The Rhine River north of Breisach, Germany. August 2025.
We returned from our afternoon in Colmar, dined, and watched the sun set as we sailed north toward one of the many locks on the Rhine. I stayed up to watch, but the night grew later…
Approaching lights on the Rhine River. Locks? August 2025.
I managed to catch the first lock before bed beckoned beyond my ignoring it. I always cringe when I lean over a railing holding a smartphone to take a photo. I’m sure I’m going to watch an expensive tool/toy go “plop!” into the waters (or rocks) below.
Entering our first lock of the evening on the Rhine River. August 2025.
Heading downstream, the ship entered full locks which then drained before the ship continued its journey through the night.
The lock drained, the gate rises, and we continue on our way. August 2025.
At that point the clock chimed 10 p.m. and I headed to bed. Some of the folks stayed on the top deck through midnight and beyond as more locks were negotiated. The novelty never wore thin—any night which promised locks, a gathering topside seemed in order. If this appeals to you, I recommend booking in the May-September timeframe when temperatures support being outside comfortably. Even with temperatures in the 90’s during the afternoon, nights got very cool: by morning all but the really hardy wore a sweater or light jacket.
This past week we journeyed to Santa Fe, NM, where my brother has lived for about four years. This represented our last chance to do so, because he plans to relocate to a different state next year. Although our first two visits in 1996 and to my brother’s house in 2022 left us unimpressed with the city and its surrounds, I found my attitude changing this time. I think taking a more relaxed approach to each day helped, plus I’ve slowly decompressed over the past five years of retirement. My past as a Road Warrior for several years took a big hit when we all sat around in 2020 during the Covid pandemic. It kicked into gear again in 2021 and hadn’t dissipated by 2022. For whatever reason, we found ourselves hitting a few museums, seeing familiar sights, finding some new ones, and spent late afternoons in conversation prior to dining out every night. (Dining out might have aided our feeling of “vacation”.)
A few representative photos:
October begins: outside the Santa Fe Brewery on October 1st. Less than 2 miles from my brother’s house as a crow flies, but 4.4 miles by car. We stopped for a couple six-packs after a fine dinner at Escondido Santa Fe. I miss sunsets like this from my first decades in the western US. One needs to see the horizon to get good sunrises/sunsets. October 2025.
By October 2nd the federal shutdown in America took full effect, and we found all facilities closed at Pecos National Historical Park. I was unaware an important Civil War battle had been fought here when the Confederacy attempted to control the gold being mined in southwestern states. October 2025.
Because the national park closed, we turned north to a state park on the Pecos River. It catered mostly to campers and anglers, but provided some beautiful spots to stop and admire swiftly flowing water beneath the first signs of autumn. Rivers aren’t common in the semi-arid southwest. October 2025.
We visited the Georgia O’Keeffe museum Wednesday, a must stop because we had missed it in 2022 when our only day to do so turned out to be the day it closed. Out of deference for the artist I won’t reproduce her work here, although photos were allowed. Similarly I won’t reproduce the artwork I photographed at the Wheelwright Museum of the American Indian on Friday, October 3rd.
We ate New Mexican style food at Escondido, La Choza, and a super-high-end place called Sazón in downtown Santa Fe. On the 2nd we ate Indian at Paper Dosa, a restaurant we had seen on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives (Food Network). Mostly I will remember north central New Mexico like this:
On a walk from my brother’s house. This actually is in the middle of housing developments in the southwest part of Santa Fe. Housing in central Santa Fe is very expensive. I don’t remember the name of this yellow plants, but it’s everywhere. October 2025.
Good morning, France! (From the German side of the Rhine River). August 2025.
Our first morning aboard the Viking Hlin, I woke early. Apparently three evenings of my patented jet lag adjustment routine (copious amounts of beer, large amounts of food, and moderate exercise) had done the trick. I left my barely awake wife in the stateroom and wandered the early dawn on the top deck. Something about boats and trains indulges the romantic. He wakes happy that someone else has navigated the vessel to a new location while he slept. His sleepy dreams continue when the curtains are drawn: what will I see? Where am I? This occurs in a manner no plane will ever match with its tube-through-time approach to travel.
Turning to the starboard side of the deck, the barely risen sun illuminated a nice cathedral in Breisach, still mostly in shadows.
Breisacher Münster St. Stephan Roman Catholic Church. August 2025.
After realizing our definition of ‘breakfast’ would forever be altered by our onboard experience, we headed out on a bus ride to and through the Black Forest. Its history was narrated capably by our erudite and dryly humorous guide, Johannes, raised in the Black Forest. It reminded me of certain challenging terrains in North America where high foothills exist prior to the Rocky Mountains or the North Cascades (primarily on the lee side of the mountains). Unfortunately, the polarized windows of the bus, and the fact my wife sat in the window seat, made photography impossible.
It’s been a lengthy stretch of sporadic posting at best. I’ve excused it with “spending time with my wife” and “getting things done” which certainly sound worthy. We’ve just returned from attending her mother’s funeral. (More on that later.) A slate of urgent tasks demands my attention, as does maintaining my health, both physical and mental.
A few pieces of writing, stubs and nothing more, await more attention than I can manage right now. Today let’s just review the two-plus weeks since I posted a hawk in our front yard. Hawks continue to drop by, a vivid affirmation to our decision to rip out the front lawn and install native plants—and especially to my decision to let the leaves lie where they fall. The leaf cover has fostered those little grubs and bugs birds like eat and extends to small rodents for the hawks.
Sadly, rodents (squirrels) ripped into the blossoms of our star magnolia. This is as good as it ever looked this spring:
Star magnolia in the middle of March, 2025.
Perhaps the false starts to spring affected it? We had days in the 70’s and hit 80 once before cold weather set in again, complete with dustings of snow and some freezing rain. The cold became brutal for North Carolina, dropping into the teens. This delayed the magnolia’s blooming by two weeks or more. It looked like this last year, weeks earlier:
Reposted from 2024. Star magnolia on February 29, 2024.
We revisited the Duling-Kurtz Country Inn in Exton, PA, Sunday evening. Sitting up by the fire that evening pleased us both. Dressing for the funeral in this room made things marginally better than performing the same in a generic Hilton or Marriott property.
The Winston Churchill Room at the Duling-Kurtz Country Inn. The sharp-eyed viewers will have noted the presence of TWO bathrooms. Two very small rooms were obviously turned into one. The door to one room no longer being needed (center), it was turned into a closet. March 2025, Exton, PA.
We’re on the eve of a personal holiday, Opening Day of Baseball. The joy baseball brings will temper the immediate sorrow of losing our last parent. This year promises many highs and lows, a challenge from start to finish. “May you live in interesting times.” Indeed.
Looking back near four months now I cannot recall what we did of note for the three days after we connected with my cousin during our first full day on Maui. Only two salient things leap to mind: hanging at the nearest pool on the second day and driving the north coast a bit on the fourth. It seems as if we must have done something else…didn’t we? Our fourth day also represented our final full day on the western end of Maui. We had been told the natives didn’t really like tourists going up along the north shore, but we took a ‘chance’ and except for a bit of display for what I think represented a Hawai’i Separatist Movement we experienced no animosity. We certainly saw spectacular scenery as the road dove to near sea-level and then ascended to the tops of cliffs.
Our rental car, the ocean, and a spectacular sky above. Molokai in the distance. September 2024.Once upon a time I might have tried snorkeling but not now, and certainly not in this partially protected bay. (Little dots are people snorkeling.) September 2024.Unfortunately for my pictorial record, few pull-offs existed. At this one you can see a good representation of the north coast. The hill in the background has an incline in it as the road we’re on continues. We drove down to near-sea level in the bay out of the photo to the right. September 2024.
By my estimation I took around 100 photos of the coast and/or sunrises/sunsets while we lingered on Kapalua Bay. Dawn would start with the low-contrast promise of sun:
Pre-dawn, last morning on Kapalua Bay. Molokai to the left. September 2024.
And sometimes not so low-contrast…
This photo taken 20 minutes prior to the above it. Maui, September 2024.
I guess most of the time we stared at sunrises in the morning, sunsets in the evening and in between we ate and stared at stuff like this…
Breakers just beyond our shore, nearing sunset. Kapalua Bay, Maui, September 2024.
…volcanoes! We forced the agendas for our final two Big Island sightseeing days, simply by allowing our lazy natures free reign. Sunday received its designation, Volcanoes Day, and promptly rewarded us with an atmospheric eruption.
Saturday sunrise, Kuhio Bay, Hilo, HI. September 2024.
As I type this the sun is peeking over the horizon here in Raleigh. I won’t see it due to trees and ridges…and because I’m sitting in a windowless room in the basement. Nine weeks ago our first Saturday in Hilo brought an orange glow as the sun peeked over the industrial buildings at the port of Hilo (located east of Hilo proper). I never tired of this. I think people who live where they can see to the horizon unimpeded by anything must have a different outlook on life or at least on the natural world. I know it has that effect on me.
Dawn over Hilo and Kuhio Bays delivered colorful dawns because of the clouds. Waking on our third morning, however, the clouds were thicker and more ominous. Weather generally arrives from the east, after all. Outdoor activities seemed like a bad idea. By this time I’d learned the clouds keep moving; one hour’s clouds do not the day’s weather make. We did collect a few drops later in the day, but the gnarly-looking cloud in the photo here passed by dryly.
Palms over Hilo Bay at sunset. Hilo, HI, September 2024.
After visiting ‘Akaka Falls, we drove northward (which actually is northwestward) along the coast until we came to Waimea where we admired true free-range chickens and had lunch. I marveled at how dry it had become. The fields as we approached were pastures with cattle at times. Upon our return to Hilo, a day’s-end beer and sunset awaited us.
all the voices in my head 