Mary Clark, Traveler

An Evening with the Texas Rangers

A summer is not complete without one trip to Arlington for a Texas Rangers Game. We’ve all done it – departed Paris in the afternoon and returned in the wee hours of the morning. The idea always sounded better at the beginning of the journey than the end.

The Ballpark is still a lovely facility. It opened in 1994 and that year the Rangers had their best attendance – an average of 43,916. This year the team is averaging 28,012 fans, earning them a ranking of number 17 out of 30 teams. As you can imagine, the New York Yankees has the highest average attendance at 53,069. . But 28,012 is admirable – 2,114 more people than live in Paris, meaning we can all easily fit inside the stadium and not even require the use of the bleachers. It’s also nice to know that if we really wanted to, Paris could do a very decent community wide “wave”.

Individual ticket prices vary wildly from $6 to $205 and even more for “premiere” games. The latter cashes in when big name teams come to town, such as the New York Yankees. In looking for better deals, I recently discovered the Fan Value Corner at the Texas Rangers official website – An array of specials are available for families, children, heavy eaters, Lexus owners, and those who have always wanted to have the “suite” experience. The best deal seemed to be the Coca Cola Family Night – four tickets, four jumbo hot dogs, four coca colas and one parking pass for as low as $60. I liked the description of having your own suite for the night which includes flavored popcorn and chicken tenders. And in case you didn’t get it, the web site assures you that the “experience is priceless”. It should be for $75 a ticket. ( The last value deal listed was for those of you who own a Lexus – free valet parking at any home game. Now that’s a deal.)

Our son’s birthday happened to fall on a premier night in August when the Boston Red Sox arrived to determine who would take over the lead for the “wild card” playoff position. It seemed the perfect night to attend. We arrived 90 minutes early but were not alone. Many fans come well before the start of the game – to watch batting practice, get autographs, start on the beer drinking, or simply to take in all of the activity and enjoy the breeze. The game got underway at 7:05 with the first pitch tossed out by “Simone” in her flip flops. (Don’t ask me who she was.)

In case you were wondering, there are A LOT of Boston Red Sox fans in the Dallas area. And many were wearing the shirt of their favorite players, especially that of David Ortiz. I started counting the number of Rangers shirts on fans and found Josh Hamilton to have the most with 24 supporters. Michael Young still commanded a following at 15 shirts. But the up and coming player was Ian Kinsler with 10. It took some concentration to keep up with the count as new people arrived and I realized belatedly that I had actually counted Kinsler himself as he came up to bat.

It wasn’t our first Ranger game but it was the first Ranger game that really counted. Texas had the opportunity in this series to go ahead of the Red Sox in the race for a post season playoff position. Add that in with many Red Sox admirers and the result was strong fan participation throughout the game. “Let’s go Red Sox” was echoed by “Let’s go Rangers”. Only after the first Red Sox home run did I realize we had “traitors” near us as they cheered on their team. The only time both sides stood together was for the national anthem and the wave. Our section even required the appearance of extra security guards to calm a few aficionados.

As dutiful fans, we bought hotdogs and beer. Our son and a friend feasted on nachos. A neighbor offered us some popcorn and we ate that, too. We even paid for cold, bottled water at the end. And as advertised, the experience was priceless. We saw home runs for both sides, a stand-up triple, a balk by a pitcher allowing a run for us, good pitching, a record number of stolen bases for the Rangers (8), and ….. a win. Most amazingly, few people left early. The game wasn’t over until the last out. Maybe this is how all New York Yankees games feel. It certainly made the long ride home more enjoyable.

P.S. Arrive in Arlington even earlier and take in a tour of the new Dallas Cowboys stadium, a short walk from the Ballpark.

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Family Vacation in Costa Rica – Pura Vida

I’ve been asked several times for suggestions on foreign travel with children. There’s one easy answer – Costa Rica – our family’s favorite trip together.

Because of its beauty and neutral government (they have no army), Costa Rica is the Switzerland of Central America. Their former president, Oscar Arias Sanchez, has negotiated the end to civil war in Guatemala and is currently trying to resolve leadership problems in Honduras. Jammed into this small country is an incredible variety of botanical and geological wonders – rain forest, cloud forest, active volcanoes, and beautiful coasts, all within 120 miles of each other.

Costa Ricans pride themselves on being “muy sencillo” (very simple) and often greet you with “pura vida”, the national philosophy of life. This can be translated as “it’s all good”, “full of life”, “have a good day”, or on a deeper level “enjoy life slowly and with perseverance”. Because of their high literacy rate and the country’s early recognition of eco-tourism, visitors feel welcomed and appreciated. It is loaded with language schools and has become a popular retirement country.

Renting a car is easy and fun and you should try a Toyota Forerunner or a jeep. The roads are mostly good and easy to maneuver. The jungle area to the northeast of its capital, San Jose, is a good beginning point. At Selva Verde Lodge in Chilamente, ( are greeted with hammocks, balconies, and mosquito netting. Turn in early. The birds will wake you up. I’ve never heard such an early morning din – a mixture of thousands of birds greeting each other all at once. Experts will name them at the 6 a.m. birdwalks. A guided jungle walk can reveal the poison dart frogs (actually quite beautiful) and occasional monkeys. Kids will love the raft trip down the near-by Sarapiqui river. The guides are young but knowledgeable and the water lively.

On to the active volcano, Arenal. This is always a little dicey. Do you want it to be really active and spew out lava or are you satisfied with it just warming its neighbor, the Tabacon baths? Actually, it doesn’t matter what you want. You are totally dependent on Arenal’s whim. If it’s too active, they won’t let you near. But usually, one can enjoy the smoke puffing out of the cone while sitting in a leisurely hot bath, warmed by volcanic underground energy. The Tabacon’s hot mineral springs and waterfalls provide a Disneyland feel with 10 pools ranging in temperature from 80 to 110 degrees and lovely paths connecting them. Massages are available as well as a swim up bar.

The Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve in Monteverde is famous and worth traveling the rough roads to arrive there. A rain forest is designated as such because of receiving 100 inches or more of rain a year. But a cloud forest is one in which much of the moisture is received from the mountain’s clouds settling on the forest. Both are Wet with a capital W and our day there was no exception. But it is at Santa Elena that we all finally understood ecosystems. Our wonderful guide, a PhD candidate from Cornell, could stop at any tree, ant mound, or stream and explain who fed on whom and what attracted what. He spotted the beautiful quetzal for us and helped us hear the three waddled bell bird. We were treated to an amazing show when a group of raccoon-like coatimundis arrived, followed by a troop of white faced capuchin monkeys looking for dinner. This area is also the first in the country to have a zip line, where you are harnessed to a cable and zip from one tree to another – guaranteed to be the kids favorite activity of the trip.

A final stop would be on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica at Manuel Antonio, south of Quepos, a place for relaxing with beautiful views. Howler monkeys woke us in the morning (think Tarzan movie) and tiny titi monkeys walked the wires outside our room. The Manuel Antonio Park has a great beach where you can belly board or simply check out the nearby iguanas, lizards, sloths, and monkeys.

Costa Rica pleases the birders, outdoor enthusiasts, botanists, curious, and even the lazy beachcombers who just want to relax. It is safe, welcoming, and perfect for opening a child’s eyes to the wonder of nature.

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TAG – The World’s First Graffiti Exhibit in Paris, France

I first noticed the graffiti on the train ride into Paris (France) from the DeGaulle airport. Curvy bubble letters were everywhere – on apartment buildings, overpasses, warehouses, stores, and even the trains themselves. The combination of letters made no sense in French or English. KERS, RIZOT, FUMI, TRANE, TAKE, SEYA.

Once the graffiti caught my eye, I saw it everywhere. The booksellers’ stalls along the Seine were a target as was the canopy of our favorite restaurant. Initials were painted on the bottom of a lovely fountain in the Pompidou Museum. Heartfelt comments decorated the stone above the tunnel where Princess Diana had died. White vans were irresistible targets. A French friend of ours called it an “infestation of graffiti”.

Graffiti originated as an American art form in the streets of New York four decades ago. Gang members used a “tag” or name to mark the boundaries of their territory. Soon, individual artists developed their own style and signature. Most were young, poor and used the concrete canvases available to them. In the graffiti world, the tag of Taki 183 is equal to the names of Rousseau or Degas in the Impressionist movement. This art form gave herds of energetic adolescents the power to rise above the force of their urban poverty. They loved the fleeting nature of their art and that thousands saw it from subway trains. A special paint was even developed for graffiti use. The movement spread world wide and became an element of Hip Hop.

France can’t decide what to do with this art form or even whether to call it art. They use the English word, Tag, to name it. Pierre Cornette de Saint-Cyr, president of the Association of Palais de Tokyo, feels “99% of the taggers are cretins who only want to foul walls”. The French spend millions cleaning up the painted walls and at the same time have authorized certain walls in town to be used for this expression. Jean Philippe Domecq has said in Le Point Magazine, “the state is punishing these people on one side and welcoming on the other. The state is so afraid of missing another Van Gogh, it throws money at every fad. This is subsidizing subversion”.

After recognizing graffiti’s presence in the City of Lights, we learned the world’s first Tag Exhibition had just opened at the Grande Palais, the same beautiful building where Yves St. Laurent’s art collection had recently been auctioned.
Posters for the exhibition were placed around the city, all appropriately covered with real graffiti. One hundred and fifty of the world’s notable graffiti artists were represented. Each produced two canvasses, one based on the graffiti idea of the name or tag and the other a work that symbolized love.

Colors, movement and large figures dominated the exhibition. EZO of the United States painted comic book like characters while LADY PINK’s faces could have graced a Tommie de Paulo’s children’s book. The French BANDO’s tag tilted as if being read in motion. Both the French FIST and the American FAUST placed their oversized tags on subway cars. Some artists used the medium for philosophical comments such as“Love and Hate have the Same Address” from the Swiss NASTY. And what would an exhibition be in France without a thick lipped, naked woman? France’s UNO provided one with a spray can under her arm.

The subject of the pieces as well as the bold techniques stimulated much conversation among the mostly young and often tattooed viewers. But the paintings were a far cry from the simple tags of letters that were painted on too many surfaces in the city.

So, was the Tag show the “impressionist” exhibit of our times? Many Parisians were outraged at the Salon des Refuses that first presented Monet, Manet, and others. Modern day Parisians were conflicted at the Tag show and even those who like the idea of graffiti don’t want it on their walls or bathrooms. But they did attend in large numbers.

The show’s producer, Alain-Dominique Gallizia had to promise his artists that he would never sell or divide the collection. Most graffiti artists are not ready to sell out although a market has recently developed for tag posters and t-shirts. They continue to enjoy the adrenaline associated with the fast nature of their art and the rest of us will continue to be divided on the worth of their expression.

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The Caprock Escarpment – More than just Palo Duro Canyon

When was the last time you used the word escarpment? Maybe never? It is a geological term and Texas has more than one. In geomorphology, an escarpment is a “transition zone between different physiogeographic provinces that involves a sharp, steep elevation differential, characterized by a cliff or steep slope.” Have I lost you? What we’re talking about is the Caprock Escarpment, the wonderful approach to the high plains of the panhandle of Texas.

Sketched on a map (you might want to pullout your Texas map), the escarpments on the east and west look like castle walls hugging the edges of the Llano Estacado, a flat semi-arid plateau where Amarillo and Lubbock preside over the fortress. It runs 300 miles on each side. Our very own Red River starts up at the Prairie Dog Town Fork, one of the waterways that helped cut and create the canyons and many cliffs.

The most famous part of the Caprock Escarpment is Palo Duro Canyon, a jewel of a canyon and home to Palo Duro Canyon State Park (75 years old this summer) and the musical “Texas”. If you have missed it, go. If you haven’t been there recently, go back. It is that beautiful.

Even though it appears to be a miniature Grand Canyon, Palo Duro Canyon is actually the second largest canyon in the United States. It stretches 120 miles long, 20 miles across at its widest point and up to 800 feet in depth. The state park only includes some of Palo Duro’s most northern canyons. If you’ve ever wanted to live in a canyon, nearby Timbercreek Canyon has a gated community with 500 residents. It was hard to believe I was in Texas as I recently sat on the porch of a friend’s home in Timbercreek with her own canyon wall as a backyard.

An easy way to see a large swath of the lower Palo Duro Canyon is to take highway 207 from Claude to Silverton, crossing the Prairie Dog Town Fork and coming out on the plains. This a lovely drive even if it’s on the way to and from nowhere. It does eventually pass through Tule Canyon with its MacKenzie Reservoir.

Further south is one of the newer parks, Caprock Canyon State Park and Trailway, which has great views of the “scarp”. You can cycle, walk, ride horses or run the 64 miles of the Trailway or any of its six segments you choose. It is the ultimate rails to trails path that runs from Estelline to South Plains, passes over 40 bridges, through a 700 foot tunnel and occasionally follows the top of the escarpment.

The State Park itself is outside of Quitaque (pronounced kitty kway) and located near Turkey. (I’m sure that orients you.) The park also has trails and 30 miles of paved roadways among the surrounding canyon walls. If lucky, you’ll spot the official state buffalo herd which is descended from the original free range southern bison. The Spanish described these creatures as cows with a narrow, short face, and long beards (like goats) and when they ran they threw their heads down with the beard dragging on the ground. No wonder the vast buffalo herds frightened every horse the Spaniards brought. The state herd is the last one left.

In “A Voyage Long and Strange”, author Tony Horowitz tracks Coronado in his search for El Dorado in 1541. The latest archeological discoveries confirm that Coronado must have crossed New Mexico from the west into Texas where he first encountered the plains filled with grass that “straightened up again as soon as it had been trodden down”. He passed near modern day Plainview and Floydada until being startled by a broad ravine about half a mile across and a hundred feet deep – the Caprock Escarpment, what else! According to Horowitz, in 1966, a Spanish gauntlet or chain-mail glove was discovered by a farmer at the edge of the Blanco Canyon. Later excavations found horseshoes, nails, and crockery – a treasure chest of Coronado’s artifacts resting today at ….. the Floydada museum. Amazing.

It’s hard to believe escarpments can be entertaining. Driving from Plainview to Paris across the flattest and best farm land around is a lot more fun knowing that at any moment, the land is going to drop out from under you. On your next trip west, even for a long week-end, try exploring the wonders of the Caprock Escarpment.

For more information on the state parks, places to stay and the escarpment, these sites are helpful.

Hudspeth House – historic Bed and Breakfast in Canyon where Georgia O’Keeffe stayed. Good history of Palo Duro Canyon and article on O’Keefe.

Joe Nick Patoski on the Caprock Canyons Trailway

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Master Naturalist Article on Llano Estacado

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Celebrating July 4th in the U.S. and Abroad

Celebrating July 4th is a shared tradition for all Americans, whether we were born here or arrived as fast as we could.. We may not agree on religion, politics, or social mores, but we all appreciate our Independence Day. Over this week-end in Paris, we had a parade, fireworks, municipal band concert, and lots of cook-outs at our homes. This was not that different from the first celebrations in 1777 when they spoke, prayed, reviewed the troops and set off fireworks. George Washington even doubled the rum allotment for his men. But what is it like to celebrate our nation’s birth outside Lamar County and even outside our country?

The Northeast seems to have the best celebrations and we were lucky enough one year to watch the fireworks over the capital in Washington, D. C. from a boat on the Potomac river. Volleys of fleeting colors matched the rhythm of the music from the radio. All seemed quite magical until afterwards when we entered the subway station to return to our hosts’ home in Arlington. The crowds that had been scattered on the lawns, boats, and National Mall seemed to have all entered the same station with us. Just imagine the throng leaving Noyes Stadium times 1000. After watching passengers being shoved into already full subway cars, we decided to go the other way and catch a ride on a different line.

In our national travels, we’ve discovered Oregon prohibits the sale of fireworks, leading to “slipping across the border” to the state of Washington to purchase basic roman candles and cherry bombs. Austin’s display over Town Lake is worth the trip. And if you’re really fortunate, time your airline flight for early evening on the 4th and enjoy the bursts of color below your plane.

Being out of the country for the fourth actually gives a heightened awareness of the importance of the day. It’s strange to awaken to just another normal day when all stores are open and life goes on without acknowledgment of our holiday. Nostalgia makes us travelers seek out other Americans who know the words to our patriotic songs and who are just as anxious to find a hamburger.

In the summer of 1969, my family was in Rome, Italy and were happy to discover that the American’s Women Association and the American Men’s Club of Rome sponsored a July 4th outing for any U.S. citizen in town. Of course, everyone else had heard about it. We missed the departure of the first round of buses from the Embassy and arrived late for the event. However, it was as close to home as we had experienced in six weeks of traveling. Hamburgers, hotdogs, fried chicken, potato salad, and chips were served. A watermelon eating contest entertained all until the fireworks in the evening. On the bus back to town, all sang patriotic songs with the windows open.

The country that, understandably, ignores our celebration is England. My husband and I arrived in London on July 4th in 1979 and found little evidence of any celebration or concern over the loss of its former colony. Oddly, I felt uncomfortable asking people about the holiday as if they might still resent the Declaration of Independence over 200 years ago. My husband had no such hesitation but he only got a few replies acknowledging the meaning of the day but without enthusiasm.

I actually prepared for our being in Ecuador for July 4th in 1993. One could never do this today. I bought firecrackers, sparklers and black snakes at home and packed them in our luggage! On the actual holiday, we were in Banos, a small mountain town in the Andes. As an attorney, it did occur to me that I should inquire whether it was legal to set off our stash in the local park. We knew that fireworks were a customary morning greeting for birthdays throughout South America but did that require a permit? After looking up the word for fireworks ( fuegos artificiales, if you’re interested), I asked a store keeper whether we could set off ours. He “thought” it was OK. So we gathered children around and lit the meager selection we had brought. We had no luck finding hotdogs or hamburgers but we still sang a round of Yankee Doodle in the park to the perplexed stares of the crowd..

Our Independence Day is known throughout the world even if it’s not celebrated. Local physician, Agnes Xavier, was born on July 4th in Belgaum, India. As she grew up, she was quite proud that she shared the same birthday as the United States even though she lived thousands of miles away. And today, after becoming an American citizen, she never has to work on her birthday as we all celebrate it with her. I hope everyone had a great birthday.

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The Art of Travel

The first decision to be made before traveling is where to journey. Widespread travel for the middle class exploded after World War II. Today, we are overwhelmed with the options available for exploring all parts of the United States and the world and the destination decision can be daunting. Yet, Alain de Botton, in his wonderful book, The Art of Travel, writes we should be more concerned with “how ” and “why” we travel rather than “where”.

De Botton’s first analyzes the anticipation of a trip, often the happiest part of a venture. I had a friend who could only relax when he had plane tickets safely hung under a magnet on his refrigerator. The departure date may have been six months hence but it made him smile to know a trip was planned. One reason anticipation can be so satisfying is that it focuses on the best possible, expected experience rather than the distractions of the real experience. As De Botton points out, the anticipation doesn’t factor in the “periods of boredom” or the “heat, flies and difficulties of hotel food” or the “financial alarm” as money flows out so quickly. Even the safely scripted tours to Cancun or the cruises of the Caribbeans must deal with hurricanes or plane delays, something our anticipation can more easily ignore.

De Botton also speaks to the “how” of traveling. For a pleasurable traveling experience, one should have a proper “traveling mind-set” and “receptivity is its chief characteristic”. This means we should be “alive to the layers of history beneath us”, find a supermarket fascinating, take notes and photographs, and risk getting run over as we stand on a traffic island admiring a building’s roof. He describes it as approaching a place with humility and no preconceived ideas of what is interesting. This is a different method then the usual “best” or “top ten” suggestions in guidebooks. And it’s certainly better than complaining when the destination is not like home.

The “why” of traveling will vary among us. Getting away from the pressures of home and work is a common reason. The need to relax and be refreshed also draws us away, especially to beautiful settings in the mountains or at the beach. In The Art of Travel, De Botton refers to William Wordsworth’s ode on the restorative power of nature even after we return:

Though absent long,
These forms of beauty have not been to me,
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet…
With tranquil restoration.

De Botton also identifies curiosity as a raison de voyager, with Alexander von Humboldt being one of history’s most curious. While he is known for scientific discoveries on his journeys, Humboldt’s incredible curiosity led him to know more of the earth and its inhabitants. And Nietzche is quoted as suggesting that travel is to gain strength through reflecting on past greatness or even learn how our societies have been formed by the past and so acquire a sense of continuity and belonging. “By gazing at old buildings, one can feel happy knowing he has grown out of this past as its heir and that his existence is justified.” Acquiring “life-enhancing thoughts” can be our souvenirs from a trip.

Upon return, our mind quickly sorts through the events of the journey, an instrument of “simplification and selection.” If our mind set has been receptive, as suggested by De Botton, the new experiences with food, mode of travel, architecture, and even getting lost will be the stories remembered. And if we remain receptive at home, our old neighborhood will be seen with fresh eyes, no longer blind to the wonders of this part of the world, “to notice what we have already seen”. On a recent trip to France, a Parisian acquaintance joined us for much of our touring. She later thanked us for allowing her to rediscover her own beautiful city, a gift travelers can provide their hosts.

Alain de Botton is a thoughtful writer with a wry sense of humor and a fresh approach to the art of travel. Anyone wanting to enjoy their trips on a deeper level will be delighted at this book.

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From Paris, Texas to Paris, France

Whether it’s your first, fourth, or 40th visit to Paris, France, the Grand Old Dame never disappoints. She hardly seems to age and is as beautiful now as when so many of the 18th and 19th century buildings were constructed. The challenge is to decide how to explore her. Here are some suggestions.

Art Museums come to mind first. The Louvre and Paris are joined at the hip. With 652,300 square feet of display space, you could spend your time here alone. But that would be unfair to the many other art homes in town. The Musee D’Orsay, with its impressionist collection, and the newest Musee du Quai Branley’s art from France’s colonial past art are two of the newer forums. An Art Museum Pass (purchased at any participating museum) will get you in quickly and is well worth the purchase. But, if you’re like me, two hours is max in a single museum, and that prevents an entire trip of masterpieces.

Check out the churches and cathedrals which seem to be on every corner. Notre Dame has just had the last scaffolding taken down after 23 years of restoration. The result is stunning in the sun. It shines and generates the same excitement as must have been felt in 1225 upon its completion. Choose two or three others to examine (Sacre Coeur and Sainte Chapelle are lovely).

Observe the French. They really do say things like “voila” and “ooo, la, la”. Be careful with your Texas friendliness. The French are more private than us and wouldn’t ask if we needed help even if we were hunched over a map and clearly lost. That would be implying we didn’t know what we were doing (actually quite true). If you want help, you should simply ask. They are also the most fashionable people on earth making their stores a delight. The French women wouldn’t think of wearing flats unless they have on boots. (The nice comfortable shoes American women use for traveling give us away.) Surprisingly, they do still wear hosiery and their cleavage is modestly reserved for the home.

Get a feel for the recent ethnic influences. Paris is loaded with residents from Africa and the middle East, most of them living in the outer districts. Great Tunisian and Turkish food are there for the asking. One of the most interesting new buildings in town is the Arab Center, literally across the Seine from Notre Dame. Its metal windows duplicate the lattice design of the Alhambra in Spain and the bookstore is filled with Arabic literature. The Center is quite close to one of the larger Mosques in town that also has Turkish baths. Our adventure there will have to be another story.

Walk the neighborhoods. We rented an apartment in the Marais area, close to the Pompidou Museum. Just a stroll down our street, Rue Rambuteau, revealed wonderful (tiny) restaurants, a flower shop, delis, a post office that will change your money, a couple of museums, a small, local enclosed garden with a ping pong table and sunbathers , and ending at the Place de Voges.. We were drawn into every store along the way by the sharp displays. Feel comfortable buying clothes at boutiques as the asking price there will be the same as in the large department stores. Discount prices or sales are, by law, only allowed twice a year which protects the small shop owner but not the consumer.

Eat, eat, and then eat some more. It’s hard to have a bad meal in Paris and easy to have a great one. Beginning with café au lait (or creme) in the morning and ending with snails and French wine in the evening, good food and drink surround you. From duck to sea bass to crepes, pastries and even seaweed, the choices are almost intimidating. At an outdoor restaurant at the Rodin Museum, I selected a Parmentier (new to me) which had layers of spinach, salmon, and creamy potatoes with gruyere cheese melted on top and pink peppercorns for color. And this was only a cafeteria.
And don’t forget the street and flea markets. The largest flea market in the world is here. At the smaller Puces de Vanves market on a chilly Saturday morning, we stopped at a booth selling pins of all kinds. One page displayed a collection of Eiffel Tower pins. On the top line, second from the left, was our very own Paris, Texas Eiffel Tower pin selling for six euros ($8)! Too bad we had left our sack full of the very same pins back at the apartment. We could have made enough money for dinner. Maybe next time.

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La Semana Santa in Sevilla, Spain

The use of drama in religion is universal. Hindu scripts date from the 4th century and include gods and heros. The stories of Ruth and King David are relived at synagogues. The Hajj pilgrimage features a symbolic stoning of the devil. Even the live manger scenes at some of Paris’ churches carry on a centuries old tradition of Christmas performances. But one of the most moving pageantries in the world is Holy Week in Seville, Spain – La Semana Santa – where the story of the crucifixion is played out in the streets.
I first learned of this event from an advertisement. It was a travel poster of a silver Virgin Mary, lit by thousands of candles, surrounded by as many flowers, being carried on a float at night through the narrow passageways of Seville. It seemed so magical and beautiful and I wanted to be there. Fortunately, a niece decided to study in Spain several years ago and my sister-in-law, daughter, and I joined her for this ancient event.
The first of the 57 processions begins Palm Sunday night. During Holy Week, every church in Seville (really every church in Spain) will bring their Virgin Mary statue out of the church, process to the cathedral, pass through its aisles, and return the prized possession to her home for another year. There are day marches with children, silent processions, evening parades and one that starts at midnight. Some are brief and others miles long. They can be viewed from the streets, balconies, grandstands or on television. School is out and the sidewalk cafes fill with families visiting and children playing, awaiting the next procession.
A procession announces its coming with La Marcha, often a brass band. Also at the beginning is La Cruz de Guia, a banner identifying the church. Even if you aren’t a member of the church, you can walk with the next group, La Bulla, the crowds who join the parade. The largest part of the procession consists of Los Nazarenos, members of the church’s fraternity who perform public acts of religious observance and penance as well as charitable and community work. You can’t miss them. They wear long habits, pointed hoods which allow only eyes to peer out and often carry candles. The robes and hoods bear a disturbing resemblance to the Ku Klux Klan’s uniforms but the Nazarenos’ need for anonymity is different. Participation in the Holy Week processions is a penance and the covering allows even the royalty to participate without being recognized.

Next is El Paso de Cristo, a float with an image of Christ, usually on the cross or struggling with the weight of the cross. It is carried by 20 to 30 men who go unseen under the platform. The Penitents, also Nazarenos but with flat hoods, follow, carrying a cross and often barefoot. And finally, El Paso Palio, the float of La Virgen, that dramatizes the grief of a mother for the death of her son. All observers stand and are silent as this scene passes, even the children and those drinking at bars. Occasionally, a person is moved to sing a saeta, a spontaneous, improvised lament. One evening at dinner, I stepped outside our restaurant on a porch. Only a waiter and I stood watching a silent procession pass by on the very narrow, ten foot wide lane. We were at eye level with Jesus and Mary on their floats and so close, we could have touched them. I remembered the words of Orlando Gibbons’ beautiful hymn, “Drop, drop, slow tears and bathe those beauteous feet”.

The most beloved Virgin is La Macarena, patron saint of matadors and no kin to the song. On Holy Thursday, we waited in light rain for one and a half hours to see her before she left the basilica on her pilgrimage to the cathedral. The Sevillan women were all in black that special day – dress, stockings, mantilla stiffened by shell, lace gloves, and stiletto heels. (I, literally, felt flat-footed.) Men and children also dressed their best. The line circled the tearful Virgin who is later carried on a solid silver paso with hundreds of candles and flowers and does not leave the sanctuary until midnight.
We joined the crowds again that night waiting for La Macarena to pass by. It was a two hour wait before her huge procession reached us at 2 a.m. The short walk to our hotel took another hour. At 11 a.m. the next morning, our taxi encountered the end of the Macarena procession slowly lumbering its way back to her church. Her journey would last twelve hours.
There are many tourists in Seville for La Semana Santa and yet the event has not become commercialized. Through the pageantry and the enormous community participation, generations have connected to the tragedy of the passion. It is a tribute to a church who wanted to bring its central story to the people and to a city that understands the power of drama.

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What Is There To Do in Hugo, Oklahoma

For native Parisians years ago, “going across the river” meant a trip to the Texoma Lounge or beer stores and dance halls that used to be located south of Hugo, Oklahoma. With the formation of Sun Valley and Toco, the need to cross the Red River diminished and most of the night life died out. For more recent residents of Paris, an outing to Oklahoma has usually meant a trip to Broken Bow. But more of us should be heading due north. Hugo is well worth a visit.
Traveling just 25 miles north brings you to a town that is quite different from Paris although we can both thank France for our names. Our Oklahoma neighbor was named after Victor Hugo, French author of Les Miserables. It has an eclectic list of claims to fame – home to three wintering circuses, the second largest herd of elephants in the country, birthplace of Bill Moyers, Busy Bee restaurant, Hugo Lake, and one of the Choctaw Nation’s casinos.
Fifteen percent of Hugo’s population is Native American and the largest employer in the county is the Choctaw Nation. This is evident with a quick stop at the Choctaw Nation Casino, just north of the Red River.

From a small trailer house to place off track bets, the casino has expanded over the years to house hundreds of slot machines and gaming tables. They are constructing a new facility complete with a hotel. For those who care to indulge in a little roll of the dice, it is quite handy.

Hugo earned the name “Circus City of the U.S” with three different circuses wintering there. Many of the artists return to their own countries for the off season but the animals remain. When we visited in February, the paraphernalia required of a traveling circus was scattered around the headquarters – folded tents, wooden poles, ticket kiosks, trailers of all sizes and shapes, and portable, metal fences used to enclose animals. It’s better to visit before they begin their circuit in March.

An impressive draw anytime of the year is the Endangered Ark, a haven for retired elephants and for encouraging reproduction by the endangered Asian elephant. If you call ahead, your family can receive a tour of the BIG barns and lovely grounds. Call Kristin Parra 580.326.2233.

Continuing in the circus theme is the Mount Olivet Cemetery, final resting place for “all the showmen under God’s Big Top”. The headstones have playful pictures and carvings of elephants, trapeze artists, and circus tents. Engravings reflect a love of performing. “Loyal. Queen of the Bareback Riders” reads one monument. “May All Your Days Be Circus Days” advises another. The cemetery also draws rodeo fans. Lane Frost, for whom the movie “8 Seconds”was made, and Freckles Brown, rodeo’s all-time bull riding legend, are both buried here. There’s no place like this in the country and well worth a stop.

Lunch time in Hugo has some enticing options. If you haven’t had enough of the big top, try eating at Angie’s Circus Diner, which is filled with circus memorabilia. The most famous eatery in town is The Busy Bee, an old fashioned diner with a grand total of 10 seats at the counter. When I worked at the Lamar County Attorney’s office 28 years ago, we used to close occasionally for lunch and head here for their incredible hamburgers. I was thrilled to discover last month that these burgers are still as good as I remember.
Hugo was established in 1902 as a terminal town for the Frisco railroad at a time when Oklahoma was still officially Indian Territory (and Paris was 63 years old). The current Depot was built in 1914 and has been restored as a museum. An original Harvey House Restaurant, once part of the nation’s largest restaurant chain, has also been restored and a buffet lunch is served each week-day. The museum is worth some time and is open all year.
Hugo offers some interesting lodging. The Old Johnson House Inn, now a bed and breakfast, was built in 1920. Metra Christopherson, a transplant from Arizona, is owner and chef. Thanks to her gourmet cooking, an impressive breakfast spread is served to guests. She is also available for catering events at the house.
If you have ever wished you could spend the night at Pat Mayes Lake in a nice cabin with a fireplace, then you should try Hugo Lake, just east of the town. Twenty six cabins hug the shore with lake views. A marina is available and the angling good according to my fisherman friend and Hugo native, Ed Ellis – especially the crappie.

Hugo and Choctaw County are a part of a three county consortium that is developing the Kiamichi Trace – a pathway along the Kiamichi River starting at the border of Arkansas. The Caddo Indians moved south along this waterway to the Red River for their winter campground and back north for the summer. Check their website at for information on what’s happening in Hugo, Choctaw County, and along the river. You’ll be surprised at the offerings.

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Traveling with Aunt Terry

Terry is not my aunt. She is my sister-in-law. But we often travel together. “I’m the tia” she would say to everyone. “Tia”, aunt in both Spanish and Italian, could be understood in Italy, Spain, and Central America where she visited her nieces and nephew in their education and Peace Corps experiences. Of course, the words preceding “tia” were always in English but each culture seemed to understand her relationship.
An urbanite, she has lived in New York City for over 40 years and worked as a recruiter for one of the city’s most prestigious law firms. Yet Terry was ready whenever I called for a foreign adventure, regardless of whether it was an urban or rural trip. I planned the trip and she provided the greatest company. Fortunately, our nieces and my son lived in interesting places such as Florence, Seville, and the campo of Honduras and Guatemala and they were thrilled to have their Aunt Terry visit.

Packing was easy for Terry – just wear black and accessorize with red scarves and layers of jewelry. She once described her traveling wardrobe as being appropriate for an Italian widow. Her hair got redder and more noticeable over the years although she always brought a selection of brightly colored baseball hats to cover the tint if needed. Shawls were preferred to jackets. On a trip to Guatemala, Terry arrived in what appeared to be black ballet slippers. When we expressed concern about the walking we would do, she quickly assured us that she had the shoes resoled and proudly showed off the thin, new rubber soles. Somehow, those shoes were sufficient for climbing hills, crossing lakes, and slogging through the frequent rain. When Terry was wrapped in her black pants and shawl, red scarf, pink baseball cap, big sunglasses and red lipstick, people would literally turn and stare. But she always blamed the stares on the niece or the nephew we were walking with.

Over the years, Terry’s interest in different culinary experiences expanded. If she found a dish she liked, she would order it again and again. She requested Puttanesca spaghetti, ensalada mixta all over Italy. As far as Terry was concerned, Coca Cola went with anything and all fish required ketchup. Fortunately, both Coca Cola and ketchup are universal foods. She described cappucinos as tasting like mud and never drank coffee at all until she discovered the mocha latte with whip cream at Starbucks. Wine was a requirement in the evening regardless of whether it was sangria or chianti. Actually, she could be talked into wine at lunch, especially if it was raining. One of our most intimate talks was on a miserable, rainy day at San Gimignano, Italy. There were few tourists out and we could only dash between stores and sights. By 11:30 a.m. we were depressed and wandered into a restaurant for an early lunch. Two and half hours and a bottle of wine later, the weather was of no import.

Terry would say all New Yorkers are starved for children. This meant every child was a wonderful distraction for her. She talked in English to them regardless of the country. All children were adorable and were addressed as “darling” “honey” or “honey bunny”. She often found children more interesting than adults and would spend time playing and talking with them rather than engaging in stilted adult conversation. She never met an ugly child. She has an infectious laugh and kids always loved playing with her.

The best part of traveling with Terry was and is her incredible flexibility. She goes on the trip for the opportunity to see her nieces and nephews and the rest is just icing. She stays quite cool if the bus is late or the restaurant closed or there’s unexpected rain. Museums were interesting but not a requirement. She could always find someone to talk to or a child to play with. She loved living in the moment on her trips and always commented on how greaaaaaat it was not to be working. Her only requirement was an afternoon nap and she was good for any adventure.

I know she swallowed some concerns when we decided to travel in Honduras and Guatemala. In Guatemala she was sure “something” was crawling up her legs. Her greatest fear was getting dengue fever. When I had appendicitis at the beginning of our trip in Honduras and we had to return to the capital for medical care, she was secretly happy that she wouldn’t have to spend the night in the dengue fever areas where our niece lived. Despite the trip being cut short, she went home with great stories which she always shared with her myriad of friends. In fact, travel stories were her souvenirs. She could make any experience sound more dangerous than it probably was.

For these reasons, I will always travel with Aunt Terry. She brings a cosmopolitan flair to the deepest jungles. And how could that not be fun!

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