“I find people very difficult” Georgia O’Keefe

The creative and spiritual nature of Georgia O’Keefe is omnipresent in the desolate surroundings and scenery so reminiscence of many of her paintings. O’Keefe first came to the ranch in 1934, fell in love with the stunning, arid landscape, eventually buying the ranch house and eight acres and later purchasing a run-down adobe home in nearby Abiquiu.

Ghost Ranch has not changed much in many years. It is rustic and a bit worn. Now owned by the Presbyterian church and open to the public, it was once a famous and pricy dude ranch for east coast visitors. 

The ranch has a checkered and colorful history. Native American hunters and gathers originally camped in the area and along the Chama River. In the 1730s the first Spanish settlements were established. Pack trains and the Ute and Navajo tribes crisscrossed the area. In 1876 the Archuleta brothers homesteaded here, actually they did more cattle rustling than homesteading.

In 1927 the ranch was won in a poker game by a local cowboy, whose wife smartly and expediently registered the deed in her name only and established the dude ranch era of Ghost Ranch. Arthur Pack, an early environmentalist, eventually acquired the ranch and surrounding property and continued to develop the guest ranch, bequeathing it to the Presbyterian Church in 1955. 

There is much more history here, but you will need a visit to take it all in. The Ranch deserves a 1-2 night stay to savor the landscape, hike the trails, enjoy the ranch tour, ride horses, visit the library and museums or just sit on the veranda of the welcome center and take in the expansive views. Casitas, food service and camping are available on the property.

One of the oldest towns in Mexico, Loreto is a quiet port on the Sea of Cortez, the gateway to Parque National Bahia de Loreto and a sea kayaking mecca.  A lovely Malecon stretches along the sea for strolling. It’s easy to walk the town of 15,000 in a few days exploring local vendors, small outdoor eating establishments, the town square, murals, super mercados and even a craft brewery. A long stretch of beach extends to the north.

Days here were spent picking fresh produce at a local farm, joining a local guide for a hike to Francisco Ranch to milk goats and enjoy chiva machaca burritos and a splendid day kayaking when the sea is calm.

Not to be missed, 30K drive-up a winding mountain road to the west lands you at the 400 year Mission de Javier.

Catching a panga to Coronado Island for some snorkeling, hiking and viewing sea lions, blue-footed boobies, dolphins and prolific sea birds was a nature-lovers treat. Our boat mate caught several mackerel which Captain Horacio quickly filleted and whipped up a tasty sushi for a midafternoon snack. 

Life in Loreto is laid back sprinkled with outdoor adventures – the sea of Cortez to the east and the mountains bordering the west.

Oh did I mention the food? Here are the toppings for our machaca and bean burritos.

Beach camping in the Baha means traversing a dirt road into a spit of white sand dotted with several palapas and semi-walled thatched roof huts, which you are grateful for as the wind kicks up. Amenities include an occasional trash can and a dilapidated pit toilet, which I have decide to forgo, as I pull out my small marine toilet, which I stowed just for this occasion. No cell service. But the beaches are plentiful, relaxing and provide an outdoor camp experience that is hard to find in today’s world. Some of our favorites spots were Playa La Gringa, El Coyote, La Perla and Ojas de Libre.

La Perla, our small beach in a delightful cove, has 4 campers tonight – a woman fire fighter from Alaska, a couple from Albuquerque renting a house in Mulege for 4 months and a couple traveling the Baja on their motorcycles. You meet interesting travelers beachside, who love being out in nature and need no amenities.

Hiking the arroyo from out beach led us through some lush Sonoran Desert to a rocky beach for some FUN and interesting beach combing. A true pleasure disconnecting from the world, amusing oneself with cool outdoor stuff, like lounging in the hammock with a good read.

Late afternoon brings the local vendor selling fresh ceviche and on-the-spot chopped fresh fruit with pineapple, kiwi, bananas and mango. Sipping a soft glass of cab, locally grown in the Valle de Guadalupe, we watched the sea birds play and a full moon rise over the Sea of Cortez as the bioluminescence danced along the shoreline.

We decide to stay a second night…

Traversing the backroads of the U.S. of A. from Tucson, AZ to northern Michigan and back allows for unique cultural observations and noticeable changes over the past 15 years. Numerous insidious corporate takeovers have woven their way into the daily life of Americans, which I will address in this and future blogs. Notably, there has been a distinct evolution in the choice of listening options on local radio.

I’m a fan of tuning into local radio on cross country road trips. No fee-based Sirius radio for me to dial up NPR, classical music, intellectual podcasts, etc. anytime, anywhere. I’m more curious about what the locals listen to. That’s my preference. And it ain’t Sirius!

Over the years the programming has shifted significantly right, currently offering the limited choices of country music, conservative christian services and sermons, christian country music, conservative political commentary, classic rock (mostly playing the same track) or Big Ag news including soybean, corn, hog prices and updates. Only once was I able to pick up NPR – in Fayetteville, AK (a university town) and only for a 50mile range. And there was no TradeO – my favorite program. That will be an entirely different blog. What happened to TradeO?

The reality is that Sinclair Broadcast Group has completely diluted radio program diversity. Sinclair Broadcast Group is the biggest broadcast company in America and owner of the largest number of television and radio stations in the nation. This under-the-radar company has been quietly acquiring stations in major markets (including stations owned by Tribune media, the former owners of the Chicago Tribune and the Los Angeles Times) and advancing it’s mostly right-leaning agenda, favoring conservative causes and candidates on its stations. Its acquisitions have allowed Sinclair to reach almost three quarters of American homes. In two days I listened to three sermons by Pastor Bob cruising across Illinois, Missouri and Arkansas – I surely am now a saved soul! As a registered Democrat I was accused of being a commie socialist, determined to destroy freedom as we know it by conservative talk radio and redundantly listened to “Beer can’t fix everything”, “God whispered your name”, “If I was a cowboy”, and “Tennessee Whiskey” on country radio more times than I can count.

Check out this humorous, yet real life John Oliver clip on Sinclair Broadcast Group.

It is time to get out of our NPR/Sirius radio bubble and listen to some local radio and catch a glimpse of life in middle American. It might shake your booties.

Yes, I have seen the movie, as you most likely have also. If not, it’s worth a view.

One of the aspects of travel I find intriguing is learning and experiencing different cultures internationally and within our own U.S. of A. And a cross county road trip  on the back roads is one way to dig deep into the vast cultural diversity and terrain of our country.

Having missed the gas station at the last exit, my gasoline monitor keeps beeping (get gas now)

As I hummed south on I-57 in my VW Eurovan. K&K truck and auto plaza next exit – perfect – only to find a disheveled empty lot filled with rusted and decayed metal hulls of cars and trucks. No gas here. OK onto the next town – Cairo, Illinois. Beep, beep, beep (get gas now). 

Charred scaffolds of a building, deserted storefronts with busted windows, graffiti walls, weeds canvassing the leftover sidewalks a few used stuff/antique store fronts. Hey, but the Dollar General store is open – the only shopping opportunity for many small, stagnant, rural towns. No gas station. I pull into the drive thru of the local liquor store and ask, “Where’s the nearest gas station?” In a voice that barely spoke English, the kind gentleman pointed down the road and replied, “one mile, go straight across the bridge”.

Reaching the bridge, I realized it was an old, narrow two-lane bridge across the Mississippi River with bumper-to-bumper semi-truck traffic in both directions. “Please don’t run out of gas on this bridge” became my mantra followed by “Please be a gas station on the other side”. Yes! That big Shell sign never looked so good. Thankfully I pumped 19.2 gallons into my 20-gallon tank.

Next to find a campground as there were only two hours of daylight remaining. MY DYRT app (my favorite camping app) showed a private riverfront camp in the small town of Doniphan, Arkansas, near the Missouri border. One hour. I head down the road, scattered with Trump WON signs and flags. 

Pulled in and toured the possible sites. Two options – one between two ancient, worn trailers, both partially covered in tarps. The other next to a newer looking trailer with a big skull and crossbones flag draped in the front window and a couple making a fire.

OK – I’ll take option two. As soon as I pulled in my neighbors, John and Rosa, stopped by to welcome me and ask, “You staying long?” “No, just passing through”, I replied. We chatted for a spell and they meandered back to their camp fire, threw darts at a board hanging from a tree, and later John played some nice tunes on his guitar that lulled me to sleep.

Kyle, the camp manager stopped by to chat and collect $25 for the night. “Now, if you need anything”, he said in that Arkansas hill drawl, “you just let me know. I’m in #1”. “Thanks, Kyle, that’s mighty kind of you, I answered.” Friendly folk here.

As I walked the camp later that evening, I realized I was camped in normadland. It was obvious most people were living in their ramshackle trailers or tents, with all their worldly possessions scattered about – a family of four with two small children; three Hispanic men in their 20s; an elderly, disheveled-looking couple who waved as I passed by, among others.  Rosa, my neighbor left for work at 5:30am the next morning and John was picked up by a dilapidated paint truck at 8:30. 

I don’t know their stories or circumstances. Trying to get by from one day to the next, I suspect.

Real-life, profound cultural experiences in the US of A.

Heading south from Slovenia it was an easy border entry into Croatia by bus. I spotted an idyllic little town researching the best beaches in Croatia – Primosten – located about 60K north of Split. Scored a seaside apartment in old town located on a small peninsula, attached to the mainland by a narrow causeway, and landed in nirvana the next day. 

There are no museums in Primosten. People come to relax, swim and to enjoy savory seafood. I discovered winding nooks and crannies in old town and marveled at the ocean views from my window and front yard on the sea. 

Beautiful stone houses with painted shutters are stacked on the small peninsula.

Magnificent views are found from the church and cemetery atop of the hill.

Boats are plentiful, BIG and glide effortlessly by my personal perch entering and exiting the harbor.

Cliff edge and seaside restaurants serve mouth-watering seafood.

And swimming beaches abound, all within 15mins of my apartment. Often called the seaside village of beaches, you’ll find resort style beaches with sunchairs and umbrellas, secluded FKK nude beaches and the infamous Mala Raduca beach – voted one of the top ten beaches in Croatia.

I can’t decide which swimming hole to dive into each day – so I swim twice a day: once in the morning and again before happy hour = because I am happy here! The worries of the world become non-existent.

Walking the coastal pathway I met my soul sister cleaning fish in the sea and immediately struck up a conversation.

And then the bonus surprise – I wake up, walk into the town square and they are set up for the third stage of the Tour of Croatia beginning at 12noon. Cycling teams from all over Europe have arrived. A cycling nirvana also!!! Team buses and cars, high-end, sleek bikes and riders everywhere.

What more can this woman want?

Well, a pedicure and seaside massage, which I enjoyed also!