MUSEUM AS THEATER

"My name is Mrs. Edward Candee (Helen Churchill Hungerford).  While in Europe doing research for my latest book, I received word that my son was seriously injured in an automobile accident.  I booked passage on the first ship available, the Titanic..."  This and other similar short back stories are printed on boarding passes given to us as we entered the Titanic artifact exhibit at the Natural History Museum in San Diego.  Each pass represents an actual passenger who had sailed on that tragic voyage.  We learned that we would find out at the end of the exhibition whether our traveler lived or not. 

This set the stage for one of the best museum experiences I've had to date.  Commemorating the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, the exhibition took us on a tour of this jewel of the White Star Line as it had looked on the day of it's sailing.  Clearly every effort had been made to make this the finest luxury liner on the seas.  Against life sized backdrops of actual pictures are recreations of opulent settings a first class traveler enjoyed, from a 5 star dining room set with the actual china, to a luxuriously appointed state room. Each tableau is set with the artifacts salvaged from the wreckage, many of which survived a hundred years in those cold ocean depths in incredibly good condition.  One of which is a man's suit.  It amazed me that it showed remarkably little deterioration and I learned that anything that was packed in a leather suitcase was protected.  It seems microbes don't like the taste of tanned leather.

Overhead we heard Celtic music softly playing as if the ship's orchestra performed in a distant room, and as we "descended" to the third class accommodations, the sounds of the engines grew louder and louder until we found ourselves in the boiler room.  Even though the fires roaring in the massive boiler are simulated, we could imagine the heat of the flames which pulsated to the rhythm of the throbbing engines. 

This is museum as theater, an exhibit that creates an experience that teaches and challenges our thinking and perspectives.  It is engaging on several levels, sensual, emotional and intellectual, and sets the bar high for all other exhibits like it.  It is a must see.  Oh, and by the way--Mrs. Candee survived.

Unfortunately, we were not able to take pictures of the exhibits.

MUSEUM AS COMBAT

Another very well done exhibit is at the Bowers Museum in Santa Ana entitled, Warriors, Tombs and Temples.  The only draw back with this exhibit is that it was too crowded. Reservations are required, but the exhibit space was small and it felt positively combative to get close enough to see anything. However, if you can make it before it closes on March 4, it is well worth seeing. 

This exhibition features artifacts from three major Chinese dynasties, the Qin, Han and Tang.  The most impressive exhibit greets you when you first enter--the life-size terra cotta soldiers  created to protect China's first emperor Qin in the afterlife.  It surprised me to learn that like the Egyptians, these emperors believed they could take not only possessions but people (even simulated people) into the afterlife.  Acres and acres of buried warriors, horses, and chariots were discovered in a mausoleum complex that is considered the eighth wonder of the world.  Fortunately, this museum allowed us to take pictures:

You can see hints of the brightly colored paint that once covered the figures.

Originally the terra cotta soldiers all held weapons.

A picture of one of the excavation sites.

Each statue's face was patterned after an actual warrior in the Emperor's army, and there are thousands of them.  Rank can be determined by the hairstyles and head adornments.

The Han emperors miniaturized their 40,000 smiling terra cotta soldiers which look
more like cookie cutter dolls in comparison to the Qin warriors.

The Han Dynasty also included animals, concubines and a multitude of objects to insure a comfortable and lavish afterlife.

BETWEEN HERE AND THERE

I planned on stopping in Auburn, CA to visit my friends Kay and Tom for a couple of weeks before going home.  Shelly wanted to accompanying me but came down with something that left her speechless (literately--she had laryngitis for days) and was very sick.  I would have loved her company but I assured her I would be just fine on the road by myself.  I decided to break up the nine hour trip by staying in Redding overnight and continuing on to Auburn the next day.

On Saturday, January 14, the kids waved to me as my overstuffed Olds and I bounced down the driveway.  It was very cold and lightly raining when I started out.  A heck of storm was headed straight for White Salmon that night and Shelly and Michael were afraid I might get caught in some of it in the pass.  They had me call at every gas station fill up just in case.  But every mile I traveled the weather became nicer and nicer.  And the warmer the temperature became and the bluer the skies the  happier I was to be speeding toward sunny Southern Cal.

It was an incredibly beautiful drive.  I didn't realize that Oregon has such lovely farm land.  I could have spent a week photographing one textbook red barn after another, and vowed I would do just that one day.  Then it occurred to me that I was in no hurry and what a shame it would be to rush through such gorgeous country.  One of my favorite places to visit is Ashland, Oregon and when I saw the sign pointing to the exit, I said to myself what the heck, I'll spend an hour in Lithia Park.

I could live in Ashland.  It is a beautiful cosmopolitan town nestled in the green hills of lower Oregon.  They host the famous Oregon Shakespearean Festival which is presented in an authentic Globe style theater, plus they have a university all tucked among quaint Victorian homes.  And right downtown there is a picturesque stream flowing through one of the prettiest parks I've ever seen.  Lithia Park is of course prettier in spring and summer, but I will have to come back to show you what it looks like then.

Back on I 5, Mt. Shasta soon loomed up out of the flat farm fields.   I snapped picture after picture of it while I was driving.  It was a dumb thing to do, but what a sight!

I did stop to take this one.

I stayed overnight in Redding, CA and the next morning I drove a couple of miles to photograph the Sundial Bridge.  It is a walking bridge over the Sacramento River.  The deck of the bridge is made of opaque green glass and one can glimpse the shimmering river below.  The bridge is designed to also act as a giant sundial, which accurately marks the time.made of opaque green glass and one can glimpse the shimmering river below.  The bridge is designed to also act as a giant sundial, which accurately marks the time.

From now on I will plan a journey allowing plenty of time to discover what is out there to see and do between destinations.  The whole trip can be about what is between here and there.

MULTINOMAH FALLS, JEWEL OF THE COLUMBIA RIVER

I often visit my daughter who lives near the Columbia River Gorge in Washington. In order to get there from the Portland airport I take Oregon’s I-84 highway which runs for miles along the magnificent Columbia River. It is one of the most beautiful scenic drives in the country with the wide, turbulent river rushing toward the Pacific Ocean on one side and steep, forested mountains on the other. The views are ever changing and are never the same. Sometimes the river is choppy with white tipped waves and at other times, glacier smooth. In the winter ice coats the perpendicular slabs of granite that create the Gorge and once freefalling waterfalls are stilled in their place by the freezing wind.

Several miles down the road and hidden from the highway until finally bursting into view is Multnomah Falls. Even though I know it is just around the bend in the road, the sight never fails to take my breath away. The falls drop in two major steps:  the upper falls are 542 feet and the lower falls measures 69 feet, so with over 600 feet of falls you can imagine how breathtaking the view can be.  I can’t take my eyes off of it as I pass on the highway. If possible, I stop for a few minutes for a cup of coffee at the stone lodge and enjoy a peaceful moment. Time seems to stop. All I can hear is the crashing of the water, the gentle voice of the breezes and sweet bird song.

On a spectacular morning one October, I took my camera and tripod and attempted to capture the ever changing atmosphere of the falls.   It was early in the morning and I had the falls almost to myself.   I was in bliss as I stood in the heavy mist at the base of the falls taking picture after picture.  It is my Shangri-La.

LOST LAKE, FOUND MOUNTAIN

Last week, my son-in-law Michael took me on a photo safari to Lost Lake which is located at the base of Mt. Hood in Oregon.  The purpose of the trip was to attempt to wean me from using the automatic setting on my camera and teach me the basics of taking a good picture manually.  After taking copious notes on the trip up I was confident that I could do this.  How hard could it be anyway?  I was determined to overcome my technophobia and master at least one aspect of  manual operation that day.  Michael set me up with a tripod, briefly going over what we discussed in the car, "Remember your ISO's, your shutter speed, your depth of field, your f stops...."  My brain began to shut down and my eyes glazed over.  He promptly left to take his own photos leaving me with not having a clue what to do.  I took a few test shots and was totally discouraged.  It was a very dark and overcast day (and might I add dang cold), and I could not get a decent picture.  If I took a picture of the lake, the mountain disappeared and vice versa.  Michael would yell up from his perfect vantage point on the lake every once in awhile to ask how I was coming along.  "I don't know what I'm doing..!!!"  I'd whine.  No response.  Aw to heck with it, I said to myself, and just began to fool around with what I could remember of my lesson the night before.  Michael had shown me some sort of scale on the manual setting, that if I lined it up--voila!  great picture.  I began to experiment with that and I actually got both the lake and the mountain to show up.  What I learned was that in those kind of lighting conditions (and with my limited camera) either one or the other was going to be dark.  I went with moody foreground and in focus mountain.  Later, Michael told me that what I had learned was how to use the light meter in my camera.  I was so proud.

SIGHTSEEING WITH THE MOTOR RUNNING

Our old steam locomotive did it's best, but it had to stop several times on the trip back to cool it's ancient bearings, which meant we didn't arrive in Fort Bragg until almost 4 PM.  I'd planned on heading up the coast on Highway 1 after the train ride, stopping along the way to admire the trees in the Redwood National Forest before staying overnight in Grants Pass, Oregon.  As it was, we were going to be lucky if we made it as far as Eureka, CA before dark.  Not only that, I was getting increasingly anxious about my car.  It had started so far, however reluctantly, but I was slowly becoming resigned to the fact that it was just going to be a matter of time before the old thing was going to conk out. 

What should have been a leisurely tour of the giant trees turned out to be just the opposite.  Leaving the motor running we would jump out of the car, take a picture with a massive tree, drive down the road and take another picture all the while nervously keeping an eye on our idling car.  We finally gave up after an unsatisfying half trip through The Valley of the Giants, dilapidated old redwoods so ready to fall over that they had to be propped up with cables.  After a couple of pictures with these sad tourist attraction relics, we decided that we'd better get to civilization while it was still light. 

If you look carefully, Audrey is in this picture!

With unbelievable gratitude we pulled into a nice Comfort Inn in Eureka for the night.  Next morning, the car struggled more than usual to start and we knew we were on borrowed time now.  I just  prayed  we would make it to White Salmon that day.  It had hung in with us this far.

We had to make one last stop for gas in Eugene, Oregon.  Us chickens loaded up on soda and prepackaged sandwiches and steeled ourselves for one more start of the car.  Now throughout the whole trip, Audrey had been consoling me saying, "It's OK, Mom.  It'll start."  But, when she turned the key this time--- nothing.  No sound.  For the first time in the entire trip, I felt a calm faith in the old thing and I encouraged her to try again.  As if rallying one more time before giving up the ghost for good, it somehow found the strength to start.  We could not believe it.  We drove straight through to White Salmon and parked the car in front of Michael and Shelly's house.  It never started again.  A couple of weeks later it was towed into the garage where a new ignition was installed.  God bless that old clunk.

THE TRAIN WITH THE STINKY NAME

Can you imagine waiting 20 years to ride something called the Skunk Train?  Kay and I had run out of time on the last trip, and it had always been on my list of things to do.  So I was excited as Audrey and I boarded the 1920's era rail cars on that Wednesday morning.  We were going on a four hour round trip into a forest thick with redwoods, on ancient rails twisting around some 200 odd curves and crossing dozens of antiquated bridges.  As we were boarding, the century old Baldwin locomotive proudly huffed huge clouds of white steam as if to show us it was up to the task.

The northern coast of California is redwood country.  The size of these trees run from gigantic 2,000 year old granddaddies to 500 year old burly adolescents with girths up to a dozen feet across.  In 1885, a logging railroad was built to move these massive redwood logs to the Mendocino sawmills.  Now this slow old train is traveling the same rails past the same trees and it is delightful.  We learn from our docent that in 1925, self powered gas rail cars were put into service which frankly stunk up the place.  The locals had a saying, "You can smell 'em before you can see 'em," which finally explained the name of our train.

Just one of the 200 curves.

 Audrey in her version of the Unibomber look.

Here's another one.

And here's 197...

THE OTHER CHICKENS

At 4:30 AM we stuffed the car with more stuff plus a basket full of snacks and drinks, settled into our seats and crossed our fingers the car would start.  It did, to our relief, but only after doing it's dying jalopy routine again.  We headed north up the I 5 stopping only briefly for gas.  My heart would sink every time I had to turn the engine off because I was never sure it was ever going to start again.  We wouldn't kill the motor (bad choice of words, I know) for food or potty breaks; instead we'd take turns dashing in and out leaving the car running.  I made sure that if we did have to turn off the ignition, we were in a area that might have a decent repair shop.  Finally, after 12 hours of rarely leaving the car, we rolled into Fort Bragg.  As we pried ourselves out of car, food wrappers, drink cans and various other debris spilled out with us as if we'd been living in the car for a week.  Audrey and I looked like the "other chickens" in the Foster Farms commercials who aren't a bit fresh. 

Ah, but we made it and the place was beautiful.  I'd made reservations for us at The Harbor Lite Lodge located on a small bay and steps from the ocean.  I'd stayed there twenty years ago with my friend Kay on a similar trip up the coast and we had had the same view from our rooms. 

The next day we drove to Mendocino, which was about eight miles up the coast.  I remembered it as being a charming New England style village when I visited it twenty years ago and always wanted to come back.  I learned this time that the reason it had that New England feeling was that it had been founded by New Englanders.  Well, no wonder!  Audrey and I strolled around the streets, peeking in people's backyards, enjoying the picturesque setting.  We noticed that each home had a water tower in their yard and we learned it was because everyone had their own well.  It just added to the charm.