Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Best pilgrimage ever—Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, my be...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: Best pilgrimage ever—Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, my be...: As tons of pilgrims all over the world have done since the beginning of time, I myself have traveled to various places in search of self-dis...

Best pilgrimage ever—Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, my beloved hometown!

As tons of pilgrims all over the world have done since the beginning of time, I myself have traveled to various places in search of self-discovery and enlightenment.  I've traveled to places such as Lourdes, Santiago, the Vatican, and others.  Yet none has been more important to me, than my "pilgrimage" to my hometown of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico.

In August of 2012, I visited the beautiful island, to attend my nephew Christian's wedding in Isabela.  
I stayed with my beloved Mom in our home in Cabo Rojo.  In hindsight, it was the perfect time to visit with my lovely mother, for only a year later she had gone to live with our Lord in heaven.

Mom and I were in the habit of taking an afternoon siesta in the larger of the two bedrooms, the one with the set of twin beds.  The selfish one that I am, I slept in the bed closest to the door and nearer to the bathroom.  But Mom didn't mind—she was elated just to have me spent time with her.  There were days in August, when there was no need for air-conditioning—Mom was in the habit of keeping the windows and doors closed, to keep the bedrooms cool.  So even after lunch, when we would go down for our siesta, the bedroom was still comfortably cool.

I remember, that during those times when the air-conditioning wasn't on and obliterating all outdoor sounds, I could listen to the chirping of every bird, the barking of every dog in the village, the shattered conversations of our neighbors.  But more importantly, I remember Mom lying so still in the other bed, that I would sometimes wondered if she was alive—to this day I remember that she slept face up and that she didn't move during the entire night, except only when she had to get up to use the bathroom.  The only visible sign of life in her, was her feet rubbing against one another ever so gently, and in lull-like manner, as her tired aging body rested—a habit that was both comforting and soothing, to both Mom and to moi.

Most importantly, I remember all the day trips we took together during my one-month stay that year.  Sometimes my sister-in-law Hidy would join us.  Mom knew much about the island, and she delighted in sharing her knowledge with us—something I will treasure all my life.   She directed us to places as far as El Faro and to Guanica, to the now-defunct sugar mill.  And, as close as the popular cafe in town.  When we visited La Central Eureka in Hormigueros, she delighted as she pointed out and reminisced about places from her childhood—as a young girl she lived on the grounds of the sugar plantation.   She understood that all this information would be very important in my research for my book, The Women in White.

That is why my August 2012 "pilgrimage" to Cabo Rojo was so important to me.  I was given a last chance at an invaluable mother/daughter reunion, one I would cherish for the rest of my life.  I found more enlightenment and self-discovery, more truth and meaning on this trip, than I will ever find on  any other pilgrimage in a remote corner of the world.

A beautiful beach in Cabo Rojo - Courtesy: Flicker

Plaza de Mayaguez - Photo Courtesy: Flicker

Catholic Church in town - Photo Courtesy: Flicker

Cabo Rojo Lighthouse - Photo Courtesy: Flicker

Schoenstatt Sanctuary (within walking distance from Mom's house) - Photo Courtesy: Flicker

Central La Eureka - Photo Courtesy: Flicker

Photo Courtesy Flicker

One of the centrales visited (not sure if La Eureka, or Guanica).  Photo Courtesy: Flicker

Mom, a year later at her 89th Birthday celebration.

our Seville adventure....

By the time I drove the rented car back into the streets of Seville, more than anything else we were feeling like zombies from the long drive back from Tangier, and from the never-ending day’s events.  After finding a spot on the far end of the underground parking, we walked to and entered the staircase in the middle of the lot.  We lumbered up the three levels of stairs, and upon reaching the exit to the street level we pushed ourselves out into the cold night of Seville.

our rented car...

   

Looking more like the walking dead, we commenced the long walk back to our hotel.  

During the day, the promenade in the square had been lined with horse-driven carriages—the horses stomping their hooves from time to time and shaking their tails, snorting or neighing as they tried unsuccessfully to rid themselves of the pesky flies, while the drivers chatted away as they waited for riders.  Now the area was dead to the world, and the entire city of Seville seemed to be wrapped in a cloak of creamy golden honey—its denizens nicely tucked away somewhere and fast asleep.

The way to the hotel...

As we neared the Cathedral, I was awakened from my poetic musings of a sleepy Seville.   A group of about five individuals suddenly came into view only a couple of yards away on our side of the street.  The group appeared to be huddled around the same ATM that we had used earlier that day.   

“Too late to cross the street or pretend like we didn’t see them,” I said to Emily in a low voice.   “It might send the wrong message.” 

Before we realized it, the group was deliberately walking toward us!  

“What now!” I thought aloud.  

Judging from their hand gestures, we deduced that the group needed help using the ATM.   

Not good! I thought.   

Coming from the New York City area, I was leery about even giving them the time of day.   I’d heard all the stories of street con-artists—how they lure people into their games, then steal them blind.  During our travels throughout Europe, we’d experienced several negative encounters with the gypsies.  Like the time a group of females tried to pry Vic’s video camera off my hands at a McDonald’s in Madrid.   They didn’t get Vic’s camera that time, but one of them managed to take off with Vic's lunch of Mac and fries.  

That night in Seville, I would have gladly given these nightwalkers a Big Mac and fries each.   But this time we were not in a fast food restaurant surrounded by decent patrons, and there was no security guard to come to our aid like the case in Madrid.   Rather than take a chance, especially where it concerned my sweet Emily, I determined beforehand to have as little contact with these children of the night as possible, without trying to appear rude.   God forbid I should risk getting anyone angry and make things worse!  A very delicate balancing act at that, I surmised.

One of the men approached us.   When he spoke to us, it sounded like bad Spanish.  One language I was comfortable in and familiar with, was Spanish—I immediately deduced that his accent was not Spanish.  Then again, they could’ve been gypsies and I wouldn’t have known the difference.  They could have been any nationality for that matter.   Probably tourists, I thought.   But again I was not about to take chances.  In my mind, I saw only a bunch of con-artists trying to con us at 3:30 in the morning, just as they had tried to do in Paris and Madrid during the day.   

The old saying, “Never let them see you sweat” came to my mind.  

“Emily, don’t say a word.  Let me take care of this, okay?” I whispered to my daughter.

 Then, without so much as a blink of the eye,  I addressed the group, “We’re sorry, but we can’t help you.”  

With that, I turned away from the man and proceeded to hurry Emily and myself along,  all the while praying that these people were not evil and would not hurt us.  

  
We quickly picked up the pace and walked hurriedly in the direction of the Cathedral and toward the maze of back streets and alleyways that lead to our hotel—there was no other place to go but to our hotel.   Everything was closed at that God-forsaken hour—I'm guessing even the Cathedral.   We were still at least a half-mile away from our hotel.   As we passed the popular café where we’d had tapas and Rioja the night before, I prayed that we were not being followed.   Neither of us dared to look back.   My mission was to get us back to the hotel safely in the shortest time possible.

“Why would they be trying to get cash at such an un-Godly hour of the night?  Nothing’s opened for business at this time.  That’s not a good sign.  It might have been a front, to see if we fell for it,” I ramble on, as we continued rapidly along the maze of alleys. 

The Petit Paris sign finally came into view—it was at least a good half-block away!  And we still had no desire to look back to check if we were being followed. 

Seville at night....

  

When we finally reached the front door of the hotel, we were faced with yet another hurdle!—God forbid the ‘vampires’ had been following us, we would’ve been at their mercy!   The thick-glass  double doors were locked, and the night clerk on duty was nowhere to be seen.   After what seemed like an eternity of ringing the bell and banging on the doors, a half-asleep hotel clerk finally emerged from a back room to let us inside.   

Without a doubt, I was certain that our guardian angel was watching over us that night!

After some reflection and a prayer of gratitude to God for sparing our lives that night, tucked in our beds in the safety of our room, sleep was all our bodies yearned for! 

The next day we returned our Mercedes-Benz, and hopped on the train to Barcelona.

Your comments are always welcomed.

our comfy hotel room at the Petit Paris

at the car rental return.....

on the way to Tangier....

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: It's almost as if Frosty is slowly dying, and I'm ...

Snap Krackle 'n Pop!: It's almost as if Frosty is slowly dying, and I'm ...: I've always maintained that among the best reasons for living in the Northeast, is the changing of the seasons.  Here, one can actually...

It's almost as if Frosty is slowly dying, and I'm helpless to ......

I've always maintained that among the best reasons for living in the Northeast, is the changing of the seasons.  Here, one can actually appreciate what makes each one of them so unique.  I cherish and welcome all four of them with open arms.  While I'm not particularly fond of cold weather, I admit to getting blown away by the mere sight and awesomeness of a fresh winter snowstorm before it's been touched by a shovel or trampled upon.   Burl Ives postcards come to mind every time.

We were right up there with Boston this winter.....

Truthfully, I can't remember ever having snapped so many pictures of wintry scenes, as I have this winter.

Yesterday, when the temperatures shot up into the high 30's, when the hot sun shone all day, when the snow and ice peaks began their melting process, I must admit that I was feeling somewhat sentimental, if you may, at the thought of all the white stuff melting away.  Yesterday, I even saw tufts of fragile grass, peeping from underneath all the snow.  To me, it was as if poor Frosty was slowly dying all over again, and I was helpless to save him.

That sky can only mean one thing: snowstorm approaching!

A couple of months ago, when Frozen was playing in practically every theater in the country, I never thought we'd actually be casted in the highly-popular animated movie.

Feelings of sadness and even despair crept up on me, as I looked around and witnessed nature at work.  But why should I feel sad to see all those mountains of snow gone?  I was totally caught off guard with those feelings.  Here were signs of new life finally emerging after quite possibly the harshest, most brutal winter in decades—the coldest February on record since sometime in the 1930's—0 degrees, as compared to a record low 5 degrees in 1936.

View from my bedroom window.....

Am I anticipating regretting having to bid farewell to the snow?  Or, is it bidding farewell to the long lazy hours spent inside our warm home, reading a good book as I sit on the sofa by a blazing fireplace? that I'm regretting?  The long evenings on my laptop under the warm covers in bed.  Or baking or whipping up a delicious meal in the kitchen?  Am I really ready for the sound of lawn mowers instead of snowblowers.  To trade the bitter cold days and nights for brighter warmer days.  Better still, am I ready to discard the comfy yoga pants and toussled hair for more fashionable attire and sleeker looks.

I'm feeling naked already!       

Water mill on Paramus Road and Route 4.....

Whatever the reason(s), I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I will MISS winter!  I am actually going through withdrawal pains.  Does anyone feel my pain, understand why I'm feeling this way; or, am I the only abnormal person here?  Was I so exposed to winter this year and consequently so used to it, that I am dreading having to part with it?!

Washington Park, Hoboken.  Photo courtesy: Mildred Santiago

Wow!  Who knew that living in 'Alaska' would change my whole outlook on life!

This winter I learned a very valuable lesson—out of every situation, be it good or bad, something good is bound to come out of it, if we remain hopeful.  I learned that no matter the direness of a situation, if we look for the positives, we can live through it, we can become stronger in the process, and we can ultimately even rejoice and possibly enjoy very second of it.

Comments are welcomed below.  

Even more beautiful when the sun is shining....

Still beautiful even after the shoveling.....

Scene on our street....

Night falls over snow....

don't try to figure it out....it's too big!

If you, like me, listen to the news regarding the Middle East every day and are trying to figure everything out, I have some advice for you.  Don't!  We will never understand what and how the minds of Islam works, and much less how the minds in our Administration work.

A new finding just surfaced this week.  Supposedly the Iraquis have handed over the weapons we gave them to protect themselves to ISIS.  Now, Iraq is working hand-in-hand with Iran, who by the way was their biggest enemy for so long, to take back ISIS controlled territory, including Tikrit and Mosul.  This is a country we fought for and with for over five years, where we lost over 5,000 young men and women, and poured out good hard-working tax payers' money.  I should point out here that Iraq would probably not be in this predicament if we hadn't pulled our troops out when we did.  That's another topic for discussion.

But here's the kicker, our leader Obama and his Administration is now working with Iran, because it thinks that Iran will stop ISIS.  Let's also point ou, that it's also gung ho on helping Iran build their nuclear arsenal.  Does all this sound twisted to you?  If it does, you are not alone.

On the other hand, our current administration refused to acknowledge President Netanayuh's visit and speech before Congress today, stating that the Israeli leader is jeapordizing talks with Iran.  Our only true ally in the Middle East, Israel and our President refuses to meet or hear it's leader out!  

Is this getting getting any wierder?  It keeps getting wierder and wierder by the minute.

All I can say, may God be with us!

on the night train through the Czech Republic

Here we were on the night train through the Bavarian countryside enroute to Prague.  

Not far from Budejovice is the town of Krumlov.  Situated on the Vltava River, with a population of about 14,600 inhabitants, Krumlov was one of the highlights of our trip through this region.  It has a magnificent castle by the same name that sits atop a hill and dates back to the year 1240 and is still in extraordinary condition.  In 1992, the town was added to the UNESCO World Heritage List.  Like something straight out of a fairy tale, a small canal runs between red-tiled roofed homes in Krumlov.   It is a perfect example of a wealthy medieval city, complete with cobblestone streets of baroque buildings, housing cafes, and bars; and of course, its spectacular Castle, or State Castle, the second largest in the Czech Republic.  The train station is a good indication that little has changed in this town since the 18^th century.  Yet Krumlov is still a charming town, very popular among tourists who outnumber the locals in the summer.  

Needless to say, we loved Krumlov!

Excerpt from Rick Steves' book.