An American Abroad

Nicaragua 2008: Granada Signs

Looking back at my photos from this 2008 trip, I can see the beginnings of the same fascinations that still characterize my travel photography. Signs and graffiti, to name two.

Some of the signs for professional offices had a beautiful, simple elegance about them.

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Others were cheerfully cluttered with text and gave me the impression that you could obtain any kind of service within.

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And then there was this sign for a fried chicken joint, which amused me every time I passed by.

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I’m not sure, but I think this was a little love poem, a declaration of affection for one lucky Dario. But maybe some of my more fluent Spanish-speaking readers can set me straight.

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There were a lot of political murals and signs. And many, but not all, of them were in support of Daniel Ortega’s Sandinista party.

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This, below, was a popular political sentiment at the time. Still is.

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Nicaragua 2008: La Catedral de Granada

The cathedral of Granada is surely the most photographed building in town. It’s impossible to miss. No matter where we were in Granada, we could see its cheery neoclassical yellow towers in the distance.

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The original church at this spot was built in 1583. But when the American filibuster and conqueror of Nicaragua, William Walker, came to town in 1855 and began his mad attempt to take control of all Central America. His troops destroyed that building and much of the rest of the city the following year. Construction of a new cathedral began in the late 19th century, but was halted several times due to lack of funds. It was finally finished in 1915.

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Because Holy Week preparations were going on, we were unable to get any further inside than the reception area just past the exterior doors. But there, taped to a wall, we spied this charming admonishment.

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Even with my kitchen Spanish, I was able to understand this and appreciate its gentle humor. It says:

When you come to the temple and bring your cell phone, turn it off, because here you don’t need it to talk to God. The only phone you need to speak with God is prayer. Thank you.

Nicaragua 2008: Good Friday Parade

As night fell on our first day in Granada, we heard the sounds of a crowd and the buzz of a small engine coming from the street. I grabbed my camera and went out to see. The streets were aswarm with people. Considering their numbers, though, it was a pretty quiet affair. A long line of people passed quietly by us.

We saw the focal point of the evening toward the end of the subdued parade line. A wood and glass coffin, surrounded by flowers, was being carried atop a cart. The coffin was lit by spotlights powered by a portable gasoline-powered generator, which was sitting on another cart riding behind. Inside the coffin was a female department store mannequin which had been, shall we say, repurposed to resemble the popular image of Jesus: soft features, long curly locks, beard, white skin, and an almost effeminate countenance. Compounding the androgynous appearance was the fact that the figure was wearing a white lacy skirt. His (her?) body was streaked with blood-red gashes. Behind the coffin were two angels and a large cross draped with white linen.

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Not having been raised in a Catholic neighborhood, I wasn’t sure what was going on at first. Then it clicked with me that this was Good Friday, a holiday about which I had only a dim secular humanist awareness and understanding. I soon figured out that this parade was a reenactment of Jesus’ burial. I wasn’t sure what was cool to do. Could I join in the parade? Could I take pictures? I didn’t want to piss anyone off on my first night in Nicaragua, so for the most part I stood curbside and watched.

I was struck by the immediacy of the proceedings. This was not the abstract American Jesus; this was a bloody, mutilated likeness. It was the barbarous act of crucifixion made real. It wasn’t a priest saying “Jesus suffered and died”; it was showing, not telling. My son and I appeared to be the only gringos in the crowd. I felt privileged to be there.

Later that evening, when Spencer and I ventured out for a beer, we saw this figure (Mary? a local saint?) apparently waiting to be seated at the café.

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Strange big-headed blow-up dolls also circulated among the throngs of Good Friday celebrants.

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The religious procession by this point had given way to more secular concerns of eating, drinking, and relaxing. Strolling musicians came by and parked at our table for awhile.

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Tired from our travels, but feeling delighted and welcomed by the parade we had just witnessed, we then returned to the hotel and a sound night’s sleep.

Nicaragua 2008: Arrival in Granada

I traveled to Nicaragua in 2008 with my son, Spencer. It was my ur-trip, the experience that formed the template of much travel to come:

  • A faintly exotic destination that had experienced civil war in living memory
  • A mixture of luxury digs and down-and-dirty hostels
  • A stay in a town noted for its architecture, followed by a trip into the countryside

I’ve since taken this kind of trip over and over since then. But back in 2008, it was all new to me. I’d never traveled in the developing world before. I had a little Nikon point-and-shoot (my first digital camera) the I scarcely knew how to use. I had a plan I’d cobbled together from travel magazines, back when such publications were printed on dead tree media. I remember that I was so anxious and excited that I hardly slept the night before we left.

Since that trip seven years ago, Spencer and I have taken two other journeys together, one through Vietnam and the other through Morocco. As he moved into adulthood and independence, I wondered how we would relate to each other. Travel, I’ve discovered, bonds us as adults, further deepening my appreciation of fatherhood. I’ve learned to rely on him, something that was a little difficult for me, since I can’t quite shake the old parental habit of thinking of him as a mere kid sometimes.

Back in 2008, flew to Managua, waded through the dozens of touts at the airport, and selected one who drove us in a van to Granada. It was about an hour away. We checked into the Hotel Colonial, a small but beautiful hotel built around a courtyard with an inviting pool and large-leafed tropical plants.

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We were here:

After resting up, we set out to explore Granada.

Advice to a Foreign Traveler Visiting America

I connected on Twitter recently with Joanna Bieleń woman from Stalowa Wola, Poland who, like me, has traveled some but wants to do more.

(By the way, if you’re not following me on Twitter, you should. My feed centers on travel and living abroad.)

Joanna and I were chatting about our travels when she asked me a great question: “What are your favourite places in the USA? It is really interesting for me. My passion is tourism, culture and history.” As we chatted further, she clarified that she was interested in the lesser-known American destinations.

I accepted Joanna’s challenge, put on my thinking cap, and came up with my own best-of-list. My selections are based on personal visits to each of the places I recommend. Like all such lists, it reflects the interests and biases of the person who wrote it. I like a to see a mix of big, medium, and small cities and rural locations. I’ve included several towns associated with excellent colleges and universities; I find college towns to be vibrant and interesting, though others might disagree. I’ve tried to include a representative sample of American regions and cultures. And I’ve tried to avoid the obvious; no one needs me to tell them that New York and the Grand Canyon are amazing places.

The pictures here are not mine and are believed to be either in the public domain or used under license.

Here, then, is my list for Joanna — and for anyone else who wants to see a good variety of the USA.

Vermont

Surely a candidate for America’s most beautiful state, Vermont is located in New England, the oldest corner of the country.

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The rolling green hills and well-tended farms make for pleasant driving, biking, and motorcycling. All of the best aspects of New England are on display here among the locals: flinty self-reliance, supportive communities, common sense, tolerance for the occasional eccentric, and an appreciation for the land and its beauty. Fall is the best time to visit; the trees flame red and gold all over the hills and valleys.


Ithaca, New York

Ithaca is an old city of 30,000 people located in a beautiful part of upstate New York.

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For years now, the city has promoted itself with the tagline “Ithaca is gorges,” which puns on the similarity of the word “gorgeous” and the word “gorges.” It’s an apt slogan, since outdoor recreation opportunities abound there. The town is located at the tip of one of the Finger Lakes. Parts of Ithaca appear to have been literally carved out of the nearby granite cliffs. There is a sense there of something very old, unquestionably American, and faintly mysterious. Though Ithaca is a small town, it’s got a vibrant cultural and intellectual life, thanks to the presence of Cornell University, an Ivy League college.


Chicago, Illinois

Although Chicago is America’s third most populous city, it’s sometimes overlooked by foreign tourists who focus on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts.

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Its downtown is far more concentrated and architecturally distinguished than Los Angeles, and its streets are broader and have a more muscular feel than those of New York. Chicago feels more livable than either of those coastal cities and its people have a midwestern down-to-earth attitude that is sometimes in short supply on the ocean coasts. It has many distinguished universities, great shopping areas, lots of parks, a rich architectural heritage, and a wealth of cultural and athletic activities. For those reasons and more, Chicago is my favorite of America’s ten largest cities.


Iowa City, Iowa

When you’re in Iowa City, you’re definitely in what Americans confusingly call “the midwest” (even though much of it is located in the eastern half the country).

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Some people cynically refer to the American midwest as “flyover country,” suggesting that there is no reason to actually touch down there. Those people, though, have obviously not been to Iowa City. It’s a university town, home to the highly-regarded University of Iowa and the celebrated Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Bricks laid into some of the sidewalks there bear the signatures of some of the many great writers who have passed through that program. The university’s presence has also brought banking, high-tech, and educational publishing/testing companies to town, giving the place a hip, intelligent, prosperous feel. There’s plenty for a traveler to do by way of attending concerts, plays and lectures, going shopping, and cycling around town.


Eureka Springs, Arkansas

Eureka Springs is in the south, but not entirely of it.

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It’s a small town in the Ozark Mountains that’s unlike anything else in Arkansas. Originally built as a spa town for the movers and shakers of the late 19th century, Eureka Springs has quaint old mountain Victorian houses and grand hotels. No two streets run parallel or intersect at right angles. While this part of the country is generally very conservative and traditional, Eureka Springs has attracted an outsized share of LGBT people, artists, and other free spirits. For those more religiously inclined, there is the beautiful contemporary glass-and-wood Thorncrown Chapel set into the woods nearby. Sitting in its pews feels almost like sitting alone in the forest in the presence of the divine.


New Orleans, Louisiana

New Orleans is one of a kind.

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Alhough it has a different culture, heritage, legal system, and accent from the rest of the United States, some of America’s most famous contributions to world culture come from the city they call The Big Easy. You can still hear traditional jazz at the Preservation Hall, dig the roots of blues on almost every street corner, and dance to authentic zydeco just a few miles out of town. Gumbo, jambalaya, voodoo, ghost stories, mardi gras, musical funerals, and every manner of intoxicating spirits known to humankind all mix together in the city they call The Big Easy. There is no other city in America remotely like it.


Austin, Texas

Austin is the capital of Texas, but it’s much more than that.

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Austin is home to a fabulous music scene, including the Austin City Limits Festival and the South by Southwest music and film festival. Music pervades the city. The airport there is the only airport I have ever been to where there are live musicians playing. Eccentricity is not just tolerated — it is officially encouraged with the same of “Keep Austin Weird!” t-shirts and paraphernalia. Though much of Texas is a very conservative place, Austin (like Eureka Springs and Iowa City) is far more progressive than the state to which it belongs.


Taos, New Mexico

Taos, a small city in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of northern New Mexico, has been home to many artists and writers who are drawn there by the brilliant blue skies, the dry desert climate, and the artful buildings and design of the old pueblo there.

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Home to such artists and writers as Dennis Hopper, Georgia O’Keeffe, D.H. Lawrence, Mark Rothko, Aldous Huxley, and Ansel Adams, Taos surely has more art galleries per capita than almost anywhere else in the world. There is a thriving art colony there that continues to draw creative people to this unique American community. Hiking, skiing and river rafting also attract their share visitors. Taos Pueblo, the Native American village that adjoins the town, is a UNESCO World Heritage site noted for being “a remarkable example of a traditional type of architectural ensemble from the pre-Hispanic period of the Americas and unique to this region which has successfully retained most of its traditional forms to the present day. Thanks to the determination of the latter-day Native American community, it appears to be successfully resisting the pressures of modern society.”


Ouray, Colorado

Ouray is comprised of elegant mountain Victorian buildings nestled among the San Juan Mountains in southwestern Colorado.

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This is one of the most beautiful places in the American west. The mountains surrounding the town are visible in all their grandeur everywhere you look. Like Eureka Springs, it was originally built as a hot springs spa town, but today is better known for its variety of outdoor recreation activities, from skiing to cycling to hiking to hot air ballooning. The people there seemed almost unnaturally fit. The political culture is generally liberal, but with more than a dash of libertarian don’t-tell-me-what-to-do rebelliousness.


Portland, Oregon

Thanks in part to the popular Portlandia television show, Portland is experiencing a wave of hipster chic in the US today.

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Portland a medium-sized city that is home to a number of craft breweries, mild weather, strip joints, bike paths, and food trucks selling chow from every corner of the globe. There’s a strong ecological consciousness there at both the personal and governmental levels. There’s also a quirky intellectualism about the town, a larger-scale version of Reed College, the academically intense and socially eclectic liberal arts college that’s located in one of the residential neighborhoods. Foodies will enjoy Portland for its culinary adventuresomeness and variety, while readers will want to spend a full day in Powell’s Books, one of the world’s largest used bookstores. The town is handsome, but not stunningly beautiful. Beauty, though is provided courtesy of nature and the Cascade Mountains that rise above the valley where the city sits.

Cartagena 2008: Inside/Outside

Concepts like inside and outside tend to blur in Cartagena — indeed, in many tropical countries. Houses and other buildings in the old city are built around courtyards. Whether the courtyard counts as inside or outside is an issue I don’t really want to address. Same with rooftops.

The Hotel Agua had both a courtyard and a rooftop garden and pool. The views of the old city were striking, affording glimpses of both the beautiful facades of the city and the less beautiful inner and upper aspects of nearby residences.

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Other much larger hotels had grand courtyards with enormous verandas, perfect for hanging out for a drink with friends. Those places were decorated in contemporary Colombian style, a look that combines Scandinavian elegance with South American colors and heat.

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I preferred the smaller bars and cafés. The one below was my favorite. “Gabby comes here,” the barkeep told me, referring proudly to Cartagena’s native son, Gabriel García Márquez. I wondered how many bars in the US would so proudly announce their patronage by a then-living writer?

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The cathedral was, of course, designed to over-awe and connect the congregation to the eternal. It was more restrained in its decoration than many South- and Central American churches I’ve seen, and to good effect.

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Numerous alleyways were cut into the city’s buildings, resembling the medinas of Arabic nations. These further conflated the concepts of inside and outside.

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This painting in a local gallery or museum caught my eye. I saw in it an ambiguous combination of gaiety and menace.

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Perhaps that was similar to the ambiguity of place I felt in Cartagena. Inside or outside? Public display or walled-off secrets? Devils or angels?

Note: some of the photos above may have been taken by Susan Doktor.

Cartagena 2008: The Dancers in Parque de Bolívar

It was a hot night. I heard music — Wild Afro-Caribbean beats. I followed the sound to Parque de Bolívar, in the center of the old city. There was rhythm, sweat, dancing, music, costumes, and a monkey. I turned my camera flash off and started shooting. The photos that resulted were more true to the actual sensation of being there than sharp, well-lit images would have been.

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Note: some of the photos above may have been taken by Susan Doktor.

Cartagena 2008: At Night

As much as I seek to dispel stereotypes by traveling, there are some that are hard not to fall prey to. In Cartagena, I was all in on the notion that the city was every bit the magical, romantic place that its native son, Gabriel García Márquez, immortalized in Love in the Time of Cholera
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As Anand Giridharadas wrote in the New York Times a few years ago,

Truth can be stranger than fiction in Cartagena, the Colombian city whose real-life blend of seediness and charm has been an important inspiration for one of the most imaginative writers of the modern era, Gabriel García Márquez. It is a city so pregnant with the near magical that, when Mr. García Márquez took a visiting Spaniard on a tour one day that included a Creole lunch and a stroll through the old city, it lowered his opinion of Mr. García Márquez’s talents. The Spaniard told Mr. García Márquez, as he would later record in an essay, “You’re just a notary without imagination.”

I’d never dismiss García Márquez as a mere note-taker. At night there I saw deep shadows, beautiful women, desolate wallscapes, and ancient archways all lit by soft yellow streetlamps. If you don’t feel something romantic in that, there’s no emotional Cialis that’ll help you.

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Note: some of the photos above may have been taken by Susan Doktor.

Cartagena 2008: Street Scenes 3

These are more daytime photos of Cartagena, Colombia, which I visited in 2008. As Lonely Planet puts it,

Cartagena de Indias is the undisputed queen of the Caribbean coast, a fairy-tale city of romance, legends and superbly preserved beauty lying within an impressive 13km of centuries-old colonial stone walls. Cartagena’s old town is a Unesco World Heritage site – a maze of cobbled alleys, balconies covered in bougainvillea, and massive churches that cast their shadows across plazas.

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Note: some of the photos above were taken by Susan Doktor.

Cartagena 2008: Street Scenes 2

Unlike the uniform blue and white of Sidi Bou Saïd, Tunisia or the monochromatic blues of Chefchaouen, Morocco, the colors of Cartagena vary, reflecting the many ethnic and cultural influences on the city.

This is a place where whose residents vary in hue from Afro-Caribbean black to northern Italian white and every shade in between. It has long been seen as standing somewhat apart from the rest of Colombia. Even during the height of the drug wars twenty years ago, Cartagena remained a relatively peaceful place. Even the country’s drug lords were reluctant to bring to Cartagena the violence and terror that ravaged Medellín and Cali. When I was there, the tourist authorities were deliberately playing up the city’s relative safety with a tag line that read “The only danger is that you’ll want to stay.”

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Note: some of the photos above may have been taken by Susan Doktor.