I love walking. Most weekends when I am not biking or kayaking, I go hiking in one of the many parks near us, The Great Swamp NWR, Jockey Hollow National Monument, Hacklebarney State Park, or one of several others. A group of us at work walk to lunch nearly every day. ITT has a reasonably good cafeteria but we prefer to walk to the Chinese restaurant or one of the nearby sandwich shops. We generally walk about 1-1/2 or 2 miles returning through a park to check on the Canadian geese and mallards that live on the pond there. We walk summer and winter, sun, rain, snow, puddles, car splashes – no matter.
I think of myself as a fairly rapid walker but I have to push it to keep up with our group. I guess it’s the guy that is a bit taller that sets the pace. Aren’t longer pendulums supposed to swing more slowly? But when I walk with Jan, around the neighborhood after dinner or from the car to church in NYC, I constantly find myself three paces ahead and have to consciously slow down to let her catch up. Adjusting my speed to whoever I am walking with seems a constant task.
And then there was our trip to Rome in April. We went to see if the Pope was in town but found that he’d gone to NYC, probably to avoid us, so we stayed around a couple of weeks to keep an eye on things until he got back. I also had some meetings for a few days in Rome and since we’d never been to Rome before we decided there might be some parts outside of our hotel worth seeing. We discovered that Vatican City was near by and it has a bit of reasonably good art hanging around. They even put some of it on their ceilings. The Coliseum was a little run down and there wasn’t much left of the Forum and the Temple of Jupiter at all. No clowns at the Circus Maximus and it was very hard to get a drink from the Trevi Fountain (too many people). Everyone at the Spanish Steps looks Italian (or German or English) and the Piazza del Popolo was dominated by some tall rock with funny Egyptian-looking pictures all over it, but on a Sunday there were so many people in the piazza that you couldn’t see much of the rock anyway. I guess it was very “popolo”.
But we soon found that about half of Rome was on passeggiata, strolling down the Via del Corso from the piazza almost to the Forum. So we joined the promenade, but walking with Jan introduced yet one more issue in addition to modulating my pace. I tried to remember that we were on vacation and in no hurry and so I should walk close beside her – you know look like lovers in Rome. Well then I discovered a new problem. Jan had brought along this largish bag, you know, to carry the map, the guide book, the umbrella, a sweater and who knows what else. Not a nice rounded backpack or soft bag but this stiff bag with sharp corners. And, of course, she couldn’t carry in on the outside – you know you have to be careful of pickpockets in Rome – so she carried it held close on the inside. Something to come between us. Now that might have not been a problem. It was soft on the sides. But, you see, Via del Corso is also the highest class shopping distinct in Rome. I am not sure if that is why everyone promenades there or if the shops are there because that’s where all the promenaders are, but all the most exclusive designer shops are along the street. So not only is Jan walking slower than usual but she is looking constantly from one side of the street to the other, from one window to the next. This results in a path that physicists call a “random walk” or more poetically the “drunken sailor walk” and stopping abruptly every two to three meters (hey, we’re in Europe so it can’t be every six to ten feet) to look closely at some item way beyond our budget (or anyone’s budget who gets paid in dollars). So perhaps you see the problem. Here I am trying to walk at her speed and walk closely beside her but her speed and path are constantly changing in less than one pace. Now add that problem to the one of trying to avoid being jabbed in the rib by a large sharp object held between us and perhaps you can see how it ceased to be a relaxing Sunday stroll.
We did eventually make it to a nice little sidewalk café near the Spanish Steps, with only minimal bruising to share a small pizza and a beverage, before attempting to find what was left of Augustus’ family mausoleum (not much but they keep digging into it).
[When one walks in US cities, one is walking on flat concrete or asphalt, sidewalks have uniform curbs and intersections are controlled by street lights. The store windows here present the usual expected fare; nothing too interesting to distract one’s attention from walking in a straight line at a uniform speed. Not so in Rome. First and foremost, the sidewalks and streets are paved with cobblestones which undulate and dip like the surface of the sea on a windy day. Since traffic is not controlled at most intersections, Roman pedestrians must be skilled at playing ‘chicken’ in order to remain alive from one block to the next. Those factors, in and of themselves, present a fairly daunting challenge to walking a straight course at a set pace. Then add an interest in checking out the wares of an exotic (to me anyway) city while on a quest to find a poster of an exquisite painting spotted in the Vatican, and what you get is an experience like white water rafting while shopping. (And while lugging an unwieldy tote as per Terry’s description.) Not an easy thing to do in the middle of the Sunday-after-mass Promenade of the very fashionable Romans. They, having been born on these wavy streets on which they have been practicing walking since birth, have acquired the skill of walking in an unwavering straight line. I must admit to admiring their technique. Their posture is erect, their chin is thrust forward and tilted slightly up, and they walk slowly to allow others not ‘Walking the Promenade’ to observe every inch of their carefully composed attire. And, most importantly, they never give way to any other pedestrian. Never. So, avoiding a Roman ‘On Promenade’ must also be factored into the course we pursue. Not easy for the foreigner used to walking on flat surfaces. However much I bobbed and weaved on our way to lunch, I was able to check out every nook and cranny that my eye could see. I even spotted the poster that had for days eluded my search. So, sitting down to a leisurely lunch was all the more enjoyable because of our bumpy and erratic stroll. My response to Terry’s complaints about the way I was walking was to suggest that I needed more practice, so we should visit Rome more often. I’m waiting for him to take me up on that.]
St Peter’s was, of course, beautiful (after passing through the metal detectors) and the art in the Vatican Museum was well worth the sore feet. It did not involve much walking, more standing since the crowds moved so slowly. We first stood in line (or leaned against the Vatican fortress walls) for about and hour before getting into the museum resisting the periodic offers of hawkers to sell faster entrance by joining one of their expensive guided tours. Then we viewed the wonderful collection of paintings and mounted frescos in the Pinacoteca by a series of standings interspersed with very brief periods of walking. But the real crowds all headed toward the Sistine Chapel, who we soon joined. The path (or really “stream” since motion was less like walking and more like flowing) passed through a long hallway with beautiful painted, carved and decorated ceilings and lined first with statues (mostly looted by ancient Romans from ancient Greece) and further on by a wonderful collection of ancient maps of parts of the Roman Empire. Then the flow proceeded through a series of rooms, once used by Popes for daily living, which are frescoed on all walls and ceilings. Even the floors are decorated with mosaic tiles. Several of these were designed and painted by Raphael. Finally one arrives, along with several hundred others (about 13,000 per day) in the Sistine Chapel itself where the guards attempt to prevent talking or any picture taking by making more noise than those defying them by talking. But the wait is well worth it to view this breath taking work by Michelangelo. While walking near the Vatican, I found a piece of Holy See glass to add to Jan’s collection.
Rome has an amazing way of integrating the old and the new. Each Roman emperor built a Forum incorporating some of the buildings of the former emperor but reorienting the open courtyard and adding temples to his own favorite gods. The Church rededicated Roman temples, such as the Pantheon (meaning the temple to all gods) to their One God. You see renaissance buildings that have incorporated ancient Roman walls or columns. The huge palace and grounds that Nero built after Rome burned (covering hundreds of acres in central Rome that suddenly became available) was destroyed by his successors who wished to distance themselves from the unloved tyrant is now a park, with mothers pushing baby carriages, folks walking dogs, picnickers, soccer and volleyball games, and lovers entangled on blankets separated only by fences from first Century ruins of walls., columns and excavations. An amazing world to walk through spanning over 2000 years.
But walking in Rome is a different experience. Where I grew up in the Midwest, everyone crossed streets at intersections, in cross-walks, only with the green light (few “walk” signs in those days). In NYC most still cross at intersections but if crossing a “street” (NYC talk for the narrow, EW cross streets as opposed to “avenue” for the wide, NS streets) more cross on the red light, with the cautious waiting until the last car has crossed the intersection, but the brave begin to inch into the intersection as a group and if some meek, out-of-town motorist pauses, the group streams in front of the car and its all over. On the other hand, the more aggressive motorists (often taxis) will aim at the front of this invading hoard, trying to drive it back toward the curb. Or if some loner sees the traffic is at some distance and tries to cross, the driver will speed up and swerve toward the pedestrian to punish them. So walking and driving in NYC becomes a sort of war, with one side in mechanized divisions and the other using gorilla techniques.
We had been told that Rome was even worse. That pedestrians walking, even with the light, might be targets for cars, and we did find the many aspects of traffic in Rome is even more anarchistic than in NYC. Lights seem to be only suggestions. The second car waiting at a light often swerves into the opposing lanes when the light changes to pass the front car before meeting the on-coming traffic, in an exciting game of chicken (more like terrifying if you are the passenger in the taxi that is playing the game). The traffic basically ignore lane markings, since double parked cars and trucks block lanes in every block, and sort of flows down the street in turbulent flow complete with rapids and eddies. But while Roman drivers are extremely aggressive with each other, they do not appear to target pedestrians. The war is only between armored divisions (although the divisions usually consist of a single vehicle, there are as many sides to the war as there are cars). Roman pedestrians basically cross traffic, even four-lane arterials, wherever they are, ignoring cross-walks or walk lights. They simply move across each lane as it become somewhat free, expecting the cars to slow or swerve to miss them, then pause between traffic lanes (which as we have observed, is rarely at a lane marker) before crossing the next lane. One does see clusters of walkers at intersections waiting for walk light, but these are only on the fastest streets and usually consist of tour groups of foreigners (recognized by the presence of one holding up a colorful banner or more often just an unopened umbrella).
I’ve been doing more hiking this year. We have great areas for short hikes within 5-10 miles of the house, the Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge, Jockey Hollow (part of the Morristown National Historical Park, where the revolutionary soldiers bivouacked during the winter of 1779, and Hackelbarney State Park and about an hour away is great hiking at the Delaware Water Gap National Monument which includes part of the Appalachian Trail and I have been to all of these in the last year or two, but there are several areas in NY State that I have always wanted to hike, but always put off because they seemed so far away as to need a “trip” and “planning”. Usually I get up Sunday morning and say, I think I’ll go for a hike today (rather than a bike ride or kayak paddle). But this summer Jan decided to leave me in bachelorhood while she went out to Whidbey Island to play host to a couple of her NJ teacher friends who wanted to see the Northwest. So I decided that this was the time to take a couple of hikes in NY – not sure why her being gone made the difference. I did both hikes as single day trips. Maybe it was just a way of getting away from an empty house. Anyway, I did lots of advanced planning (found maps and partly packed my daypack the night before). Each required a 2 hour+ drive to the trail head and a similar drive back home, well actually the drive home can be a lot longer if it occurs Sunday evening and involves the NY Throughway.
First I climbed Slide Mountain, the highest peak in the Catskills (NY). Now Colorado folks and maybe even Washington State folks will be unimpressed but 4200 feet is actually pretty high for East Coast Mountains. We do have Mt Washington in NH at 6288 but that has the most violent weather on earth, including the highest wind speed ever recorded on earth. And Mt. Katahdin, the highest in Maine at 5267 feet. The highest in NY is Mt Marcy in the Adirondacks at 5344 but that is a lot more than two hours away, so I settled for Slide Mountain. It is still an impressive 1700 feet above the trailhead and with other climbing made for a 3000 foot gain during the day (and nearly the same down). It was a tiring but rewarding climb. Although timberline is higher in than this in the Catskills so the peaks are all wooded to the top, Slide Mt has a nice rock outcropping at the top that give a clear view of more than 180° centered south, so in addition to NY, I could see NJ and Pennsylvania and possibly into Connecticut and places along the trail gave nice views of the other Catskill peaks. I even found Jan a piece of sea glass at the 4000’ level on Slide Mt, proving that once the Atlantic Ocean was 4000’ higher J – and we worry about a few 10’s of foot rise due to Greenland turning tropical.
After several days of difficulty with the stairways at work, I recovered enough to consider my second trip – The Gunks (or Shawanangunk Mountain to those not in the know). The Gunks is a ridge about fifteen miles long and four miles wide running NE-SW about two hours up the NY Throughway, whose SE “slope” is actually a 1500’ rock cliff most of the length. This has made it one of the most famous rock climbing areas in the east and the richest (and closest) area near NYC. I wanted to hike the trails along the top and see the wonderful views over the Hudson valley. First I did a few miles along the edge to a lookout point called Castle Point and then back along a parallel trail that used a wide ledge 200 feet below the top. Then it was so early in the day that I decided to hike the trail around Gertrude’s Nose – a side ridge that goes out toward the valley and ends abruptly. On one of the projecting slabs, I came upon a vulture sitting on the rock. I took a picture and then walked closer taking more pictures until I was only 20 feet away and the vulture still sat looking at me. And then I began to get worried. Did he know more than I did about the way my day was going to end?
Most of the trails in the Gunks are wide and very smooth paths with chipped stone. Although cars are not allowed, they are called “carriage roads” because they were originally built for horse-drawn carriages by a couple of hotels that sat atop the ridge in the late 1800’s. These hotels went bankrupt like all of the mountain houses in the east after the automobile was invented and vacations changed from being two weeks at a resort reached by train and carriage (or even mules) to two weeks of one-night stands in motels along an interstate with brief pauses for pictures at a natural wonder or a stop advertising two-headed snakes, gold-panning or water slides. There is still one remaining lodge in the Gunks, the Mohunk Moutain House, designated as a National Historical Landmark in 1986 with 2200 acres, and the rest of the land is owned and protected by the Nature Conservancy, a state park and a private non-profit preserve – all open to the public.
I think that walking is great.
As I grow older, I am increasingly concerned with my health. I listen and read the health news and it is bad. What with food or beverages containing unnatural additives, too much salt, sugar, cholesterol or the wrong kind of fat (which changes ever few years), not enough or too much of some vitamin (we seem to discover a new one that we do not get enough of every few years), vegetables, like tomatoes, contaminated on their way from the field to my store or not washed enough, meat containing some parasite, mad-something-or-other or hoof-and-mouth disease (didn’t it used to be foot-and-mouth?) or simply not cooked enough or cooked too much. It doesn’t seem safe to eat anything. And then there is the other news. The price of gas is up. Traffic accidents are on the increase. There are suicide bombers, mad postal employees, jilted lovers, fired employees, disaffected high school students, firearm collectors (who seem to want to use them), and normal crazy people. It doesn’t seem safe to leave my house. Then there are floods, typhoons, tornadoes, wildfires, hurricanes, polluted air, electric outages, broken gas mains, alligators in the sewers and global warming. We are too fat, bulimic, don’t exercise enough, have tennis elbow or football knees or suffer from weekend warrior aches.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way to life beyond next Tuesday is to buy a hermetically sealed, concrete house at high elevation in Greenland with solar panels on the roof, sandbag my yard, telecommute, eat nothing but drink red wine (from grapes grown in my basement) while modestly exercising on the treadmill in my den.
It was a quiet year in Bernardsville. Besides the trip to Rome, most was living as usual – continuing most of our regular activities: Jan’s delight of retirement, book clubs and trips to her mother and sister in Tennessee, Terry’s work and Forum. In addition to several trips to our house on Whidbey Island in Washington State, Jan went with Terry on several business trips including Rome, Boston, San Diego and Washington, DC.
On one trip to Whidbey in June we found that the heavy spring rains had caused some of the terrace walls on the slope beside our house there had collapsed. We had planned all along to have work done on it someday, but this forced the issue (it’s really not a good idea to allow a driveway to slide down the hill). So our big (read: expensive) project this year was having the entire slope redone using large riprap rocks, with a nice steps and a railing added.
Our big news is that this fall Katherine got engaged, to her long-term boyfriend, Bill Carty. We couldn’t be happier. Bill is a great guy and we welcome him to the family. His parents are wonderful too. We got to know them while both Katherine and Bill were at Dartmouth and have visited them in their home in Maine. The wedding is planned for next summer, probably June on one of the San Juan Islands in the Puget Sound.
Terry & Jan Anderson, Christmas 2008
|
Cheery Solstice Merry Christmas Happy Hanukkah Celebrate Kwanzaa Happy New Year
Happy Holidays
|
|
Terry & Jan Anderson 24 Hill St Bernardsville, NJ 07924 |