Imagine the freedom of traveling the open highways and byways of North America. Following the winding roads, stopping when and where you’d like, and enjoying the solitude and refreshing pace of travel on your terms.
It’s something I’ve always envisioned for myself and now it’s a reality. I bought a tiny home and I’m in love with her.
A whirlwind purchase
My brother is driving back to his hotel room after a day long visit with my parents, who live with me. He calls, not wanting the joy of the day to fade. We both understand that our parents, both in their 80s, aren’t promised a whole lot more days on this earth. He laments something has to be done to make these visits easier. We hatch a plan that all three families will pitch in and buy a travel trailer. It will serve a dual purpose. He and his wife will have a place to stay on my property and I can take it on the road whenever I need a quick escape.
I’ve had a burning enthusiasm for purchasing a travel trailer for many years. I researched, joined Facebook groups on RVing, and priced various models. One would pop up in my price range and I would pine over it, wondering if this was THE one. But I never made the jump.
I log onto Facebook Marketplace after hanging up with my brother. Immediately, I see two lightweight trailers that I think my truck can pull. Then I see HER: a Bohemian-style tiny home. I’m immediately in love. She’s painted in gaudy colors, has a curved metal roof and demands my attention. I can’t stop looking at her. It’s love at first sight. When I look at the price, I think it must be a mistake. How can she be priced so low? Perhaps the owner left off a zero?
Introducing Jolene
I read all the specs on her. Jolene, as her owner Shonnon had named her, began her life as a 1998 pop-up camper. She was purchased with damage to the top, but had a sturdy axel. This renovation project was just the thing to take Shonnon’s mind off her diagnosis of breast cancer. And it would be a way for her to reconnect with nature through her travels while recovering.
Shonnon stripped everything down except the lower part of the camper. Then, drawing on her skills as a homebuilder, she set out to make it sturdy, yet light enough to easily travel down the road.
I pore over the pictures Shonnon posted online. The interior reflects her flair as a decorator, with a shabby chic/farmhouse look. Jolene is more than what I ever expected to find in a portable home. Instead of camping, I can be glamping if I get the keys to this sweet abode.
Everybody loves Jolene
But I’m not the only one who has eyes for her. She was posted for sale three hours earlier and already has over 1,000 saves. Response is so great, Shonnon has to update the listing. Jolene can be seen in person the next day. It will not be sold to anyone who won’t come to inspect it in person. Since I have to take my brother to the airport that day, I know we have to drop by and check her out.
When I meet them in person, both Shonnon and Jolene are delightful. Shonnon is chock-full of helpful information and Jolene’s charm is even more delightful. Shonnon is a member of Sisters on the Fly, a sisterhood of over 8,000+ active members who meet in their vintage campers and connect with the outdoors. She advises me to join, even if I don’t own a camper. The social organization provides a safe place for women to bond, exchange ideas and experience great recreational time outdoors.
After a thorough inspection, I’m a smitten kitten. She’s sturdy, funky, portable and ticks all the boxes I require. I can envision myself in this Bohemian beauty, parked beside a lake in a secluded valley, just me and Mother Nature communing.
When the universe conspires
Call it manifesting, the universe aligning, God’s will or whatever you want. But this feels so right. I try to make a list of the pros and cons, but I can’t find the cons. And the price is set where I could afford to buy it outright, without help from my family. Within a couple of hours of negotiating, Shonnon agrees to sell Jolene to me. Even after our agreement, she has another offer for more than I paid, but she holds firm and honors our pact. All signs point to this decision being the right one.
A new chapter in my life
The purchase of this tiny home/travel trailer is a life-changer for me. I have a dream that after fulfilling my commitment to caring for my parents, I will take to the road and travel whenever and wherever for as long as I desire. It has solidified my self-esteem, making me realize I can negotiate and carry out a sale on my own. And I’m learning new skills with tools. Heck, I’m even learning the difference between a socket wrench and a hammer.
I have a couple of upgrades I want to make on her and want to gain more knowledge about life on the road. After I begin traveling with her, I know I’ll learn more skills. I look forward to having her open conversations with folks at the campgrounds and making more connections, drawing me out of my introverted personality.
I realize she’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but all 84 square feet of her is perfect for me, aside from her name. I’ve decided to change it to reflect her Hungarian caravan appearance and her Southern roots. Henceforth, she will be called Zsa Zsa Belle.
Do you have a nomadic desire? Could you live in a tiny space? Follow our adventures on Instagram at zsazsabelle_bohemianglamper.
I’m a purist when it comes to collard greens. They should be cooked with a ham hock, plenty of pot likker (juice from the greens) and cornbread (preferably with cracklings and–God forbid–not sweetened).
Then I heard about this conglomeration of a sandwich that incorporates braised collards, Alabama white sauce, gooey melted Swiss cheese and cole slaw dressed in a peppadew-seasoned Thousand Island dressing. All of this is stuffed between three slices of caraway-seeded rye bread and toasted on a grill top with lots of butter.
At first I was disgusted, then I was intrigued. What in the name of all fine Southern cuisine could make someone create such a glorious mess? God only knows. Nonetheless, I ramble over Red Mountain from Birmingham, AL, into Homewood to Lucky Cat Rolled Creams to see what this craziness is all about.
From ice cream to collard greens
Lucky Cat Rolled Creams opened in 2018 after owners Greg and Hannah Slamen became intrigued by a Thai technique of creating frozen ice cream desserts. It’s difficult to decide what’s more fun, watching the staff make your treat or eating it. I’m lying. We know it’s more fun to eat it. Since opening, they have expanded their menu to offer lunch, with rotating dishes that include locally sourced ingredients. My mission today is to explore this deviation from the collard green norm.
Savor the flavors
My plate arrives and the sandwich drips with Alabama White Sauce, a drooling of melted cheese, a hangover of coleslaw with flecks of red peppadew. It’s topped with a tiny state flag affixed to a toothpick. I close my eyes to take the first bite and try to discern the explosion of flavors.
Collards, cooked tender and seasoned with onions, garlic and hot sauce have enough zing to trigger some tear ducts and titillate the tastebuds. There’s the crunch of the coleslaw, a mild heat from the combination of hot sauce and peppadew, the zest of the caraway seed in the rye bread, and the sweet creaminess of the melted butter on the toast. The texture, the flavors and the aromas meld, prodding all my senses to sing like a chorus of angels.
After the first bite, I dissect each layer to sample the components alone. Everything has enough flavor and texture to be served on its own, but, combined, offers a TKO for my mouth. I’m a wimp when it comes to heat, but the sandwich has just the right amount to keep it from being bland. No worries if you like a bit more intensity. Your server delivers hot sauce so you can season to your specification.
Sticking to my strictly Southern roots, I opt for sweet tea (is there really any other option) for my beverage. I can pronounce this drink as the nectar of the gods. The predominant taste was sugar, with a little tea flavor in the background. And it was poured over the good kind of ice, the chipped, flaky crystals. If you’d prefer something with more kick, Lucky Cat also offers a selection of libations such as sake, beer and wine.
So, would you?
So what do you think? Are you a collard purist? Or would you venture out and have this vegetarian delight?
One by one we drop our names into the pot. We’ll find out soon who the next lucky contestant is to play: WHAT’S IN THE LUGGAGE! With a sweet Southern drawl teasing my eardrum I hear: Elizabeth Tittle, you’re the winner! And that’s how I clench the title and win the opportunity to find out what’s in the lost luggage at Unclaimed Baggage Center (UCB) in Scottsboro, AL.
Once upon a time in a tiny town…
Unclaimed Baggage was founded in the 1970s in a sleepy little town in north Alabama by an enterprising man named Doyle Owens. He had a brainstorm of an idea: buy lost luggage. He would clean the contents, sell it, and hopefully make a profit. No one else was doing this. Armed with a budget of $300, he borrowed a pickup truck and headed to a bus depot to buy unclaimed baggage. That was the genesis of what today has become a burgeoning operation that woke Scottsboro up. Owens’ son now owns and operates the business . The merchandise comes from suitcases and personal items left in airlines, trains, taxis and busses.
From the small operation that began in a tiny house, the wares are now spread over 40,000 square feet of a modern building and an annex located across the parking lot. Visitors can spend the entire day there. The store also has an in-house eatery, Cups Cafe, that serves delicious food, Starbucks coffee and Alabama-based Piper and Leaf tea. Rare artifacts found in lost luggage is displayed in museum space located in the store .
Just the facts, ma’am
Statistics show that approximately one billion suitcases are checked by travelers at airports every year. Of that huge number, less than half of one percent of those bags are unclaimed or are lost in transit. The transportation services take at least 90 days, sometimes longer, to search for the owner. Yet even with modern sleuthing techniques, sometimes the connections are not made. That’s when they reach out to Unclaimed Baggage, who helps the airlines by taking the luggage and parcels off their hands.
When suitcases arrive, workers open and sort them. Clothing deemed to be suitable for resale is cleaned in their laundromat/dry cleaning facility, the largest one in North Alabama. Electronics are checked out by technicians. Jewelry is polished and appraised. Then the merchandise is priced at 20- to 80-percent off the suggested retail price and sent to the sales floor. Approximately 7,000 new items hit the floor daily.
Get ready to shop
I arrive on a dreary, drizzling afternoon–the perfect day to plunder through the store. First stop: nourishment. Fortified by a tasty salad sampler and refreshing sweet tea, I’m ready to tackle the bargains. And they’re everywhere. Need a new pair of jeans (possibly brand new with tags)? Got it. What about a new (to you) laptop? Good deals abound. Need some different workout clothes and shoes? Yep, it’s just around the corner. Name brands from around the world are yours to be had for greatly reduced prices. Check out that gorgeous black skirt on display? Could it be a genuine Chanel? It’s possible. Think about it. Don’t you pack your best togs for traveling? That’s why there’s a great selection of quality clothing, electronics and unique souvenirs.
Is there treasure in the suitcase?
I’m ready to tackle what’s in the luggage. I prepare myself for the task by donning the bright orange UCB apron and luxe blue latex gloves. I mean, after all, we don’t know the who, what, where, why or how of the owner. And UCB believes in safe unpacking. Before me lies a basic, nondescript black canvas suitcase. Within it lies possible undiscovered treasures. Could it be a wad of cash? Jewels? Or a wad of dirty clothes? Soon I’ll find out.
Fully protected, I gingerly unzip the outer pockets and reach inside to feel… dirty socks. Ugh. But wait a dadgum minute. Decisions, decisions. I have three choices to make concerning what I do with the trash or treasures I uncover: throw it away, sell or donate. So who benefits if I donate? Several local charities are recipients of the store’s generosity.
After tossing the socks, I search the inside of the suitcase to discover men’s trousers, a single shoe, a couple of name brand shirts. Most of these items can be laundered and sold.
I’ll admit I’m a bit dejected that I wasn’t the person who found a live rattlesnake in their luggage. (True story. One employee actually DID find one. No reports on whether that person came back to work the next day.)
Giving back to the community
UCB works with and contributes to many charities. Take, for instance, the luggage. They will repurpose most of it for foster children. Tired suitcases are painted and redecorated for them. It’s just one of the ways Unclaimed Baggage can brighten the lives of others in their community.
More than a store
When you visit Unclaimed Baggage, think Southern Hospitality elevated. It’s estimated that over a million people come to this shopping experience from all over the United States and even internationally. Visitors are greeted at the door with a heart-felt welcome by the folks manning the visitors’ desk. There’s a map for those directionally-impaired shoppers (like me). The employees genuinely love their job and it shows. Many of their employees are long-term, having worked there for more than 10 years. Need some advice or help? Just ask one of the friendly folks wearing the UCB name tag.
They go above and beyond the standard of customer service to make you feel welcome. Perhaps you’re RVing with a beloved pet and don’t wish to leave it locked up. They’ve partnered with a local pet sitter who will take care of your furry family member for the day. Guest services can assist you with accommodations, local restaurants or must-see local sights. What if you buy too many bargains to fit in your own suitcase? Unclaimed Baggage has a We Ship program. They will pack your purchases and have it delivered to your door. You pay only for the delivery charges.
Hitting the road soon?
Is there a road trip in your future? Why not make it a shopping/sightseeing trip to North Alabama? What merchandise would you make a bee line for if you visited Unclaimed Baggage?
On a steaming hot night in the Mississippi Delta, two men met at the dusty, deserted crossroads of Highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale, MS. No one knows the details of the meeting, but legend has it that one of those men was Robert Johnson and the other entity was the Devil. By the time Johnson walked away, he had sold his soul to the Devil for the ability to sing and play the blues.
Today, that intersection is a paved road with traffic zooming through 24/7. There’s a marker erected at the site to commemorate the legend. Although the area has changed since Johnson’s day, the ground still vibrates with the sweat, tears, pain and mournfulness of the Delta Blues.
Highway 61 begins in New Orleans and runs north, all the way up to Minnesota, weaving through Memphis and Helena, Arkansas, hot spots for blues music. Highway 49 winds from Gulfport, MS, northward ending in Piggott, Arkansas. These routes were heavily traveled by bluesmen and women playing in juke joints and private homes for the black population of towns, who were forbidden from mingling with whites. It’s easy to conjure up images of the party that went down when the itinerant bluesmen reunited in Clarksdale, where the two roads intersect.
The Devil’s music
There’s a complex relationship between the African-American church and the blues community. When a noted musician came to town, folks would flock to the juke joint or house party where he was playing to let off steam. They’d dance, drink, eat and gamble until the wee hours of the morning. Come Sunday, when the collection plate looked anemic, preachers knew where the money was being spent and began declaring blues the devil’s music.
Many music fans gained an introduction to the blues from listening to “white boy blues.” Modern day artists such as Eric Clapton, Duane Allman and Stevie Ray Vaughn mesmerized fans with their slide guitar and finger work that made the guitar strings scream with agony. Through their music, fans delved deeper to find the purest form of this genre, which sprung from a mixture of Negro spirituals, slave field chants and African musical traditions.
Begin your tour here
Grab a delicious breakfast at Yazoo Pass. DON’T pass up their angel-soft biscuits and espresso. A double shot of espresso or a decadent specialty coffee? The friendly staff will help you decide.
Plan to spend a day at the Delta Blues Museum, listed as one of the 1000 Places To Visit Before You Die by Patricia Shultz. It will give you a greater understanding of the source of this dolent, powerful music genre. They display outfits worn by performers, unique instruments such as cigar box guitars and other memorabilia. Clips of performances and interviews are shown on large screen televisions with benches strategically placed in front of them.
Relax and listen to the words of the old bluesmen and women on how they channeled the agonies and sorrows of their lives into their music. Present day musicians relate how they are influenced by this style of American music. Let the rhythm of the music pulse through your body, urging you to tap your feet, clap your hands and shake your moneymaker. If you can’t feel the beat, you’d better check your pulse. You could be dead.
Tour the city on foot
Download a free audio tour from VoiceMap (available from your favorite app store) to get the lay of the land and venture further into the town. It’s an excellent guide narrated by some of Clarksdale’s bright young minds and includes snippets of interviews from business owners and longtime residents of Clarksdale. The tour will guide you step by step, covering the important musical, cultural and historic sites of the town. It’s not a polished up, glib narrative. They tackle the issues of slavery, civil rights, the great migration of blacks to the North and the culture from which the blues rose.
Music may be the main attraction that draws you to Clarksdale, but there’s more cultural offerings. Did you know the town had strong ties to the Civil Rights Movement? The Reverend Martin Luther King came to the town in 1958 to help form the town’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). He returned in 1962, encouraging the blacks of the community to unite and engage in peaceful protests to further their fight for civil rights.
It ain’t just the blues
From such a rich and painful history, art arises. I’m not talking about the fine oil strokes of a trained artist. The flat lands of the Delta has given birth to folk artists who draw inspiration from the land, music, the oppression, the church and the devil. They render their primitive creations using the materials available to them. They may utilize leftover house paint, rough lumber, mud and beer caps in their work. But the primal inner stirrings mixed with their chosen medium erupt and result in vivid orgies for the eye.
Cathead Delta Blues and Folk Art is tops on the list for music and art. Transplant Roger Stolle opened the music and art venue in 2002 to keep the flame of the blues movement stoked. It’s like blues heaven. He sells records, books and art. Don’t be surprised to find a performer picking and wailing outside on the sidewalk. One visit will give you an understanding why Paste magazine declared it one of the 17 “coolest record stores in America,” along with mentions in Lonely Planet, New York Times and 1,000 Places To See Before You Die. Check out their superb website, which is a combination of links to local happenings within the store and the blues community.
Eat, sleep, ramble, repeat
By now, you’re hungry. Clarksdale was once considered a food desert, lacking in the availability of fresh foods. But the revitalization of this town has reversed that situation. There’s a good variety of restaurants, serving everything from meat and threes to Lebanese, Chinese and Italian cuisines. It wouldn’t be a true Delta town without BBQ and tamales, which are also served up.
Now that your energy has been recharged, it’s time to hit up the nightlife. There’s the Stone Pony, Levon’s or Ground Zero Blues Club (owned by Clarksdale native Morgan Freeman). If you’re timing is right, you’ll land in Clarksdale for one of their many festivals. Folks flock into town for these events, so be sure to book accommodations early.
Explore the town’s literary ties to noted author and playwright Tennessee Williams. Visit the museum dedicated to him or attend the Mississippi Delta Tennessee Williams Festival, which presents scholarly lectures and plays on stages all around town.
Are you tired, yet? Accommodations in town range from low budget to upscale apartments and B & Bs. A night in one of the shotgun houses at the Shack Up Inn, America’s first B & B (beer and bed), is an experience that will never escape your mind. The owner moved several of the sharecropper homes onto the historic Hopson Plantation, and created a must-visit blues haven. The accommodations are bare-bones, decorated in thrift-store chic, evoking the hardcore existence of the sharecroppers who once lived there. Noted musicians and visitors from all over the world make the pilgrimage here to soak up the atmosphere and scratch their itch for the gritty blues. If you don’t feel the blues seep through veins after a night here, you just need to leave town.
Why Clarksdale? Why not?
Clarksdale is a friendly town, true to its Deep South roots. Folks here are used to visitors from all over the world. Transplants felt the vibe of all this town has to offer and made the decision to relocate to this mecca of the blues.
So what’s the draw of this town? It’s the pull of the nearby mighty Mississippi River, combined with the flatlands of the Delta providing vistas as far as the eye can strain to see. It’s the ghosts of the past, whispering in your ear, about the painful struggles of the slaves and sharecroppers. It’s an acoustic cigar box guitar, being plucked by a self-taught musician with a mournfulness that drives his talent. It’s the music that is played 365 nights a year, even on Christmas Eve and Christmas night. Perhaps it’s even a little bit of the same hoodoo that gave Robert Johnson his gift of the blues. Are you feeling the spell yet?
It’s a foodie’s paradise
FOOD is the most important reason to visit Portland. It’s a bustling foodie scene, named Restaurant City of the Year by Bon Appetit in 2018. The innovative chefs, among which five are James Beard award winners, continue to produce sumptuous eats sourced from local farmers and fishermen.
Maine Foodie Tours can take you for a culinary stroll to try some of the signature foods, such as a hearty Italian from AC Grocery, melt-in-your-mouth pomme frites with an array of dips from Duckfat, and beautifully laminated croissants from BLVL. Enhance your experience with some of the city’s signature adult beverages from Oxbow and effervescent kombucha from Wild Root.
Don’t leave the city without tasting Portland’s main dish. You can find lobster prepared in numerous ways: bisque, the famous lobster roll, lobster mac and cheese and the entire crustacean, steamed and served with sides. Don’t worry about the calories. You’ll walk them off.
Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder
Just in case you need something to wash it all down, there’s the Maine Brew Bus. You’re all set with a designated driver. Feel free to taste the exceptional flavors that sets Maine beers apart from all the rest. Portland is hopping with award-winning microbreweries. Make a point to stop by Allagash Brewing. Rob Tod, the founder, was awarded the coveted 2019 Outstanding Wine, Beer or Spirits Producer by the James Beard Foundation for his Belgian-inspired beers.
Love at first bite
Don’t forget to leave room for a little something to satisfy your sweet tooth. The official state dessert is, of course, Maine blueberry pie. But the state treat is the Whoopie Pie, which can come in a variety of flavors. The standard construction is two cake-like layers with a cream filling sandwiched between them. Of course you can’t leave Portland without trying one of the heavenly donuts from The Holy Donut. They capitalize on Maine’s primary agricultural crop, potatoes, and use it as the base for their donuts. Stop by every day so you can try a different one of these toothsome treats. Don’t miss the maple bacon. Wash it down with a double espresso. You’ll have enough energy to tackle the cobblestone streets of the Old Port.
Exercise your body
Calories don’t count when you’re visiting Portland, because you’ll be so busy. It’s a great walking city and cars actually stop for pedestrians. Wear good walking shoes, though, since the Old Port area still has some cobblestone streets. Those kitten heels may set off your sightseeing outfit, but they can deal havoc if one catches between two stones. If you want to cover more ground quicker, Summer Feet Bike Tours will rent you a bicycle. You can blaze your own trail or take one of their guided tours in this very bike-friendly city. If you want to explore the surrounding islands, take it with you on the ferry. You can rest on the boat before tackling the road.
Exercise your imagination
Expand your mind with some of the city’s offerings of art. Home to the Maine College of Art, this vibrant scene offers a myriad of options. First Friday Art Walks can take you from the Portland Museum of Art, (where admission is waived for the evening) through terrific galleries and performance venues. You can mingle with the artists, enjoy some nibbles and buy a unique souvenir of your visit.
Need a bit of a breather from your walks, but still want to learn more about Portland? No worries. Book a tour with Portland Fire Engine Company to ride in an antique fire truck and delve deep into the history of this marvelous city that has risen from the ashes three times to survive and thrive. The Real Portland Tour ventures a bit outside the city. You’ll ride to the world’s most photographed lighthouse in nearby Cape Elizabeth. The operator, who’s full time job is a college librarian, is a walking encyclopedia of the area’s trivia.
Take to the sea with Lucky Catch Cruises to catch fresh breezes, fabulous glimpses of the city, and lobster. Learn about the lobster industry from a seasoned captain. Help the first mate set bait in the trap and drop it overboard. After the traps are reset, head back to the dock, where your catch can go fresh off the boat to your dinner plate at a dockside restaurant.
Take time to relax
Sometimes travel takes a toll on the body and mind. Portland has you covered. Step into Soakology, a sanctuary where you immerse your aching feet in a huge copper tub filled with warm water and a soothing blend of herbed salts. There’s the option to add on treats such as a massage, light nibbles and a therapeutic tea. Just need an oasis where you can gather your thoughts? Soakolgy invites you to nestle into their overstuffed sofas and chairs, enjoy a pot of tea and regain your stasis. The alluring aromas and soft music settles your spirit and relaxes your body.
There’s also Float Harder, where your can release your tensions in a tank filled with a solution of Epsom salts and water. It allows you to float effortlessly on the surface. You choose a hue of light and sounds to enhance your experience, or float in complete silence and darkness. But you will emerge from your buoying relaxed and refreshed.
So what’s Portland’s best kept secret? It’s the people. They are warm, welcoming, jovial hosts. Tourism is their number one industry and they embrace those who choose to visit. Passersby greet you. Store clerks take the time to chat. Restaurant staff are friendly. This small city of less than 70,000 people feels like your hometown. It’s easy to see why transplants have chosen to relocate here. If you can’t find the food, fun, history or adventure you’re looking for in Portland, you probably don’t need it.
Have I piqued your interest in exploring the area? What would be your first adventure here? If you’d like help in planning an itinerary or more information on Portland, ME, go to their website, Visit Portland.
Move over Cinderella! There’s a new princess in town and she’s ready to take over this castle. Yeah, I’m feeling my oats as I drive up the winding, tree-lined driveway to Waterford Castle on Ballinakill Island in Waterford, Ireland.
The luxe lifestyle
After months of planning this adventure, and two days of crazy travels, I’m ready to spend the next 24 hours ensconced in a beautiful castle. The two-hour drive from the picturesque harbor town of Kinsale is harrowing for an American who isn’t versed in driving on the opposite side of the road and the opposite side of the car. By the time I reach Waterford, I can feel the quiet stillness and serenity of the countryside begin to permeate my being.
The island on which the castle is built was given to Maurice Fitzgerald, a cousin of Strongbow, the Earl of Pembroke, in the late 12th Century. The land remained in the possession of the Fitzgerald family for eight centuries, one of the longest records of ownership in Ireland’s long and colorful history.
In the 15th Century, some of the Fitzgerald family erected a tower, which currently exists as the main part of the castle. Various additions and renovations took place over the years and by 1895 the East and West wings were added. Eventually, the narrow window slits, originally intended for shooting arrows at invaders, were reworked and now fills the castle with natural light.
To reach the castle, one must first navigate congested traffic, mind-bending roundabouts and a tidy residential section before reaching the castle’s own ferry that carries visitors not only across the River Suir, but also centuries back in time. As I drive the wee car onto the boat, I know I’m heading toward 24 hours of luxury.
The history of Waterford Castle
I emerge from the shaded, meandering driveway to see the ivy-covered stone castle, with its majestic roofline that evokes memories of medieval battles, with sentries standing guard. The arched, heavy oak wood doors add warmth and are a warm, welcome contrast to the otherwise cold stone structure.
The jaw-dropping elegance doesn’t stop at the door. The Entrance Hall of the castle, where a tiny check-in desk is discreetly nestled in a corner, is pure opulence. In the center of the room, woven into the regal burgundy carpet, is the Fitzgerald coat of arms, with its vivid colors of blue, red, yellow and white. The symbols in the crest represent the family’s hospitality, graciousness in victory, generosity and nobility. There’s even a monkey, which, according to family lore, was a beloved pet who rescued one of the Fitzgerald children during a fire.
The fire blazes on this chilly day, crackling in the massive Portland stone fireplace. On the facade above, the Fitzgerald coat of arms is dramatically replicated in stone. Cozy, overstuffed sofas and chairs are strewn about the large room with dark mahogany antique tables, settees and cabinets, creating quiet nooks for reading, conversation or simply enjoying the roaring fire.
Our porter is an elderly man by the name of Rudy, whom, my traveling companion remarks, looks as if he came with the castle. The spry gent quickly unloads our luggage and shows us to The Browne Room, our quarters for the night. The 310-acre estate has five suites and 14 rooms for guests.
Cheery, English-inspired botanical prints in hues of ivory, red and yellow decorate the bed and windows. The heavy, lined drapes are drawn to show a sight worthy of being captured in a postcard. Beyond the windows there are hundreds of shades of green in the lush landscape, through which the River Suit runs. The staff has thoughtfully provided bottled Irish spring water, both still and sparkling, and a delectable plate of fresh fruit.
But the gem of the suite, to this travel-weary chick, is the cavernous bathroom. There is a brass towel warmer, a six-foot long claw-foot tub, a thick Turkish terry cloth rob and luxurious bath gels and soaps. I know my night would end with a long soak in a hot tub.
Time for afternoon tea
After securing the luggage, I make my way to The Fitzgerald Room for tea time. Once again, I’m greeted by Rudy, who is my butler for the afternoon. Since there is only one other person in the room, I have my choice of any comfy sofa or chair. I settle into a secluded alcove that gives us a wonderful vista of the front lawn. Rudy ambles off to the kitchen to inform the chef of our plans, then returns to dress the coffee table with pristine, crisp linens, featuring a Celtic knot design woven throughout.
Atop the table, Rudy places all the accoutrements for our tea. First, he brings out translucent white Wedgwood bone china cups, saucers and tea plates. In the folded Irish linen napkins, he places highly polished Sheffield silver knives and forks. Then he meticulously and efficiently sets up our accompaniments–cream and sugar cubes, both brown and white, all in silver containers. Three small saucers hold our butter, currant jam and clotted cream-ready to drench and dress our freshly baked scones.
Then Rudy delivers a cloth-covered tray, bearing two squat silver pots, holding the deep amber-colored, smokey flavored tea. As we sit in awe of the cozy atmosphere he has created for us, he deftly strains two cups of tea through the silver strainer into the delicate bone china cups. Ahhhh, sweet nectar of the gods!
Our three-tiered silver tea-tray is laden with marvelous treats. On the topmost tier rests a duo of tall, puffed currant scones. The second tier holds an assortment of finger sandwiches including bacon, lettuce and tomato; ham and cheese; chicken with curried mayonnaise; and smoked salmon on Irish brown bread.
But the bottom tier is the piece de resistance: delectable desserts. There are two small ramekins of creme brûlée, wedges of orange-scented panna cotta and chocolate mousse.
Tourism brochures will tell you that in Ireland, you can experience four seasons in a day. It’s also well-known the at some point in the day, showers are likely to fall. While we sit enjoying our tea, we see both of these occur. We hear the winds whistling through the ancient trees, the skies darken with clouds, and raindrops began to pelt the panes. But within minutes, our parlor room is warm again with sunlight.
Take time to explore the grounds
After the relaxing and plenteous afternoon feast, it’s time to explore the grounds. We are given a map depicting the layout of the estate and the delineations of the golf course from the nature trail. I opt to meander among the ruins of old cottages and buildings scattered throughout the island. I wander along the trail, winding up on the banks of the River Suir and on to the greens of the golf course. The wind off the river is quite frigid, so the warmth of the fire back at the castle is a welcome treat.
We decide to skip dinner at the castle, although the kitchen boasts of having a wonderful chef. Tea had been filling and we face a long drive to Dublin the next day. After the above mentioned long, hot bath, I fall asleep with the fresh, cool Irish breezes wafting through the open window, listening to the rustling of the trees and resting my head atop a down-filled pillow.
Daylight delivers a beautiful spring day. Sunlight streams through the windows of the solarium where breakfast is served. The Irish believe in hearty morning meals. A cold buffet offers seasonal fresh fruits, nuts, fresh muffins, croissants, smoked salmon, cereals, yogurt and farmhouse cheeses. As if that is not enough, the wait staff can fetch anything we need for a hot breakfast from the kitchen. Soft piano music and the chirping of the birds outside the solarium are the perfect soundtrack to start the day.
A walk after breakfast awakens the senses and provides the opportunity for some photos. Too soon has the time come to leave this fairytale lifestyle. As I drive onto the ferry to leave the island, I glance back for one last look, wishing for time to stand still.
Combining art and religion
One need not be a person of faith to enjoy the miniature folk art buildings at Ave Maria Grotto in Cullman, AL. The stone and marble structures were built by Brother Joseph Zoettl, a Hungarian immigrant who served at St. Bernard Abbey from 1932 until his death in 1961.
How it began
Zoettl came to America as a young teen to study for the priesthood after being recruited in his home country. He spent his days running the power station for the monastery. It was an arduous and solitary chore. He turned to creating miniature grottoes to fill the long hours. Soon he began building replicas of eminent buildings from around the world, focusing mainly on religious structures.
Using others’ castoffs, like shards of broken glass, ceramic bathroom tiles and marbles, Brother Joe constructed a miniature wonderland, where visitors worldwide come to stroll the paths and marvel at his works. The brother rarely left Alabama, but he used photographs and his studies to create the intricate buildings. After completing one, he began working on another, until the craggy hillside in a section of the abbey grounds was filled.
A walk through the world in one afternoon
Take a stroll through the grounds via these photos.
Who doesn’t recall the huge red spots all over Michael Phelps’ lithe torso during the 2016 Summer Olympics? I certainly do. When the source of those circular hickeys was identified as coming from a procedure called “cupping,”, I Googled the term to learn more. Before long, celebrities were proudly displaying their ring-shaped marks, even on the red carpet.
The Chinese-based medicine has been practiced for centuries. In ancient days, animal horns or sections of bamboo were used to suction out impurities through the skin. Modern practitioners use glass orbs. Enthusiasts say the procedure is excellent for stimulating blood flow, calming the nervous system, loosening the muscles and removing toxins from your system.
Since my case of shingles over the Christmas holidays, I’ve experienced a bit of tightness in my upper back, an area where I tend to hold tension. Instead of a traditional massage, I decide to visit my local day spa to try fire cupping.
What could it hurt?
I’m a healthy senior woman. I eat semi-clean, hike, bike and do yoga. Regular visits to my doctor and chiropractor show no irregularities in my well-being. But even with the best lifestyle, I suffer from recurring bouts of fibromyalgia. I’m pretty confident this brief interlude in alternative medicine will boost my chi and relax the golf ball-sized knot under my left shoulder blade. What could it hurt, indeed?
The good
Allow me to relieve your suspense. The good part is that in spite of the name, it does not hurt. To begin my procedure, I strip to the waist and lay face down on a massage table. A therapeutic oil is lightly massaged into my back. I hear the lighter being struck and rise up to see a small flame inside one of the glass globes that will be placed on my back, forming a tight suction. I immediately begin to sweat, in anticipation of the hot glass that will soon sear my skin. But the flame burns out so quickly, there’s just enough heat to break the chill of the glass. It is gently placed on my back and I begin to feel a slight pulling of my skin. Quickly, the glass globes line either side of my spine.
My practitioner stays in the room with me, keeping watch over the globes and observes how I tolerate the procedure. After 15 minutes, the orbs easily pop off my back with a quiet “smop” sound. The therapist sweeps her hand lightly up and down my back, stimulating more circulation of blood. When I sit up, I feel a tad light-headed, but not overly dizzy. I notice less tension in my neck and shoulders.
The bad
Children, the elderly, women who are pregnant and hemophiliacs should not consider this course of treatment. Few people experience side effects, but they can occur. Some patients may experience headaches and nausea from the release of toxins. In rare cases, clients experience burns, bruising and blisters. This is usually due to a practitioner’s negligence and in the care of their equipment.
The ugly
The ugly part, for me, was how my back looked afterward (see photo below). Some patients have purplish spots that can last up to a week. Mine, thankfully, disappeared within 24 hours.
The conclusion
I suffer no adverse effects from cupping. I enjoy more fluidity of movement, but it still cannot top a great massage. Here’s a friendly caveat: perform your due diligence before your try this. Make sure the practitioner you choose has received adequate training. And, don’t expect to go swimming afterward, unless you want to scare the small tots at the pool.
DISCLAIMER: I tried this procedure because I am interested in alternative medicine. Should you wish to try this form of therapy, I cannot be held responsible for any results.
The door seems insignificant to passersby, unless your guide points it out. It’s simply a portal from one room to another. But this door is different. A postulant (candidate for a religious order) faces the door and knocks. It opens from the inside, allowing the seeker on the outside to enter. And by doing so, she leaves behind all worldly ties, closing the door to distractions that will divert her attention from God. She renounces her familial ties, her personal belongings and begins her spiritual journey to become a Poor Clare of Perpetual Adoration sister.
Living a cloistered life amidst the opulence of the Shrine
I saw this door while touring Our Lady of Angels Monastery, a beautiful sanctuary in Cullman, AL, adjacent to the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament. My questions about becoming an enclosed, or cloistered, sister are not easily shed. How strong is the call that rends a woman from everyday life and envelops her in a shroud of serenity and solemnity? The juxtaposition of the simple lifestyle of the sisters and the grandeur of the shrine built to honor their Savior fascinate me.
These women choose a way of life that is foreign to many of us. Their day begins at 5:25 a.m., rising for prayers. At various times during the day, the sisters slip into their Enclosure aside the altar to sing their praises. Hidden from the congregation, their voices lift toward the heavens, crystal clear like one would imagine when the angels sing. The sisters spend the greater part of their day in silence, cultivating a greater consciousness for their prayer times. Silence is golden in the sense that, through it, one can become more attuned to God. To outsiders, their vow of poverty may seem at odds with the opulence of the main church, with the brilliantly polished white marble floors and tall gold monstrance. But the sisters have heeded a different call. The simplicity of their lives enable them to give all honor and glory to the Christ child.
The Shrine was the vision of the late Mother Angelica, a poor Clare nun, who, along with 4 other sisters, moved from Canton, Ohio, to Alabama to found a new monastery. After settling in, Mother Angelica had a vision. She wanted to reach Catholics around the world, opening a small television station in Irondale, AL. Further, she could envision a beautiful shrine built to the glory of God. It would be in a quiet, secluded countryside where all who visited would feel His presence. She stepped out of the Enclosure and into the public eye, broadcasting lessons on EWTN (Eternal Word Television Network.) As she spread the word about her vision for the Blessed Sacrament Shrine, anonymous donors came forward, providing everything needed to make the vision come true.
I spend the afternoon touring public areas of the monastery and the magnificent grounds and sanctuary of The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament. But I cannot forget the women behind the wall and the unselfish way they have committed their lives to prayer.
In some ways, I envy these women. Their lives are simple: every moment focuses on adoration of God. They are not concerned with what happened on the latest episode of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. There’s no doorbell or phone to answer. They don’t worry about the grocery budget, whether or not the tires on the car need rotating.
My personal private retreat
It was these annoying things that led me on my quest for peace, quiet and introspection. While I do not feel the spiritual pull to convert to this lifestyle for the long haul, a twenty-four hour silent retreat certainly holds its appeal.
I check into Sacred Heart, also in Cullman, AL, where there is a special section of the monastery for those who need a quiet respite. Unlike the sisters at Our Lady of Perpetual Adoration, the Benedictine sisters at Sacred Heart are not cloistered. 
I’m met by one of the sisters, who briefly chats with me about my reasons taking the short retreat. For me, it’s a new year, filled with promise and hope. I’m also reflecting on my 30-plus years of sobriety. I’m searching my heart and mind for what path I want to blaze in the coming year. And as a caregiver for my elderly parents, an overnight respite is just enough time to recharge my batteries.
I’m energized by the cold air and overcast sky, luring me into a walk around the grounds of the monastery. The silence makes my heart soar. While it may sound strange, I can hear the white silence and feel the peace, as if it permeates my body. I shed tension and anxiety with each exhilarating step I take. The terrain is hilly, giving my heart a good workout. No one engages me in conversation, since I wear a name tag denoting I’m observing a silent retreat.
As the evening approaches, I’m invited to sit in with the sisters during evening prayers. I close my eyes and listen to their psalms of praise. Some of the aging voices crackle, while the younger voices ring out clearly. But they all blend harmoniously, creating a joyful praise to their Savior.
After prayers, I’m led to the dining room where I eat a vegetarian meal. I eat in silence, shrouded in a separate room. I look at my plate. It’s certainly not fine dining, but I’m reminded how most Americans overeat, and I realize my appetite is sated. Funny how silence and introspection allows one to align body with thought.
For the rest of the night, I’m alone in the retreat center, since I’m the only attendee. I spend my time writing and reflecting, planning and reading. I discover I’m very comfortable in my skin. I’m turning into the woman I’ve wanted to become: a caregiver, a volunteer, an adventurer. I examine the self-destructive and selfish habits I’ve left and look at ways I can become a better person and contribute to a better world.
I awake with sun beams peeking through my blinds, my laptop still resting on my tummy. I have overslept, which thwarts my plans to attend morning prayers. After my breakfast, I enjoy the wonderful morning light streaming into the sunroom. It’s time for some meditation and yoga. As an extra alignment for body and spirit, I scheduled a soothing massage.
As I pack up my overnight bag to head home, I think about the two monasteries and the influence they have over me. I’ve learned quite a bit about how a closed mouth can open my mind to instincts and desires. I will forever have the image of the door to the Enclosure in my brain. And I will always be eager to see what awaits me on the other side of any door.
What’s waiting for you on the other side of your door?
Author’s note: I visited the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament at Our Lady of the Angels Monastery courtesy of Alabama Mountain Lakes Tourist Association. Since visitors are not allowed to take photos inside the Shrine, my hosts generously provided me with pictures.
I sometimes become obsessed with an activity. It’s like a worm, crawling around, squirming into each crook of my brain, begging to be plucked out. Thus it was with kayaking. My first experience was in Puerto Rico on a moonlit night to the bioluminescent bay in Vieques. It was fun, strenuous and very stimulating. It was just enough of a taste that I knew I wanted to do it again.
When I ran across an article from a regional travel magazine about a kayak trip to a bat cave, I knew it was an adventure I had to experience. Don’t lie to me or yourself. Admit it. You’ve always secretly longed to utter “To the bat cave…” in your raspiest crime-fighting voice.
And so it was that I left the dusty hills of home to traverse the state for my adventure. It was a sticky-hot, humid day when I headed toward the bountiful mountainous range of North Alabama. The farmers had already mown their fields and their large, circular bales of hay dotted the rolling landscape. It was a holiday weekend, so traffic along the two-lane road was light, affording the opportunity to enjoy the rural scenery to Guntersville, AL.
Phil Walton, owner of Unphiltered Kayaking, leads group tours, gives lessons on the sport, and offers invaluable water safety lessons. Walton is a professional instructor, recognized by the American Canoe Association and certified by the American Red Cross in CPR and First Aid. Phil’s aim, according to his web site, is to “get you your family and friends out on the water to enjoy the beauty the region has to offer.” He’s a gregarious character, always ready for a laugh, but extremely serious about water safety.
Our small group gathered at Honeycomb Landing on Guntersville Lake. Phil readied the kayaks, while his wife Cyndi coached me on the basic skills I needed. We left the shore around 5:00 pm. The blazing sun was beginning to fade, its reflections skipping and dancing across the water. It was a shaky onset for me, taking time to find my rhythm. But Cyndi gently coaxed me, teaching me how to find my flow.
“Imagine there’s a monkey sitting on the tip of the kayak and then punch him,” she urged as she smoothly placed her paddle into the water propelling her watercraft gracefully forward (seemingly without breaking a sweat). By comparison, I paddled in circles like a one-legged duck, trying to get acclimated to the water. I was flaming hot, drenched in sweat, making little progress moving onward. My strokes were choppy and I often set my paddle in the water, bringing it out covered with vegetation and splashing water all over myself. But Cyndi patiently glided alongside me, helping me coordinate my timing and strokes for maximizing my energy. Meanwhile, Phil offered interesting facts about Guntersville Lake and the bat cave.
We had ample time to reach our destination before dusk, when the bats would exit their cave. I’m not going to lie. I’m an older woman, in good health and I work out regularly. But this trip was challenging for me. Because it was a holiday weekend, watercraft dotted and dashed across the lake water. Their passing created an aftermath of rippling wakes and causing more resistance in my paddling. Perhaps it was the heat; or maybe just wishful thinking, but I envisioned a handsome man, all buff and tan, on a Jet Ski coming up beside me, tossing me a rope and offering me a tow back to shore. No, that didn’t happen.
We reached the cave, along with many other boaters. It was a great group of folks, just waiting to experience the wonders of nature. The cave opening is protected by a chain link fence to prevent human disturbance. Any disruption of the bats’ routine can lead to an unnecessary expenditure of energy. This energy loss can affect the entire colony, especially the lactating females.
The gray bat (Myotis grisescens) population in Alabama once flourished, but in recent years has been classified as endangered by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. It is protected by the Endangered Species Act since 1976. Reasons for their decline include human disturbance of their habitat, flooding, pesticide use and water pollution. Hambrick Cave, on Guntersville Lake, has the largest summer colony of gray bats. The cave houses females during their maternity roosts. After sunset, they emerge from the cave, swooping down over the water to feed on night-flying insects.
While we waited for the tiny creatures to emerge, I took the opportunity to enjoy the beauty of the lake. We had spotted blue heron earlier and I scanned the sky for an egret and listened to the choir of birds and frogs serenading us. By this time, I had cooled off and enjoyed the gentlest breeze rolling across the surface of the lake, creating a peaceful atmosphere in contrast to the amount of people and boats drifting about.
Suddenly, the serenity was shattered by the flapping of thousands of wings as the tiny mammals swirled up and around, but always missing boats and people, swooping down to snatch an insect in mid-flight. Those of us who had never seen the nightly foray made by the bats sat in our craft with mouths agape, trying to absorb the perfect imperfection that is nature. The show ended too quickly, and the stream of bats slowed to a few stragglers. Phil advised us to wait while the larger boats cleared out, which was a good thing, since I was still stunned by the sheer genius that I had just witnessed.
Darkness was now upon us, which is why amateurs like me need professionals like Phil and Cyndi to guide you on such trips. We wore special headlights and our kayaks had lights attached to them. But it is so easy to get disoriented. I thought, several times, that I was close to the shore, after hearing shouts from a nearby cabin. But, alas, I was still about a mile out. Cyndi was still coaching me, heading up the front of our group, while Phil kept behind and watched over us.
By the time I felt the kayak drag through the milfoil, hydrilla and other vegetation, my heart leapt for joy and my buttocks finally unclenched. I can’t recall whether I accidentally fell due to my sea legs or if I actually tried to hug the ground in gratitude for just being there. It didn’t matter. I had made the arduous trip and survived. Would I do it again? You bet, ’cause I’m just that batty.
For more information about this trip and others that Phil Walton offers, contact him at www.unphilteredkayaking.com The trips to the bat cave are just beginning for the spring and summer seasons. Throughout the fall, the leaves are turning, the birds are migrating south and the water is still warm enough to catch sight of a bald eagle from the gorgeous lake.
Phil Walton can be reached via email (phil@unphilteredkayaking.com) or phone (256) 270-3080.
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