that includes five national championships. Sure, we'll have occasional down years, I've suffered through them just as any fan has in the past. But I am happy to be a part of it all, having earned my degree from the school I love and support each year as I attempt to make it back home and cheer:

Minnesota, hats off to thee!

To thy colors true we shall ever be,

Firm and strong, united are we.

Rah, rah, rah, for Ski-U-Mah,

Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!

Rah for the U of M.

M-I-N-N-E-S-O-T-A!

Minnesota, Minnesota!

Yay, Gophers! RAH!

A Walking Tour of Dresden

Mon, 09 Jan 2012 16:36:16 +0100

A damp clung to my bones. It was mid-afternoon and the morning's fog stuck in the air as a fine grey mist. I took refuge in a hotel close to the famed Frauenkirche - a restored version of its grand predecessor destroyed in the Allied firebombing of Dresden at the end of World War II. I had spent the previous two hours walking the reconstructed cobblestone streets around it admiring the architecture and was not tired and cold. But the afternoon and my walking tour of one of Germany's most beautiful cities was just beginning.

Warming myself in the hotel's lobby, I brushed off the cold and discomfort from walking the uneven streets. I was excited to stay out and see more of the city, to learn about its rich history. Twelve years ago I spent two days in Dresden, all inside my hotel room. I was hit with the flu bug upon my arrival and only saw the 800-year-old city known as the Florence of the Elbe through my hotel room window. I was determined to experience it differently this time.

I gathered with the rest of my RIAS Berlin Kommission group in the Neumarkt square surrounding the Frauenkirche. A chapel was first built on the site in the 11th century, followed by the foundation of the first Frauenkirche being laid in 1726. It stood in splendor - enjoying music played by the likes of Johann Sebastian Bach and Richard Wagner in the church - for hundreds of years. And then, two days after the Allies dropped an estimated 650,000 incendiary bombs on Dresden at the end of World War II, the ruins of the church collapsed.

The square was a mess of rubble for the next 45 years, only being reconstructed after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Parts of the old buiding - blackened from the firebombs which killed over 30,000 people - were used as the symbol of Dresden was pieced back together once again, completed in 2005 as a symbol of reconciliation and peace between former enemies. I took a moment later in my stay to look inside the church, admiring it's finely decorated interior. But now we gathered in its shadow, shivering and clutching ourselves to keep warm on the chilly afternoon.

Our guide, a short fifties-ish woman with straw-blonde hair, spoke to us in almost perfect English; only a hint of her Saxon dialect could be detected. She briefly explained the historical richness of Dresden, taking a moment to discuss the Allied bombing and the destruction of the Frauenkirche. I stood in the cold, amazed that she could do it with such historical indifference; the firebombing is commonly viewed as an unnecessary and brutal act on the part of the Allies as retaliation for the destruction of Coventry, England by the German Luftwaffe. She spoke of it without connection or feeling, simply and clearly stating the facts regarding what occurred between February 13 and 15, 1945.

Briefly escaping the shadow of the setting sun, we escaped to a pedestrian terrace on the south bank of the Elbe - the Bruhlsche Terrasse. We admired the cityscape stretching past the smokestack made famous in Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five. The disparity between the historic tourist district and the rest of the city, which is nicknamed Silicon Saxony for its computer industry, sit in stark contrast; the area surrounding the Neumarkt is doubtlessly the heart of Dresden, though.

Stepping down from the terrace, we stood at the junction of the Augustusbrucke and Augustusstrasse - Augustus Bridge and Street. The magnificient Furstenzug, the biggest procelain painting in the world, stretches for over 100 meters (more than 330 feet) and is more than ten meters (34 feet) tall; the mosaic contains more than 25,000 individual porcelain tiles. It depicts a parade of all of the Saxon princesses and kings on their horses, including King Augustus the Strong of Poland. It was his reign (1694 - 1733) that brought an infusion of technology and art to Dresden, making it one of the wealthiest and most impressive cities in Europe.

We later appreciated these treasures in the nearby Historiches Grunes Gewolbe (Green Vault) Museum, founded in 1723 by Augustus the Strong. The building, severely damaged in the World War II firebombing, is still being rebuilt, but houses an impressive collection of fine jewelry and arms. Precious Baroque treasures on display include the exceptional Dresden Green Diamond.

From the Furstenzug mosaic, we passed through the lobby of the museum and out to a view of the Semper Opera House (above) and the Zwinger Palace, located across the street from the Dresden Castle and Kathedrale (below). The palace was rebuilt after the Allied bombings and now houses a collection of art, all of which was evacuated to a safe location before the building as destroyed.

The museum was closed during our visit, but we could appreciate the oppulence from a palace courtyard as the sun fell below the horizon. Watching the fountains shoot water into the air made me think of the days long since gone, days of grand celebrations and extravagence by the royals and Electors of Dresden - the city known as The Jewel Box.

The evening was chilly, but dampness had disappeared and so it felt warmer than earlier in the afternoon. It did not matter, though; the beer and fine cuisine of the nearby Sophienkeller warmed us as we rested our tired bodies. It had been a long day, one of the best of our week in Germany, and we happily ended it with shared stories and smiles from the day.

A Day at the Science Museum of Minnesota

Mon, 02 Jan 2012 16:14:32 +0100

I have my favorite regular haunts I must visit everytime I go home to Minnesota. The majority of them are restaurants unavailable to me in Colorado, but there are a few touristy locations I enjoy frequenting. The Science Museum of Minnesota is not one of them. But I found myself there, nonetheless, one afternoon over my Christmas beak, since it is a favorite stop for my sister and her family.

We began the day at one of their favorite downtown St. Paul restaurants - Cossetta's Italian Market and Pizzeria. They have some top notch Italian eats, one of which - the beef ravioli - I devoured in mere moments. That's not unusual for me, but I'm normally not an Italian food-lover - other than with pizza - so it does come as a slight surprise.

Growing up on the west side of the Mississippi River, finding my way around St. Paul has never been an easy task. It has a totally different feeling and layout than the Minneapolis side of the Twin Cities. So I followed my sister over to the Science Museum from the restaurant. As it turns out, she has the same issue as me after living on the west side for so long, so we got a bit turned around in just a few blocks and accidentally ended up on the Wabasha Bridge crossing the Mississippi. But, after the enjoyable scenic route, we finally made it to the museum.

There were no big special exhibitions - Real Pirates opens in February - but the place was jam packed due to holiday vacations. This created an electric atmosphere that buzzed throughout the visit. It also meant lines forming at so many of the more interesting hands-on exhibits. Thankfully none of the lines were too discouragingly long. It was usually only a moment or two before my nephews - generally calm and patient kids as it is - were able to get to playing and learning.

I tend to roll my eyes at science museums in general - the stuffed animals and biology sections always turn my stomach - but I opened up enough to learn a thing or two on this trip, my first in over five years. I particularly enjoyed the fossil exhibition in the basement, a special fire demonstration, and even the Amazon omnitheater presentation - although the massive screen, blurry in parts, disorientated me and gave me a queasy feeling much of the rest of the day.

A soda and an ice cream cone in the cafeteria while listening to the Seismofon helped the situation. What's a Seismofon? Well, it is a giant xylophone of sorts connected to the U.S. Geological Survey. And everytime there is an earthquake in the world, the Seismofon plays a tune. The 150 large, red bars hung from the 45-foot-tall atrium are constantly going, creating a pleasant, yet curiosity-provoking, atmosphere throughout. And had a man not been yelling about how he was going to light money on fire during a demonstration, I probably would have looked at it a little more closely.

Instead, I found myself enraptured - as most men are when it comes to fire - by a college-aged guy explaining some of the properties of fire. I can't say I learned anything new in his demonstration, but it was interesting nonetheless since he did light money on fire - without burning it up, either - and had a nice explosion to end the program. I know my sister's kids were entertained, too, since they both stood still to watch the entire show.

The dinosaur fossil display was right next to the demonstration stage. So, once we were done learning about fire, we sauntered over to the exhibits to see some dino bones. This is always a favorite time for me at any museum, since I still hold me love of all things dinos from my youth. And I doubt I'll ever get over it. I no longer play with my plastic dinosaur toys, nor do I think I even have any - I believe my mother sold them on a garage sale decades ago, likely along with my most valuable baseball cards and Star Wars toys.

We had walked through all of the halls, seeing Nature Unleashed, the creepy biology exhibits, and an odd collections gallery that is highlighted by a mummy on display. And somehow in all of that craziness, the whole afternoon had disappeared. We didn't spend too much time doing any one thing or reading all of the posted signs, but time flew by and it was quickly time to leave for dinner.

I had a great visit at the Science Museum of Minnesota with my family and am glad I went to see the place again. It had been years. I don't think I'll be adding it to my regular rotation anytime soon, but it certainly is worth an infrequent and occasional stop when I return to Minnesota for the holidays. It just has a lot with which to compete for my attention.

Taking a Dip in a Turkish Bath

Thu, 29 Dec 2011 16:08:48 +0100

A holiday to Turkey just wouldn’t be complete without a visit to a Turkish bath! Turkish baths have been around for thousands of years and used to be used by the Turkish public before private baths in the home were common. Although nearly everyone in Turkey has their own bath in their home in this day and age, Turkish baths are still prevalent and you’re guaranteed to find one in almost every neighbour in most major Turkish cities.

The full Turkish bath experience isn’t just about soaping up and making sure you wash behind your ears – a traditional Turkish bath has three stages. When you enter the bath house, which is usually opulently decorated, you will be directed to a private room where you can undress and put on the loin cloth that will be provided for you by the bath house staff. You must wear this loin cloth at all times whilst in the public areas of the bath house – it’s considered extremely rude to try and go au natural and you don’t want to find this out the hard way!

After you’ve changed you’ll be taken to the hot room – this is a room a bit like a sauna which is designed to relax you and loosen off any tense muscles. If there is trained staff on hand this is also the place to ask for a traditional Turkish massage. After the hot room you will be lead to the Turkish bath itself where you can relax or take advantage of the natural spas and scrub up. Some baths will have staff who will scrub you down with a special Turkish soap and cloth that has a great exfoliating effect.

The last stage is all about relaxation: once you’re done washing, you will be wrapped in a number of warm towels and taken to the cold room to cool off and drink Turkish tea or take a nap.

A trip to the Turkish baths is a quintessential activity for tourists taking in the more traditional side of Turkey and is an activity guaranteed to leave you feeling relaxed and refreshed.

NOTE: This is not my own experience, but instead one provided by onthebeach.co.uk. Please visit their site for more information.