Joshua Tree and 29 Palms for Christmas

Sometimes you forget to notice the possibilities in your own back yard. 

At the beginning of December we were brainstorming a Christmas getaway. We even considered a cruise, which would have meant packing dress-up clothes. But then we realized -- it's only 2-1/2 hours from home to Joshua Tree National Park and the nearby Mohave towns of Joshua Tree and 29 Palms. (A really long time ago Mike worked in the summer on construction of the Marine base in 29 Palms. The town hasn't grown that much.) After an overnight trip to find places to stay, we headed up for a week, starting December 20, and drove home December 27. One of our best Christmases since our kids were kids.

This is a really long post, because there was so much to share in the way of photographs.

The first four nights we stayed at Spin & Dottie's in J-Tree (I'm already sounding like a local). They have been creating this 5-unit place for 12 years, out of an old motel, and you can tell they put love into it. Desert landscape, goofy art assemblages and relaxed spots to hang out in the yard, colorful tile everywhere, hospitable vibe. One thing we missed was a view of the night sky on the crisp, clear and moonless first night we were there. I mean, that's why you go to the desert! Neighbors said it was incredible, I was jealous. I won't make that mistake again. It was cold though!

Fountain on the first morning

Joshua Tree is a community of hippies (old and young), hipsters, musicians and artists, desert rats (old and young), environmentalists, spiritual seekers, and probably retirees. Lots of natural foods and a smattering of restaurants. There's good Thai and Indian, and pizza we'll try next time. The Crossroads restaurant has an eclectic menu and you will see lots of lean young men and women with carabiners attached to their belts, getting fed there before they head for the rock climbing in Joshua Tree National Park.

First thing on Friday morning we headed for the main event, the park. There's a spot called Keys View that overlooks the Coachella Valley, from Palm Springs and the San Andreas Fault to the Salton Sea and mountains beyond. That dark line in the picture below is the fault.


 From there we explored a bit and took a couple of short walks, one on a nature trail at Cap Rock, and one starting up a wash towards Barker Dam but the wash was so sandy we were dragging our feet and turned back to save it for another day.

The other outing of that day was Pioneertown, for barbecue sandwiches at Pappy and Harriet's, the venue in the desert for Southern California bands, of a certain type. (I'm not sure what type.) But that's at night-time and for now the stage was empty. I did peruse the photos of musicians on the wall, but the only one I recognized was Leon Russell's old  album cover. Your drinks come in quart Mason jars, and that includes beer. We had Pepsi. Diet.


Pioneertown was developed by a group of cowboy stars back in the 40s. Roy Rogers, my childhood sweetheart, was one of them -- remember the Sons of the Pioneers? Named after them, I guess. It was both a movie set (Cisco Kid for example) and a place to live for the people making the movies. So we wandered the street and took a couple of pictures before heading back. There's a motel there also, where you might enjoy staying, especially if you like raucous music and dancing -- it's right behind Pappy and Harriet's, which has a serious honky-tonk reputation. You probably wouldn't want to take the winding road back to Yucca Valley after a night there.

We went back to the park the next day, Saturday, and hiked into the Hidden Valley -- an easy hike, by the way -- and it was fantastically beautiful. Also there were lots of rock climbers around, that being one of the big activities in the area. Check out these rocks.

Sunday was our last day at Spin & Margie's. We went to the desert sculpture garden of Noah Purifoy, 2-1/2 acres acres of found object art assemblage. (And after that we went to see "Life of Pi," another amazing experience.) Purifoy moved to the desert after being one of the leading lights in the LA art scene, especially in Watts but was known internationally as well. I read he was a founding member of the California Arts Council. He died in 2004 but a foundation keeps up the acreage of "Noah's Art." I've put in some pictures here -- it's hard to stop. For more, you can go to the Noah Purifoy Foundation website. It's very cool.

I especially like this outdoor living.

Oh yeah, and watch out for the pencil cholla.















On Christmas Eve we moved to the historic 29 Palms Inn, which is snuggled in the Oasis of Mara, on the south side of 29 Palms. An easy walk to the National Park visitor center, which is a really nice one. (There's another nice one in Joshua Tree at the other entrance.) From here on it was just relaxation and a bit of walking to and from visitor center. Our cabin was one of the originals from the 30s. Rustic but not uncomfortably so, with a nice gas heated "wood" stove. Next time we'll try one of the adobes that face the desert. Everyone has enclosed patios for lounging in the sunshine. 

The Fault Line, our cabin this trip

There's a gallery and art workshop on the property, and Mike may go back to learn some printmaking there. The restaurant is pretty good, though a bit pricey, and we had a few meals there including Christmas Eve dinner which was wonderful.

The adobe next time, which faces an open view of the desert

 This is a family run place, with the new generations taking over, and has a casual informal vibe. The last night there was music at dinner, some old grey-haired pony-tailed guys on guitar and violin, one of them wearing bedroom slippers.

It's an oasis and has interesting history starting back when native Americans set up households, followed by settlers, and then entrepreneurs. 

Well, one more adventure. I mentioned spiritual seekers. The day after Christmas we went out in the desert past Landers to the Integraton, which has a fun history involving vortexes and UFOs and a dome engineered to take advantage of the former and attract the latter. Recently I read the novel Gods Without Men, which borrowed from and built on the history of this place. It was fun to see the parallels. We went for the "sound bath," which involves lying on mats in the upstairs of the dome, along with 15-20 other people, and absorbing the sounds of crystal bowls being played for half an hour, followed by a quiet time to sleep or meditate or whatever works for you. There was a sort of lecture preceding the bowls, but I'm deaf enough that I didn't have to listen to it. So I don't know which chakras got stimulated and whether or not some major shift has occurred for me as a result of the experience, but it sure was nice. I'd do it again.

       

And then it was time to come home. We followed the advice of a ranger and went a longer route, through the Park and out the south end, traveling down the Imperial Valley past the Salton Sea and then through the mountains west through the cute little town of Julian to home. The communities along the shore of the Salton Sea were once thriving resorts and retirement communities, but the 30-foot-deep lake now goes anaerobic occasionally due to algae bloom; fish die, it stinks, and people go away. But the pelicans and grebes still like it.

And there you are, Christmas in the desert, and we will go back maybe in the cheaper season, which begins in May and lasts until some time in September. Happy Trails, as my old sweetie Roy Rogers used to sing.

Border Field State Park on the other blog

There's a somewhat tardy report on a trip we took in late July last year, which I've just posted on my Living on Avocados blog because it isn't really travel, more like a sample day trip from where we live now in Escondido. Border Field is -- you got it -- on the border. It has a big empty beach.

On the Mexico side, it's not so empty. (Sorry for the blurry telescopic photo.) See the other blog for details.

  

Zydeco for Mothers' Day

So I left you in Bequia, which is a great place to be left, but we've been back in Southern California since the beginning of March. Today is Mother's Day. Coincidentally, we celebrated, because it happens that this weekend is the annual Gator by the Bay Zydeco Blues and Crawfish Festival in San Diego. Today is the last day. We drove down way early so we could get a free parking spot at a free festival shuttle stop, and then get breakfast in Little Italy. Gigantic breakfast. Must change eating pattern tomorrow.

Then we wandered along the water by the Maritime Museum until it was time to catch the shuttle. Must make that a trip of its own.

The festival was great. Five stages strung along Spanish Landing Park across from the airport, interspersed with vendor booths and the extensive food court. I wish I'd taken a picture of the boiled crayfish servings I saw people eating -- a huge huge pile. The Louisiana sausage sandwich and the barbecue tri-tip steak sandwich were plenty. Must change eating pattern tomorrow.

We watched all or part of performances by five different bands, and we didn't even stay to the end. Each stage also had a big dance floor, and boy, do people dance! Folks dress up in all sorts of goofy outfits and ham it up. Zydeco dancing has it's own tricky steps, and if you've ever tried to waltz to Cajun music (and have two left feet) you know how challenging that is. We know because we tried it at a previous festival without taking the free lessons that were offered. "Oh, we don't need lessons," he said. Must take lessons next time. There was a parade led by a brass band, and also a great blues band with some very funky dancing happening on their dance floor. Today we were observers, just walked around, sat in the shade on the handy hay bales and watched, cameras ready. A few pictures.

Must go again next year, and learn to dance Cajun in the meantime.

PS I'll be double-posting this if I can manage it, because I have another blog that's generally about life in Southern California. You could go there if you want. It's at http://livingonavocados.blogspot.com/

Royal Visitors

Bequia as we've not seen it. For the last few days, all the public spaces have been bustling with workers carrying rakes and paint brushes and such. Potted palms line the path to the Belmont Walkway, past Mrs. Taylor's Porthole Restaurant and the entrance to Tommy's Cantina. Major cleanup of all visible trash, including scooping out the drainage channels to the sea that run through town; dump trucks of sand spreading their loads along the water's edge to enhance the beach. Pressure washed immigration building. Suddenly-appearing new plantings along the garden strip between the sidewalk and the street. Cars are parked in an orderly way, and most of the local boats off the beach and in the water. Vendors have been shooed away for the day, I heard. And a red carpet is already spread on the jetty where the motor launch from St. Vincent will appear this afternoon with Prince Edward, Sophie, and their entourage, including St. Vincent Prime Minister Ralph Gonsalves. There's a big white tarp set up with folding chairs underneath it for what will probably be boring, pontificating, welcoming speeches. We encountered the former Prime Minister, Sir James Mitchell, who lives here, on the path this morning, and I spoke to him. "Big doings today," I said. "Indeed," he replied. Mitchell is a Bequia native, and owns the hotel we're staying in and also the next one down the walkway. He's getting slightly stooped these days, and has a definite little pot belly. After all, he's 80. But he's still an impressive presence to me.

Noel, our cab driver, remembers when the queen visited in 1985. She and Prince Phillip planted a couple of long-gone trees, but the plaques remain half buried in the sand. That time our landlord from our last visit, Lawson Sargeant, presented the queen with a model of the Britannia that he built. He and his brothers make the most amazing, beautiful model boats. Today's event will be the planting of a pair of royal palms in new planters that were built for the purpose just this week.

Lunch in Lower Bay today, at De Reef. The head waiter caught a ride to work in our cab (pickup trucks with padded benches and roofs). It took a full 45 minutes to get our meal. I'm getting a little cranky with that particular Caribbean experience, but when the mahi mahi arrived, along with a melange of aubergine and other vegetables, salad and fries, all was forgiven. Excellent, as every meal has been here. Well, almost. Nine out of ten. But, you know that Las Vegas ad, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? I fear the French fries will follow me home from Bequia.


Okay, it's later and we did see the arrival of the royal personage.

There was a crowd waiting for a good hour past the advertised arrival time. Local people, of course, because St. Vincent is part of the Commonwealth, and Prince Edward is the Queen's baby boy. And probably most of the Brits visiting the island, as well as curiosity seekers like ourselves. Around 3:00 a big frigate came around the point into the harbor and tootled at the island, and then sat way out there for a long, long time before finally the escort boats and the little launch came in. We didn't stay for the speeches, but satisfied our curiosity anyway by watching the arrival. After dinner we sat on our porch with our Londoner neighbor, Jasmine, and watched the baby moon sink into the harbor.

Yesterday we went over to Industry Bay, on the quiet Atlantic side of the island, with  Jasmine. She's a charming, talkative party animal who has been coming here for 35 years or so. She has opinions about everything, usually a little snarky, or as she calls it, scratchy. She takes 25 pills a day because she has kidney transplants. I think she's very brave. The drinking, which she often mentions, probably serves to ward off germs -- she does have an understandably compromised immune system. But I don't think she drinks as much as she claims. In fact, I don't think any of our acquaintances here drink as much as they claim. I did have a couple of excellent Margaritas at Tommy's Cantina last night, but I'm not bragging. We watched the quarter moon sinking into the sea with Venus close behind. Earlier we watched sunset as well, but no green flash this time. Could be I'm bragging about that.

And the previous day we took the bus down to Paget Farm, which is the far end of the island next to the little airport, which can handle only little planes. It's named after the previously mentioned Sir James. We got on the bus because it looked like it was ready to head out -- these are minivans, stuffed as full as possible with folks. After we sat for a while, and the driver's girlfriend went and got him some salt fish and green banana, we made a loop around town looking for more fares, and then right back to where we started, which was the ferry dock, to wait for more riders on the next ferry. Eventually we made it, however, to a place that had been recommended to us by our friend Rick, who is always searching out local places to eat. This time it was the Step Down Bar. Toko, the proprietor, had been doing some construction work on the place but he sent someone to get him a shirt, which he put on and cooked us a delicious fish plate with some shark and some barracuda. And more of those french fries. The bus back was more direct.

We have three more nights here before starting our trek home. I love it here, but I think I'm ready to get back to life as it is in Southern California. I hear the gas prices are atrocious now. Luckily we have a hybrid! And I need to start walking off these french fries anyway.

Written Saturday, posted Sunday

The Bequia Triangle

You've heard of the Bermuda Triangle, of course, where ships disappear? There's a Bequia Triangle too. And it took my brain. But I've found a breezy upstairs spot, and an Internet connection. Uploading pictures takes forever, and I've lost a couple of posts here in the Bequia Triangle also, because of that. And then there's the temptation to just stare off into the beautiful distance, which is mostly what I've been doing. So, these posts are far apart, and I don't know if I'll get another one done before home. Maybe at the hotel in Los Angeles on the way back.

We've moved to our last Bequia accommodation, up the hill behind the Gingerbread Hotel, which is on the water of Admiralty Bay. We'll be here 6 more nights, then start our three day trek home. I didn't plan the transportation for this trip very well. Oh well. Right now in the harbor is David Geffen's yacht, the 8th largest in the world, called Rising Sun. They tell us Prince Edward is aboard -- the British here keep more track of these things -- and he's due to plant a tree on the island at a ceremony on Saturday, I suppose celebrating the age-old St. Vincent & the Grenadines connection with the former British Empire. You know, slavery and all. Some friends said that yesterday the "dinghy" (this one a big catamaran) brought a party to shore at the beach at Lower Bay, tables and lounges, bar and all. Last post I told you about a visit to a yacht, but I suspect my invitation onto this one has been lost in the mail.

Last night we stopped by the Fig Tree for a rum punch and to hear local singer-songwriter Amanda Gooding. I just looked her up so that you can get the flavor, if you go to her MySpace web presence. There's lots of local  music on the island, some of it pan music, some country western, some R&B stuff, some ballads.  Since we're not very much night-time people, we miss most of it unless the bass line is reverberating in our room where we're lying in bed reading. Or trying to sleep.

We've been invited to dinner tonight at Peter and Janet's place, an English couple who now reside in France, and were our neighbors for a while the last time we visited. They've been coming ever since, and they're here for 10 weeks this time. In fact, they came to our Obama inauguration celebration three years ago. We ran into Peter on the street one day and I'm so pleased we're back in touch. It turned out that Peter fishes with George, who was our upstairs neighbor at the Pink House. Everyone is connected, locals and visitors alike.

We're back without a kitchen now, and only have a little electric kettle. So we're going out for meals, and looking for bargains. Yesterday we had lunch at the Fig Tree, and the proprietors Cheryl and Jacqueline were eating their lunch. I noticed they had local food, which is not on the menu, while we were ordering the usual fish plate. So Cheryl told the waitress to have the cook add some "provisions" to our plates. We had breadfruit salad, coconut dumplings, dasheen, and plantain along with the fish and rice -- really good. And a little taste of salt fish. 

While we were at the Pink House we kept up our new habit of cutting up a big bowl of fruit every morning. Bananas here are truly delicious, sweeter than home because they have varieties that don't ship well. It's sometimes puzzling buying citrus fruit. Lemons are orange. Oranges are green. We really notice a difference in availability of good produce this year, just from three years ago. When you walk through town there are probably more than ten little produce stalls, and you can find whatever you're looking for, even nice leaf lettuce that's grown locally. And fresh local carrots. Before, I could only get bagged carrots from California. There's also the big covered produce market, known as the Rasta market because of the large group of dreadlocked vendors that comes over from St. Vincent every day. If you know what you're doing, it's fine shopping there, but a newcomer can be overwhelmed, as I was the first time we came, by some aggressive selling.  

This was a new experience -- I never had soursop before. Maybe it's familiar to others. It's a scary looking fruit, and I might not have tried it if the young man at my favorite produce market hadn't cut a hunk of it for us to taste. 

The flesh is sort of like soggy cotton fiber, and you can eat it, messily. But also you can squeeze all the lovely thick juice out of it and add its tasty tart flavor to other fruit juice, or dilute with water and perhaps add some sugar. I mixed it with orange juice and it was yum. Afterwards I read that if you peel, core and seed it you can use the flesh in blender drinks too. I'll have to check and see if our Mexican market back home carries it.

Well, it's back to Reading Camp. That's my fallback activity when I don't feel like walking in the heat or getting anything written, or cooking. Or else, it's back to staring at beautiful scenery and a huge variety of people. I'd send you lots of pictures if they didn't take so long to load, but I will do an album to link to later. I'm reading a truly fun and giant book by Bill Bryson, called At Home: A Short History of Private Life. I just have to leave off a book or two of ours for trade. Every restaurant and hotel has a shelf of books to trade, on the honor system, so there's a wonderful selection.

And of course I did finally manage to upload my novel as an e-book. It's not setting any sales records, but then all I really wanted was to set it free and get it off my list of undone things.  

Until the next time . . . Barb and Mike in paradise.

How can I be running behind already?

Wrote the post below yesterday, but stayed in because it rained buckets. We finally got the wireless problem sorted this noon, so here's the news from Wed., Feb 8.

Sitting with the first cup of coffee on the roomy covered porch of our downstairs flat at the Pink House, under a cloudy sky that apparently dumped rain last night. It’s been doing that every night, leaving the days mostly dry. It’s our second accommodation, after three nights at the Frangipani. We’re here for about two weeks, and this is the place where I’m supposed to be able to hop on the Internet with “no problem, Mon.” Evie, my upstairs neighbor from London, is trying to get us help with that. She’s long-time friends with our landlady, who is home in chilly Britain. Evie and George stay here four months a year. Until we solve the connection problem, I can walk down the hill to The Fig Tree, where they have free wireless, and I’ll be able to upload my posts from time to time.

Ah, this very moment we hear soft rain sweeping down the hill and passing us by, leaving a cool breeze behind. It’s sweet.

Yesterday we had our first visit to a yacht. We’ve been in a lot of harbors and met many yachties, but this was our first invitation aboard. We met Sue and David about four years ago, on Carriacou, and when we saw them here we shared some pictures we took at a party we were at together then. They sail six months a year, on their smallish boat -- it’s 32’ I think. Those are some close quarters! David picked us up in his dinghy at the jetty, and gave us a thorough tour of the boat, including explaining all the safety features, how compartments can be closed off watertight in case of a hole in the hull, the emergency signal system, stuff like that which I wouldn’t want to have to think about. Which is why I don’t spend a lot of time on the open sea in small boats. Sue made coffee and some yummy almond cake, which she cooks in the pressure cooker, giving it an interesting texture. Sue and David are humorous and genial -- you’d have to be, to spend half the year cooped up together like that. And courageous. And hospitable -- they’ve invited us to visit them in England when we hopefully go next fall. They live near Southhampton.

It would have been fun to stay longer in the old fashioned room upstairs at the Frangipani, the one with the bathroom down the hall, because of the entertaining neighbors. Gerhard, a friendly German about our age, comes every year. We recognized each other from past years. He was part of a literary group that convened each evening around sunset on the common balcony blue benches, where a former British professor of the classics was reading The Aeneid aloud. A gentle bookish couple from Connecticut and the wife of the professor rounded out the group.

Now we are up the hill in our amazingly roomy digs. We have no ocean view, and less breeze than down by the water, which probably accounts for the best price I’ve seen for any accommodation on Bequia. I won’t mention it here in public -- competition for a place to rent can be fierce. Here we have the spacious porch, well outfitted kitchen, comfortable living room furniture, ceiling fans, and the biggest bedroom I’ve ever slept in.

We run into Ricky and Mabel, from Toronto, when we walk around town, and usually stop to chat. We got to know them three years ago, and kept in touch some, through the Trip Advisor forum for Bequia. Rick is a social animal, and organizes parties and trips, and frequent drinking opportunities at the New York Bar, Maria’s French Cafe, The Step Down Bar, and all the other places he’s discovered in his many years coming here. He’s s retired conductor on Via Rail, and I imagine he was one of those gruff joking ones. The Canadian gang he hangs with seems to be in an ongoing congenial competition for alpha male, trading jokes and opinions, loudly. Funny, that’s not the stereotype of Canadians I was exposed to in Washington state. Maybe all those “nice polite” ones live in BC, and the middle of the country is a bit rougher. But they are fun. We’re more likely to visit in the daytime, and avoid the more serious drinking occasions.

Best food mention of the day: Yesterday we braved the endless wait for callaloo soup at The Green Boley.

Usually callaloo is swizzled into a puree, and I have no complaints about that. It’s cooked from the leaves of a taro-like plant (or maybe it's actual taro with a different name) that is a staple here, and it’s served everywhere. Sometimes it includes crab -- I even made it that way myself at home once, with spinach since it’s hard to find callaloo in the states. But at the Green Boley it’s hearty with little dumplings and bits of beef, and just as peppery as you could wish. I don’t know if they still do it, but last time we were here it was cooked over a fire out back of the restaurant. It’s just special. And next time I’ll take a book to while away the time waiting.

A cranky woman came in and asked Liston, the proprietor and bartender, if there was service out front at the picnic tables overlooking the water, and he said, “Yes, but it might take a while.” She harrumphed off, but was beginning to get the picture. Looking for fast service anywhere here is not a good approach, because you’ll be doomed to disappointment. You might even get your food in a timely manner but your next drink is a long time coming, and then the bill never arrives so you have to chase it down. At the Green Boley, when you’re ready to pay you go up to Liston at the bar, so it’s not a problem. That's Liston in the green shirt.

I’ve had a heck of a time settling down to writing. Everything takes a long time and I seem to only be able to do one thing a day. Tomorrow will be laundry, and it’s a desperate situation. Mulette, the housekeeper, said I should wait for a day when the sun comes out in the morning, and this isn’t it. (We had another little downpour while I was writing this.) Mike has been sketching and painting some in his sketchbook, and now he’s working on his one-a-day small painting (though he’s behind by six days).

Shopping when you are going to be cooking is an all day affair, and one of our days was entirely consumed with that sort of errand. Bread one place, wine another, looking everywhere for butter and discovering it’s not carried anywhere any more, for some mysterious reason. Finally finding cheese, the white cheddar from New Zealand. Trying to identify meat in the freezer case that’s not labeled -- I thought I was getting ham to go with the beans, but when I defrosted it I found I had chunks of the leg of a giant chicken. Choosing produce at several different stalls to get what you want. And stopping for lunch and a couple of Hairouns, the St. Vincent & Grenadines beer. One should be enough, but there’s that wait-for-the-food time to fill in.

I'll wait until tomorrow to get farther on this or it will never be posted. Stay tuned.

Heading south to 13 degrees north

I'm usually content with where I am at the moment, unless it's too cold for comfort, but I do still embrace my Restless Barb identity. This is the spot I'm imagining the most right now. We'll probably come here our first morning, to the tables under the Indian almond tree, in front of the Gingerbread Hotel, facing Admiralty Bay, on the island of Bequia in the Grenadines. The little bakery here has great coffee, and of course gingerbread and cinnamon rolls and cookies and cakes. I expect we'll run into friends from previous trips here. And it's a good place to sit in the shade with a book. Gee, I guess our travels have become less exciting over the years. We'll try to meet a few challenges as well, and here at the Gingerbread we can rest up for those adventures. We'll be here most of February, so there's time for both. I'll try to keep you posted.