Travel in "The Americas"

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Thanksgiving Day was the official end of my bus journey around America.

But not the end of my travels in "the Americas."  In December, I went to Costa Rica to check out my son's adopted country.  Since dollars are accepted in Costa Rica, it can be considered part of my "Americas" travel, in my opinion!

The people I got to know in Costa Rica are very happy, spend all of their free time with their families, do not pine for a designer pocketbook or for more acquisition, but are "contento" with simpler, more relaxed lives than we live in the New York City area.  "Contento" is the Costa Rican version of the American dream.

Granted, there is no great art or movies or Pulitzer-prize winning plays coming out of Costa Rica.  For that you need angst, strain, anguish, and culture to feed off of.

But if you're not so much interested in cultural history as in nature, and in being among happy people, Costa Rica is the right place.

My son Will, right, with Milton and Marta, the parents of Will's girlfriend, Indira.  When Will first called me on the phone to tell me he had met a great girl, I thought he said her name was "Endeara," and I thought it was an endearing name.

Will in Cahuita, on the Caribbean coast, with a hibiscus flower in his hair.

His lovely girlfriend, Indira, looks better with the hibiscus flower.

National Day of Mourning, aka Thanksgiving Day

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Since Thanksgiving Day 1970, the town of Plymouth, Massachusetts has hosted the National Day of Mourning, when Native Americans from all over the country demonstrate against all that happened after they kept the Pilgrims alive during the first winter.

Statue of Massasoit, Chief of the Wampanoags, the tribe that enabled the Pilgrims survive their first winter, on Cole's Hill, overlooking Plymouth Harbor.

The plaque reads, in part:  "To [Native Americans], Thanksgiving Day is a reminder of the genocide of millions of their people, the theft of their lands, and the relentless assault on their culture.  Participants in national Day of Mourning honor Native ancestors and the struggles of Native peoples to survive today...It is a protest of the racism and oppression which Native Americans continue to experience.  Erected by the Town of Plymouth on behalf of the United American Indians of New England."

The United American Indians of New England (UAINE) sponsor the event annually.  In spite of the fact that it was held on Thanksgiving Day, it was well attended by a diverse crowd.

This was the last official day of my America bus trip.  But my blog is not over!  I had the opportunity to travel further, not in America but in "the Americas," Costa Rica to be exact.  My son is an expat there, teaching ESL and loving all the Costa Ricans who are just like him, happy and not riddled with angst.  Businesses in CR accept dollars, so that makes it official, my travels there were American.  Stay tuned.

Reclaim the American Spirit - Plymouth Harbor on Thanksgiving Day

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This replica of the Mayflower in Plymouth, Massachusetts is another example of how Americans are so strangely interested in ersatz experiences.  Epcot is the prime example.  New ski villages in the Rockies modeled after Bavarian towns, complete with cuckoo in the clock tower, is another.

Come on, America!  Seek the real thing!  Make your dreams come true instead of letting the television suck the creativity out of you!  It's the only way we're going to reclaim the American spirit -- by working to make our own dreams come true.

The Pilgrims came to America to make a dream of freedom come true.  Unfortunately, from that point on, Euro-American settlers killed the Native Americans' dream of living on the land as freely as ever.

There's got to be a way for people to make their dreams come true without ruining the lives of others.  Let's do it.

Plymouth Harbor on Thanksgiving Day.  A replica of the Mayflower reveals how small and fragile a ship it was.  Our dreams can be fragile, but we can make it, just like the Pilgrims did.

What's believed to be Plymouth Rock, housed in a Greek-style temple on the shore.  The waters of Plymouth Harbor lap at it perpetually.  Don't let time or discouragement erode your dreams.

An American Dream (Sort of) in New Hampshire

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On my way from Portland to Manchester, I took a small side trip to not only Portsmouth, NH but also Keene, NH because people told me it was a picturesque, historic New England town. 

The Keene Public Library caught my eye, a historic home (to the left) with a wing added (right).  

The reference librarian steered me to Alan Rumrill, Executive Director of the Historical Society of Cheshire County (above).  She said he had more stories than anybody in Keene.

Alan Rumrill told me the story of General James Wilson, a resident of Keene who became a general in the New Hampshire militia in the 1830s and 1840s.  When he was called upon to lead men in the Civil War, he declined, saying he was too old.

Wilson was involved in New Hampshire state politics in the 1840s.  He had many friends in state government, but he was lured to California by the gold rush.  His wife had died, but that didn't stop him from leaving his children and taking a government position in California.  His two daughters were in their early teens, and his son even younger.  

He corresponded with his daughters, who complained of being stuck in the house.  They had to go to school, of course, but “they were not able to have the opportunity to get out and socialize and have financial support to do those things other people were doing in the community,” Mr. Rumrill said.  “They also had the care of the younger brother.  Wilson didn’t send a lot of money back to his children.”

The general eventually came back to Keene, picked up where he left off, and was elected to the state legislature.  He died a local hero, a satisfying American dream come true, for him.

His papers were bequeathed to the Historical Society, where they lay dormant for years.  It was only when his correspondence with his children came to light, while two authors researched a book based on the correspondence entitled, “Sisters of Fortune,” that local opinion changed. 

“He’s now considered prominent politically, socially, and militarily in the area but is also seen as an inattentive father who was more concerned with doing things that were of interest to him than in caring for his children,” Mr. Rumrill said.

The office of the Historical Society of Cheshire County in Keene, New Hampshire, in a stately mansion that was part of someone's American dream.

Occupy Keene, hard at it mid-day on a weekday, working toward keeping the American dream a possibility for everyone, not just the 1%.

Portsmouth, New Hampshire

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From Portland, Maine I drove to Portsmouth, New Hampshire and then to Manchester.  I drove because the bus schedule was impossible -- a circuitous route that would have taken 15 hours to make a two-hour drive.

Portsmouth is a quintessential New England coastal town with lots of red brick commercial buildings.  The buildings along the waterfront evoked images of clerks with ink-stained fingers counting barrels of incoming freight and making marks in their ledgers.  Now, in these same buildings, waiters watch for customers in the tony bars and restaurants.

The pier along the waterfront was a tad inaccessible -- I had to lift a latch and commit trespass to get onto a restaurant's summer deck and take this picture.  Inaccessibility of waterfronts is nearly an unforgivable sin in my town-planning book.  But Portsmouth almost made up for it with interesting boutiques and great coffee shops throughout town.

Tugboats in Portsmouth, NH harbor.

Gap - and not the Delaware Water Gap

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I apologize for the gap in time between the last post and this one.  I had problems with my computer for two weeks.  Then I could not find my New England pictures in my reconstituted computer.  Totally panicky problems.

But the tech issues are resolved and this morning I found some of the photos!  So I can complete my bus trip around America with you.

For the last nine days of my trip, from Philadelphia on, I spent every night in a new bed.  It was a whirlwind.

From Philly I took the bus to New York City, stayed one night with my daughter, then took the bus to Boston, stayed one night with my brother, then took the bus to Portland, Maine for one night.  On the way to Portland, the bus stopped briefly in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and I knew I wanted to go back and explore.

In Portland I took the ferry to Peaks Island and back (above), then stopped by Occupy Portland and attended my first general assembly.  I was so impressed at how the meeting's "leader," chosen by group conscience, was careful to acknowledge everyone who wanted to speak, even the people that, if I were the leader, I would want to discourage because they tended to repeat themselves.

Remarks became heated and hands went up rapidly, and the leader kept up with it all.  She was the tiniest young woman in a knit hat with earflaps and tassels.  It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving in Maine, and the weather at 7 p.m. was milder than usual for Portland, but still chilly.

Occupiers planned to stay the winter in Lincoln Park.  Imagine winter in Maine in a tent!

Portland officials were not banning occupiers from the park, but they were putting some restrictions -- some that occupiers chaffed at -- around the occupation.  Officials told them they had to get rid of the blue tarps that they put around their tents for insulation.  The blue tarps are flammable -- I didn't know that.  They had to get Tyvek tarps instead.  They also had to move their tents and space them at least 10 feet apart, to create fire lanes in between.

It was fascinating to watch the orderly exchange of ideas and comments in an Occupy general assembly.  It is a true democracy -- everyone gets heard, everyone who wants to votes.  Kudos to the occupiers for taking a self-sacrificing stand against the ridiculous level of greed exercised at the top levels of business and government in our country today.  The greed will kill the American Dream for everyone else.  Do you agree?

Birthplace of American Freedoms - Philadelphia

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Philly is a great town, full of history, and very proud of it.  I walked all over it in a radius from the hostel and covered most of the historic district.  I enjoyed the brick sidewalks, some cobblestone streets, Ben Franklin's original post office - the first in America (which the U.S. Postal Service plans to close).  I saw Colonial-style buildings, and a beautiful modern building that houses the Liberty Bell, which can be seen from the street through a glass wall by any person at any time.

This is the room in Independence Hall where the Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation (a system with fatal weaknesses) and the Constitution (which still guides our nation) were signed.  The room has thirteen seats.  Center back is the "rising sun" chair where George Washington sat and presided over events.

Independence Hall was covered with scaffolding as the National Park Service works to conserve it.

Reflecting on the Liberty Bell.

The famous crack, symbolic of the flaws many people (i.e., Native American and African American minorities) have experienced in the playing out of their American dreams.

Statue of an eighteenth-century man in a three-cornered hat, being mimicked by a guy in a North Face jacket.