travel

New Mexico ~ Santa Fe & the Turquoise Trail

April 7, 2012 By Michelle Hendry

Traveling can be an exhausting business. After White Sands and the long drive through burning hills, we stopped just north of Albuquerque for the night. If you travel by RV, the casinos can be a great place to stop. They’ll take you at all hours (I think it was nearly 2 am for us) and we had access to an electrical hookup and dumping station to boot for around $10.

Santa Fe is like two cities – the one every city knows with the long road of hotels and big box stores; the other, where all roads meet, is the ancient town of old adobes and narrow streets sitting at the base of the mountain’s embrace. I recommend a few days (we only had one) in order to have a day each to absorb the art, the architecture and the walking trails in the old part of town.

Mule’s Skull with Pink Pointsettia © Georgia O’Keeffe Museum

One of my top priorities was to visit the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum while in town and see some of her originals. The museum is a labyrinth of small rooms filled with drawings and paintings of sensual landscapes and flowers. I must say that O’Keeffe’s paintings are both intense and sublime. I could feel in them the calm of New Mexico. I can see how an artist could spend a lifetime uncovering a vision to describe it.

Building in Santa Fe is now restricted to adobe architecture only. The soft corners and smooth walls seem to blend into the mountains. Along with being very much a hot spot for the artistically inclined, the underground here is very ‘west coast’. Bikes, bongs and health food dominate a community that would otherwise, not be large enough to attract a Whole Foods! The center of the Old Town is filled with Galleries, Native artists and old Churches. The oldest is the c. 1610 San Miguel Mission Church, which sits beside one of the oldest houses in North America dating to 1649. The old house with its rough walls and wooden barriers reminded me of the houses in old Cairo. No photo here because it needs to be a painting.

New Mexico lays claim to a number of the oldest structures and residences in the U.S. I am planing a visit to one of the oldest continuously inhabited places in Taos later this year.

Canyon Road is the main art gallery district and I’ll agree that it is pretty consistent in quality, but there is a little too much contemporary (read modern) art for my taste. What is good, however, is exceptional. One of my favourite spots is the studio/gallery of Jordan+Roybal Fine Art at the entrance to Canyon Road. These artists have each mastered the use of subtle visual textures in a completely different way. The painting outside the gallery was enough to stop traffic. The other gallery that is a necessary visit is the Sugarman-Peterson Gallery on West Palace Ave. It is not on Canyon road but in the center of Old Town. The prices there are well out of my range, but the work is outstanding. Surrounded by paintings from the likes of Dennis Wojtkiewicz, Terry Strickland and Susan Romaine in their full size and stunning glory, it made me wish I had the means to take one home.

The old road between Santa Fe and Albuquerque is littered with ghost towns and winding roads that appeal to the motorcyclist. Some of these old, partially abandoned mining towns are seeing a revival through collectives of artists and tourist attractions. Old adobe houses with magnificent courtyards are being restored in places like Cerillos and Madrid.

The RV was slow to snake its way up and down giving me a lot of time to absorb the textured landscape full of a rainbow of rock and scrub. Tiny ruins grasping a hillside would appear, while our engine heated up and roared around a narrow corner. Fences between us and ranches seemed like more determined barriers than the multicoloured mountains themselves. The sky was slightly cloudy, dusting the tops of distant mountains like wisps of cotton blocking the sun only enough to turn their distant oranges to indigo. It is no wonder artists are attracted to this place.

Sunday night returned us to Albuquerque and I had one part day left to visit the Petroglyphs and Old Town Albuquerque before beginning the long ride home.

Next post…. Albuquerque, the Petroglyphs and the Rattlesnake Museum!

A Journey into Egypt: Part IV

March 4, 2008 By Michelle Hendry

Back in town, the afternoon was left to us to seek our own entertainment. One of Luxor’s wonderful attractions is the local bazaar. For some reason, the smells and sounds of this town reached deep within me and I was more interested in the life and culture that was here now than the monuments of history. I was surrounded by beautifully crafted wood and carpets as well as the typical tourist items – everything from sculpture to metal work and cottons. I was even able to pick up a pack of Chicklets!

Chicklets

The experience not to be missed, however, is the ‘barter’. Shopping in North America is a bore compared to the vigorous game of salesmanship in an Egyptian bazaar. I walked the 20 minutes from the Winter Palace to the market. Cars and horse drawn carriages for the tourists passed me on the sand covered pavement. People spoke in a close animation, a way I was becoming accustomed to. The people of Egypt were becoming less strange to me and their enthusiasm for life began to seep into my consciousness.

Surrounded by beautiful things, I was attracted to little wooden boxes, inlaid with shell and bone. I ended up with two of them. Before leaving the hotel, we were told to negotiate the price of anything we were interested in at the bazaar. Offer half of the asking and let things take their course…. The animated discussions at stalls took on a new meaning and I was ‘game’.

I wandered into a very small stall full of toys for tourists, fancy metal plates and sculptures. I spotted a piece I liked, asked the price and immediately offered half. The stall owner grinned and then put on his game face. Mock insult and a second price was offered – a little lower than the first. My price came up in relation. We went on like this a few times. The other men at the stalls beside us began to laugh and really egg us on. When we were fairly close in price and the shopkeeper refused to go any further, I paused, put on a convincing frown, looked at the object and turned to walk away. The man who had been observing from the back of the shop burst into laughter and the shopkeeper called me back, lowered his head in a well practiced defeat and lowered his price one more time. I accepted. I am sure I was still paying too much, but it was so much fun, it was worth it!

Evidence of the Classicals in Luxor, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

The deeper I went into the market, the distance between the stalls became narrower. The tourist traps gave way to the orange stands and other practical objects. One of the members of our tour was a plucky lady of 67. She came on her own and had more curiosity and adventure in her than most people I had met. She suggested we return to the market at dusk…

Nile at Luxor, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

We set out just after sunset. In front of the Winter Palace that evening, the desert glowed, giving the distant dunes the iridescence of a pharaoh’s burial mask. Everything else was a gentle silhouette; falookas drifted gently by as if moved only by the current of the river. Little light remained in the sky by the time we reached the old Luxor market. There were no tourists here. The streets were lit with pale warm lamps and were rough and uneven. The smells and the noises reminded me that I was a long way from home. I felt slightly uneasy as I roamed into the back alleys where the colours seemed to fade in the shadows leaving the entire scene awash in sepia and indigo. My memory after this point was more dream-like, pictures fading into sensations.

*****

A falooka is familiar to many people as they are in the all the brochures. I have been a sailor all my life, but this boat convinced me I would end up a Nile crocodile’s lunch! We were on our way to a small island in the center of the river where they grow 3 inch bananas. As we sailed, at first gently, then with an increasing list it became easy to understand how this river divided worlds. Civilization was one one side of the river; fields, desert and tombs were all that was on the other.

Banana Island, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

Once we docked on the island, the group was led through a beautiful, lush grove of short palms. A little dirt track led us across a stream into an opening in the trees that looked like a small village. Brightly coloured buildings were scattered inside the clearing and people were carrying stocks of bananas into the middle. Due to the risk of snakes and other exciting wildlife, we were not taken into the orchard. We munched on bananas as the guide told us the story of the island. I don’t like bananas, but I knew I would regret it if I didn’t try one. I peeled back the tree riped skin and bit into the sweetest tasting fruit I have ever had. This was not like any banana I have ever had before. I knew I wouldn’t have anything like it again.

Flute Player, Banana Island, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

On the way back to the falooka, one of the girls bought a bamboo flute. She played the most horrible sounding noise off this thing, but, it amused the local men to no end and their laughing only encouraged her. She played it all the way back to the dock. The sound grew less harsh as it began to mix with the wind and the water which would eventually carry us back to our last night in Luxor.

*****

I was so tired by the time we arrived in Aswan that I chose to sleep through most of our time there. One place I did visit, however, was on the sunset bank. It was a mausoleum built by a wife for her husband, demonstrating her great love for him. The views from this place must have been spectacular before the creation of Lake Nasser, when the river would have been far below.

Sunset mausoleum, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

Two weeks after first landing in Cairo, the journey was at an end. Throughout the trip, so many of the things that had seemed so important at home had taken on a different meaning. I was, at times, in awe, overwhelmed and touched. Sometimes, all at once. The ‘rules’ I had grown up with were so different here.

Papyrus Art

Before I left Cairo for the last time, I purchased my first ‘painting’. I bought papyrus painted by local people. The subjects were all of wall reliefs from temples around the country. They were created with some of the richest pigments of blue and gold I have ever seen. The men who painted them would have had little idea in most cases what the ancients might have chosen, but, they made the works come alive with their own choices. Their ancient art through living eyes.

A Journey into Egypt: Part III

March 3, 2008 By Michelle Hendry

Our final day in Cairo brought us to the great expectation of any journey to Egypt – the Giza Plateau and the Great Pyramid. It is impossible to fully comprehend the scale of the Great Pyramid until you stand beside it. The blocks of stone at the base were enormous. Each stone was more than half my height. Here, at least, Indiana Jones may have lurked. So did the camels. They are not like horses and are more like prisoners on a chain gang – awaiting the chance to misbehave. I rode one of these animals around the pyramid and down to the Sphynx. Here is a photo of the back of the camel’s head. Look out for the spit…

On the camel ride, 1988

I remember the anticipation for entering the Great Pyramid. I did not know quite what to expect. The beginning was a roughed out tunnel that required one to walk bent over for quite a distance. This tunnel was created by one of the many attempts of history to penetrate the secrets of the ancients. Many failed, but, the legacy of this attempt was to be my access to one of the most empty places I have ever been. Just when I thought I might be overcome by claustrophobia, the ceiling rose into the grand corridor. There was nothing – no art, no hieroglyphs, nothing.

The long steep passage led to a very small, dark burgundy granite room. The room was empty but for a ruined sarcophagus of the same stone. I thought such emptiness should come with an absence of feeling, but, this was not the case. This room was 4500 years old and resonated with Time itself. I was compelled to search the room. I ran my hands along the smooth granite walls waiting for the stone to speak. It whispered to me the weight of years and tonnes of stone. Despite the fact that this was supposed to be a grave, it didn’t speak of Death. If Eternal Life was the goal of the Pharaoh, this place did, indeed, carry a sense of immortality. However, I ended up leaving the room with a feeling of deep loneliness and longing.

At the base of the Sphynx

Cairo’s outlying areas become increasingly less modern. Cars eventually give way entirely to mules. Much of what I had experienced up to this point had been with the tour group. On this particular afternoon, I decided to abandon the despotism of one of the girls in my group. She delighted in foolishness. The night before, she led the group out of the tourist area. This in itself was not so much a problem, however, it was dusk and we were all women. While we were, normally, quietly tolerated during the day, the verbal calls and glares were unrestrained. As we moved forward we drew greater attention. I suggested we turn back with the intent to quietly slip away and avoid confrontation. She defied my suggestion merely to keep power over the group. I was not foolish enough to turn around on my own. In her need to prove her power over the sheep, we walked a further 30 or so feet. That was the end of the group experience for me. I did not need this kind of company. So the remaining time in Cairo, I spent on my own.

With each step I took away from the others the following day, I felt exhilaration. As I walked along the canal, I felt invisible. This was not a negative experience. I had the privilege of the position of observer. My path was bordered by the canal on one side and a line of storefronts on the other – all in a light sandy colour, some whitewashed. I peeked over the edge of the canal to see huge masses of rotting vegetation float by and boxes of garbage. While I contemplated why there were boxes in the canal, a man stepped out in front of my carrying one such box. He marched straight past a bin and tossed it in.

I was then diverted by a commotion at the other end of the street. A small group of men were gathered in a tiny circle and appeared to be beating at the ground. Keeping my distance, I tried to see what it was they were on about. Suddenly, the men cleared and I saw what looked like a dead snake on the ground.

That night we embarked on the overnight train to Luxor and the Valley of the Kings. After a poor and restless sleep, I awoke early to get to the toilet first. This seemingly benign action opened my eyes to another thing I take for granted – sanitation. On the door of the toilet was a sign requesting that the unit not be used while in the station. I pondered this while doing my thing and as I bent to flush, I quickly found out why. On pulling the handle I was able to see the tracks pass beneath me. Images of desert track were just fading from my mind when the train arrived at the most beautiful and unique stop down the Nile.

Nile at Luxor, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

Luxor greeted me with a gentle breeze and calm waters. The Winter Palace hotel was of the British Imperial style from the turn of the century. I could easily imagine Lawrence of Arabia sweeping down its staircase. The entry was spectacular. The stone staircase curved, the rooms had 14 foot ceilings and two foot door jambs. The back of the building had a double sweeping staircase leading to an opulent pool. This was such a stark contrast from most of the trip to this point. I would be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

Avenue of the Sphynx, Karnak, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

Karnak Temple and the Valley of the King and Queens are the main attractions in Luxor, as well as, Tutankhamon’s tomb. I am not sure there is much to add on the subject of Tutankhamon’s tomb. I entered it and it was beautiful. The mystique was not what I expected. This place had a greater feeling of Death than did the pyramids. Impressive was Hatchepsut’s tomb. Hatchepsut defied the male dominant nature of the ancient Egyptian social order, was a valiant warrior, even though her half brother was given much of the credit for her conquests. Her legacy was all but destroyed by a jealous King and yet her temple is one of the most unique in Egypt. Her story is beautifully told by fiction writer Pauline Gedge in “Child of the Morning”. I recommend this one for anyone with a passion for ancient Egypt.

Columns, Karnak, photograph, Michelle Basic Hendry

Karnak Temple was colossal. What was remarkable about this site was that there was original pigments still on the underside of the spans between the columns 50 feet up. There was a sound and light show over the sacred lake one evening, but I believe I slept through most of it. I had dozed next to water that was untouched by any but the Pharaoh and his priests. What I remember is the warm embrace of the night air….

Tomorrow…. Shopping in Luxor, the market at night, Bananas and Aswan….

A Journey into Egypt: Part I

March 1, 2008 By Michelle Hendry

20 years ago this month, I embarked on my first journey abroad. I was so young, and so inexperienced. Until that cold March day, I had never gone beyond 100 miles of my birthplace. I remember walking through Terminal 1 at the Toronto airport knowing that everything I had ever known and believed about life was about to be irrevocably changed. One might wonder why I would choose Egypt as my baptism into the world….?

This past weekend, I dug up an account that I wrote a few years after the trip for a college assignment. That assignment was based on some notes and photographs I had kept from the trip. It struck me when I re-read it that I had described the trip as a ‘physical journey into the soul of the world’.

In the passages and posts that follow, I will be sticking fairly closely to that original account from the mid-1990’s and adding elements that the limits of the assignment forced me to edit out. I had never entertained the idea of becoming an artist before this journey and I am certain that it played a role in forming that part of me. I hope you choose to follow the story and that it delights you as much as the memory of it does for me.

Giza Plateau 1988, Michelle Basic Hendry

Life has a funny way of teaching us about itself. The metaphor of the experienced hero emerging from innocence always requires a journey – often a tour of one’s own soul. The Universe invades and shatters what we hold as ‘Truth’ and forces us to fill the vacuum or learn to live with the void. Since truth might seem to be a relative thing depending on your cultural perspective, youth and a blank slate are good companions to embark on a physical journey into the soul of the world.

At 18, I was ‘old’ for having never stepped onto a plane. I had never been to Florida nor had I left Ontario for that matter. To choose Egypt as a first encounter with travel might seem surprising, but, I craved adventure. I painted an imaginary picture of myself standing next to Indiana Jones and a camel. The camel was the only character from this fantasy to actually show up.

Early on a Sunday morning in March of 1988, I waved good-bye to my parents and entered the gate with the rest of my youth tour group realizing that there was no turning back. I felt a simultaneous rush of excitement and a deep fear of the unknown.

After a brief stop-over in Paris and four more hours in the air, the lights of Cairo began to emerge out of the darkness. As we descended over the gently flickering glow of the city, the reality of what I was doing began to set in. It was close to midnight, Cairo time when we finally exited the plane for the last time and I remember disembarking into the night greeted by a warm, heady smell of smoke. All of my senses were heightened. Each moment provided a completely new sensory experience. To this day, a hint of that smell reminds me of Cairo.

Exhausted, the bus dropped our group off at the Hotel in Giza, a kind of ‘suburb’ of Cairo. My memories from this point are vague with the exception of the fact that the fourth floor is not high enough off the street if you like to sleep. At 3 am I crawled out of bed to see what was with all the horns. Pulling the curtains back, I was surprised to see that none of the passing vehicles had their headlights on! Our hotel was at a bend in the road and as the cars approached it, they honked and flashed their headlights to warn of their passing.

When I was awakened 3 hours later, I was buzzing from a lack of sleep. Breakfast was intended to provide the jet-lagged group of teenagers with the energy to begin our tour. We were provided with bread and a juice that reminded me of the stuff they give you after you pass out at the blood donor clinic.

I had passed so much of the city of Cairo the night before while it was still shrouded in darkness, therefore, in the morning, the blanket of illusions and expectations would begin to lift. Cairo was modernizing. The old sat very close to the new here.

The first couple of days were filled moving from one part of the city to another. I remember being stopped at a traffic light at a very large crossroads. I looked out the window of the bus toward the sky. High above the roofs of the buildings were highway overpasses. There were several of them, many were filled with traffic. I followed some of the larger vehicles with my eyes as they passed overhead and then disappeared out of sight. Perhaps 100 feet past this point, the overpass abruptly ended in mid-air. I waited for the inevitable disaster to strike.

Outskirts of Cairo 1988, Michelle Basic Hendry

As we continued out of the downtown area, apartment buildings emerged, cars mixed with mule carts and fires were emitting a heavy black smoke, black smoke so heavy, I never saw flames.

The old city of Cairo was surrounded by warm grey stone walls, from which the people seemed to directly emerge. The streets were covered in market stalls. Many of them were full of oranges. The streets were dirty. The curbs buried in wet muck strewn with peels from oranges crushed beneath the wheels of carts. Their still fresh skins like beacons of newness surrounded by the decay that they would, inevitably, become a part. It looked as if nothing had changed here in centuries…The poverty was striking. Children grasped at the windows of the vehicles filled with tourists. Some tried to sell things to the people in the buses if they slowed down enough for them to get close. Stopping wasn’t necessary. The buses were what felt out of place in this ancient world. Here, I felt more like a time traveler than a tourist.

Tomorrow…. Coptic churches, the Alabaster Mosque and Memphis…

New Mexico ~ Santa Fe & the Turquoise Trail

A Journey into Egypt: Part IV

A Journey into Egypt: Part III

A Journey into Egypt: Part I

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