Musings of an Inveterate Traveller

By Dr. Robert H. Schram

Dr. Robert H. Schram has been employed by BARC Developmental
Services since 1977 as its Executive Director. BARC Developmental
Services is a large community nonprofit organization serving people
with intellectual disabilities and Autism. He has advanced degrees in
Political Science, Counseling Psychology, and a Doctorate in Public
Administration. He received recognition as a Fellow by the American
Association on Mental Retardation for meritorious contributions to the
field. He was nominated for the Grenzebach Award for Outstanding
Doctoral Dissertation. He is trained in Jewish Shamanism, Spiritual
Direction, and Himalayan Healing Bowls. He is President and Founder of
the Rehaschra School of Yoga and Meditation. His three other published
books are: Maximize Life by Living for Peace, Harmony, and Joy!
Oh My God it is all the Same! Life is but a Dream!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 20, 2010
• ISBN: 9781462815814

Dr. Robert H. Schram

The author Dr. ROBERT H. SCHRAM is a fellow in the American Association for Intellectual Disabilities and Autism for his meritorious service supporting children and adults with Intellectual Disabilities and Autism over forty-two years in Bucks County Pennsylvania. He has degrees in Political Science and Personnel/Counseling with a Doctorate in Public Administration and is Executive Director Emeritus of BARC Developmental Services (1977-2020). His prior published books include the following: Maximize Life by Living for Peace, Harmony, and Joy Oh My God it is all the Same! Zohar - The Book of Radiance Revealed Life is but a Dream! Musings of an Inveterate Traveler Musings of an Inveterate Traveler II Musings of an Inveterate Traveler III Illusafact the Inevitable Advance of our Technologies & Us Musings of an Inveterate Traveler IV Company Management…Policies, Procedures, Practices Mixed Marriage . . .Interreligious, Interracial, Interethnic Worldwide Human Corruption

Book preview

MUSINGS OF AN

INVETERATE

TRAVELER

67431-SCHR-layout.pdf

Dr. Robert H. Schram

Copyright © 2011 by Dr. Robert H. Schram.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

INTRODUCTION

ON FOOT, TRAIN, CAR, SKYRAIL, AND BUS

ON WATER AND

IN JUNGLES

AIRPORTS, FLYING, AND GROUND TRANSPORT

ACCOMMODATIONS

PEOPLE

PLACES

THINGS

LIVING LIFE

THROUGH TRAVEL

INTRODUCTION

Musings of an Inveterate Traveler is the personalized experienced of a pleasure traveler to: Thailand; Vietnam; Peru; Machu Pichu; the Amazon River; New Orleans, Louisiana; Key West, Florida; New York City, New York; Rockport/Boston/Lenox, Massachusetts; Australia; New Zealand; Arizona; the Grand Canyon; Brooklyn Heights, New York; and the Omega Institute in New York. It includes text referenced pictures, personal comments and insights, history, travel snafus, animals, plants, people, places, humor, ironies, and the sheer joy of traveling as one of life’s greatest gifts. The book will be enjoyed by experienced and inexperienced travelers of all ages who can relate to the manifold experiences or who enjoy those adventures vicariously from the comfort of their easy-chair. The writing, like life, is filled with humor, ironies, ups and downs, twists and curves. It is written without trying to judge the world, its leaders, or its economic systems; it takes place over four years, one unrelated trip at a time, with my partner Jean (aka Jean Lou, Jeanala, JR,) and me as the only repeating characters. Each chapter contains opinions, personal preferences, various insights about other people and me. My musings involve experiences common to all travelers; e.g., travel connection problems, errors and omissions, comic cultural contacts, joyful interludes, camaraderie, dining, shopping. Uncommon to many travelers I include spiritual musings about humans, animals, plants, rocks, the Earth, and the universe. Read, laugh and most of all, ENJOY!

ON FOOT, TRAIN, CAR, SKYRAIL, AND BUS

All enjoyed the walk back to the base village on Machu Piccu, Peru since it was mostly descent. We still all stepped cautiously, however, since the 2000 foot sheer drop sans guardrails was now on our right side. The most notable event, as we briefly stopped at one of several Inca rest stops (terraced, pillared and hewed in the mountain) was the site of a large Condor gracefully gliding toward us from afar. He floated within thirty feet of us, totally unperturbed by our presence. A majestic, always to be remembered, encounter that Al assured us was a positive sign for our spiritual well being; we had also viewed a Condor on the first day but in a much less dramatic distant fashion. At the village Jean Lou, Nepis, and I decided to walk down the rather precipitous steps rather than take the seemingly safer half-hour bus ride. The choice was easy for Nepis and Jean since both were fearful and appalled by the closeness the bus came to the non-guardrail edge and other vehicles plus their penchant for good health and exercise. We borrowed the walking sticks from others that were taking the bus. The descending walk was estimated to take two hours, which it did. On the way down we met up with an Inca guide who was returning home from a four-day excursion over the 42 K trail. She was in a state of exhaustion but still managed the trail faster than us. We also made way for the young Inca boy in full regalia, doing his adios ‘thing’ for the tourist bus. He makes the journey in one half-hour; he flew by us with only flip-flops for foot cover. In some steeper portions we opted to walk the longer winding road to give our aching feet and legs some flat ground relief. We missed the last bus as we approached the river bridge in full descent. Jean Lou and Nepis walked over the pedestrian parallel bridge as I chose the larger neighboring vehicular crossing. Sure enough, as I was about half way across, a bus approached in the opposite direction. Fortunately, the driver saw my predicament and waited patiently for my complete passage. There was a half-hour wait for the next bus in our direction. In spite of our exhausted state we chose the two-mile walk to Agua Calientes along the river. We saw hundreds of large plastic garbage bags filled with garbage, and men, out of clear eyesight, dumping the garbage in the river. Al later confirmed that this was so since there is no prohibition against such acts of environmental terrorism. As we walked through the gauntlet of vendors with our walking sticks, no one bothered us. It was an unwritten law not to hassle tired hikers coming off the mountain. We rendezvoused with Denny and Dolly and learned of her fall and weakened knee. We all arrived at the Todas restaurant . . . the eatery for our afternoon repast. Dolly and Denny went to Shaman Everett’s shop to be healed. Marge, upon hearing of the fall, left without lunch and joined them. Everett blew and sucked on Dolly’s knee plus performed other sounds and rituals. Dolly reported feeling better and over the next several days came with the group via walking stick and Denny’s arm. The constant public reminder by Denny that she was the youngest one in the group and the only injury most likely reinforced a determination that is part of her character, especially in the presence of her older sibling who loves her and still has a tendency to watch out for her. The lunch was again very good, replete with Peruvian musicians hawking their CD’s or at the very least, a tip. The only less than adequate food on the trip was the dinner and breakfast at our Agua Calientes Hotel. After lunch we had two hours waiting for the four-hour train ride to Cusco. Of course, we did some more shopping. Jean and I walked up the railroad tracks to the beat of even more vendors along real estate that receives few visitors.

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I purchased a simple Peruvian flute for my massage therapist in Pennsylvania. I tried to get down to the rushing river below for some meditation on the huge boulders but was dissuaded by the perilous steepness of the river’s banks. So we sat with Shem and waited for the train to pick us up right in front of Todas.

The train trip was through more beautiful Andean landscape and I remained enthralled in it all.

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At the evening hour I offered everyone some more scotch and only Lydia and Elsie responded in the positive. When we arrived in Cusco we had the unpleasant experience of the train backing up one mile twice to allow an oncoming train to pass; this inconvenience explained why so many passengers disembarked at the previous stop and took a bus to Cusco. The one hour addition to the trip was caused by an antiquated 1920’s railroad construction that did not widen the terrain in order to allow for two sets of tracks; one for each direction. We all boarded the bus to our hotel Don Carlos for the next three nights.

We left Miami for the thirty-five mile drive to Key West . . . the biggest attraction of the Keys. Numerous bikers of every stripe and color were on the road; I assumed that riding through the entire lengthy state of Florida and making it to Key West was a two-wheeled Mecca, of sorts. As we neared the small harbor town surrounded by ocean on all sides and in the middle of nowhere, some bikers expressed their pleasure at one of many traffic lights, by shrieking "whooooeeeee." Jean and I were less enthralled although the wind, the sea, plants, and wildlife were stunning along with man’s tasteful million dollar homes. As we circled around to the main attractions at the harbor (housing two large ocean cruise ships), we passed many chain hotels: Merriott, Hilton, Embassy Suites, Sheraton, Holiday Inn.

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There was no rush hour in the Keys but plenty of tourist traffic in automobiles, motorbikes, bicycles, and on foot. Meter parking was the cheapest at $.25 for fifteen minutes but the most intrusive regarding having sufficient change or meter feeding. We settled for the Hilton parking at $2.50 each hour and paraded out to Truman Capote’s hangout, the Loft restaurant on Front Street. We took a walk noticing endless kitsch for the tourists, expensive jewelry, and one of the best art-clothing stores Jean had ever seen; the dress I liked was $1400 . . . my flight from frugality was not quite that high!

I took Carla home after a disappointing opera experience, The Rape of Lucretia in Princeton, NJ on July 21. I did not enjoy it since it was much too conversational for my taste with no soul-touching arias. If I want to learn about the Etruscans versus the Romans and their various atrocities I can read a book or go to the theatre. When I go to the opera I want to be touched and experience an elevated spirit. I proceeded to the Lane for Jean and the ride to daughter Yael’s place on 102nd street. A new SRO (single residence occupancy) had opened on 103rd street, and Yael forewarned us to park in a local garage. After being turned down by one that was full we found one around the block for the bargain price of $21.14; this uneven number was offered so that the 18% plus tax would allow for an even $25 for those who dare to drive pollution emitting broughams into one of the most congested urban environments on the planet. We walked across Broadway and several Avenues down two long flights of cement stairs to Riverside Park’s Dockside Cafe . . . the workplace of Yael, bartender-extraordinaire. The Cafe was carved out of the arched cement facade of the park . . . most likely a public works project from the 1930’s. Enormous steel grates filled each archway with gated openings that allowed for entry to a kitchen, public bathrooms and a wooden bar area by day and lockup for the numerous plastic tables and chairs at night. During the day the tables and chairs occupied a vast cement deck overlooking a volleyball court, the West-side Highway and the Hudson River with huge cement slabs descending as both stairs and very wide seating/sunning areas. The jobs of the bartender and waiters were not for the weak or lazy since the distance from the kitchen to the nearest table was about 50 yards and 100 yards to the farthest. The bartender had to fill 25 gallon containers with ice, beer and soda and transport them plus all the hard liquor and glasses to the bar area every morning and empty and return them to the kitchen storage area at night. After being treated to the Cafe’s most prized entrees; cheeseburger for me and cheddar chicken sandwich for Jean we waited about one hour for Yael to do her evening bar breakdown routine before the three of us walked back to her 5th floor walkup. Her railroad apartment had a three-foot wide hallway ending first in her living room followed immediately by her bedroom (both about 10’ by 10’). Three rooms jutted out to the right from the hallway: a 10’ by 6’ kitchen; a 10’ by 6’ bathroom; a 10’ by 7’ bedroom with one closet between the kitchen and bathroom. Yael was in the midst of painting so all her possessions were boxed creating an even more confining environment since her laggard superintendent had not fulfilled his promise to put up shelving along the 50’ hallway. With no air conditioning but 24 hour fans for cat comfort, the temperature was a bearable 80 to 85 degrees were it not for the sweat of the Riverside Cafe walk, the sweat of the luggage retrieval from my car’s trunk housed in a windowless fan-less garage, and the sweat of the five-floor ascension schlepping the luggage with daughter bouncing upward as though the stairs were trampolines and not stone slabs. Jean and I were hot and exhausted and thankful that Yael offered us her bed as she slept on the living room floor. The bed had the scent of cat urine from Yael’s four felines and I stepped in their vomitus as I ambulated to the "lou." Fortunately Jean and I were able to fall asleep as Yael prepared for her next day trip to Toronto to see finance John who phoned her at 2:00 AM, 3:00 AM, and 5:00 AM.

Yael was out of the house at 5:30 AM for her flight. We walked down Broadway at 6:00 AM in search of a suitable restaurant since Yael’s recommendation was not yet open. We settled on the Metropolitan Diner and had adequate coffee, eggs, and fruit prior to heading North to Rockport, MA. As we traversed the Tappan Zee Bridge (aka TZ Bridge) we missed the exit for 284 to 84 North and ended going up the New York Thruway about 20 miles before connecting with Route 84 in a more non-direct fashion. Jean was livid with our malfeasance and lack of attention . . . I was on vacation and not concerned and laughed at her seriousness . . . she was not amused but also knew the futility of discussing it with me. We stopped three times to stretch, buy some coffee, walk around a ‘park and ride’ area three times and purchase petrol. The time passed quickly as Jean brought several books on tape and we arrived in Rockport a little after noon. It seemed that the ocean was visible from every direction in Rockport and the Halibut State Park with its boulder lined quarry and magnificent view of the Atlantic, New Hampshire and Maine was a most pleasant surprise.

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We had a pleasant and reasonably priced dinner in the nearby Shish and Fish restaurant (shish kabobs with lamb, chicken, shrimp, scallops, or tuna). Jean enjoyed a specially prepared lobster (cooked and then put on ice); only the second one I have seen her eat in our years together. We retired to the second floor deck for the sunset and most glorious ocean breeze as Sheena the cat finally came out to greet us. Susan seemed to have come home in Rockport as Jean and I took great joy in seeing her beam with positive energy and be the very socially engaging woman we have had periodic glimpses of in the past. She expressed the feeling of coming alive again after many areas of being dead; I deeply related to her coming alive again and being able to live as the person you always have been . . . what a phenomenal gift! July 23 we woke early to a leisurely breakfast prepared by Chef Susan and then drove to town for my scheduled Reiki message by Susan’s commercial neighbor Ellen who read tarot cards with Jean the previous day. Whimsical Ellen never arrived and the three of us toured the area’s beautiful architecture and ocean views. The area was a major granite producer many years in the past and displayed many artifacts of that era including peaceful quarries, buildings, and sculptures. The Halibut State Park was contingent to Susan’s rental and offered some marvelous views of the quarry, ocean, and greenery.

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Emerson’s residence had been converted to a seaside resort with the peaceful quiet preserved. The gentle breezes on even the hottest of days provided welcome relief to the weary traveler and the constant clanging of the moored sailboats’ lanyards in the wind instilled a most pleasing tranquility. The lobster fishermen marked their traps with various colorful buoys that they check periodically; particularly in the morning hours.

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The only eyesore in all of Rockport was the closed fish processing plant and tool factory with its block long orange insulation testifying to its once held prominence. Hydrangeas and lilies were in full bloom and the locals produced many verdant and colorful private gardens. In town the two public beaches were aptly named by their proximity to the center of town, the front and back beach. Susan exclaimed that any home with an uninterrupted ocean view starts at one million dollars. We had a delightful lunch in an nondescript restaurant on one of the many jutting jetties overlooking a large dock area and a huge man-made ten foot high granite pier; the delight to many local teenagers launching their bodies into the cool water over and over again . . . never seeming to tire from the jump nor the arduous climb back up the rocks. We purchased some band-aids for Jean’s aching corns and after a short nap resumed our journey to Boston.

We took route 93 South to Boston avoiding rush hour traffic going north but running into local suburb to suburb commuters that prolonged the trip. The most serious time lengthener, however, was the daily bumper-to-bumper crawl once inside Boston’s perimeter at 5:00 PM. Jean called Kay at our B and B on Appleton Street to inform her that our normally 45 minute ride would be two hours. We parked near our destination under a ‘resident park only’ sign. Kate treated us to some arrival wine and cheese and told us they do ticket non-resident miscreants so in the heavy rain I was easily persuaded to move to Columbus Avenue. I was fortunate to find a place several blocks away on the left side of the street where cars must vacate between 8:00 AM and noon on Wednesdays for street cleaning. I figured it was a typical price to pay for residing in a city and surrendered myself to getting up early and finding another place to park. I was no more than half a block away when I noticed a space on the other side of Columbus that on Tuesday is a precious find since street cleaning on the right side of the street takes place on Friday mornings allowing me to leave the car for our entire two-day stay in the city. Realizing my incredible good fortune I stood with my umbrella in the rain contemplating how I could hold the spot while I lost the other parking space in the time it would take to move to the prize? As I strategically laid out my plan a local gentleman pulled up and asked what I was doing. I told him I was saving the spot for myself and he left somewhat disbelieving. As he took his first right turn, I was certain that he planned on circling the block and grabbing my space as I moved my coach. Without any further cogitation I raced to my car, bumping the car in back of me to get out and impatiently waiting for about seven cars to pass so I could do a K turn into my Prize. I backed into the spot effortlessly but due to its tightness I was forced to use my bumpers for what they originally were intended for; i.e., to bump other cars. I bumped very gently into my front neighbor and rear neighbor . . . the Acura, that had a touch sensitive theft alarm that went off with its annoying light flashing and beeping . . . a most common sound in all big cities that no one pays attention to. Since there was nothing I could do, I secured my car and started walking back to the residence listening to the Acura fade away for several blocks. Even though no one batted an eye at the theft alarm it still was disconcerting to me that I caused, even unintentionally, someone’s inconvenience to shut off the alarm; that is if they were in the area. I assured myself that today’s cars must have an automatic cut off after so many minutes or the battery would wear down. The next day as we journeyed to the Museum of Fine Arts I was pleased to find a silent Acura.

Kate was the former wife of an airlines pilot named Herman, an American German with all the stereotypical Prussian traits, according to Kate. She, evidently, received a generous divorce settlement since her B and B accommodated only two rented bedrooms with renovation still underway. Kate co-owned the B and B with Arnie, a tall government employee who at one time was romantically involved but now did not share her bed, although it appeared that both lived on the third floor . . . or, maybe Arnie lived elsewhere . . . we were not there long enough to know. Kate like many Bostonians, did not own a car; she walked or rode her bike. Boston’s admixture of corporate, retail business, college and residential neighborhoods made it a very unique and delightful city. Appleton Street, like so many Bean-town streets, boasted stately four story contiguous row brick homes adjacent to a plethora of eateries, retail stores, malls, corporate offices and universities. Each house had a very small garden in the front by steps leading up to each front door and a very small rear yard . . . some with decks on one or more floors.

Kate informed us that in Boston, B and B’s with three bedrooms or less did not require a license but they were not allowed to make cooked breakfasts. Kate struck me as a very sincere honest woman but I could not understand