Our final three days in Ecuador are spent in Cuenca, the country’s third-largest city, that sits in the mountains in the south. We hop-skip-and-jump it from Salinas to Cuenca – three buses do the trick: from Salinas to Santa Elena; then another bus to Guayaquil, Ecuador’s largest city and its main port, where there’s just enough time for a quick bite of lunch at the Guayquil bus station before making the connection to Cuenca. Continue reading
It’s my first trip to South America, a continent that had been entirely off my travel radar until recently. Then, a few months ago, my friend Celeste sent me the link to a piece the ABC Evening News had done about ex-pats loving living in Cuenca – a city in the mountains in southern Ecuador – and how great the cost of living was down there. It looked like a match for me: a warm climate, Pacific Ocean beaches galore, a fruit-lover’s paradise, and health care that appears to work in a free market – or if not free, at least freer. Celeste and I have come to Ecuador for two weeks to explore this paradise and see if it really is our cup of tea. First stop, Quito, the capital of Ecuador. Continue reading
Ithaca – our last stop before heading home. Leaving Ohio and through Pennsylvania, the rain never let up – Sandy is getting closer all the time. Continue reading
Miles and miles of road ahead of us, and we’re not stopping for much. Eat and sleep, and that’s pretty much it. We see a lot of miles of middle America, but mostly it was whizzing past outside the window. Continue reading
This is one of those towns that it would be good to know someone who lives here – come for a visit and find out about the hidden gems. As it was, we simply followed our noses and struck our own path. Our hotel was out on the southeastern edge of town, near the outer edge of the University of Colorado campus. And what that afforded us was a one-mile walk along Boulder Creek Path that took us into the town center. Continue reading
I have to admit, a bit of a pall came over Bridget and me as we strolled through the Mission District to get to our car and point ‘er east. It felt like we had come to the end of the road, the road that for the past 10 months had taken us all over Ireland, America and Canada, ending here in San Francisco. Continue reading
day 4 – wednesday, october 17
I like all the neighborhoods there are scattered throughout the city, particularly the human element in it: communities are created by the people who inhabit them and the community reflects that. A tribute to the people of San Francisco for creating such diverse neighborhood communities. So, of the many, many neighborhoods in the city we could choose from, it’s off to the Mission District, where we’re meeting up with Taylor, one of Bridget’s friends from her college days. Continue reading
day 3 – tuesday, october 15
Yesterday it was the parrotless Telegraph Hill and today it’s Tank Hill. In a delightful change from yesterday, we are traveling by car – and if nothing else, that makes sightseeing of hills that have names a far sight easier. Continue reading
day 2 – monday, october 15
We left Santa Cruz yesterday, heading to Oakland via Los Gatos and Santa Clara. Los Gatos to check out the final day of the local Burning Man. Many twists and turns off the beaten track up narrow, winding roads, but to no avail. Burning Man was not to be found. As we turned Dexy around to weave our way back to the highway, I was reminded of Jack Kerouac coming down from San Francisco to visit Neal and Carolyn Cassady on one of these roads that winds among the foothills. Unlike us, he probably knew where he was going. Continue reading
day 1 – sunday, october 7
Bridget and I are driving south out of Sonoma wine country, out on Hwy 101. As we get closer to San Francisco, we see a sign for the San Anselmo exit. I’ve got Van’s Hard Nose The Highway in Dexy’s CD player and on comes “Snow In San Anselmo.” I look longingly to the west, past San Anselmo, thinking another time I’d like to do that Hwy 1 drive north out of San Francisco, through Sausalito and Marin City and up along the Coast Highway, as far north as that little town of Westport – which we’d passed through three days ago – that looked like a picture postcard from Ireland. Ah, but that’s for another day. Today is all about San Francisco and the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival. Continue reading