The Trail to Jim Morrison's Cave

45 minutes from downtown LA...
then west on the Pacific Coast Highway (or PCH as the locals say) for 15 miles of motoring.  I was so close to the surf, the spray misted my windshield...
then 30 or so  hairpin turns, straight up into the hills, you 'll find it:
Jim Morrison's Cave! 

There're Bronson Caves which overlook the Hollywood sign,
and El Matador Sea Caves down by the Malibu beach,

"Birth Canal" entrance from inside

Entering the "Birth Canal", from outside

but THIS cave, with its iconic "birth canal" entrance, has the reputation of hosting Jim Morrison as he composed Doors' lyrics and lived out his Lizard King dreams.


It's not marked (of course) but drive til you can go no higher, park on the wide shoulder, and start to hike.



The path is magnificent high desert-
peer over clusters of yellow spring flowers bursting from succulent bushes, into the deserted valley below, and the remote landscape stretches out, as far as the eye can see.

No sea views here, you gaze east across the valley towards LA.
But also none of that sadly-familiar pink smog here.  The air is hot but light, and the sandstone outcroppings lure you further down the trail.

There are vestiges of earlier worshippers here -- not southwest Indian, but rock-n-roll followers, seeking to grasp even wisp of Jim Morrison aura.

Before you venture INTO the cave, take a minute to soak in the scene:

Inside the cave, watch your step! From the "birth canal", the hill opens up to a gaping, breeze-y desertscape!

You'll find some interesting cave art, including the famous skull, said to have been carved into the cave floor by Jim Morrison himself!

  If you dig this, then remember to check out TLT's ezine, Tales of the Trip, next month!  

There's inspiration to sleep here!  (and other caves around the world, too!)

The residents of Pere LaChaise

Pere LaChaise, the most famous cemetery of Paris, has some pretty swanky residents.  From Jim Morrison to Oscar Wilde -- all 77,000 of them as a matter of fact --  they make a star-studded neighborhood.  Of course, instead of golden stars on the sidewalk, there are tombs.  Pas une grosse affaire!  Come with me on a stroll...

As we enter under the Porte Principale:

we pass Collette (1920s French author of sexual audacities like Gigi and La Belle Epoque), 

then the "Baron" (commissioned by Napolean to raze medieval Paris and create modern sewers, bridges,  the wide boulevards we love today, and even Paris Opera) will appear in Famille Haussmann.

After the famous Monument aux Morts (tomb sculpture created by Bartholome in honor of his beloved wife),

turn right into the Composer's District.  Here, meet Chopin, a frail Polish man who refused to name his compositions, choosing instead to number them (No.6 in A flat major).  A talented pianist, his frail health prevented him from doing much performing:

And speaking of composers, head east around the loop of Chemin Seine and to your left.  Meet Jim Morrison.  We know him of Doors fame -- that growling "Hello, HelLO, HELLO".  He was one of the only cemetery residents not to be a longterm Parisian  (rule of eligibility for interment here at PL) but the French government didn't want to lose him.  The stone over his grave says "Kata Ton Daimona Eaytoy", or "true to his own spirit".

Now head deep into the property, taking the Avenue Circulaire back to the far right and meet Edith Piaf, my favorite French singer ever!  I adore her story -- sent as a 5-year old to sing on street corners to make money for her Grandmother's
house of prostitutes. Her fragile, lilting voice earned her the nickname "The Waif Sparrow":

Around the back circle of the cemetery, on a side lane, you'll find the wild tomb of celebrated Irish playwright Oscar Wilde, decorated with a flying pharaonic angel (whose erect penis was removed around 1905 after public outrage).  Wilde's story was a sad one... in his homeland, he was often denied credit for his plays because of his open homosexual status, and after a prison stint of hard labor and near death, he was brought to Paris to be nurtured by friends and die on Rue Des Beaux-Arts.

Just forward and to the left is Victor Noir.  A 22-year old, executed on the spot by Bonaparte in 1870, is best known for his political reporting to the commoners, which inconveniently (for the Prince, at least) stressed shortcomings of the government and injustices to the people.  He is buried, just as he died, in full dress, laying on his back, hat askew.   

So many people kiss him that the patina is rubbed off his lips!

As you wander the lanes of Pere LaChaise,

there are touches of humour... and moments of grief:

Holocaust Memorial

You'll find weeping statues and maybe even Dracula's tomb:

 

In the end, perhaps the MOST famous residents are the cats!

For a slideshow of Pere LaChaise, click here!

Hangin' on a Houseboat... Lake Powell in our American Southwest

It had seemed like a fine idea… renting a houseboat to explore the canyons and emerald swimming bays of Lake Powell.  When I called for a reservation, the nice Utah gal on the phone said, “If ‘ya can drive a car, ‘ya can drive a houseboat."

Easy for her to say!  To begin with, there are no brakes on a boat… only a coasting stop (and a reverse gear, if you’re really in a panic!).  Also, it’s more the size of a double 18-wheeler than of any car I’ve ever driven.

But we boldly loaded up, and somehow got it backed out of the slip.   The narrow channels of the marina didn’t leave much room for error, though, and before I knew it, the Dock Master was flagging us down. My novice boating skills had earned us a private escort out of the yacht-filled marina.  Fortunately, my sons were young enough to think it meant we were special, not incompetent.

Free at last on the lake!  The breeze was cool, the rock buttes were a brilliant orange, and our icy beverages fizzed as we cracked open the peanuts. I guess I got caught up in our newfound adventure, and, before I knew it, we were nose-diving!

The bow of the boat, loaded down with 2 huge iced-down coolers, disappeared into the waves, and everything – our bodies, our books, our peanuts – flew South!  I yelled to the kids, “Run!  Run to the back!”, and as if their 70-pound, 10-year old bodies could save the day, they ran rear, grabbing white plastic chairs as they flew off the deck.

I slammed the engine into reverse (see alternate breaking method above), and with a great green slosh past my captain’s station and a thick glug of the motor, the pontoons rocked back upright.  Whew!  That was a close one!

So, all went well for the afternoon.  We quietly toured the lake and dreamed of our week ahead…  Jet-skiing through the warren of canyons, back to the famous Rainbow Bridge! Fishing derbies (can Mom really clean a catfish?)  Morning hikes along the shoreline! Ancient caves to explore!  Grand Western sunsets! Bonfires blazing in the desert night! Sleeping under the stars!

As the sky turned rosy and the kids called for dinner, though, I remembered that scary phrase from the boat orientation… “Beaching.” I had asked at the time, “Can’t we just circle the lake all night long?

The idea of beaching is to ram this 15,000-pound box of a boat into the sand beach, hard enough to stick, but not get stuck (all the while avoiding the red boulders for which Lake Powell is so famous).  It was a chaotic mix of boys, anchors, shovels, splashing and sweating, but we got her “set,” and with a whoop of victory, fired up the grill and opened the water slide.   Maybe houseboating WAS a brilliant idea after all.

As the kids chased each other down the slide, I took stock in our first day. I had nearly gotten a ticket, swamped the boat, and terrorized my crew. I had wondered if we had the “right stuff”-- when loading up, the other boaters filled their black wheelbarrows with cases of beer, while ours overflowed with scrabble, beach balls, and bags of marshmallows for our campfire.

But as the sun set, we dragged our mattresses out of the bunks and up onto the top deck, to sleep out under the powdered-sugar sky… just us five and the stars…and I knew we did!

20 Best Hikes in the National Parks -- thank you, National Geographic

Best Hikes in the National Parks -- National Geographic

I have spent a good chunk of each summer since 1992, stomping into the backcountry of one National Park, or another.   From Isle Royale's offshore campsites, to Angel Creek in the bottom of the Grand Canyon, to amazing sunsets along the Gulf shores of the Everglades, I am blessed with the most priceless memories.

In the past few summers, though, I realize that I had missed these annual forays.

I had already promised myself a NP trip for Summer '12.
Now, thanks to NG's article, all I have to do is choose!

A Monkey Primer for Costa Rica

Costa Rica monkeys range from cloud forest to coast, and here are scenes and stories of the Top 4:

Howler Monkeys are the best known.  They make a huge racket -- at passing planes, people, thunder, sunrise and sunset, and sometimes even in the middle of the night, if someone wiggles their branch or otherwise upsets them.  They can be heard up to 3 miles away!

Haven't heard what Howlers sound like?  Here's your chance! 

They look like this:

but travel in gangs of 20 or so, called Troops, so you typically see them like this:

swinging through the branches on their famous prehensile tail!


White-headed, or White-faced, capuchins are much smaller, and just as common.
They love to eat insects and bark, but fruit is more than 60% of their diet -- and it was there, surrounded by small red clusters of berries in the low bushes alongside the canal,  where I met my white-faced friend in the Tortuguero jungle.   He wanted to jump into my canoe:

They are incredibly smart monkeys -- they've been known to use barks of tree to rub on their bodies medicinally, and they make and use tools out of the jungle materials.


Squirrel monkeys are the smallest of the CR species. They roam along the Pacific coast, and typically are referred to as red, since their backs have orange-y fur:

Lots of info on their Manuel Antonio habitat and footage of the little squirrel monkey is in a great video. Check out Minute 3, on the video, for a very special encounter:
A visit with Squirrel Monkeys in Manuel Antonio!


Geoffroy's Spider Monkey is the 4th main species, but I have never met one.  Not surprising, since this species has the highest endangered rate of all the top 4.

He's the largest of all the monkeys -- can be 25" and has arms which are comically elongated past its body. (want to be technical?  Its arms are 25% longer than its legs!)

It forages by day in small groups, often on the ground, and needs large tracts of land to support its enormous exclusive-fruit diet.

This is what a geofrroy's spider looks like:

Meet the Cesarines!

The Cesarines of Italy!  Pronounced with a ch-, they are the "little old ladies who stay in the kitchen and cook all day".
Let me tell you:  they are neither old, nor are they still in the kitchen.  In fact, they recently did a mini-USA tour, sharing their recipes and techniques in Miami, LA, and NYC -- and promoting their regional cookbook, too!  
I had the privilege of rolling out some dough with these talented ladies, and I'd love to introduce them (from left to right):
Paola, from Bologna... Flavia, from Rome... and Louise, from Tuscany...

In Italy, they host travelers in their homes, on select evenings each month, for 5-course homemade meals,  spotlighting their family's recipes and showcasing local ingredients -- down to the Nocina, an after-dinner liqueur homemade from green walnuts!

In NYC, Paola showed us how to make ravioli and tortelloni, just as her grandma had taught her as a 7-year-old.
 You start with 00-flour (unlike our all-purpose) and 2 eggs.  Cici, here, who's a producer for a Chinese TV Food show, maybe knows more about "eating" than "mixing" foods, but we all-- novices and cesarines alike -- had fun!







Paola was the expert at rolling the dough so thin, that you could read the newspaper through it!  And an amazing fact I learned:   it is important to roll dough on a wood board, with a wooden pin, because the textures of the wood make actual tiny holes in the dough, which help the noodles absorb the flavors of the sauce more fully!  Who would have thought?






The process:   roll it thin, and then either cut it into long strips called pappardelle,











or layer it with ricotta mix, for raviolis.  I also learned a new use for a plate!   It's perfect to roll between the rows of ricotta, to seal in the new stuffed pastas!

And look what I made!

In fact, you can even put the filling into small squares, fold 'em into triangles, pinch the sides, and give 'em a twist, and you have tortelloni!

 The simplest recipe is sometimes the best!   Tortelloni are cooked, when they rise to the top of the water in the boiling pot (only a minute or so).  Fresh sage leaves and butter make a perfect sauce, topped with fresh parmigiana!

Mangia!

For your own cooking classes, or to enjoy a dinner party in the home of a local when you're traveling in Italy,  give me a shout:  Email me or call 609.923.0304!

The Gandoca-Manzanilla of Costa Rica

Take this photo tour of the southern Caribbean coast of Costa Rica --  complete with national parks, vegan cafes,  monkeys and surfboards, and the lively Gandoca-Manzanilla Reserve!


Click this link to the slideshow!