War Remembrance, Washington, D.C.

May 2009

Robert Frost suggested "Something there is that does not love a wall" (Mending Wall), but it's not me.  I have walked on the Great Wall of China (eventually I'll get to post this) and Hadrian's Wall (see existing post).  I have paused to read unknown names as strolling past the Vietnam War Memorial ("The Wall") in Washington, D.C., but I had never done so on Memorial Day weekend until my cousin came to town last year with the Rolling Thunder group (prior post).  It is as if, for a few hours each year, the silent names on the wall can suddenly spring to life and speak.

I am of the tumultuous generation of the Vietnam War.  I loved America and its founding ideals and wanted the world to be free from tyranny and the threat of Communist domination.  Yet, with others of my age, I questioned aspects of the war.  Still, I never joined the protests and did not approve of the disrespect shown to those who served.

It was a confused and divided time in our nation.  I was fortunate not to lose close friends or family in the war. There may well be someone I knew listed on the Wall, but I don't know who.  The pictures left at the Wall on Memorial weekend, by loved ones who keep their memories alive, looked like courageous classmates  I could well have known in my high school or college whose lives were suddenly redirected by the draft.  Some say that the Wall can be healing--to individuals, a generation, a nation--I would agree.  It was refreshing to see letters that children had written and to watch young families pay honor and learn about sacrifice and patriotism from a war they never knew.

I have always found the Korean War Memorial the most haunting, as I come upon soldiers moving cautiously through a field and see myself reflected on the wall with the faces of those who served in what has been called "The Forgotten War."

By contrast,  the recent World War II Memorial, is oval and open as if encompassing the entire world, which indeed the war did.  I carried the memory of my father, who served in post-war Italy;  my cousin Leigh shared that her father was asked to play Taps for the Marines who died at Iwo Jima.  He was in the army, but was asked to play for the Memorial Service, as there were no Marines available to play. I have been saddened in the past few years as so many of that "greatest generation" have passed away.

I would highly recommend a Memorial Day weekend visit to these monuments as one of the great American experiences.  It is more a moment to be felt than seen.

Click below for slideshow; then in black area above white writing
Memorial Day, Washington, DC
Music: Celine Dion, God Bless America, God Bless America: For the Benefit of the Twin Towers Fund

Rolling Thunder's Race for the Wall

May 2009

While I enjoy festivals and celebrations other places, I often stay away from the crowds when they come to my backyard.  But last spring, my cousin, her husband, and her brother in law  headed this way as part of the Rolling Thunder motorcycle groups that gather each Memorial Day weekend in Washington, D.C.,  to honor the veterans.  We decided to meet downtown on Saturday afternoon during a break in their activities.  As there are upwards of 300,000 motorcycles that roar into town that weekend, I headed off on the metro for a hometown adventure.

Rolling Thunder is more an event than a specific motorcycle group.  It started in 1987 when Ray Manzo, Corporal USMC, and friends organized a group of Vietnam Vets to ride peacefully to D.C. to bring focus on the POWs and MIAs who had been left behind and almost forgotten.   It is now a massive migration of veterans, their families, and those who just feel patriotic and grateful for those who sacrificed for our freedom who also like riding those bikes. Craig and Leigh started their 10-day journey in Rancho Cucamunga, CA, riding with a group of about 300-400 folk.  Some would join them for just portions of the trip.  Leigh actually drove a pick-up truck and was part of the support crew  that did things like arrange for efficient gas-ups of 300+ bikes and helped with emergencies, while Craig and his brother, a Vietnam Vet, rode with the pack.

This was their first time to make the run and they found it very inspirational as well as a lot of fun.  They were amazed at the respect and care they received across the nation.  Towns and veteran groups fed them home-cooked meals, and crowds gathered and cheered when they rode by.  Rather than the disdain that too many of the returning Vietnam Vets received at their homecoming, people waved flags, children asked for their autographs as heros, and fire trucks raised their ladders to create arches for them to ride through.   Just listening to the tales of their journey touched my heart.

We spent the afternoon catching up on family news, "walking the Wall," and visiting the Korean and World War II memorials (upcoming post) where Leigh placed an American flag in honor of her Dad's service.  We even ventured into Thunder Alley where you find refreshment, biking and war memorabilia, and a remarkable display of tattoos.  In those few hours, I gained a deeper sense of valor, heartache, honor, and devotion.  It was such a wonderful journey that Leigh and Craig are back on the road again headed to D.C. for this year's celebration.

Click link for slideshow:
Race for the Wall
Music:  Lee Greenwood, God Bless the USA, God Bless America: For the Benefit of the Twin Towers Fund
More information:  http://www.rollingthundermotorcyclerally.com/

Tulip Time in Amsterdam

I've been cheated!  After enduring an early and long winter (see snow post), we popped too quickly into hot, humid summer weather at the beginning of April.  Spring is usually the most beautiful season in this area, but the spring flowers disappeared far too quickly into summer green.

So I decided to post photos from my three hours in The Netherlands  in April 2007 to get a booster shot of spring.   I was returning with a friend from my first trip to Tanzania (see my first post in 2008), and we were scheduled to spend 6 hours in the Amsterdam airport between flights.

Knowing it was prime tulip season and never having been to Amsterdam, we scheduled in advance on the internet for a guide to pick us up at 8 am at the airport, drive us somewhere to see flowers, and return us in time for our flight to the US.  It was pricey, but convenient, and a delightful break in a very long trip home.

Our guide, Rose, chose to take us to the Keukenhof Gardens, about 30 min. from the city, which are only open for 2 months in the year.  Various Dutch bulb companies prepare display gardens and exhibits for buyers and the public for the blooming season.  After driving along canals bordered with fields of vibrant colored flowers, we arrived at Kuekenhof in time for its  opening, but before the crowds arrived.  The two hours flew by.   We did not have enough time to explore all of the gardens, but what an incredible sensory feast!  There was almost too much beauty to take in.  In just a few hours, I experienced a spring that I shall never forget.  So, if any of the rest of you missed spring, enjoy!


Musical note:  Can you think of a Dutch composer?  If 17th century Jan Sweelinck and Constantijin Huygens don't pop to mind, you're not alone.  These are the only ones of significance that Google thought of.   I didn't happen to have any of their music around, so I chose the ever versatile Beethoven to accompany my spring.

Click link for Slideshow:
(click on the black area above the white writing for this one)

Tulip time
Music: Beethoven, Overture to Rosamunde, Classics for Relaxation

More information:
http://www.keukenhof.nl/
http://www.iamsterdam.com/en/visiting

Edinburgh and the End of a Journey

Two weeks of travel and 23 posts later, I finally conclude my summer 2009 journey to Great Britain. I was pleased that I had been able to minimize my carbon footprint by mostly using public transportation without getting myself seriously misplaced.  On the other hand, the impact of this journey on me was great.  But before I ended this glorious adventure, there was  Edinburgh.

July 8-9, 2010

Coming from the pristine Highlands, I was initially disappointed  in Edinburgh.  I arrived in a gray drizzle, and the town seemed old and dirty with trash bags piled on the sidewalks. As the main thoroughfare Princes Street was closed for trolley construction, the traffic was heavy and loud, even to reach the near-by George Hotel where I had found a good deal on a room overlooking the stylish George Street.

I headed out for a late afternoon/early evening stroll across the Mound (filled-in part of ravine separating Old Town from "New" Town which was started in 1767 to relieve over-crowding).  Most sights were closing, so I returned to the Gerogian-style New Town and meandered from the ornate Sir Walter Scott memorial through the famous Jenner's Department Store to the banker's area near Andrew Square on down to Charlotte Square with Queen Victoria's beloved statue of Prince Albert.  As evening shadows lengthened, I found myself alone in an old church graveyard at the base of the  Princes Street Gardens.  There was a nearby Victorian merry-go-round and beautiful gardens I would have liked to explore, but I hurried ahead to where the crowds were watching Scottish dancing at the base of Edinburgh Castle.  The haunting tales of former witches,  Grassmarket's bodysnatchers and murderers, and  Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde made me uneasy to linger alone in shadowy alleys and graveyards in this city with a dark side.

But it all looked better in the morning.  I spent the next day scurrying around Stirling and Alnwick castles (see prior posts), and most of my last day back in Old Town Edinburgh on the Royal Mile. Having lingered longer than intended at Edinburgh Castle (prior post), I ended up walking past more interesting sights than I was able to explore.  I did peer into the Grassmarket area (not so scary now) from behind the Hub--which I thought was going to be an important church not a tourist center.  I saw the statue of Bobby, the Skye Terrier, who faithfully watched over his master's grave for 14  years in Greyfriar's Kirkyard, also known for the 1,200 Covenanters who were imprisoned there in 1639 for their opposition to Anglican interference in their Scottish Presbyterian church.
I entered  St. Giles' Cathedral, the High Kirk of Edinburgh, with its beautifully carved Thistle Chapel, used by the Queen to meet with the Order of the Thistle.  In front of this peaceful church was the "Heart of Midlothian" over the site of executions and a nearby prison and across the street was the Deacon Brodie tavern--reminders of the two faces of this city of good and evil.

 I approached the modernistic building of the Scottish Parliament (disbanded in 1707 and reconvened in 1999) with an open mind about its unusual design, but I have to agree with its critics.  I had spent several hours on this long "mile" before I finally reached its end at the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Official Residence of the Queen in Scotland (rood is an old word for cross).  As she was not in residence, it was open to the public.  So I entered the castle: hot, sweaty and hungry from my long walk and with a big, bulky bag stuffed with gifts and souvenirs.  I  felt anything but elegant in these regal surroundings, but the gracious guides still took my money and let me in.

I admired the Queen's Gallery of remarkable paintings from her private collection; joined a guided tour through the ruins of the Holyroodhouse Abbey (founded by King David I in 1128); and then made the circuit through the elegant state apartments, ending at  Mary, Queen of Scot's, suite where her jealous husband, Lord Darnley, ordered the stabbing of her Italian secretary while she was playing cards next door.

Hers is a fascinating and tragic tale:  crowned queen when one week old; married to the French Dauphin at 15; French queen to her husband Francois II at 16; widowed at 17; returned as a Catholic to an increasingly Protestant country; had her only son (James VI/I) by Lord Darnley in a marriage gone sour; when Darnley was murdered,  married his suspected killer, the scandal of which forced her abdication to her year-old son; fled for safety to her cousin Elizabeth I who had her imprisoned for 19 years and finally ordered her execution at age 44.

Wishing I had another day or more in Edinburgh, I hurried out of  Holyroodhouse and grabbed one of those great black taxis to take me back to the hotel for a quick check out and dash to the train station to catch the late afternoon train back to Kings Cross station and then another taxi to Paddington and the train to Heathrow and a bus to my airport hotel for a night of interrupted sleep and a Jaguar "taxi" ride (guess someone's fallen on hard times or the owner sleeps in) for an early departure on the plane back to Dulles Airport in Virginia.  I was pleased with all I had done and seen in my time;  I was renewed and regenerated (see Kensington post); I was reconnected and recommitted to learning more about my ancestors;  and I returned with a longer list of things to do next time than I had on my original list--a sign of a truly successful journey.  Hope you have enjoyed it with me.
Click links for slideshows:
Edinburgh


More information:
http://www.edinburgh.org/
http://www.royalcollection.org.uk/default.asp?action=article&ID=36
http://www.edinburghgeorgehotel.co.uk/