Debs

 A dozen years ago, Sanford and I made our famous drive from Vermont to Oklahoma. The general structure of the class was his design (in  that he wanted to visit a town in Oklahoma, which I eventually figured out had originally been named Sanford - although to this day he still denies that he knew anything about that), but I did much of the day to day planning. Hence, we included stops at the Creation Museum, and the Dental School Museum, and Holcomb, Kansas (at the time he had never read In Cold Blood, but I had and it was very moving). In that vein, we also stopped in Terre Haute, Indiana to visit the Eugene V. Debs Museum. Sadly, we arrived just when they were closing for the day, and thus I had to wait almost a fifty of my long life to make it back. This time I arranged my entire trip so that I had plenty of time. As every right-thinking individual knows, the greatest Hoosier of all-time is Eugene Victor Debs (two through four are: Booth Tarkenton, Theodore Dreiser, and Kurt Vonnegut). When I walked into the museum, which is free, by the way and easy to find since it is essentially surrounded by Indiana State University, I was greeted by Allison, a very nice and incredibly knowledgeable young woman. She had also led the tour of the museum when Bernie Sanders stopped by, and she shared pictures of him from her own phone (Debs is a great hero of Bernie as well). Allison asked why I was visiting, and I told her the truth: Debs is a great hero of mine. This made her very happy, and freed her up to skip some of the basic information and devote more time to a deep dive.  I ended up more than two hours touring the museum, and it was an extraordinary experience.

I have this picture from the failed trip from the summer before I left for Abu Dhabi, but now I finally made my way inside.

This is the actual house where Debs lived.

Allison at the top of the stairs. Eventually a recent college graduate joined us - who had recently become interested in leftist literature and decided to stop by on a trip to Chicago. He was a really friendly young man, and one of those college students who actually give you hope for the future. When we finished up the tour, Allison asked if we'd like to just sit in the living room and talk about socialism. The answer, of course, was yes. 

Debs was rightly known for being a great speaker, and this was the final words of one of his most famous addresses. So many of his ideas beat the New Deal by about fifty years, and it would be a much better America today if we followed his advice.

His library.

A campaign placard from one of the five times he ran for president. In 1912, running for the Socialist Party, he received over six percent of the vote, which is an extraordinary amount for a third party candidate.

And, yes, the4 last time he ran for president he was in jail, a gross governmental overreaction to him having the courage to give speeches asking why poor men were being sent to fight an imperial war. He spent three years in prison (and had to be pardoned to get to that figure, otherwise he would he finished his life incarcerated) and it ruined his health. His book of prisons is a classic.

But While You're There

 My trips are always highlighted by the odd little places that I find along the way. My last official stop was to see my friend Dave in Cincinnati, which left me a two day trip back. Now, a younger version of me would make that drive in one day, but not this shambling shell of a man. So, I decided to head due east from the Natti to return to the Mothman Museum in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. I first went there a year and a half ago after my father's passing. I needed some silly fun to drag me out of the blues, and it was well-worth the trip (although my attempt, at the time, to drive around a huge winter storm was unsuccessful). On this trip I wasn't sad and I wasn't avoiding any storms, but I wanted to breakup the end of the trip (one can only drive across Ohio and the New York Thruway so many times [although I ended up being unable to avoid the latter; I survived by reminding myself that I'd never, ever drive on it again]). I told my friends that I was revisiting the Mothman Museum, and a couple of them gave me some serious grief for it - but then quickly put in their orders.

I'm not saying that I wildly overspent at the Mothman Museum gift shop, although I receive not one, but two, complimentary gifts (I only received one on my last visit). 

I Think I Know Where This Is Headed

 Yesterday, I guess to ring out the old year, Janet binge watched a nature series on big cats (lions, leopards, cheetahs) in Africa. This inspired her to dig out my Namibia and Botswana travel guide, which she leafed through while watching. Later she had me show her every picture that I had taken on my Namibia trip. In turn, this led to research on flights from Palermo to Windhoek - and guided tours in Namibia and Botswana - and concluded with her astonishment/pleasure in figuring out that Namibia is in the same time zone as Sicily (no jet lag!). I think WE ALL KNOW where this is headed.

Janet was fixated/charmed/amazed at the number of wild beasties that you saw just out roaming, such as these zebra who were galloping down the road.

Skeletal Remains

 On the last day of the latest Canada adventure, as we finally made it back towards the border on a blistering day, we stopped at the last Tim Horton's (at least the one that you'd bump into if you took 15 South as you headed for my favorite place to cross the border). Anyway, we were standing in line when a guy pulled it in a beautiful vintage car, which had a skeleton sitting in the passenger's seat. Of course, I immediately began chatting the guy up - and, of course, Kevin wondered why he ever travelled with me. The guy, yet another very nice Canadian, took me outside to show me the car and how he had set up the skeleton. It was pretty amazing. I asked him if he ever took his wife out for a ride; he said he did, although she had to ride in the backseat.

And what topped it off, the guy had adapted the skeleton so that its head swiveled. If you pulled up next to him at a stoplight he would get the head to turn to look at the people in the other car. I love Canada.

Mr Noodles

 I know that sounds like a villain from Dick Tracy, but it was my lunch on two separate Porter Air flights. I had never flown on Porter Air before, but Kevin and I thought we'd try it for the flight to Edmonton. It was fine, although it was strange to be on a flight as long as Toronto to Edmonton without movies, but, happily, I had brought a novel to read, so I was sorted. It reminded me of international flight back in the day. We missed a connector in Toronto on the way back, but that was our fault for choosing a flight with a short connection (we thought the gates might be close to each other, but we had to get from one to the other via Yellowknife; I was pleased that my legs, although unhappy with me, did manage to carry me on a forced march from one end of the Toronto airport to the other). As with most budget airlines, we had to buy our own food.  I went for a Mr. Noodles, mainly for amusement's sake.

It reminded me of the cup of noodles that I paid for on Wow Air (now, I believe, sadly deceased) on my flight to Iceland with my son. I sent him this picture, and he immediately responded with the appropriate line from The Young Ones, as I knew he would.

Mothman Museum

 Several years ago, as is detailed somewhere here on this blog, I was asked to drive to the wilds of Maine to speak at my friend Richard's funeral. I was honored to do so, but it was also more than a bit depressing. Consequently, I decided to drive through Portland, Maine so that I could visit the International Cryptozoological Museum, which I'd heard about for years but had never visited. Mainly I was just looking for some slight ray of happiness in the midst of an exhausting and depressing trip. I thought of this recently when I was back home in Indiana, having made a wild drive through a near blizzard to not actually arrive in time to be there for his passing - and then was frustrated and angered by my family, per usual, collapsing in upon itself. In need of a little joy in the face of family misery and idiocy, I left Cincinnati and headed due east, partially to try and drive south of another storm, but mainly to head to Port Pleasant, West Virginia to visit the Mothman Museum. While I didn't end up missing the storm, at least not entirely, I was successful in significantly boosting my morale. I've known about the legend of the Mothman for a long time, and had also heard about the Museum, but on all my my odd little journeys I had never been even remotely close to Point Pleasant (although, come to think of it, I wonder if it would have been an option on my Trip of Excellence with my friend Sanford on our drive to Oklahoma before I left for a year in Abu Dhabi?). Technically, I shouldn't have been close to Point Pleasant on this trip, but I bent time and space to my needs (sort of like the Mothman did). Actually, the Museum was great and it was a cool way to break up a long drive and to spend an hour or so. It also housed an appropriately rich souvenir store. After spending over $180 on souvenirs - many of my friends received Mothman swag for Christmas this year - the nice girl at the front desk packed everything away in a sweet Mothman bag, which was comped (which is all you needed to know about how much money I spent).

To be fair, I don't know who else would have a Mothman Museum.

One of the many representations of the Mothman in the Museum, and my favorite - although it pales in comparison to the statue in the street (featured below).

Can you have an American urban legend with a Man In Black?

I loved all the copies of newspaper reports from the time.

We're all afraid of the UFO-Bird!

A wonderful Korean movie poster, although feel free to pass on seeing The Mothman Prophecy, although Laura Linney was, as always, very good in a pretty hopeless role.

As I was checking out with my Mothman swag I asked the nice young lady where the famous statue was. She told me to head out the door and take a left, and there it was, in all it's glory!

Next time I'm definitely going to checkout the Mothman 66 Except Room adventure. There were several stores and restaurants (not to mention the annual Mothman festival) there, so clearly I will have to return.

I guess I should add that, sadly, I have a better chance of actually seeing the Mothman than my family all in one place at one time: Scudder Family Happiness, a fitting subject for cryptozoology.

Tourist Go Home

 And I guess that would include me. I snapped this on a seemingly quiet little alleyway in Venice on the November trip. Truthfully, I can't blame the Venetians. Every year Venice has around twenty million tourists, which is a staggering figure, especially if you take into account that there aren't that many people who actually live in in the city on a regular basis. As I think I said elsewhere, if Venice sent me a note and wanted to thank me for being a good visitor by giving me a free trip to the city in July I think I'd say no.

I maybe this is one of the reasons (one of the many reasons) why I find myself drawn to locations such as Namibia or Yemen.

Obstacles and Paths

 My son and I made it back safe and sound - and relatively unscathed - from our Lab Rat Tour of Jordan. Mainly, I went because I wanted to spend time with him and introduce him to my favorite place on earth, but I was also interested in working through the potential obstacles (at least the ones right now) for the upcoming student trip in March. We faced some definite COVID-related obstacles, but nothing that couldn't be overcome with a little intentionality, detail-focus, and refusal to surrender (I have few virtues, but I suppose I have these in some fashion or another). It helped that we had physical copies of every conceivable document - and uploaded information into every conceivable travel app - but, overall, while at times a little frustrating if not mystifying (at several points in the trip my son and I would debrief and eventually come back around to: "And what was the point of the that app - and the hours we spent uploading info into it - again?"), but it was manageable. Expect a lot more pictures to follow.

Warning: Clumsy Metaphor Alert.

Texas Toy Museum

 Recently I went to Austin, Texas, which was my first time on a plane since the Zombie Apocalypse began almost two years ago. My first international flight in a long time will be this Friday, but that's another post in and of itself. I'll certainly have more to say about the Austin trip, which was wonderful. My long-time friend Jack (when did I reach the point when I can honestly say that I've had friends for fifty years?) was supposed to be taking his wife to Austin for a romantic getaway, centered around the Austin City Limits Hall of Fame Induction, but at the last minute she couldn't get off work. So, I pinch-hit. It was an absolute blur, but what an amazing time.

Like all great trips it was a combination of the planned and the unplanned, the profound and the silly. In regards to the unplanned and the silly you'd definitely have to include our trip to the Texas Toy Museum, which is located right on the main drag in Austin. We had passed it a couple times and I eventually dragooned Jack into heading there. It cost $9 to get in, but you also got unlimited free game play so it quickly paid for itself. We were going to go in for about ten minutes to say we visited, but I'm sure we stayed a couple hours. There was no great order to the place, just mainly a mosh pit of different toys, which actually worked because it felt like a trip down memory lane of my son's childhood (including the chaos).

My son was a big Aliens fan.

I didn't see this until I was leaving. This is brilliant.

I think I spent more time playing pinball than my previous life put together. Jack, of course, wearing his Los Angeles Rams shirt. Our friendship has been tested (hardened and purified) by way too many Rams vs Vikings games over the years.

Jack definitely found his groove on Centipede, where he set the high score.

Oh, and you could buy beer in the museum, which clearly would have fueled the competitive drive of our younger selves.

When I Used to Travel on the 4th of July

 I have nothing profound to say about this picture other than it makes me happy. Since I began my one travel picture a day challenge (a challenge to myself alone, the best kind) it has forced me to try and get fifteen years of travel pictures organized, mainly, in the end, because I want to print and frame more of them. I've posted before about all the odd places I've been on the fourth of July (that post is here on the blog somewhere) and this is a shot from Alexandria on that day.

Sadly, I don't think I have a high pixel copy of this one so it wouldn't print very well. Still, what a fun picture.

Crete, Indiana

 More snippets from my recent trip back to the Midwest to see my people: a drive through Crete, Indiana. Why? I stumbled across the fact that Jim Jones, of Jonestown massacre infamy, was actually born in Crete, Indiana, a small town close to the border with Ohio. So, I took a long diversion as I drove from my brother's house in Indianapolis to my father's in Lawrenceburg. The picture is a little misleading because there are actual several houses in the sleepy town center of Crete. It's fairly close to the highest point in Indiana, which is 1257 feet above sea level. All of this makes sense, somehow, I just haven't figured out why yet.

It's hard to connect the dots between Crete, Indiana and Jonestown - or maybe it's not.

CB in an Auto-Rickshaw

I came across this picture the other day and decided to post it for a couple reasons. For off, it's off my most excellent friend, and titular little sister, Cyndi. She's had her own physical problems lately, and it made me smile to see her so happy. I've been whipping up meals every week and then driving out to the wilds of the country where she lives to drop them off after the Food Shelf on Saturday morning. Happily, she's on the mend, although she's facing six months recovery. Secondly, what impressed me about this picture is that I'm not certain where it was taken, which is quite the indictment of the fact that I've clearly travelled too much. Seriously, how can you have a picture of a dear friend in an auto-rickshaw and not know the location? The two most obvious answers are either India, when we drove off like lunatics to try and find an ATM, or Sri Lanka, when we were maneuvering up a hill to a temple.

Upon more mature reflection I'm leaning towards India, because it simply doesn't seem as overpoweringly green as it was in Sri Lanka. Eventually I'll stumble across the original files, hopefully (I just had to swap off computers and there's always the danger material will be lost), and I'll be able to answer this question definitively.

One Year?

 Has it only been a year since Namibia? It seems like a thousand years. Part of the reason why it seems so long, obviously, is the pandemic, and the uncertainty surrounding it. My recent health struggles, and, naturally, the uncertainty surrounding it (as well), makes all of this take on greater weight and solemnity. I've had to get my brain around the fact that right now I couldn't travel overseas, or at the very least I couldn't physically lead a student trip. Hopefully we'll sort this all out and they'll be, like the pandemic, another side to it.

This is the Namibia equivalent of stopping in the road in Vermont because of moose. The difference is that the zebra will happily gallop along beside your car.

Bathroom Break

 There's nothing profound about this picture although for some reason I felt inspired to include it here on the blog. Partially, it speaks to Namibia, which has been much on my mind as of late (has it really been a year since I was preparing to head off on the Trip of Mystery or simply a century?), but also it's a reminder of the challenges of travelling in a place like Namibia. Before I left I knew that Namibia was one of the least densely populated countries in the world, but it's only when you're there that it truly hits you. According to some, probably specious, quick Internet research, here are the least densely populated countries in the world based on people per square kilometer:

235. Greenland .138

234. Falkland Islands .286

233. Mongolia 2.110

232. Western Sahara 2.246 (oddly, I've been doing research on a potential trip there)

231. Namibia 3.086

230. Australia 3.319

229. Iceland 3.404

By way of comparison, the most densely populated is Monaco, checking in a 26,337 people per square kilometer.

It's interesting that of these seven I've visited three and am interested in visiting the other four, which I guess says something about my desire to spend time with other people. My desire to visit them far pre-dates the compilation of this list so I must simply be drawn to the wild and desolate.

Anyway, while our guide was driving us to Sossusvlei the young woman in the group (the hairdresser from Japan, the only other person) needed a bathroom break. It's sometimes difficult to find a place to use the restroom in Vermont, but, believe me, we have nothing on Namibia. The guide pulled over next to a little bridge and she disappeared behind this bush. After a few minutes she came back safe and sound and untroubled by baboons (which would have been my main fear; in fact, it was, during a similar earlier break where I relieved myself while watching a group of them in the distance).

I have a brief, natural, reflection on Donna Reed's character in It's a Wonderful Life.

Wanderlust - an endless series

 Lately I've found myself in a pretty dreadful mood, for any number of reasons I suppose. Partially, obviously, I'm in a lot of pain and it's hard to be upbeat when every step hurts and brings a constant reminder of our own crumbling mortality. However, it's more than that. Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving, which, in a Non-Zombie Apocalypse (or, as I've started referring to it as, the NZA) world, normally lines up with our traditional Fall Break at Champlain. One of our traditions, which is celebrated somewhere here on this blog (one of the now 2400 blog posts, because I'm just that self-absorbed), is to head up to Montreal for the Alouettes Thanksgiving day game (the CFL equivalent of the Lions or Cowboys playing every Thanksgiving here in the US, in the vastly inferior NFL). Since we can't cross the border - and since the pandemic has also canceled the CFL season - this was an impossibility. For some reason this really hit me hard, while also recognizing that in a world where over 200,000 Americans have died this is the very definition of #FirstWorldProblem (if not, #InsensitiveWanker). That said, I try to be honest here on the blog, which means I also need to admit that it did give me the blues, and seemed like a metaphor for all that we're giving up at this moment. And it reminded me that I won't be going to Jordan next month - nor Palestine and Australia in the spring - and who knows if I'll go anywhere over the summer - or even next fall. I guess I've defined myself too much by my travel. That said, I also try to keep in mind that I'm one of the lucky ones, and that soon, soon, all too soon I'll be back on a plane heading somewhere. And even the multiple surgeries that are lining up will in the end empower me to get there; truthfully, I couldn't pull off any trip at the moment.  

For some reason these two pictures I snapped in Iceland a few years ago - during a sudden whiteout - seemed a fitting metaphor for my mood as we struggle through the great pandemic isolation and our former lives become indistinct memories.

Scudder Mania

I suppose if you've been somewhere for twenty years - and you've traveled as much as I have - and you have such an odd relationship with your students as I have - it makes sense that you get asked to do things like provide personal questions for a trivia competition. The Office of International Education was trying to raise funds for student scholarships, so I was happy to do so, even if it also made me seem like an even bigger self-absorbed wanker than I am (which is saying a lot). Still, it was fun, and the students seemed to have a good time.

Are you ready? As my son would propose, "No, you're not ready."

Answer: Sana'a, Yemen

Answer: London, United Kingdom

Answer: Jordan (duh)

Answer: United Arab Emirates

Answer: Kasgar, China

Answer: Donkey Penis Wine

Answer: United Arab Emirates

Answer: Reykjavik, Iceland

Answer: Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Answer: Watching the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, Russia (although I have)

Answer: It's a trick question, I've had strange djinn-related events in all of them

Answer: Five days in Fez, Morocco

The Drive

As I approached my wretched 60th birthday I knew the general location, Namibia, for the Trip of Mystery but I was still left with the chore of trying to figure out what I was going to do with myself that day. I considered several options, one of them being actually flying from Windhoek to Zanzibar to surprise my friend Steve, who was leading a TechDren team delivering more laptops to elementary school children on Pemba (sadly, it proved too expensive). Simple logistics got in the way to my goal of being in Sossusvlei on my birthday; much more on Sossusvlei later. So, instead I woke up in Windhoek, rented a truck, and drove the four hours through the desert to make it to Swakopmund on the coast. My agent, Liza Kotze, from Wild Dog Safari had already arranged the truck rental, but I still had to go pick it up. The folks at the rental place, Namibia Car Rental, were very friendly, although when we sat down to chat about the drive to Swakopmund I had a few reservations. There was a big discussion about what I should do when (not if) a beastie ran out in front of me: slow down when you see it (whatever it is) coming, but just go ahead and hit it as compared to trying to swerve because you'll just end up doing more damage. Secondly, I was walked through what to do if a sandstorm suddenly popped up: drive off the road, point the car away from the sandstorm, and turn off the engine (my response: can I have some more water?). As it turned out the drive was pretty painless, although I got turned around in Windhoek (they're not big on signage) and also in the much smaller Swakopmund (the main road into town was unexpectedly closed, so my directions were faulty. The biggest challenge was getting around all the trucks driving back and forth on the two lane road. Happily the truckers were very cool, and would flip on their turn signals when it was clear for you to get around them.

The beast that I rented. It seemed a better fit for someone camping as compared to simply driving driving on a paved (tarred) road the whole way, but I was happy to have the option. Oh, and if looks like my beard is pretty scant it's because I shaved it off on the 31st before I took off. Partially I had already been travelling for a week so it needed a trim and I didn't have my trimmer, but I tend to do this when I want to change my luck.

Ah, there's nothing like driving a manual on the other side. I'm not particularly good at shifting with my right hand, and pretty utterly shite at shifting with my left. Luckily I had done this before when driving in the UK and in South Africa, so I had a little experience. The biggest challenge was after you'd been in 5th for an hour and then suddenly passed into one of the few towns and suddenly remembered that you were driving a manual on the wrong side.

Sure, you could have a sign that said Extra Wide Load . . .