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Doug & Karen's Kiwi Adventure Part 6: Fjords, Queenstown, Christchurch...and home

2011-07-12T14:58:00.001-07:00

Finally, nearly 8 months after I returned to the Northern Hemisphere, I am pleased to present the final installment of our trip to New Zealand: Milford Sound, Queenstown, and Christchurch.

Fiordland National Park is one of the many parks along New Zealand’s wild western shore—this one near the southern tip and named for the steep glacial inlets that line the coast. They’re not easy to get to; indeed, some cannot be reached by land. The most famous fjord is Milford Sound, reached by a magnificent, winding 2-hour drive from the sleepy hamlet of Te Anau. One of the sites along the way are the Mirror Lakes.

Whimsical sign:

It was a rainy day (which is more typical than not in these parts) and along the way, the very mountains seemed to seep water. There were waterfalls everywhere: a small taste of what lay ahead.

And we had to remain cautious of the car-eating Kea!

But finally we reached Milford Sound and boarded a boat (the only way to see it). Soon we were headed out into the misty, watery canyons.

Karen on board, fighting the elements:

I, on the other hand, was a little more ill prepared for the weather:

It was a rough but beautiful voyage to the mouth of the fjord and back. And wet. Countless waterfalls, large and small, lined every nook and cranny. Indeed it seemed as in the rocks themselves were bleeding water.

Despite the rough surf, wet air, and cool temperatures, some hardy creatures make their homes along the edge. We passed a colony of seals...

And a gaggle (?) of penguins (a little harder to spot, they’re in the center—as with all photos you can click to enlarge if you need to).

The seas tossed our little boat like so much flotsam and jetsam. Here’s a video Karen trying to maintain her balance, some seals, and our unexpected journey through a waterfall (click to play):

It was rough, but in case of trouble, Karen was ready to muster.

The magical journey continues....

That night, back in Te Anau, the weather cleared—affording a spectacular view of the Southern Hemisphere’s stars (Orion is still visible down under, but he’s upside-down):

The next day Karen was departing for her own Australian adventure. So I drove her back to the airport in Queenstown and bade her a fond adieu:

I stayed on in Queenstown: a modest-size town on a lake that’s known as the world capitol of adventure sports. Without Karen cramping my style, I checked into a swank hotel overlooking the lake:

I spent a day exploring the town. A cable car takes you to the top of a nearby mountain to enjoy a panoramic view of Queenstown:

At the top there was a wildlife center where you could see the country’s emblematic but enigmatic mascot, the Kiwi. These long-beaked birds are endangered and nocturnal. At this wildlife center they were kept inside a building where the controlled lighting, much like Las Vegas, turned day into nighttime and night into daytime.

At the top of the mountain was also a cemetery, and you know I love me some dead people, especially with a view.

The cemetery was large and even had a Jewish section...with all of two Jews in it! On the plus side, this meant that the Jewish graves were simply identified by their names rather than grave numbers:

And that was about all the fun that was to be had in Queenstown. Although I did throw a Lamington (New Zealand’s version of the Hostess Sno-Ball) off my balcony and watch this happy little bird GO TO TOWN:

Finally, I flew back to Christchurch, completing my south island circle and spending a day before my own flight home.

Christchurch is called “the garden city” because it has a lot of green spaces. It was nice. Not thrilling, but nice. My hotel room had a great view of the cathedral that gave the town its name.

The inside was lovely, too.

There was a little touch of traditional Maori art.

Sadly, the church was heavily damaged in the earthquake that struck Christchurch only a short time after my departure. They are still unsure whether any of the building can be salvaged at all.

And almost as tragic, this entertaining book-on-a-stick that I spied inside the church is probably lost forever, too:

Much of the remainder of the city was indeed garden-like.

This lovely clock was erected to celebrate Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee.

This is the synagogue of the Hebrew Congregation of Christchurch. How humiliating for them.

And with that I began the long haul home via Auckland and Los Angeles...

New Zealand is an amazingly diverse country. One can’t help but feel some amount of sensory overload from the vast differences between the different destinations of this relatively small island nation that has only been inhabited by humans for a few hundred years. The people are friendly and outgoing, the sights unparalleled. All in all, an outstanding adventure.

BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

This is a puzzling world:

Karen does a little shopping (GET IT? HAHAHAHA!!!!):

I guess if you’re only a half-hearted guest, you’re screwed:

I enjoyed the fact that this sign for a Maori poupou was covered in poopoo:

This is William Gilbert Rees—the founder of Queenstown—and what I can only assume was his “special friend”:

I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that despite its splendors, New Zealand is not all roses: there are hateful flies in the south that eat you alive!

You know, I think the backstory to this photograph is most entertaining left to your imagination:

As the Maori (of whom, I will remind you, I am now a chief) would say...Kia Ora!!

Doug & Karen's Kiwi Adventure Part 5: Glacier Adventure!

2011-05-16T00:38:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while once again, so to catch you up on where we’ve been...we started in the hustle and bustle of Auckland, then visited the ancient Maori of Rotorua, traversed the forbidding volcanic plateau of Tongariro, and enjoyed the cosmopolitan flair of the capitol city of Wellington. Then we flew to Christchurch on the south island and drove across the Southern Alps to the wild Westlands, encountering car-eating birds and glowworms along the way. Now it was time for yet another kind of adventure: glacier fun!

Our big plan was to go on a heli-hike. This is where a helicopter takes you on a scenic ride over a glacier and then lets you off at the top to hike around on the ice for a few hours. The two main glaciers that offer easy access are Fox Glacier and Franz Josef.

The opportunity is very weather dependent—and thus very unpredictable in this wild area. Sure enough, our only day here was rainy and our heli-hike to Fox Glacier was cancelled. So instead we took a good old-fashioned foot-hike to the face of Franz Josef, which is more readily accessible:

Chilled to the bone, we followed our short hike with a long soak in a glacial hot spring:

We decided to get up early the next morning and try our luck with the heli-hike once again before hitting the road. The decision of whether the trip will go is made only minutes before takeoff, and fortunately for us, despite some low clouds this time was a go!

Karen on board our ghetto bird:

The flyover was quite spectacular (despite the hysterical woman next to me who kept screaming)...

...and the glacier was no less impressive once we were on top of it:

We nicknamed this particular formation the “Snow Vulva”:

Now for the hiking portion of the expedition. First you have to strap on a pair of perhaps the worst named items in the world, the crampons.

Then with a couple of walking sticks you’re off and running (well, hiking).

It was a little tight, but we got to climb through some ice tunnels:

Some photo ops in the Snow Vulva:

As you can see in that last photo, the low clouds were starting to roll in around us. The helicopters fly visually, so this meant that our hike would have to be cut short. I wasn’t upset, honestly—it was beautiful and I was glad we were able to make it up there and tramp about for an hour, and we still had a 7-hour drive ahead of us to that evening’s destination.

We headed back to the helicopter landing area, and the helicopter took one group back to the base. The clouds continued to get thicker around us. Soon we heard the whirr of the chopper returning and crouched for safety as we waited to board. And waited. And waited. For about 5 minutes we could hear it trying to land, but we never saw it (which meant it couldn’t see the ground). Finally the engines faded into the distance. The helicopter had left us for dead.

Okay, maybe not for dead, but the guides told us that we were stranded until the weather cleared! We were assured that they were prepared for such an emergency, as provisions were stashed on the glacier (well, by “provisions” they meant chocolate. But what else would you need?)

Whether it was real or psychological, it suddenly started to feel very cold up there. Thankfully everyone was in good humor. I wasn’t worried about our well-being, but I was a little worried about this impacting our ability to complete our 7-hour drive whenever we got down. After about half an hour, the guides suggested that maybe we start hiking downward in hopes that it might be clear enough for the helicopter at a lower altitude. So we put our crampons back on and started to hike down.

Someone to ask how long it would take if we had to hike all the way to the bottom, and turns out it would only be 3 or 4 hours’ hike. All of us in the group were agile enough to do so if need be, so things didn’t feel that serious. And in fact, the extra hiking only meant more time in this hauntingly beautiful, incredibly blue place.

After about an hour we were at a lower elevation where the guides took pickaxes and chopped us a new helipad. They radioed for the helicopter to try again...and sure enough we were saved!

Click below for a short dramatic film chronicling our adventure:

We ended up on the road only a little later than planned for our long drive to Te Anau. It certainly made for a long day, but a beautiful and adventurous one. It also highlighted the diversity of this landscape because only an hour after hiking on the sheer ice of a glacier we found ourselves on the sandy shores of the Tasman Sea:

Along the way picked up provisions and made a scenic stop in Mount Aspiring National Park:

Continuing on our southern and circuitous route, we arrived in the sleepy hamlet of Te Anau long after dark. The next day we would begin our final adventure...

Next up…Fjords and penguins and seals, oh my! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

I enjoyed many of the warning signs posted by the glaciers:

This one says that there’s no stopping due to the risk of rock fall. What if the rocks are falling in front of you? You have to keep going?:

This is such a polite country, they even give you the choice of dying straight-up or on-the-rocks:

When’s the last time you saw one of these?!

See you at the fjords!

Doug & Karen's Kiwi Adventure Part 4: Arthur's Pass & Hokitika

2011-03-05T23:40:00.000-08:00

This blog about my trip to New Zealand is officially taking almost as long as it took Abel Tasman to reach the islands by ship in 1642 (nerd alert!). But that gives you something to look forward to.

It has also taken so long that New Zealand itself has changed since my last entry: I would be remiss if I didn’t take a moment to send my thoughts to my new friends in Christchurch, which was recently devastated by a major earthquake. No doubt you’ve seen the dramatic photos of the city’s eponymous church spire that collapsed? Well my hotel was right next to that spire and is clearly visible in many of the photos you’ve seen:

In fact, this was the view from my hotel window:

And this is its sad state today:

The city was still recovering from an earthquake only a few months before. We saw this sign in a supermarket:

And many buildings were already propped up or in the middle of being dismantled:

Although the more recent events in Japan were more devastating, please don’t forget about the Kiwis! If you like, you can donate to the New Zealand Red Cross here.

Now on (or back, I guess) to happier times!

When we last left, Karen and I flew from Wellington on the north island to Christchurch. Here’s a nice bird’s eye view as we left Wellington...

...and approached the very different landscape of the southern Alps (as they somewhat confusingly call them):

After picking up provisions in Christchurch we headed immediately for the West coast. The drive took us through Arthur’s Pass, a very scenic route and one of many National Parks we’d see on the wild south island:

Karen posting a letter at the expansive Arthur’s Pass Post Office:

This is also where we first encountered Kea. Apparently Karen had read about this phenomenon, but it was new to me: Kea are the world’s only alpine parrots. So the first odd thing about them is seeing colorful parrots among snowy mountain peaks:

The second odd thing about them is that they LOVE TO EAT CARS. No, I’m not kidding. They’re very cheeky (as the Kiwis would say) and unafraid and generally like to make trouble for visitors. But they have developed a particular affinity for the rubber on cars and hang out in parking lots waiting to attack any vehicle going less than 10 mph. These people were clearly natives and didn’t really seem to care:

We, on the other hand, were a little more frightened:

Here’s some actual video of the attack! (click to play):

This guy was clearly plotting his next move so we got a move on ourselves:

By nightfall we reached our overnight destination, the small coastal town of Hokitika. Here we had another encounter (this time a planned one) with some of New Zealand’s more interesting creatures: glowworms. Throughout New Zealand, where the conditions are just right, you’ll find these little guys in groups after dark. There’s a dell just off a road in Hokitika:

Since it was night, I’m still not exactly sure what a dell is (I thought it’s where farmers hang out) but it appeared to be a moist, mossy overhang, which is heaven for glowworms. As you follow the path and your eyes adjust to the darkness, you suddenly realize you are surrounded by thousands of beautiful, cerulean blue points of light, like a starry sky at night. It’s really quite breathtaking, but of course photographs don’t quite capture the magic:

The glowworms make a little burrow in the overhang and then spin these little beaded, mucousy filaments that hang down. Then they sit there and glow in hopes of attracting prey that will get caught in the filaments and make a nice midnight snack:

Using my tripod, I took a few identical photos both with and without the flash so you can kind of get a better idea:

Or here’s a little video of them:

The next day we checked out the town and hiked into the Hokitika Gorge. The town was simple enough:

Other than shopping for greenstone, this is as exciting as it gets:

Here’s Karen simply blown away by the display in one of the rooms of the museum. (Okay, it was actually the only room of the museum):

Outside of town was the slightly more exciting Hokitika Gorge, filled with impossibly blue waters and beautiful plants. It was, well, gorgeous (so that’s where that comes from!):

Next up…Karen and I take a helicopter to the top of a glacier and ALMOST DIE!!. BUT BEFORE WE GO…JUST TWO PARTING SHOTS!

Bank machines in New Zealand don’t have that little guard over the keyboard to hide your fingers when you enter your PIN...but they do instruct you to shield one hand with the other:

Since we were in the neighborhood, Karen dropped in on some relatives:

See you at the glaciers!

Doug & Karen's Kiwi Adventure Part 3: Tongariro & Wellington

2011-01-19T20:19:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Now that this was officially “last year’s vacation” I think it’s time to finish the blog. When we last left our Kiwi Adventure, I was made Maori Chief Doug...now we were off once again on a looooong but scenic drive to the capitol city of Wellington. Our first stop was at the shores of Lake Taupo:

This deep, huge lake fills the remnants of an ancient volcano’s caldera and provides a stunning reflection of the volcanoes around it. It was also full of many lovely waterfowl:

Driving south around the lake we arrived at Tongariro National Park, which encompasses three major volcanoes: Mount Ruapehu, Mount Ngauruhoe, and Mount Tongariro:

Me and Karen in front of Mount Ruapehu (I think—I kept getting them confused):

Mount Ngauruhoe is the most dramatic of the peaks, and we hiked of a trail that offered inspiring views thereof. A digitally altered version of it served as Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings, much of which was filmed in this park.

Much of the park is also a ski area, on the northwestern slopes of Mount Ruapehu—an area with a rather entertaining name:

It’s more disturbing when you consider that in Maori, “Wh” is pronounced like an “f”. But I digress...the skiing also seemed to inspire this little bit of vandalism on a Kiwi crossing sign. I don’t normally support graffiti but this was pretty cute:

Tongariro was one of the many areas that we had to cut short because New Zealand has so much to offer—and to see what you want to without taking a year’s hiatus requires some tough decisions. So we continued on toward Wellington but wouldn’t get there until well after dark. En route we decided to take an opportunity to commune with that New Zealand icon, the sheep:

Yes, they are everywhere—and I believe the current statistic is that they outnumber New Zealanders themselves 10-to-1.

The funny thing is that you would assume with so many sheep—all domesticated primarily for wool and therefore in the constant presence of people—they would be very tame. But once this little guy gazed up at me with his moist little eyes...

...THEY ALL TOOK OFF LIKE A SHOT!!

Good shots of the kids (get it? Haha!) after they ran away, thanks to a telephoto lens:

Pretty:

Yes, everything so far was in a single day on a very long drive, and well after dark we arrived in Wellington.

Wellington is New Zealand’s capitol, centrally located on the southern tip of the northern island, on the Cook Strait. It is also wisely built right on a seismic fault...but I digress:

The actual capitol building is nicknamed “The Beehive” for obvious reasons. It’s also quite ugly, in my humble opinion...but I digress:

The city has a lovely waterfront filled with lovely cafes and the such:

There’s also a famous statue if Kupe Raiatea, the Maori explorer who discovered Wellington Harbor:

There was also this less-famous statue of a naked guy diving into the harbor...

...so Karen decided to get in on the fun:

A decidedly more modern landmark, the Fern Ball. This metal sculpture of New Zealand’s symbol is suspended over the Civic Centre:

We enjoyed this old-tyme piano player who apparently just randomly parks in various locations around Wellington and plays ragtime melodies:

A clear night’s view of the Southern Cross over Wellington—a constellation you can only see in the Southern Hemisphere that figures prominently on New Zealand’s flag (where it is NOT upside-down):

If it seems like we didn’t see a lot in Wellington, that may have something to do with the fact that our hotel room was too nice to leave. Upon checking in to the Bolton Hotel we were informed that we were being upgraded to the Presidential Suite for no apparent reason other than they liked us. (In retrospect, shouldn’t they be calling it the Prime Ministerial Suite? But I digress...) It was a huge swank pad with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, three terraces, and solarium!

Needless to say, the washer and dryer was an added bonus:

Next up…we fly to the south island to see glaciers and fjords—not to mention car-eating birds and glow worms!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

I had this T-shirt made for the sole purpose of taunting Karen on the trip so I wore it every night:

This hot dog is SO mad:

Apparently the “three most important words in real estate” are different in New Zealand:

Clear evidence of gays in New Zealand:

Our swanky suite had mud masques:

Our swanky suite also had bedspreads that looked like they had been made out of a Kiwi bird—so I made Karen wear one against her will:

She says she doesn’t see the resemblance...do you?:

Also before we go...
As 2010 said goodbye, so did two relatives of mine—so I’d like to take a moment to remember them.

My Aunt Jean Halpern died on Dec 31 at the age of 89. Okay, technically she was not my aunt—nor related to me at all. But we always knew her as “Aunt Jean” and I was an adult before I realized the truth. She had been a family friend since her first husband, Dr. Harold Rosenhaus, was a fellow student with my Papa Tischler at medical school in the 1930s. After his untimely death, she married Harry Halpern, a prominent NYC Rabbi who married my parents and I think might have officiated at my bris (thankfully I don’t recall).
I always liked Aunt Jean. She was spunky and feisty and opinionated and never afraid to speak her mind. She was the epitome of moxie, and whether you agreed with her views or not you enjoyed listening to them. And she never forgot a birthday! She’d been quite sick for a few years now, though, and I know that for someone like her the loss of independence was probably worse than death itself—so I am glad she is a peace and sipping martinis with my Papa again.

Aunt Jean at my Bar Mitzvah:

With my Grandma Tischler around 1940 (in Prospect Park, I believe!):

With my Grandma and Papa at the 25th anniversary party she threw for them:

I also just learned that my Great Uncle Sam Kahn passed away while I was in New Zealand. He was 97. He was married to my Aunt Estelle, baby sister of my Grandma Anne Hirsch. Sam was born and raised in the Jewish community of Livingston Manor in the Catskills, growing up on the borscht belt. His family lived next door to another Sam—my Great-Granduncle (whew) Sam Resnick—and he met Estelle when she visited one summer (as many Jews did to escape the hot Brooklyn summers). They were married for more than 50 years until she died in 1988.
He was a very kind and jovial man who loved to scuba dive (until he was 85!). For many years he and Aunt Estelle split their time between the Cayman Islands where he would go diving and New Hampshire, where he loved to garden. I still remember touring his extensive vegetable garden in Nashua and how proud and generous he was.

Uncle Sam around 1984:

Uncle Sam with my Aunt Estelle (behind him) and the rest of the Miller siblings and siblings-in-law. He was the last one to go:

Back row: Aunt Janet Miller, my Grandma Anne Hirsch, Aunt Jenny Shayon (grandma’s sister), and Aunt Estelle (grandma’s sister). Front row: Uncle Harry Shayon, Uncle Freddie Miller (grandma’s brother), and Uncle Sam.

Next stop, the natural splendors of the south island!

Gone With The Gingerbread

2011-01-02T18:29:00.000-08:00

By popular demand...

With the holiday rush over, I’ll finally finish the New Zealand blog entries...but first, a brief intermission, if you will. Some of you have asked to see pictures of my and Leslie’s entry into this year’s CDM Gingerbread House Contest. Well, here it is: Tara from Gone With The Wind!

Rhett & Scarlett!

Mammy!

Horses!

Horse poop! (you always need a little whimsy)

Some detail...

Of course, there were working lights and music...

Here’s some video if you want to see the lights and music in action (click to play):

Next up…we’ll continue our trip through New Zealand with a visit to the north island volcanoes of Tongariro National Park (home of “Mount Doom”) and the capitol city of Wellington!!!

Doug & Karen's Kiwi Adventure Part 2: Rotorua

2010-11-23T02:43:00.000-08:00

After a few days in Auckland, we picked up our rental car to begin our north island road trip. The automobile itself was a Holden Epica. Has anyone ever heard of this car?!:

This wasn’t the first time I’ve driven on the left (intentionally) and I even surprised myself at how quickly I become adjusted to it now. Sure, there were a few minor incidences of turning into the wrong lane while onlooking Kiwis pointed and laughed with a knowing smile that said “tourist.” But mostly we were without incident. For some reason I was more humiliated by the fact that the turn signal and windshield wipers are reversed so every time I went to signal I instead turned on the wipers. Colleen will remember that pain from our time in Australia...but I digress.
Per Karen’s request we took a scenic route through the Coromandel peninsula, along the Pacific Coast Highway, ending up at the New Zealand surfing Mecca of Whangamata—a wide, sandy beach that was nearly empty when we arrived:

That didn’t preclude of from having our lunch on the beach, followed by the time in the day when we chilled:

Some local fauna and flora:

The most surprising discovery here was the public toilet that offered the most interesting and jazzy soundtrack for your bathroom activities. Click below to experience it for yourself:

Finally we arrived in Rotorua. This is the heart of both New Zealand’s geothermal activity and Maori culture. On the geothermal side, it’s a lot like Yellowstone: hot springs, geysers, boiling mud pots, and through it all the sweet stink of sulfur. We visited the Wai-O-Tapu Geothermal Wonderland because it’s said to be the most “intense” of the geothermal areas and we figured that with “Wonderland” in the name it’s gotta be good. Boiling water from deep in the earth leads to chemical reactions to create a spectrum of living colors:

Here’s Karen pretending to be a creature from the deep (not much of a stretch):

The boiling mud pots are especially hypnotic:

It was on a hike in this park that I began my love affair with koru. The silver fern is a ubiquitous plant in New Zealand and a frequent symbol. It can grow in all sorts of forms, from a low shrub to a tall version that looks like a palm tree. In all cases, new fronds are constantly “born” from the center of the plant. The new fronds come out in tightly-wound spirals that unfurl. Within each frond, the individual leaves are spiraled too. They’re quite striking. The Maori call these spirals “koru” and consider it a powerful symbol that you’ll see all over New Zealand (like the Air New Zealand logo). It symbolizes new life, growth, strength, peace, and harmony; the circular shape conveys perpetual movement while the inner coil suggests a return to the point of origin:

Speaking of the Maori, we also attended a hangi in Rotorua. Technically “hangi” refers to a cooking method where food is smoked underground. For tourists it means something more like a luau, where a traditionally-prepared hangi feast is accompanied by Maori performances. The Maori take the traditional aspects of the feast very seriously. When we arrived, the first order of business was for the group to elect a chief to represent ourselves. Karen promptly nominated me and I became Chief Doug! My roles would then include unearthing the hangi feast, accepting a peace offering from Maori warriors, making a speech to the Maori chief on behalf of all the guests, and engaging him in the hongi (not to be confused with hangi, hongi means “sharing of breath” and is the traditional Maori greeting that involves pressing your noses together twice). Yes, Karen would be warned to sleep with one eye open hereafter...

First I unearthed the feast and took the traditional first taste (which I pretended to enjoy despite the fact that it was my arch-enemy the sweet potato):

The Maori make their entrance by waka (canoe):

Me on my throne:

The Maori enter:

I am rapt with attention—I was coached on what to do (and what not to do) and warned to take it all very seriously:

The chief listens to my speech (with great suspicion):

The hongi:

Then I got to join Karen in a place of honor in the first row to enjoy the show:

I call this “Maori kibitzing”:

The big number is the haka, a posture dance intended to scare and challenge enemies—the All Blacks even perform it before every game:

CHOW TIME!

For the last part of the evening, we toured the Maori land including glow worms (more on them later...so cool) and this natural spring:

Here’s some video of the festivities with a special message from Karen at the end:

Rotorua itself had some nice gardens:

It was here that we caught our first glimpse of the Pukeko—the “other” national bird of New Zealand that you have a much higher likelihood of actually seeing (given that Kiwis are endangered and nocturnal):

Next up…we drive across the north island volcanoes of Tongariro National Park (home of “Mount Doom”) on our way to the capitol city of Wellington!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

We found this genuine Maori artifact by the side of the road. So I peed behind it:

We never figured out what kind of tree this is but you see it all over. At first we thought they were cell towers because they look so unreal:

Delicious:

Next stop, Wellington!

Doug & Karen's Kiwi Adventure Part 1: Auckland

2010-11-19T03:26:00.000-08:00

Okay, so there’s hasn’t been much blogging. That’s because there’s hasn’t been much that was blog-worthy, and it was a particularly busy summer. But now it is fall and time for my annual autumnal journey—and this year’s destination was New Zealand, accompanied by that wyniswoman deluxe, Karen Landes.

Why New Zealand? Why not?! Although its become more popular since The Lord of The Rings was filmed here it’s always been on my “top 10” list. It’s a small country but jam-packed with amazing and varied sights. I think a good example of this is the fact that, one night, I was going through my photos from the day and found these two photos one right after the other:

For a second I thought I must be missing a bunch of pictures but then I realized that was not the case at all: indeed I was hiking on a glacier and then on a beach only an hour later. What a crazy, beautiful place. I’ve had no time to blog on the run but now that I’m sitting in Christchurch Airport awaiting the first of my 3 flights home I’ll get started. Our first stop was Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city.

It’s a nice city. Although it is officially the “world’s largest Polynesian city” it doesn’t feel particularly exotic...it is however beautifully situated on top of 48 dormant volcanoes:

We visited the Auckland War Memorial Museum, which is, well, both a war memorial and a museum. It seemed like a good way to learn about the country we were about to explore. It’s a beautiful neoclassical building on an old volcano overlooking the city:

The coolest parts inside were the Maori crafts. The Maori are the native people of New Zealand, Polynesians who seem to have first discovered New Zealand around the year 950 and only started to come in large numbers in the 1300s (one reason New Zealand is so wild is because it’s only been inhabited for about 1000 years). The displays included these entire whare (houses):

You could go inside the biggest one to appreciate the intricate work:

The sticking-out of the tongue is a traditional Maori stance of challenge, as we saw in a demonstration thereafter:

The top floor of the museum is the war memorial:

Here’s Karen enjoying her lunch on the steps. For a skinny lady she sure does enjoy her food:

The Sky Tower is the most prominent building in Auckland and the tallest in the Southern Hemisphere:

Needless to say you can’t help but go to the top, and it does offer some impressive views:

Scary:

Karen dealing with High Anxiety:

The prominent volcano in the distance of the 4th photo back is Rangitoto, an island in the harbor. We took a ferry there the next day and climbed to the top over fields of lava:

The island is dotted with baches, cute little old huts that were used for vacation homes. They got their name because they were usually owned by bachelors when they went out a-huntin’ and a-fishin’:

Auckland is known as “The City of Sails” because it has more boats per citizen than any other:

Famous green-lipped mussels:

Next up…the Maori culture and geothermal wonderland of Rotorua!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Yes, they have Kiwis:

Proof that it’s spring on this side of the planet:

Karen and I shopped for food like our parents were away for the weekend:

So far from home, and yet so close:

Karen shows her pais as we pay homage to our peeps:

Class photos from a Maori school. Clearly the second year was a bad one:

This one speaks for itself:

Ditto:

Does Oklahoma City have a large boat registration department?!:

Finally, while I’m not usually a fan when airlines try to make their safety videos entertaining, Air New Zealand’s is actually pretty funny. It stars actual employees and members of the All Blacks, the country’s national rugby team (which in turn is their national sport). Click to play:

Next stop, Rotorua!

Hooray for Hollywood, Part 2: The “Barber to the Stars”, my connection to royalty, and lots of famous dead people

2010-04-11T00:09:00.001-07:00

Growing up, I often heard about one celebrity in our family: Harry Drucker, “Barber to the Stars”.

He was married to Millie Tischler, sister of my Great Grandpa Morris. They met in New York after emigrating from different parts of Eastern Europe and eventually moved to LA. He opened his barbershop in 1936 and became the preferred barber of many big stars of the day. Regular customers included Clark Gable, Tyrone Power, Orson Welles, Frank Sinatra, George Raft, and Bugsy Siegel. Ronald Reagan got his hair cut by Uncle Harry for 50 years—even after he was President. He was even the subject of an article in LIFE Magazine:

The members of the Rat Pack got their hair cut there, so they used it to film the opening scene of the original (1960) Ocean’s Eleven—and Uncle Harry is one of the extras. He was most famous for the “Invisible Haircut”, which kept your hair looking neat and clean without it being obvious that you just had it cut—a subtlety that was essential for actors while filming their movies:

Originally in Hollywood, the shop eventually moved to Beverly Hills, and in 1959 moved to Wilshire Boulevard. Uncle Harry died in 1998 and the shop became “Gornik and Drucker”. Although I never met Uncle Harry, I decided I would at least go for a haircut at this historic establishment:

Well...I got there to find that they had just recently moved! Gornik & Drucker is now located in the lobby of the chichi Montage Hotel in Beverly Hills. But this had clearly just happened, as I was able to peer in the windows:

So that was a little sad but at least I made it while the place was still more or less intact and get a sense of this establishment that holds so much history—both for Hollywood and for my family.

(If you want to read a bit more about Uncle Harry, you can click here to read his obituary from Variety or right-click/option+click here down download a PDF of the 1949 LIFE Magazine article about him.

Now, in case you don’t think being related to the Barber to the Stars confers enough glory on my family name, I’d also like to take this opportunity to point out the fact that—also thanks to Uncle Harry—I’m related to royalty! That’s right, Harry’s daughter Rosalind married produce mogul Mel Finerman, who was known as ”The Lettuce King of California:

But I digress...since I never got to meet Harry and Millie while they were living, I figured I would at least head over to Hillside Memorial Gardens for a “You’re-A-Little-Too-Late” family reunion. I started out by visiting Harry and Millie:

But as the most prominent Jewish cemetery in LA, Hillside is also the final resting place of many Jewish celebrities, so I trekked about to visit some of them as well. The most visible resident is Al Jolson:

Yes, that entire rotunda and the cascading waterfall is his grave. Al Jolson? Really? It’s kinda ridiculous. I’ve been to the tombs of Presidents and Kings that weren’t nearly as elaborate as this:

Under the rotunda is a mosaic of Moses that says, ”THE MAN RAISED UP HIGH” and ”THE SWEET SINGER OF ISRAEL”:

But wait...there’s more! At the top is a statue and his sarcophagus:

Even more than everything else about this ridiculously elaborate tomb, the sarcophagus did not sit well with me. I know I’m not the most observant Jew, but above ground burial is absolutely forbidden in Judaism—Jews must be buried in the soil so their body can return to the earth and their soul can be at peace. So I found it very disconcerting that at least half of this Jewish cemetery featured above ground internments. Like that of stooge Moe Howard:

“Uncle Miltie” Berle:

And Southern Jew Dinah Shore:

On the other hand, Shelley Winters opted for the more traditional burial:

Jack Benny had a pretty big tomb:

Some people left pennies on his grave. I’d like to believe that this is because of his running gag that he was so cheap rather than some kind of anti-Semitic slur:

Raspy Night Court bailiff Selma Diamond:

Animator of many (including Bugs Bunny and the Pink Panther) Friz Freleng:

Composer of “Popeye the Sailor Man”, Sammy Lerner:

Comedic actor, popular actress, and real-life couple Tom Poston and Suzanne Pleshette (well, Pleshette-Gallager-Poston):

Here’s where you may start to notice that many of the more traditional underground burials seem to have what looks like a little round hatch with a screw top. I never figured out exactly what this is. It kinda looks like a gas tank. Maybe it’s an air-hole, “just in case”? Or maybe it’s a little door so the ghosts can more easily go in and out at night? Well, in any event...here’s old tyme entertainer Eddie Cantor:

Renowned Hollywood makeup artist Max Factor:

America’s “Toastmaster General” George Jessel:

Television king Aaron Spelling:

Dick Shawn, who played Lorenzo Saint-Dubois (“My friends call me LSD”) and Adolph Hitler in the The Producers:

Game Show entrepreneur Mark Goodson (as a marketer, I appreciate his consistent branding—even in death):

And in the “Who knew they were Jewish?!” department...Michael Landon (well I knew he was Jewish, but maybe you didn’t):

...Lorne Greene (whose real name was Chaim! Chaim Green! Doesn’t exactly gel well with his Cartwright persona...):

...Sorrell ”Boss Hogg” Booke:

...and, yes, it’s true, Nell Carter:

Finally, Hillside has one thing in common with New Montefiore Cemetery in Long Island (where some of my other family members reside)—subterranean bathrooms:

I find this almost as disturbing as the above ground burials. I don’t think any guest accommodations at a cemetery should be underground. Do I really need to pee at eye-level with the residents?

Ciao!

Hooray for Hollywood, Part 1: Hollywood and Celebrity Homes

2010-04-10T21:04:00.000-07:00

Okay, so there’s hasn’t been much blogging. That’s because there’s hasn’t been much that was blog-worthy, and it was a particularly busy summer. But now it is fall and time for my annual autumnal journey—and this year’s destination was New Zealand, accompanied by that wyniswoman deluxe, Karen Landes.

Why New Zealand? Why not?! Although its become more popular since The Lord of The Rings was filmed here it’s always been on my “top 10” list. It’s a small country but jam-packed with amazing and varied sights. I think a good example of this is the fact that, one night, I was going through my photos from the day and found these two photos one right after the other:

For a second I thought I must be missing a bunch of pictures but then I realized that was not the case at all: indeed I was hiking on a glacier and then on a beach only an hour later. What a crazy, beautiful place. I’ve had no time to blog on the run but now that I’m sitting in Christchurch Airport awaiting the first of my 3 flights home I’ll get started. Our first stop was Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city.

It’s a nice city. Although it is officially the “world’s largest Polynesian city” it doesn’t feel particularly exotic...it is however beautifully situated on top of 48 dormant volcanoes:

We visited the Auckland War Memorial Museum, which is, well, both a war memorial and a museum. It seemed like a good way to learn about the country we were about to explore. It’s a beautiful neoclassical building on an old volcano overlooking the city:

The coolest parts inside were the Maori crafts. The Maori are the native people of New Zealand, Polynesians who seem to have first discovered New Zealand around the year 950 and only started to come in large numbers in the 1300s (one reason New Zealand is so wild is because it’s only been inhabited for about 1000 years). The displays included these entire whare (houses):

You could go inside the biggest one to appreciate the intricate work:

The sticking-out of the tongue is a traditional Maori stance of challenge, as we saw in a demonstration thereafter:

The top floor of the museum is the war memorial:

Here’s Karen enjoying her lunch on the steps. For a skinny lady she sure does enjoy her food:

The Sky Tower is the most prominent building in Auckland and the tallest in the Southern Hemisphere:

Needless to say you can’t help but go to the top, and it does offer some impressive views:

Scary:

Karen dealing with High Anxiety:

The prominent volcano in the distance of the 4th photo back is Rangitoto, an island in the harbor. We took a ferry there the next day and climbed to the top over fields of lava:

Auckland is known as “The City of Sails” because it has more boats per citizen than any other:

Famous green-lipped mussels:

Next up…the Maori culture and geothermal wonderland of Rotorua!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Yes, they have Kiwis:

Proof that it’s spring on this side of the planet:

Karen and I shopped for food like our parents were away for the weekend:

So far from home, and yet so close:

Karen shows her pais as we pay homage to our peeps:

Class photos from a Maori school. Clearly the second year was a bad one:

This one speaks for itself:

Ditto:

Does Oklahoma City have a large boat registration department?!:

Finally, while I’m not usually a fan when airlines try to make their safety videos entertaining, Air New Zealand’s is actually pretty funny. It stars actual employees and members of the All Blacks, the country’s national rugby team (which in turn is their national sport):

Next stop, Rotorua!

GIRL SCOUT COOKIES 2010

2010-03-02T12:35:00.001-08:00

CLICK TO ENLARGE:

By Popular Demand: The GingerMet!

2009-12-19T21:03:00.000-08:00

Usually this is only a travel blog, but by popular demand I’m posting some photos and video of my first-prize winning gingerbread house—The Metropolitan Gingerbread House, or The GingerMet!

This is the first year that my company has held a gingerbread house contest, inspired by the beautiful and talented Julia Johnston. The only rule is that everything used had to be edible, and there were two divisions—prefab and original. I teamed up with Leslie Tepper and Ted Kossakowski to create our gingerbread opera house (truth be told, Ted didn’t really do anything...but there was a minimum of 3 people per team). And as always, click on any photo to enlarge:

The final result was quite well received, complete with singers, patrons, lights, and music...and won first prize!

The stage featured working stage lights and electric candy flames:

This is binoculars lady and sleeping guy:

This fashion-forward lady is wearing her Christmas sweater:

This is nosy lady:

And these ladies are decked out in evening gowns:

The back:

The team:

Here’s some video so you can see the lights and music in action (click on it to play):

Finally, here are some photos of Julia’s own amazing entry, a gingerbread farmhouse (lucky for us she was ineligible to win!):

Happy holidays!

Le Tour de Doug Part 5: The Côte d’Azur and Monaco

2009-10-31T21:01:00.000-07:00

The final leg of my trip was the Côte d’Azur, known to many as the French Riviera. I have to say that I was surprised at how much I loved this area (given my general proclivity to visit more exotic and less inhabited areas of the world). On the coast—with its grand hotels facing crowded beaches—you feel like you’ve just walked into a movie. The blue waters of the Mediterranean and cool breezes temper the bright Provencal sun. Yet only a few miles up into the countryside you find yourself in ancient hill towns where time seems to have stopped centuries ago. And then there is the enclave of Monaco, where still-vivid memories of Princess Grace create a modern fairy tale.

My trip began as I headed down to the coast at Cassis, a charming, flower-filled village on the Mediterranean. From here a road called the Route des Crêtes (Crest Road) takes you over the highest cliffs in Europe for spectacular views over the stunningly blue Mediterranean Sea (as always, click any photo for a larger and full-color view):

Later I drove through Saint-Tropez in time to watch the sun set over this famous resort and tanning namesake:

I arrived in Nice, which would be my “home base” for the rest of the trip, after dark. I awoke the next morning to find a terrific view over old Nice and the Mediterranean from my terrace:

By the light of day I drove back as far as Cannes because, well, it’s Cannes! Here’s the famous Intercontinental Hotel:

One of the really amazing things about the Côte d’Azur is the variety. As you drive along the coast through towns like Nice and Cannes and Antibes, you find the French Riviera you expect: grand hotels, expensive cars, and private beaches. And it’s all really great fun. But you only need drive a few miles (fine, kilometers) up into the mountains to find bastides, ancient fortified towns that cling to the hilltops and seem to have been untouched by time. One of these is St. Paul de Vence:

One of this particular town’s claims to fame is that it became a magnet for artists in the 20th Century (in fact, it is still most a town of art galleries). La Colombe d’Or is a famous inn because artists such as Miró, Picasso, and Klee paid their tabs with paintings which now cover the walls, giving it perhaps the most valuable decor of any inn in the world:

Arriving back at my hotel a little earlier, I was able to watch the moon rise over Nice:

The next day I explored points east. First stop was the ancient hill town of Eze, which offers outstanding views from its high perch over the Mediterranean:

I continued on to Monaco, which of course is technically its own nation but is small enough to spit across. I didn’t test it out, but apparently the average person can walk across it in 56 minutes. Here’s the nondescript border:

You quite literally have the choice of entering Monaco on the high road or the low road. I took the high road (for once) because it offers you terrific views over this small, tax-free principality:

In the photo above, Monte Carlo—one of Monaco’s three administrative areas which includes the famous casino and opera house—is to the left, on the harbor. The outcrop on the right is the Rock of Monaco (called Le Rocher or “The Rock”), the base of the old city called Monaco-Ville. This is where Francesco Grimaldi founded modern Monaco in 1297; the Grimaldi family still rules the country from a palace on this little promontory. Of course, since I love me the royals, this would be my next stop. The Royal Palace is rather nondescript:

Rooms not currently in use are open to tourists, guided on audio by current ruler HSH (His Serene Highness) Prince Albert II (who sent my late Grandma Hirsch a lovely autographed photo on her 100th birthday—click HERE to see it!). Photos were not allowed inside. You dedicated DougBloggers know that, for me, “no photography allowed” translates to “put away the big camera and break out the pocket one so you can sneak illegal photos”:

That last shot is the Palace Throne Room (in case you couldn’t tell from the throne in the room), which is also where the late Grace Kelly and Price Rainier III were married in 1956. For this reason the room also contains the official portrait of Princess Grace and her family, which was painted about a year before her untimely death and contains some vary natural poses:

The tiny palace grounds offered great views back over Monaco:

If there is one thing I love more than royals, it’s dead people...so I headed to nearby St. Nicholas Cathedral to pay my respects to Princess Grace:

This Cathedral is where many Grimaldis have been married and buried. The religious ceremony for Princess Grace and Prince Rainier took place here in 1956 the day after their civil ceremony in the palace:

Needless to say, the crowds pretty much ignore the tombs of like likes of Honoré IV and Florestan I as they flock to visit Princess Grace. She put Monaco on the map and was beloved by her people, and her ghost really does seem to hover over this tiny piece of land:

The simple inscription means “Grace Patricia, wife of Prince Rainier III, died 1982 AD”:

Here Prince Rainier III is in the foreground, with his wife behind him:

On my final day I kept things close to home, sitting on the beach and exploring the city of Nice itself. The Boulevard des Anglais is the main drag along the waterfront, like a high-class boardwalk. The red dome belongs to the famed Hotel Negresco:

The beaches are surprisingly narrow and rocky. Many sections are privately owned by the hotels, which often truck in their own sand; the rest is covered by small rocks that are not terribly comfortable:

The old section of Nice is charming and colorful:

My hotel was located on the Jardin Albert 1er, across from the Monument du Centenaire. This column was erected in 1893 to celebrate the centennial of Nice’s return to France from Italy, and was rededicated in 1960 to again celebrate another centennial of a return of Nice to France from Italy (this area has changed hands a lot...):

At the top is the Greek goddess Nike, after whom the city (and the shoe company) is named:

The figures at the base represent France embracing Nice...and also gave me another opportunity for black-and-white statue photography!:

As I packed that evening, I was struck by how crisp and clear the night was—as well as the fullness of the moon:

And the next day, I was on my way home:

So all in all it was an outstanding trip. I’ve always wanted to see more of France beyond the cities, and I certainly did. It was quite a sampling of very different regions and I met some great French people. Vive la France!

BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Even the Hertz guy was impressed by how much mileage I put on my car in just two weeks—nearly 2,000!:

What’s France without a bizarre fashion show:

This sign in Nice translates as follows: “This space has been set aside for your enjoyment, it is not destined to receive canine excretions”:

For you children of the 70s who also can’t think of St. Tropez without thinking about Bain de Soleil, here’s a blast from the past:

Au revoir!

Le Tour de Doug Part 4: Languedoc and Provence

2009-10-16T23:09:00.001-07:00

After my time in the Alps, I drove a bit Westward again to Western Provence and Languedoc in the South of France:

Using the city of Avignon as my base, I explored this ancient region. The name “Provence” comes from the time when this part of France was a Roman province—around the 2nd Century BC—and nowhere are France’s Roman roots more clear than here. Avignon itself rose to prominence from 1309 to 1377 when it was the seat of the Popes. There were 7 of these “Avignon Popes” before the papacy moved back to Rome. The old heart of the city, still surrounded by fortified walls, is very well preserved, and a major draw is the massive and imposing Palais des Papes from which the Popes ruled:

Of course, an even better known sight lies outside the city walls: the Pont St. Bénézet, known to millions as the Bridge at Avignon!:

No one is really quite sure why someone wrote a song about it (in the 15th Century), or why that song has become so famous. In fact, the song has lasted much longer than the bridge itself, of which today only a small portion remains intact. The bridge offers a decent view of the city walls:

And an impressive view as you look back at the Palais des Papes:

And then the fun quickly comes to an end:

Of course, you may be wondering what the song even means. Well, when fully intact (It was built in the 1100s) the bridge had 22 arches (only 4 remain) and it straddled a small island as it crossed the Rhône (you’re looking at the island in the photo above). This island was (and remains) a popular recreation area, and in the old days people went dancing there. When it rained, they would go under the bridge for cover—hence dancing under the bridge at Avignon. To that point, the original lyrics were likely “Sous le pont d’Avignon” (Under the bridge at Avignon), not “Sur le pont” (On the bridge). Knowing that this song is really this dinky little bridge’s only claim to fame, it does get a display inside the bridge:

And just because it had to be done, you can click below for video of me actually dancing on the bridge at Avignon:

Exploring the area, I found an arid, sun-baked landscape. The city of Arles, once a kingdom unto itself, is anchored by an arena left behind by the Romans:

The town itself is dotted with other Roman ruins as well as a maze of quaint streets, alleys, and homes:

My next stop was the Pont du Gard. Another Roman ruin, this remarkable aqueduct has survived for 2000 years and is actually the tallest Roman aqueduct in the world:

Finally, I visited the city of Nîmes. This is yet another Roman outpost, and like Arles there is a Roman Arena at its heart. Them Romans did love their arenas... But this Arena is remarkably well preserved—so much so that it is still used to this day for concerts and bullfights:

Another fine Roman ruin in Nîmes is the Maison Carré (“Square House”). The name is odd because it is neither square nor a house: it was a Roman temple and today houses a museum of Roman artifacts:

It was certainly a unique area with a interesting combination of French, Roman, Spanish, and Italian influences...but it was time for me to head on to the coast of the mighty Mediterranean Sea and my final destination, the Côte d’Azur...

Next up…the cliffs of Cassis, the beaches of the French Riviera, the charm of hill towns and the royals of Monaco!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…JUST A COUPLE OF PARTING SHOTS!

This is apparently where the Popes buy their mustard:

And this is apparently the world’s oldest woman to play Little Orphan Annie:

Le Tour de Doug Part 3: Evian and the Alps

2009-10-04T14:22:00.000-07:00

This next portion of my trip was mainly centered on the “Route des Grandes Alpes”—a famous drive (or bike ride, if you’re really hearty) through every pass in the French Alps. To get there required a very long drive nearly across all of France, which I did in two days with a night spent outside Lyon (see older blog entries for a visit to Lyon):

My first night in the alpine region—Savoie to be official—was in the town of Evian-les-bains on the French shores of Lake Geneva (which they call Lac Léman). Yes, this is the town famous for its water, which comes from the Source Cachat (so called because the spring was found on the land of one Monsieur Cachat). Today it is a popular spa and casino town near the Swiss border:

Evian City Hall:

Me at Evian City Hall...enjoying an Evian!:

As always, nothing says class like a vomiting duck:

Original headquarters of Evian water:

I’m not sure if this woman is sad because of the strife of war or because her child has lost his arm:

Proof of how far I was from home:

On a random note, I passed a pâtisserie selling “mega-meringues”, which appear to be the world’s largest. Note my size 12 sneaker for scale!:

It was a relatively nice day, and people, boaters, and non-vomiting ducks were all out to enjoy the lake and its hazy view of Lausanne, Switzerland on the other side:

As evening came, I arrived at my hotel, the Hôtel les Cygnes. It was a cute châlet-like establishment:

My room was a trip. Small hotel rooms are of course not uncommon in France, but this was ridiculous—literally about one foot of free space on every side of the bed! And to add to it, the hotel decor involved tons of cute accoutrements, including a canopy over the bed that I had no idea how to deal with:

Even the TV was tiny (again, note my size 12 sneaker for scale!):

And of course, the complimentary water of choice...:

After an awkward night under the “tent” I spent most of the next 3 days driving about half of the Route des Grandes Alpes, with some detours along the way:

The road twists and turns it way through and over the mountains with some truly hair-raising climbs and hairpin turns. The valleys were green and filled with farms (this is a major cheese-producing area) and lakes and streams; the high passes were hauntingly barren and often surrounded by dramatic, craggy, snow-covered peaks. I started out with a shortcut through Switzerland:

And about 10 minutes later, I was back in France:

In fact, the borders of France, Italy, and Switzerland are all in the Alps and at one point I came to a traffic circle where the 3 exits each took you to a different country. In these days of “one Europe” it’s somewhat anticlimactic, but still cool. In any event, I took what is actually a detour from the Route itself to visit Chamonix—a major ski resort, former Winter Olympic site, and the base of the Alps’ highest peak, Mont Blanc:

From Chamonix, you can take a cable car to the top of the Aigulle du Midi, a peak next to Mont Blanc and only a few meters (as we say in France) shorter. It starts out innocently enough:

Then you get past the smaller base hill and realize what is ahead:

There’s a break in the middle from which you had the option to parasail down!:

The cable car was scary enough for me unto itself, thankyouverymuch, so instead I continued on to part two of the journey, a nearly vertical ride up a single cable to the top, over the clouds:

The climb is precariously (and enthrallingly) close to the jagged peaks:

At the top, no doubt about it—you are in the clouds:

But the views are exhilarating:

The actual peak, accessible by a further elevator, was closed for repairs:

But it’s 3824 meters high...

...which according to my remarkably-accurate-but-ever-so-nerdly altitude watch was more than 12,000 feet:

The air was thin, and it definitely gave you severe fatigue. It was not as bad as the time I took a similar trip to the top of the Matterhorn in Switzerland—perhaps that was higher (and it was certainly colder). But it’s all part of the thrill of reaching places that few humans have been before. The passing clouds made for constantly changing views that were sometimes better than others:

And soon it was time for the even more precarious ride back down to Chamonix:

Of note, my hotel room at the Best Western had a fine view of Mont Blanc from both my balcony and the heated pool:

The next day I was back on the Route des Grandes Alpes proper:

This particular pass was the site of a great parachute landing by American soldiers in WWII, something the French have commemorated with the monument to the US:

The highest pass (“col” in French) is the Col de l’Iseran, more than 9,000 feet up (as confirmed by my watch). It’s near the Val d’Isère, another famous ski resort and former Winter Olympic site:

In this photo, note the crazy switchbacks the road took the get up there!:

Back through the valleys:

One thing to note is the preponderance of cows at all levels of the valleys. There are herds everywhere:

...and every single cow actually wears a bell! The net result of this is that whenever you get out of your car, rather than the silence of nature, the songs of birds, or the howl of the winds, you can always hear a distant chorus of cow bells! Christopher Walken would be proud. Even if you don’t see any cows, you will invariably hear the din of their bells and then notice some hiding here and there (I guess that’s the point). Just to give you an idea, here is a brief video clip where you can hear one of the bovine orchestras at work (click on it to play):

Finally, the last pass I went through is also quite famous: the Col du Galibier (8,677 feet). This is the highest point on the route of the Tour de France! I can’t imagine biking up here: driving it was hard enough, and the thin air once again adds to the challenge:

Note again the crazy roads in these the photos—I drove the first one up and the second one down:

There’s actually a lot of graffiti along the road (words of encouragement to the cyclers from their felonious friends):

And a monument to Henri des Grange, founder of the Tour:

Indeed, one hearty cyclist (who described himself as a “masochist”) came through while I was admiring the view:

I spent one night in the tiny town of Aussois. I would like to give the church honorable mention here because it is the only one I’ve ever heard with an apparent “snooze” function: every hour it would chime the time, and then chime it again about 5 minutes later:

This is also where I had a private Yom Kippor service on my balcony:

Finally, just two cool shots of the moon rising over the Alps:

So all in all it was a beautiful experience. I covered just about all of the northern half of the Alps—the Col du Galibier is actually considered the official dividing part between the Northern and Southern French Alps. From here the passes get lower and lower and the Route itself actually goes all the way down to the Mediterranean coast at Menton. But I had a slightly different plan for visiting the south, and after Galibier I headed south and west to Avignon...

Next up…we tour the south of France from the Bridge of Avignon to the cliffs of Cassis to the beaches of Nice and Cannes to the tax-free fun of Monaco!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Delicious dinner offering in Chamonix:

A few notes on driving in France...
• They do love traffic circles, though I still fail to see the benefit. At least I eventually figured out how to master them (after being yelled at by a French farmer on a tractor going 2mph who I still somehow managed to cut off).
• They love Renaults, Peugeots, and (to a lesser extent) Citroëns.
• They drive fast.
• They love to pass.
• They never ride in the left lane of a highway and only use it for passing.
• If they want to pass 3 slow-moving vehicles, then rather than get in the left lane, pass all 3, and get back in the right lane, they will pass each one by one—to a maddening extent.
• They ride right on your ass (but not in a mean way).
• For the first two years you have a driver’s license you really do have to have a scarlet letter “A” in your rear window to alert the world to your amateur status:

• They call diesel fuel (which my car used) “gazole”—which to me sounds like an insulting name for someone who drives a car with poor fuel efficiency:

• They have digital signs with traffic updates everywhere. But what I find entertaining is that when they have nothing to report—which is usually the case—they just show the time. As if to say, “We have nothing to report at this time, so we just thought we’d let you know it’s about 3:30.”:

Since this is a “family” blog, I’ll just let this one speak for itself:

Finally, here’s actual footage of driving over the Swiss border. Again, it’s somewhat anticlimactic, but if you pay careful attention you might notice a slight difference once we pass the customs booth:

Le Tour de Doug Part 2: Dordogne (or Aquitaine...or Périgord...)

2009-09-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

This ancient region of France goes by many names: Périgord, Aquitaine, Dordogne. Which is correct? Apparently they all are, to an extent. “Périgord” was the ancient kingdom that thrived here. The river Dordogne runs through it, and today this “départment” (France’s equivalent of a state) is called Dordogne. And it is one of 5 départments that make up the greater region known as Aquitaine. And to clarify one additional point for those of you who might shop at L’Occitaine, “Occitan” is the dialect spoken in Aquitaine. But I digress...

The important thing here is that, whatever you call it, it is a beautiful part of the country that most tourists never see. It is one of the few “untouched” regions of Europe that retains its rugged, natural beauty and a pastoral way of life. The landscape is dotted with family farms, charming villages, and 1,001 ancient castles. It is the most famous source of foie gras and truffles (which was lost on me, as I like neither of them!), as well as nuts and wines and other delicacies of the earth. Finally, the area is also known as the “Cradle of Mankind” due to its wealth of prehistoric sites including the “Sistine chapel of prehistory”, Lascaux.

I stayed in the small town of Sarlat-la-Canéda, in the heart of Périgord Noir (Black Périgord—there is also Green Périgord, White Périgord, and Purple Périgord!):

These geese, on the Place aux Oies, mark the location of the ancient live foul marketplace:

Motoring about, my first stop was at Beynac, with its imposing medieval fortress perched high on a hill:

Continuing my drive through the valley, I first thought it was odd that a highway there was named after Josephine Baker...then I visited the Chateau des Milandes—and it turns out she lived there for much of her life! The interior is now a museum dedicated to her but truth be told I didn’t go in—just wandered the gardens and continued on my way:

Some other castles and views around the Dordogne...

My next stop was the town of Domme. This is what is known as a bastide, a fortified medieval town on a hill. In the case of Domme, it is not only charmingly well-preserved but also offers the best views of the Dordogne:

My last stop was a short distance away: Rocamadour. It’s in the neighboring départment of Lot. I only learned upon arriving that it is best visited in the morning—rather than at sunset—at least for taking photos, but it hopefully these will give you some idea: it is a nearly vertical city built into a cliff and has for centuries been a holy pilgrimage site:

Next up…we visit the city of Evian (yes, that Evian) and the Alps!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

But do they know the way to San Jose?:

I don’t know what’s more exciting...the fact that they have an entire museum dedicated to nuts or the giant nuts next to the sign:

Me and a famous French icon:

“Fahrt” is always funny:

I found this display for an ice cream place moderately disturbing:

I also found this ad disturbing, in part because it was on the side of a tanker truck:

And finally, is it just me or is the name of this clothing store completely illegible?

Le Tour de Doug Part 1: Loire and Poitiers

2009-09-25T13:42:00.000-07:00

Bonjour (as they say here in France...see? I’ve told you I’m fluent). My road trip has begun in earnest and in a few days I’ve already seen so much—so let’s get right to it!

After landing in Paris I immediately drove to the town of Blois in the Loire valley:

And after some much-needed rest I headed out to see two of the most famous châteaux, Chambord and Chenonceau.

Chambord is the largest castle in the Loire and was built as a hunting lodge by François I. Built in the early 1500s, it has 440 rooms, 365 fireplaces, and 84 staircases; but the most famous feature is its elaborate and fanciful roof.

It has some lovely interiors...

...but the most famous feature inside is the “double helix” grand staircase, said to have been designed by Leonardo da Vinci. An optical illusion, it has two sets of stairs winding around one another so that people can see each other on the stairs but will never meet:

It makes for some funky pictures when you’re at the bottom:

And at the top you can walk out upon the roof and wander among its ornamentation:

Next was Chenonceau (not to be confused with the town next to it, which is Chenonceaux...really). It is best known for the way it straddles the Cher (the river, not the singer—although I’ll bet she’s been straddled plenty of times as well):

There are some interesting stories associated with this particular château. King Henry II gave it to his beloved mistress Diane de Poitiers. Needless to say, his wife Catherine de Medici was not pleased about this, and right after he died she kicked Diane out and made herself at home. It was she who extended the castle over the water. Judging from her portrait, she was a handsome woman:

In a much later bit of history, the Cher was the border between occupied and free France during World War II, so the château was half in French territory and half in Nazi territory. Several thousand French Resistance fighters used it to sneak through during the war, and the Germans were ready to blow it up. Thankfully they didn’t.

Chenonceau also has some lovely gardens:

One other feature was what I like to call “The World’s Worst Wax Museum”. For an extra fee you can visit this small museum set up in the old stables to show what life was like at Chenonceau back in the day. The only reason I went was because my guidebook said that one of the wax scenes was of Catherine de Medici giving Diane de Poitiers the boot—and that sounded fun. Unfortunately, this scene was not actually there—and the ones that were there were terrible. Here’s a stunning depiction of ol’ François and Diane:

And I don’t even know what the hell these are about:

I spent the night in the city of Poitiers. Although I hadn’t planned on any sightseeing there it seemed lovely, so I did walk around a bit. It’s a very ancient city with a much earlier style of architecture:

The Église Notre-Dame-la-Grande is the oldest Romanesque church in Europe:

The interior is especially striking, as it is decorated in unusual colors and patterns:

Finally, the Baptistère Saint-Jean is said to be the oldest religious building in France, period—built in the 4th Century by the Merovingian kings (they were the early “Kings of the Franks” who had cool names like Dagobert!):

Next up…the ancient and gastronomical region known as Aquitaine and/or Périgord and/or Dordogne!! BUT BEFORE WE GO…A FEW PARTING SHOTS!

Sign on the roof of Chambord:

This is the logo for the children’s tours of Chambord...looks suspiciously like a copyright infringement, no?:

Paris—and a Preview—Part 2: The Basilica of Saint-Denis

2009-09-12T23:25:00.001-07:00

I used my other bit of free time for a visit to the Basilique Saint-Denis on the outskirts of Paris. It’s where nearly all of the French kings and queens of the last 1500 years are buried. You may recall that I tried to visit when I was in Paris with Missy last year but got there late in the day—only to find that the tombs (and much of the interior) closed early! So it was time for me to fill that “hole in my soul”…

It was well worth the wait. It’s really a beautiful and fascinating place to visit, and I highly recommend it. The church itself is glorious and it’s actually considered to be the first gothic building ever. It was the perfect time of day as well as afternoon sun shone through the stained glass windows to cover the grey interior with a myriad of splashes of color.

Most of the church itself was built in the 1100s, and it is always awe-inspiring to think that such a thing could be constructed before the modern era—and survive until today. The sense of history is palpable: Even Joan of Arc worshiped here. The exterior is simple. It could use a good scrubbing, but the heavy doors were impressive:

The interior is in much better shape (as always, you can click any image to enlarge):

Architecturally, the most impressive part is a portion called the Chevet. It is replete with stained glass windows whose rich colors illuminated the space in a magical way:

Examining the stained glass itself, I noticed this horrifying little scene front and center:

I was a little disturbed until I learned the story of St. Denis himself. According to legend, he was beheaded by the Romans for proselytizing. Then he picked up his own head and walked two miles before finally dropping dead on the spot where this Basilica now stands. It’s not the sort of thing you typically see in stained glass (you can see his neck bones!) but at least now it made sense. And I do enjoy the reaction of the other figure who—rather than falling to his knees in prayer and penance in some “oh what a miracle” reaction—looks more like a B-movie character running from the headless zombie.

But enough of that business. Beautiful churches in France are a Euro a dozen—I came here to see dead people!

What sets this church apart is its role as a royal necropolis. It was founded in the 600s by King Dagobert I (cool name!) who was then buried here. Most rulers (and many royal family members) since have been buried here as well, and the tombs of a few earlier royals were also moved here from their original locations. So first of all, it is extraordinary that nearly all the kings from more than a millennium are buried in one place. Just about every tomb is designed with a “recumbent statue”: a horizontal effigy of that person lying on top of their own tomb as though on their deathbed. But having been created over the course of 1500 years, the tombs have very different styles and represent a sort of timeline of art history. Most of them are simple but others are quite large and ornate. And the most interesting thing about them will be revealed later in this entry (Ha! A cliffhanger!)

These are typical royal tombs:

Also of note, most of them have two little doggies sleeping at their feet! I’m not sure why, but it’s cute:

Here are—stylistically and chronologically—the oldest tombs in the joint, those of Clovis I, Childebert I, and Fredegonde (more cool names!):

Here’s one of the more ornate tombs: King Francois I (1494-1547) and his wife Claude de France, designed to look like a triumphal arch:

Note that these statues are sculpted in a very different style from the earlier ones—much more fluid than the “stiff “statues of the older royals. Note as well that they are both nude and barely covering themselves for modesty—acknowledging that in death we are all the same before God’s eyes (of course the net-net of this design is that their toes become the most prominent feature):

Another ornate tomb, that of Henri II and is famous wife, Catherine de Medici:

Here’s the tomb of Dagobert I himself, the founder of this church. He was the only one lying on his side in his statue (see him at the bottom?). As a side-sleeper myself, I appreciated this:

This is Charles V and Jeanne de Bourbon; I was struck by the way their simple tomb was dappled by sunlight through the stained glass windows:

Here’s the “Sun King” and builder of Versailles, Louis XIV. Pretty understated for such a powerful and splashy ruler. Maybe he blew all his money on the palace:

This reliquary containing his wrist bones is all that is left of Saint Louis (also known as King Louis IX):

Sweet detail of one tomb, that of Prince Philippe de France:

Scary detail of another tomb:

So here’s where things start to get a little freaky and require a little history lesson and explanation. These are the “Bourbon graves”:

They were installed by the one of the last Kings of France, Louis XVIII. He ruled during a brief revival of the monarchy after Napoleon’s defeat, and he is buried in one of them. He re-buried the remains of his executed predecessors Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette here as well:

(Incidentally, he also commissioned this memorial statue of Louis and Marie Antoinette that’s installed in a different part of the church):

Anyhoo, two of the other Bourbon tombs contain the remains of two random old royals he brought from elsewhere in France. Now here’s the catch I referred to earlier: other than these Bourbon tombs, all of the others in the church are EMPTY!!

During the French Revolution the revolutionaries got a little carried away in their attempts to destroy anything and everything associated with the monarchy. There was a plan in 1793 to destroy all the royal tombs of St Denis. A level headed art professor intervened, arguing that regardless of political inclinations the tombs themselves were important works of French art and should be preserved. The revolutionaries agreed and left the tombs alone…but they removed all the bodies of the kings and queens and buried them in two giant pits next to the church! Many of the tombs were then moved to museums. After this, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were guillotined and buried in a secret location, and their young son—who never really had a chance to rule but technically became Louis XVII upon his father’s death—died in captivity and was buried in an unknown pauper’s grave (but not before his attending physician removed and saved his heart as a souvenir).

So as part of King Louis XVIII’s attempt to restore the dignity of the monarchy, he had all of the bodies dug up. Of course by then they were just a jumble of random bones and no one could tell whose were whose. So all of the bones were sealed inside the walls of a small chapel in the church where two giant plaques list the names of all the people whose bones rest behind them:

So that all makes it a little odd, and since they were all more or less related I’m not sure that even modern-day DNA testing could do anything about it. And here’s another odd factor at play: the heart of little Louis XVII (again, removed before his body was cast into a pauper’s grave by revolutionaries) was mummified and passed hands for 200 years with no proof of authenticity. A few years ago, DNA testing compared it with a lock of Marie Antoinette’s hair and it was a perfect match—proving that this was indeed the heart of her son. So in 2004 it was also placed in Saint Denis as well:

It is a very interesting visit, both sublime in its beauty and fascinating in its history. I highly recommend it for anyone’s future visit to the City of Lights.

And now…a PREVIEW!

Speaking of future visits, my own adventures as I road trip from Paris to Nice will begin on September 21st, so stay tuned to the DougBlog. Here’s the general itinerary:

After flying into Paris I drive directly to the Loire Valley to visit the great chateaux of Chambord and Chenonceaux. Then it’s down to the ancient region of Aquitaine and the Dordogne. Then two big driving days take me across the country to the town of Evian-les-bains (yes, that Evian) on the shore of Lake Geneva. From here I take several days to drive much of the famed “Route des Grandes Alpes”, said to be one of Europe’s most magnificent drives through all of the high passes of the French Alps. I end up in the south were I spend a few days each in Provence and the Côte d’Azur:

So until then…A bientôt!

But first…a few parting shots

A few months ago I was in Paris for business but it was one of those quick trips where I never even got outside my hotel. There are few cities sadder to see that happen than Paris! But here are a few photos…

View from my window at the high-rise Hôtel Concorde La Fayette:

And speaking of the Hôtel Concorde La Fayette (as my friend Janét would say), “this is a filthy place!”:

The main selling point is the rooftop bar, which was apparently decorated in 1982:

However, there was live music and the reflections and view made for some interesting shots:

On a random note, Lufthansa officially proclaimed by bag to be HOT!:

Finally, upon my return to New York I ordered some Chinese food and got this most interesting fortune:

I’m still waiting for this dental message and will certainly pass it along when I hear anything. Until then, see you soon for some more French fun and adventures!

Paris—and a Preview—Part 1: An Evening Stroll

2009-09-08T01:00:00.001-07:00

Many of you have asked where I’m going on my annual “big trip” this fall. Well it was a late decision this year, but I’ve decided to “road trip” through France. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. So at the end of September I will be spending 2 weeks driving from Paris to Nice.

That said, my itinerary does not include any time in Paris. It was a sad decision to make but it was hard enough narrowing down my stops as it was—and the whole point was to see other areas of the country. So it was ironic when (with less than 24-hours’ notice) I was asked to attend a meeting in Paris last week on business! It was a busy business trip, but I did manage two bits of free time: one sunset walk through the center of town, and a fascinating visit to the Basilica of Saint-Denis.

First, here are some of the sights on my walk from our hotel near the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre. It got off to a bad start when I ripped my arm open on a sign, but after some medical attention I was good to go again! The Arc looked particularly lovely in the orange glow of the setting sun:

Then I headed up the Champs-Élysées to La Place de la Concorde:

La Madeleine was originally conceived by Napoleon as a “Temple to the Glory of the Great Army” but instead eventually became a church dedicated to Mary Magdalene:

Although I’ve still never seen a performance there, how could I not stop to see the Opéra Garnier. It was interesting to see how its appearance changed in the setting sun:

Finally, it was well after dark when I reached the courtyard of the Louvre with its famous Pyramide and the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel:

Coming up in Part 2, we see dead people in the royal tombs of the Basilica of Saint-Denis…or do we…