Keuka Lake day trip

Last week we took a day and headed south to Keuka Lake to see an architectural marvel. Located at Bluff Point on a peninsula between the eastern and western arms of the lake, the Garrett Memorial Chapel was designed by Mortimer Friedhof, with landscape by Jesse DeFrance, in 1930, and dedicated in 1931.

The Chapel is at the first K in Keuka Lake, above.

The Garretts, a wine making family, built the chapel to honor the memory of their son Charles. It is on the National Register of Historic Places, deservedly, and it is an astonishing thing to behold.

After a fast lunch in Penn Yan, we trundled down the back roads of the peninsula along Skyline Drive, which has unmatched views of the lake, hundreds of feet below. As we started down the steep hill toward Bluff Point, there was the chapel, perched on the side of the gradient.

We strolled down the path to the chapel, and peered inside. The building is made of Pennsylvania granite, and features materials from all over the world. Wonder what construction must have been like, here on the side of a hill, in the middle of nowhere, in 1930? Amazing.

But what is truly amazing is the view.

Across the lake is the place where Doug and Marie and their gang spent a week last summer. Not sure exactly where, but over there somewhere.

The views are on the lake side balcony, framed by arches between buttresses.

They still hold Sunday services here, from July 4th to Labor Day. But the biggest events they host now are fundraisers, as they try to keep up with the costs of ongoing preservation. By the look of the place, they aren’t doing too bad – it’s immaculate, and gorgeous, though many projects are visible.

Taking back roads from here, the chapel is about 2 hours away. After circling the chapel and admiring it from all angles, we strolled back up the hill and headed north.

We took the back roads home as well – even a bunch of gravel roads – and got home around dinner time. What a lovely day!

“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall”…

As poet Robert Frost noted in his poem “Mending Wall,” it’s called gravity. Oh, and rain and snow and ice and rain and snow and ice.

Since we moved in, our dry laid stone wall in front, along the driveway, has been trying to find a way to go lie down. Sagging at first, then bulging, and most recently toeing over and looking ominously close to avalanche.

Note that the stones near the downspout are bulging – a year ago they were not out beyond the spout. And now – about 8 inches. And the bottom stones are toeing over, and clearly headed to the asphalt.

We had resolved to leave this thing alone until it collapsed. But our intrepid stonemason, Pat de Keyserling (who worked his amazing magic last fall with our backyard garden wall) happened by a month or two ago, and we had a conversation. He suggested that it could be rebuilt much more quickly and easily than we thought – in a couple of days. So, with an abundance of caution, and delighted to have Pat back with us for a brief time, we said: “Let’s do it!”

So starting last Wednesday Pat, with help from his co-worker Craig Walker, began the task.

By Wednesday afternoon, the deconstruction process was in full swing. The outer stones, when they were first laid over 80 years ago, had been backed up by soil and rubble. As the soil washed away over time, the outer layer of stones had no tie to the rubble, and so could sag and head to the driveway. Pat would remedy this, as you will see.

Stones everywhere. Craig shovels the soil, Pat sorts the rocks – good ones for the rebuild, others for the backup.

Our landscape architect Dave Franke and Amy inspect the work.

Pat had made a deal with us – he got half the driveway, and we got half. The cones mark the DMZ.

Note the gravel near the stairs. As he rebuilds the wall, Pat will put gravel and a drain tile behind the outer layer, instead of just soil. This will allow for drainage without washing out the backing.

And as he lays up the wall, Pat will interlock the outer wythe of stone with the inner layer of rubble, thus tying the wall together like never before. Should last at least another 80 years.

End of day one.

Thurday morning and the wall reconstruction is underway.

Now you can see the gravel going in as drainage, That white thing to Pat’s right is the drain tile. More about this later.

Progress was slower than hoped for on Thursday. As if to reinforce why we decided to rebuild, the soil caved in four separate times Thursday, slowing Pat and Craig, and so they shoveled and shoveled. But by mid-morning on Friday, in the image above, the guys were rockin’, so to speak.

Before lunch on Friday, Pat had set a line, so that he could see where he was going as the wall neared completion.

Most of the gravel is gone, and the soil too. Only a few stones remain. The finish line looms.

By early afternoon, everything is clean and neat. Here Craig chinks the wall, taking small stones and driving them into joints to lock everything tightly together.

Done. Note that the soil above the wall is slightly mounded. We were expecting rain over the weekend, and Pat thought the soil, which is very sandy, would settle an inch or two.

Note the round clay drain tile peeking out of the stones at the lower left.

Well it did rain over the weekend. In fact, we had a typhoon. And, as the veteran ace Mr. de Keyserling had predicted, we got almost exactly two inches of settlement. The wall made it through the storms with flying colors.

Yesterday Pat and Craig returned briefly. Pat repointed some open joints in the stone wall at the front of the house, and Craig chinked a little while longer. After an hour or so, they disappeared.

Thanks, guys! Well done.

Watkins Glen, Seneca Lake

We’ve just returned from a brief few days in Watkins Glen (WG), at the southern end of the 38 mile long Seneca Lake.

Some of us know Watkins Glen as the scene of road and grand prix racing and sports cars – first through the streets of the Town, and later at the Watkins Glen International raceway. Ironically, NASCAR was to race at the Glen the weekend after our visit – we missed the crowds but did see the track. Many NASCAR officials were staying at our hotel, the lovely and aptly named Harbor Hotel.

But we were there for other investigations: of Seneca Lake, the lovely little town of WG, of nearby Montour Falls, and perhaps most importantly, of the Glen itself.

WG is only about 90 minutes south and east of us, but we took all the back roads, arrived in Geneva, at the head of the lake, at lunchtime, and moseyed into the Glen at about 2:00 or so.

After strolling the town most of the afternoon, we settled in, then dined and retired. The plan for the next day was hiking in the Glen.

WG was once (1842) known as Salubria. Pretty terrific, yes? The place was later (1861) renamed in honor of community icon Dr. Samuel Watkins.

Aside from racing, the original attraction of the place was this:

One of 13 waterfalls in the park, which was established by the state in 1901. The trails begin in town, and rise 460 feet through the winding and gorgeous canyon. Long before racing, this natural wonder attracted millions of visitors, and it was easy to see why as we strolled.

It was goregous in the gorge. It had rained like crazy the day before (we drove through it, and almost had to pull over for lack of visibility) and the rocks were dripping and the water running everywhere.

Most of the people we passed on the trails did not speak English – clearly this place is an international destination.

After a lovely time in the canyon, we headed to nearby Montour Falls, for lunch and a stroll. At the top of the main drag is this surprising view:

And from down the main street, the falls look like this:

That afternoon, we also drove out to the race track, perched high in the hills, where activities for the weekend racing were just getting started.

Then it was back to WG for more snooping, and a lovely evening on the balcony, which gave us this view as the day faded away:

Next day we packed up and headed home, this time along the eastern shore of the lake for a different perspective:

Seneca Lake is smack in the middle of the burgeoning Finger Lakes wine region, but we left the vineyards for another trip.

After another lunch in Geneva, this time at the fabulous Red Dove
Tavern (highly recommended if you come this way), we arrived home mid afternoon.

A very nice few days seeing some amazing things, and all so close to home.

Dubai

And finally, the end of this grand tour, Dubai. After two days of walking and examining this city, a few prefacing observations.

• Dubai is a weird, weird place. It is at once a real place in a few small locales, and a completely unreal fantasy in most other places.
• Anyone really interested in cities must visit Dubai. The distinctions between real and unreal, working and unworkable, modern and less so, outlandish and wasteful and practical and useful, are all so vivid, so harshly drawn, caricatures really, that Dubai is a kind of laboratory for 20th and 21st century urbanism.
• There is the armature for an amazing city here – with Deira Creek as its centerpiece – which is where the old city began. At night the Creek and its surrounding buildings – none very tall – are magically beautiful. Working dhows line the east bank of the river, and the real neighborhoods of Deira are just steps away. Even during the day, the possibilities are plain to see.

• No, it’s not about to rain. That grayness and darkness is just sand from the desert.
• When in doubt, plagiarise: Dubai’s subway system, which is excellent, is an exact duplication of the best system in the world – in Singapore.

All right then. Let’s look around. And we’ll begin with Al Bastakiya.

Bastakiya is a reconstruction of what’s left of a typical 19th century Arab quarter. Originally built mostly by Iranian emigres, at least half of the historic district was demolished in the late 20th century. The remainder was saved by the arduous campaigning of an ex-pat British architect, Rayner Otter, with help from a visit, and suggestions to the Sheikh, from Prince Charles. 

The district once was home to shops and about 60 homes, each with traditional wind towers to catch breezes, winding lanes, courtyards, and lots of shade and plantings. Today it is mostly galleries and shops, and a few restaurants. Nice to walk through.

We walked through Bastakiya and emerged at the Creek. On the Creek were abras – water taxis – and larger water craft ferrying folks across from side to side.

On the east bank of the Creek are the working wooden dhows, sometimes three deep. These boats carry freight to a variety of destinations – some in the Gulf, like Iraq and Iran, but also to Pakistan, Oman and India.

The freight is piled along the Creek’s edge, and loading goes on all day and most of the night. Cargo: tires, appliances, palm oil, building supplies, cars, you name it.

The real city is in neighborhoods in Deira like Al Ras, and Naif.

The old Spice Souk is here, and the Gold Souk as well. The Gold Souk is about a half a mile of shops selling everything gold. Almost 300 of them, all selling almost exactly the same stuff.

Now we can hop on the subway, from the enclosed platform which ensures coolness and quiet,

and head to fantasyland.

Big, tall office buildings, everywhere you look. Many unfinished, with work stopped as the recession hit Dubai hard. The buildings, even when they are side by side, have absolutely no relation to one another. In Dubai, the public realm is the street, and adjacent plantings (think of the water to keep all this green!). But that’s it. The buildings just sit there, each as if it was in the middle of the desert. Oh. They are.

There is no sense of conversation between buildings, no urbanism. Just dead zones of empty, hot and unfriendly space. Like this:

Inviting, yes?

But inside the Dubai Mall, the real adventure unfolds.

Yup – a giant aquarium, that is jaw dropping. Inside are Great White sharks, Manta Rays, and every shape and size of ocean fish you could imagine. It’s a couple of hundred feet long, almost a hundred feet deep, and seventy or eighty feet tall. Yikes.

Then on to the Souk Madinat, Jumeirah. This place, which suggests the Bastakiya and traditional middle eastern architecture, is a complete fiction. It’s a shopping mall, restaurants, and a couple of pretty fancy hotels.

And when we visited, eerily empty of anybody. Nearly deserted. Spooky.

But the Madinat does have a great view of the Burj Al Arab, one of the fanciest hotels in the world. In a wonderful piece of hubris, and typically Dubaian, the hotel calls itself the world’s only 7-star hotel. Harrumph.

We saved the weirdest of the weird for the late afternoon of our last day in Dubai. Near the Burj Al Arab and the Madinat is the Mall of the Emirates. And inside, amid every name brand shop you have ever heard of, we found this:

Yes, that is a ski slope, complete with ski lift, ice skating area, sledding hills, and of course places to ski. Inside the Mall. In Dubai. In the desert.

No telling what the future holds for Dubai. Perhaps all the over-the-topness will be tempered by the recession. Perhaps not.

It’s easy to scorn this place – there is so much goofiness and horrific waste and bad thinking and egotistical crap it’s almost unbelievable – but we also found things we liked, places that were quite wonderful. I am not sure we’ll be back anytime, soon or otherwise, but we’re glad we were here.

And now it’s airplane time – to Munich, then Dulles, then home. Time to reflect on all that overtook us in these weeks, all we saw and experienced, all that we found, all that we lost. What a world we live in.

Cochin (Kochi)

Across the Andaman Sea and the Bay of Bengal, and into the Indian Ocean to the Malabar Coast, and Kochi, in India’s State of Kerala. We arrive at dawn, on a steamy, hot day, even though early.

As we approach Wellington Island, crowds assemble on the shore, waving and shouting and whistling. A preface to a day of warm and friendly people, extraordinary sights and sounds and smells, wilting heat and humidity, all intoxicating and unanticipated, unimaginable. A kind of waking dream.

Kochi is a city of about 600,000, with maybe 1.5 million in the overall region. Kochi, and Kerala we’re told, is India’s most literate locale, with a literacy rate of 94%. Kochi is poor – average income is about $2 a day – but in spite of the poverty, life there seems to proceed without the kind of grinding desparation one might expect. In fact, the place was vividly alive with bustle, kids going to and from school,

folks out working or shopping or just gathering to chat, pick-up cricket games all over the place.

Away from the touristy places, the streets were jammed with life – too many cars, as usual, but bikes and peds and scooters as well.

Kochi is flat, and lies very low and close to the ocean, so water is everywhere. We spent some time looking at what’s called “the backwaters,” and found this fish market in full swing.

Boat repair and construction is a must in a watery environment, and with blue tarps as protection, work proceeds.

Back on the ground, we walked and walked.

Kerala politics have been dominated by communists for decades, so this bit of graffiti was no surprise.

Inside the Mattancherry (or ‘Dutch’) Palace are some really gorgeous things – the highlights for us were some exquisite wall paintings. And the outside seems so prosaic.

Leaving the Palace, we see yet another canal – they are everywhere in this place.

Walking the narrrow streets is a pleasure, but can be harrowing – scooters and cycles are everywhere, whizzing and honking. You can sense this in any street view, crowded or otherwise.

St. Francis Church, built by the Portugese and once the burial site of Vasco da Gama, is the oldest European artifact in India.

We strolled on from the Church, along the aptly named Church Road, and we came to Vasco da Gama Square, where we found this:

Yes, three Cobras. One tried to get away, but he grabbed it by the tail and in an instant it was back in its basket. We did not make this up.

An amazing, overwhelming day. If only we had more time to get to know this place, and see more. We nearly melted in the heat – can we even recall being hotter? – but the day was sensational (for all the senses), and we were completely captivated.

On to Dubai.

Phuket

Phuket. Devastated by a tsunami – we all saw the vivid images – Phuket, an island off the mainland of Thailand, has for some years been a tourist destination, mostly because of its numerous sunny beaches.

 

Now rebuilt and back in full operation, Phuket is, well, forgettable. In fact, worse than that – a pretty nasty place. We thought so as we strolled the streets of Patong, and Amy and her brother Scott discovered that first impressions last in Phuket as they went off for a recon in a local taxi. Herewith, a few images, and very little commentary. Not so much.

 

The main drag in Patong.

A side street.

The infrastructure – chaos as in all things.

And finally, the highlight of Phuket. A fish pedicure on a Patong side street.

On, thankfully, to Cochin.

Singapore

Singapore. Now, and perhaps for us unexpectedly, this city is one of our most favorite places in the world. Shanghai, of course, and Hong Kong, too. But we were less sure what to expect in this place, and we were really overwhelmed. Our list of superlatives simply does not do justice to the city we walked and walked and walked, and enjoyed unendingly. Pack your bags – go to Singapore.

 

Not only does Singapore have a fascinating, difficult and complicated history. Not only does Singapore have a reputation as a place with very tough social constraints (Jaywalk? Immediate fine. Chew gum? Immediate fine. Litter? Immediate fine. Graffiti? None. Crime? Almost none). Singapore is gorgeous, amazingly diverse, green in every sense, and possesses the friendliest and most helpful citizens one could imagine.

 

As for the public and civic realm, Mayor Daley should have made a visit (perhaps he did). Singapore’s streets, parks, sidewalks, riverwalks, boulevards, subways, and parkways are spotless, lush, rich.

 

But first things first. As we entered Singapore harbor early in the morning, the shipping traffic was intense. Singapore is either the second busiest port in the world, after Shanghai, or the busiest, before Shanghai, depending on who you ask.

 

As usual, because the QM2 is so big, we docked at Juron Port, a container port well west of the city. We then hopped a shuttle to a nearby MRT station – Singapore’s Metro. The system is spotless, intuitive to use (though many locals were eager to help), and features very wide and comfortable cars.

We left the Metro at the Little India station, and began our walk to the south, towards Chinatown some hours away. Little India is a great place to stroll – the streets are arcaded, and the shops teem with the most wonderful, intoxicating odors imaginable.

We strolled past the Abdul Gafoor mosque. It was Friday, Islam’s holy day, and so the mosque was a busy place.

Across Rochor Canal and we ambled through the central part of the city. Past Raffle’s Hotel (named after Thomas Raffles, who arrived in Singapore from Britain in 1819, and was a major figure in shaping the city)

And on past the Padang, an open playing field central to the city and home to the Singapore Cricket Club. Adjacent to the Padang is St. Andrews Cathedral, and then we continued south to the old parliament buildings, now home to or being renovated to house various arts museums and centers.

Which led us to Boat Quay, the river, Thomas Raffles’ landing spot in the city, and what is now central Singapore.

From here it was on to Chinatown, past this particularly wonderful spot.

After exploring Chinatown, and after a long stroll, we reboarded the Metro, got to the shuttle, and headed back to the port.

We barely scratched the surface of this place, but we saw so many locales that deserved much more time and investigation. And what we saw was bustling, lively, exciting, and really beautiful. This is a place worth much more time and energy, and we’re grateful to have encountered this great, great city.

On to Phuket.

Bangkok

Bangkok. Of all of the cities we will visit, perhaps the hardest of all to describe, to understand. Lots of contradictions here.

  

Chaotic, messy, absolutely choking with traffic – worst we’ve ever seen – unkempt, fascinating, sometimes beautiful, filled to the brim with holy sites of every shape and kind, and a Grand Palace for a truly beloved dynasty of kings. And yet there is a Democracy Monument in the center of the city where Thai’s frequently march and demonstrate to express their unending dissatisfaction with their parliamentary leaders – love the King, and forever hate the parliament.

But let’s back up a bit. To arrive in Bangkok, we anchored in the Thai port of Laem Chabang. We arrived there early in the morning just at the end of a wild deluge of a storm – lots of wind and waterfalls of rain for hours. We’re told it’s monsoonal in scale, though the monsoon is months away.

Normally, the commute to Bangkok is about 2 hours. Today, because of the rain: three hours. Traffic is breathtaking – the Thai’s need Hong Kong’s or Nha Trang’s car tax, and they need it fast.

As we drove the streets of the city of 7 million, amazing views unfolded in the rain. Markets, shops, bustling street life, and zooming, honking traffic.

First stop: Wat Phra Chetuphon – the reclining Buddha. 151′ feet long, 50′ tall. Amazing, and without seeming unduly heretical, pretty funny. His feet alone are over 10′ tall.

Then around and past the Grand Palace. Rama 9, the beloved King, is in his 80s now, and frail, and no longer lives in the Palace. But it is a sensational place – even from the outside, and in restoration.

Then on to Wat Suthat, where monks held forth on this holy day, and we glimpsed the arcade of Buddhas – 240 in all.

Then on to Wat Ratchanaddaram, the Metal Castle, so called because the temple is made of iron.

The adjacent roadway, Mahachai Road, was constructed when the King acquired the first motorcar in Bangkok years ago, and wanted a place to go for a drive.

From holy site or Palace, we always then dove back into the city.

We stopped for lunch along the river (a terrific, tasty treat, we add) and the evidence of the huge rain was very clear.

Then time to brave the traffic once more for the long drive back to Laem Chabang.

We want to return to this most intriguing place – contradictory, crazy with motion, picturesque, ugly, fascinating, profane, holy.

On to Singapore.

Nha Trang

Major contrast. From the amazing urban concoction that is Hong Kong to the humble fishing town, and now burgeoning tourist city, of Nha Trang, in Viet Nam, population 420,000.

 

Nha Trang is blessed with beautiful beaches. And so it is becoming a tourist and resort destination – the hotel construction is robust, and everywhere the main streets and byways of the city are being groomed for their future: seaside retreats for wealthy nationals; resorts and spas for distant visitors.

Which of course we were, but somewhat before the fact. Or in the middle of the fact. Many of the big hotel chains are present, but more are under construction. Change is in the wind for this place.

And the principal foreshadowing of this change is the island, just off Nha Trang by 2,000 yards, purchased by a Vietnamese billionaire, and now transformed into a resort and amusement park called Vinpearl Land. Complete with its own gondola line to carry visitors from the mainland to the island.

The streets of the city are abuzz with bustle and darting vehicles. Mostly mopeds, since car ownership in Viet Nam comes with a 200% tax – that’s right, twice the cost of the vehicle. We thought it was bad in Hong Kong, with its 100% tax.

So off we go. First to the Oceanographic Institute (hmm – a very odd collection of stuff) with its courtyards filled with tiny school kids, obviously staged for our visit. Then down Tran Phu Street, paralleling the shore, to Long Son Pagoda with its giant Buddha up 150 steps,

on to Nha Trang Cathedral, built by the much detested French in 1933, then to Cham Po Nagar, a Hindu temple begun in the 7th century.

Great views of the fishing village are possible from Cham Po Nagar.

Then finally on to Cho Dam, the city’s central market – still an authentic and busy urban market where you can get most anything you can imagine, from fresh fruit and produce to fake Rolex watches, and everything in between.

On our way to the market, we passed a large monument. When asked what the monument marked, our guide said it was a monument to victory in the war. One of our tour mates had the temerity to ask, “Which war?” Yes, that war, sir.

Since the 70s Viet Nam has seen much change, and it seemed to us that the change has accelerated logarithmically. Capital is pouring in, as are visitors. Taking a longer view, we know that Viet Nam has been fought over for millenia. And yet the Vietnamese culture still survives, in fact thrives. Here is a nation that has seen unending war and struggle for domination, and yet so much of what makes it itself seems to remain.

The culture has survived, among others, a Chinese invasion, domination by the French, and a war with the U.S. Now comes the next challenge – tourism.

On to Bangkok.

Hong Kong

And then, Hong Kong. In the rain and mist. And more rain. But oh, oh, Hong Kong.

 

QM2 is so big that there is nowhere to dock in HK. So we dropped anchor in what’s called Junk Bay, at the far eastern end of Victoria Harbor, that harbor that separates Hong Kong Island and the Chinese mainland, and Kowloon.

 

 

Ferries make the run across the harbor in five minutes or so – Kowloon and Hong Kong are also connected by a tunnel, but more about that later.

For us, getting to HK from the ship meant a long, 40 minute tender ride. Slowly we churned across the choppy waters, eventually arriving at the ferry terminal, hopping on a bus, and going uphill – the first of our surprises about this unforgettable city.

It’s a city on an island, and the island is really, really steeply sloped. The city is pile upon pile of buildings, stacking their way up the hills. On our first day, we were in what’s called the Central District, headed uphill to what’s called the mid-levels. We got off the bus high up the hill, and then spent the next few hours walking down.

We were walking through amazing density and diversity. HK (and Kowloon too, we later discovered) makes Manhattan feel like day-care. Markets, Hollywood Road with its stalls and shops, Man Mo Temple,

fish markets, green markets,

endless restaurants and pubs, packed sidewalks and streets, shopping streets with very ritzy stores, and finally, The Escalator.

HK is so steep, and so dense, that it is served by an escalator that runs downhill in the morning for half a mile, and then for the rest of the day up, up, up. Having reached near bottom on our walk, we hopped on and went to the top, and a bus that took us back to the ferry terminal, and the long churn back to the ship. An unforgettable first encounter with one of this world’s greatest cities.

In HK for two days, on the second day we tendered in to HK to spend more time walking. On this day it was raining still, but most of the days’ walk was underneath covered pedestrian paths. Again we walked in the Central District, but this time down low. To I. M. Pei’s Bank of China Tower, Lord Norman Foster’s amazing HSBC headquarters, the International Finance Center, and other downtown highlights. While we were at it, we hopped on one of HK’s fabulous double decked trams, heading first east for a while, and then back.

But the real highlight came on the evening of our second day in HK. We headed back into town after dark, and boarded (In the misty rain) an open topped bus for a nightime tour of HK and Kowloon. For almost three hours we drove through the streets of HK and Kowloon, seeing the Admiralty and Wan Chai districts, Happy Valley with its horse racing venue, under the Harbor via tunnel, past the Peninsula Hotel, along Nathan Street, past the night market, along the harbor, and back to HK. Easily one of the most amazing few hours either of us have spent in any city, anywhere.

In this world we humans have made some truly great places. Hong Kong, for example.

On to Viet Nam.