After a second day of exploring the Vesterheim museum where we looked for the chest Shap’s mother donated, (instead of the check I mentioned in my last blog), we got up on Thursday morning and headed toward our destination Araphahoe, Nebraska toward Denver for the 3^rd.  Our plan was to stay on Route 6, taking Route 80 only if we needed to make up time. We left Wildberry Vineyard after filling up with water, and talking to the owner for several minutes. She apologized for not spending more time with us, as the grapes were in need of harvesting and help was scarce. There was no need, as everyone working at the vineyard was so friendly. I would put this down as a 4-star rating.

Miles of cornfields, windmills, grain bins, railroad crossing, small town America and the occasional train, pulling mile long containers to places unknown, marked our progress on this marathon eight-hour drive. We rated the farmers for creativity by how they planted their fields. The most artistic being the undulating cornfields.

What is it about hours on a straight road that allows your attention to wander to the landscape, to remanence of your life gone by, opportunities you could have taken, paths you are glad you didn’t, old friends and lovers, but most of all, your family you hold so dear Time is always fleeting. How did I get to the last quarter of my life so fast?

I set up dates with McKee’s friends from high school and college, to meet in Denver, and give them hugs. Shap says, I have always been the mother hen. I think is it my privilege to know they want to see me, and for me to have them in my life.  My Dad always said to make friends with young people, it will keep you young. I think of him sitting on the stairs in our house after our wedding with his arm around Steve, McKee’s buddy, hugging him and saying what a great guy Steve was. But even better was to see Steve beaming and giving hugs back, not something Steve did often. Dad brought the best and worst out of people. He could be tough, but he always loved being with my friends and his grandkids friends.  And here I am following in his footsteps, meeting “my kids” as I call them and making friends with Matilda and Tallulah’s friends, wishing that life would continue so I could be with them always.

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Today Sept 3^rd, we are sitting in our fly ridden van next to a barn, fields of corn and alpacas.We drove in the dark at 10 pm. down a long country road following our Google maps, (thank God for them) and wondering how we would have found this place otherwise. Suddenly on the side of the road was movement and a large (I think) Bard owl landed in front of our headlights. He turned his head staring directly at us, as if to say we were intruding on his road, and then flew with his great wing span into the cornfields for a night of hunting. A moment in time, a chance in a million, a glimpse into nightlife, so precious, so spiritual, a message from the universe. “You are here, at this time, in this place, this is a gift given only to the two of you, take it and carry it in your heart.” For all the hate that is happening in this world,  for all the rights being taken away from women, for all the racial injustice, for all the immigrants fleeing for their lives, we here in the middle of Nebraska sat on a country road and were handed a gift, a chance visit to remind us, we need to sit back and observe and then act with love and compassion. The owl sits on the road in our headlights, trusting that we will not hurt him. And we would not. But what about others? There are too many who would. Can they step back and observe?

Now this morning the Alpacas roam the Nebraska fields, the corn sways in the breeze, the sun is rising, painting the tops of the corn with a golden light and I am grateful for this day, for my husband who is a willing and loving partner and to be in a country free where there is water, shelter, and a safe place to sleep, or at least for most of us.

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What are we doing in a place like Decorah, you might ask. Here is the home of the Vesterheim Museum, The National Norwegian-American Museum and Heritage Center. Shap’s mother donated a 14th century tapestry of the Great Holy Kings coming from Saba” and a carved wooden chest and we were here to find out where it was.

Waking up in a winery is interesting or at least this one. Basically we were in someone’s backyard next to an old barn, a house and a building where there were tours, and tastings. Since the winery did not open until 11 we took our time having breakfast and coffee, checking up on our mail and relaxing. This is exactly what I wanted, a field, a lovely setting, quiet (except for the garbage truck at 4:30 AM), birds singing, rabbits hopping around, flower gardens, and no one around. Harvest Host I love you.

Wanting to get out and take pictures I left the van and strolled over to the winery building where upon I noticed it was open. Stepping in I found a large room with wines settling in wine kegs, every available wine gee gog imaginable and a friendly woman behind a counter full of fresh pies. I found out there are 20 acres of vineyards and almost equal amount of rhubarb. What anyone wants to do with that much rhubarb I could not tell you except many of the wine descriptions included rhubarb as an ingredient. So guess that is what you do with 20 acres of rhubarb. I checked in and found our incredible grassy site costs us the grand total of $7 a night plus $3 for a water fill up. What? $24 dollars for three nights in a vineyard, are you kidding? Highway robbery ! I could not believe I had endured two nights of sleeping in basically a parking lot surrounded by Class A RV for $80+ a night when I could have all of this and I was charged so little I could felt guilty. We will be stocking up on wine to give away on our trip.

Meanwhile, out to the Vineyards for pictures… Except we had to do it:

Of course we had to do it.

The grapes were ripe and hanging off the vines. I am still getting used to my new camera so frustration runs high. And then I thought, why am I rushing, I have two days here so I could take my time and play with the camera. The results were good;my macro lens was so good I found a knock off lady bug known as the Asian beetle and some very juicy grapes.

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Gathering our things together we drove into Decorah, a wide Main Street with a Norwegian vibe. Ducking in from the rain to buy an umbrella at the local drugstore, what else would we find, but several Norwegian children’s books from Shap’s past. Perfect to buy for the grandgirls. Farther down the street a knitting store with plenty of Norwegian patterned knitting books and volumes of yarn, definitely better than a candy store for me.

Then to the Vesterheim Museum, where waving Norsk flags hung from street poles showing us the way. Stepping into the museum you knew instantly that this was a great museum that showcased the history of the Norwegians immigration to America. But even more interesting to me, was the history of the folk art with modern day replicas of the artifacts brought from Norway.

We happened to time our visit right at the start of a tour of the buildings outside the museum depicting houses brought from Norway or built in the same design. Storehouses, an old mill, a school and a Lutheran church were all brought to the site. Our guide, a very attractive lady in her seventies obviously of Norwegian descent, toured us around giving us an amazing history of the various people who settled the area and their homes. Many of the artifacts were donated by Norwegians over the years and are displayed in the various houses. After almost two hours we figured we should head for the inside as the museum closes at 4 and it was now 3:00. Needless to say we did not finish it and are headed back tomorrow.

But where is the tapestry and the check that Sylvea Bull Curtis donated? Not on display but in the archives. Too bad as they are beautiful examples but it is good to know they are catalogued and being safely stored.

However, look who we found in the stairwell? Ah yes, who else but Ole Bull.

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Meanwhile back in the vineyard watching the sun set, the grasses glowing and our van settled in for the night I leave you with some of the lingering day slowly turning to dusk.

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THE LONG AND STRAIGHT COUNTRY ROAD

Route 6 from Sundusky to Decorah, Iowa is one straight highway with long stretches in between small four way road stops. If one was running out of gas this is not the road you will find gas stations easily. We left Sandusky behind with our destination Decorah, Iowa 10 hours away. Cruising along we passed planted cornfields touched by an artists hand, curving in gracious waves, accented by a strip of green field in between. A river of corn, undulating over rolling hills with only the clouds and sky for backdrop. While on the other side of the road the soybean crops with their stubby stocks and dark green leaves quietly waved to us asking us to notice their beauty. While the corn marched steadily across the landscape in military regiment rows according to the artists design, the soybeans touched one another, creating a blanket of green on the fields and occasionally adding depth to a farmhouse yard.

Irrigation machines stood like foreign predators on top of the crops bringing water to nourish them. The grain silos stood tall in the distance with their metal tubes connecting like spider legs to a tiny body pregnant with the mixtures of grain, releasing them like a giant breath to the mother silo. And this scene goes on and on for mile after mile while we sit and drink in the vastness of our country.

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Soon it is time to get on the great American highways to make some time, bypass Chicago and head westward. Here is America on the go with enormous trucks squeezing you. leaning dangerously toward you, then spitting you out as they leave you behind. Blocking out the sound, we chose “The Great Railroad Bazaar” by PaulTheroux and reminisced of our train rides through Russia, Peru and our travels through India. After a long while, we found Route 20 and again found the quiet of a country road and the beauty of the sunset as we road through Illinois, Wisconsin and finally Iowa.

Darkness and the voice of Paul Theroux propelled us onward to Decorah and our new camping experience found on Harvest Hosts. We called ahead to Winneshiek Wildberry Winery to make sure we could arrive late at night. A pleasant woman told us to come ahead and park on the right. Did I not say that I wanted to find the places I imagined ? We did. Arriving in the dark, with no idea exactly where we were, we pulled into a farmyard, that even in the dark we could tell there were no grapevines. Pulling out quickly (as if a large red van could be discreet),we put the address into my phone again and discovered it was next door. As we drove in the drive, the vineyards were illuminated in our headlights along with several barns and houses and an electrical box. We quickly plugged in, set up the bed and went to sleep, both of us road weary.

What to say about Sandusky, Ohio and why did I pick it? For one it was on one of the Great Lakes and was within a reasonable mid point between Canandaigua and Decorah, Iowa. When reading about it, it read like a quaint seaside town with a Maritime museum, and its main draw Lake Erie. What I can now say, is don’t bother, there must be other towns along Lake Erie or one of the other finger lakes to recommend.

Besides it being extremely hot and humid my image of a lakeside campground was completely shattered. Yes, this KOA is lake side over a berm, and if you stand on your tiptoes you can see it from the campground. But here is my assessment of the campgrounds so far. I need to get out of the KOA convenience and search for more interesting places to stay. Where is my comfy little plot of grass under a big tree parked by a river or a lake or a mountain side? i need to search better. I have about 5 apps on my phone but they all produce the same places. And reading the reviews does not seem to help because I have to take in to consideration who is writing them. I can see this is going to take sometime to get it right.

At the moment, I am sitting under a screened tent with a camp light in what might as well be a parking lot with a paved area next to a picnic bench surrounded by enormous Class A motorhomes complete with grills, golf carts, plant, TV’s outside, and any number of necessities they could not leave home. Not to be critical, ok I am going to be critical and snobby and every other bad judgemental thought I could have and say, right out, this is the essence of a bad dream. That being said, I am judging this from campsites I have enjoyed in the past before America turned into a traveling circus of RV’s. Where is my campsite in the Blue Ridge Mountains where we played music and danced in the shadow of the moon. Where is that campsite in Chaco Canyon where you could reach out and touch the stars or the campsite where we watched the heat lightening make natural fireworks in the desert? It must be out there and so tomorrow I will begin by “turning the page” and chasing it. No more conveniences such as wifi or phone or electricity or water. We don’t need it and I don’t want it. I want to hear the birds at 5 AM and the geese flying to their beds at night.

Highlights of Sandusky is the Maritime Museum and the Marblehead Lighthouse. By the way it is way prettier than the lighthouse in Marblehead, MA. The history of fishing, and in the winter, collecting ice was fascinating. Did you know Lake Erie provided ice for Cuba?. Did you also know that stored ice could last for 3 years in the ice sheds? Coal was brought by train to Sandusky to be shipped worldwide. The different ships and the battles fought were highlighted in the museum, but even more interesting for me was the underground railroad. and how they transported people to Canada. I did not take many pictures of Sandusky as I thought I might go out and shoot some night shots of the roller coasters, but I am too comfortable to fire up the van. Here are some of the Marblehead Lighthouse and one of my experiments in taking multiple pictures.

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Oh, we can’t forget the Tofts ice cream factory where when they say large they don’t mean large, they mean LARGE. What teenage boy could resist a large mint chocolate chip?

Tomorrow we hop on over to Decorah, IW following byways. We will start my goal of finding campgrounds in the wild. In case you are wondering why Decorah, why else, it has a Norwegian-American museum where somewhere lies a 14th century tapestry given to the museum by Shap’s mother, a part of Ole Bull’s collection.

Canandaigua, NY is everything the guide books say it is. The town is quaint, and historic. The Main Street, although interrupted by a four lane highway boasts long green lawns reaching out from the most elegant homes set back with front porches reminiscent of time gone by where front porches were key in the architecture of the time. One can imagine the family sitting there in the summer evening as neighbors stroll by. The street to the Sonneberg gardens, although not as broad, continues the same architecture, with turrets, upstairs porches, and a particular house with a clock placed in the center of a turret above the portico to the house. I can only imagine a young girl sneaking into the house past a curfew. But this is a story in my imagination because what young girl would be out without a chaperone in those days.

This street leads to the Sonneberg Gardens and Estate. We stopped there on our way out of town and I am glad we did not miss this opportunity. The estate was the summer home of Ferris and Mary Thompson. It was purchased in 1863 and the farmhouse was replaced with a Queen Anne Style brick home in 1865 completed in 1867. Just a modest little 44 room cottage.

The specimen of trees and the flower gardens are interspersed with statuary which for my taste does nothing for me. But this period in history many sculptures were coming from Europe and it was in vogue to place these statues throughout the gardens. Imagine running into this scary fellow when meeting you lover in the garden at night.

I started with the beginning of day three instead of day two. but then my life has always been willy nilly. Our first morning in Canandaigua, which I will neither learn to say or spell correctly, we headed for downtown which was far from impressive with closed stores, and buildings that looked abandoned. Definitely a contrast to the beautiful homes we had just passed. We ate breakfast in a restaurant that looked mostly closed, with an imposing brick building of the most horrendous style. However, the waitresses were friendly and we were in and out quickly.

The waterfront on Lake Canandaigua seems to have bloomed algae so all of the beaches were closed. There were an array of boats and some kayak but generally there was little activity. This area redeemed the downtown with a beautiful walkway around the park. Wanting to see what the area was all about we drove out into the country side following the lake in some areas and losing it in others. The rolling hills of corn and soybeans between newly cut hayfields proved to be a treasure trove of photographic opportunities. Sheep grazing in the meadow, miles and miles of fields, beautiful old barns and farmhouses. A day of sightseeing turned into a day of photography.

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We left for Sandusky, Ohio choosing to follow Route 20 along country roads and through some quaint towns and others not so much. The highlight for Shap was stopping for lunch at Tom Wahl’s a true hamburger joint with root beer in iced mugs and bacon and cheese to top off the burger.

,So we are now in Sandusky where there seem to be quite a few waterparks and roller coasters. This area does not look as nice as I thought it would, but tomorrow is another day and another surprise I am sure is in store. We finally got on Route 90 to get here at a reasonable hour and listened to “Greenlight” by Matthew McConaughey, also read by him. He reads well, and kept our attention. One thing I took away from the book was his phrase: “Turn the Page.” When you don’t like it , when things aren’t going well, “turn the page.” A philosophy I learned from a friend ages ago, only she told me, nothing material is that precious so if you lose it, let it go. Well, I finally let go of finding my contacts and last night where do you think I discovered them? In the frying pan tucked in a corner of a shelf. Logical don;t you think? Where else would you find a bag of contacts. Turn the page… more tomorrow.

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August 26, 2021: Day One: What is it about starting out on a trip and feeling like you don’t really want to go, it would be so much easier to stay home in your everyday routine? Is it trying to remember everything, is it all the last minute work issues, is it a lack of control of the situation, or is it just you are stepping out into the great beyond.

Starting out today, had the usual bumps in the road. Somewhere along the line I lost my contact bag which I swear is in the van, but have no idea where. Had to stop at the eye doctor and pick up some contacts. “Oh no, you can only have one trial pair and it will take two weeks to get the contacts.” Himm, first bump in the road as the only definite place we will be until we get to Bainbridge Island is Denver. Can I have them Express mailed? I was told under no uncertain terms the contacts will not be in Denver by Sept. 6th. Should we bet on it? I sent them to Bainbridge, so of course they will be there by Sept 3rd which means they could and would be in Denver by that time. Oh well, back in the van.

We went north, to go south, by taking the scenic route through the Champlain Islands to Rouse’s Point. The bridge over to NY is pretty impressive, but once you get there you feel like you have stepped back in time. The towns have dilapidated buildings in all forms of restaurants, store fronts, houses, farms and barns. What still stands towering over the towns are churches. Churches in brick or stone, with turrets and steeples.

Riding down Route 11 toward Malone are acres of cornfields and small farms. As I went by one farm, an Amish man stopped hammering the wood on a shed and waved. I waved back and thought of that small moment of connection. Shortly after that, a woman in a black bonnet driving a horse and carriage passed by on the other side of the road. Flashbacks of my childhood in Gettysburg, sitting looking out the window of my grade school classroom and watching the Amish coming into town with their horse and carriages. A site very familiar to me then, yet this afternoon it seemed strange. I did not know there were Amish farms in this area of New York. Later we passed a farmstand with women in bonnets and baskets talking casually together in the heat of the summer day. I drift into the recesses of my memories, my mother and I buying cantaloupe, peaches, tomatoes, and sticky buns from the Amish and Mennonites farm stands. A time in the 1950’s when we bought all our summer produce from the farms, brought it home and prepared it to freeze waiting to be eaten on a cold winter’s night. The kitchen table spread with newspaper, my entire family seated around it shucking corn, cutting off the kernels into a bowl, and finally the absolute favorite of all, the gleamings. My father would take a fork and scrape the cobs so the inner kernels and their juices would fall into a separate bowl. This was the sweetest part of the corn and only produced a small amount. We could hardly wait to eat it, but we had to wait for winter.

We continued down the road listening to a story on Audible, while enjoying the flat countryside of corn and hay fields and horse ranches. We passed an old A&W, now painted bright pink with a miniature replica of a 59 Chevy for a sign. Cars lined up waiting to eat, I half expected a waitress to arrive on roller skates in a poodle skirt.

Suddenly we are surrounded by miles of wind turbines, slowing turning their gigantic blades over the landscape as if they were a priest giving a blessing. White giants, I felt as if at any moment, they could start to march, trampling everything in its path. Meanwhile life continued below under their command. Do any birds live nearby?

We are now in Canadaque, NY in a KOA campground, listening to the sounds of middle America, our only definite reservation. This is an interesting experience sitting here in the dark, typing, and listening to the conversations of others. I look forward to finding quiet out of the way places to camp, but for now this is fine. We are here, at the beginning of my dream, and our adventure.

Last year at this time, we were preparing for our trip to India. One year later, the thought of even getting on a plane within the U.S. is questionable. India seems like a dream occuring in some distant past. How lucky were we to have traveled there last November and had the experience of that wonderful country.

How are the Smith’s traveling these days? We returned from Las Vegas and Bainbridge Island with the Vermont granddaughters the first of March and within a week we were on lock down. Dreaming of exotic and fun places to visit vanished and we were at home looking at one another. But not for long.

We began each day of April to walk the 15 mile rail trail in Morrisville.Vt. through rain, snow and mud. Our dog Olive raced along beside us, we found ramps in the woods, and picked them with our granddaughters and made pesto. We watched spring arrive, the farmers seeding their land with corn, the fiddleheads uncurling and the rivers filling with melted snow. Life arrived in its glorious rush of color despite the world collapsing within itself.

We hopped on our bikes and traveled the Stowe Rec path back and forth watching May turn to June. I started searching for vans, a long time desire of mine to revisit the U.S. having sold our VW van years ago. AND THEN…we bought E-bikes. Our life changed in an instant. We gave up the Stowe rec path and ventured out into the hinterlands of Northern Vermont. We have been covering miles and miles of back roads enjoying the challenge of the Vermont hills, the beautiful lakes, the quiet villages and the wonderful feeling of accomplishment. Those thinking this is not exercise have not experienced the Vermont hills.

We walked for miles and miles all summer long, exploring trails we had not walked before or trails that we love. We watched spring turn to summer and now turning to Fall. The golden light illuminates the forest trees and the meadows. The turkeys flee in desperation when our dog Olive smells their scent. The fields we watched being planted are now being cut for winter to feed the cows. Life is slowing down, turning back inward, days are shorter, nights are longer.

Soon the leaves will be gone, the November light with its elegance of white and grey brings a clarity, a sharpness to the winter ahead. How will we travel a winter of Covid? In much the same way we traveled these last months. There will be snow, it will blanket our fields and hills. We will pull on layers of clothing, don warm boots, snowshoes, skiis and head for our Vermont hills, breathe in the fresh air and set out on an adventure. And when we are done, we will come home, settle within a warm cozy blanket on the couch, pick up a book and travel within the words and images of authors who have created places and adventures for us.

Is this the life for only those of us who happen to live in this wonderful state, Vermont? No this is a life that each of you can find within your own home and community. What it takes is a bit of preparation. Instead of packing your bags, you pack a safety kit of masks, gloves, wipes,water, appropriate clothes, a cell phone for a camera and safety, a buddy or not and find the world you live in. It is just as beautiful as any place on earth.

Driving to the Spice Tree Inn was an experience that was unexpected. The trip took seven hours from Cochin and the majority of the trip was on a dirt road that was nothing more than about 10 feet wide with one curve leading into another. The road was mostly dirt with major rocks and sinkholes. This was supposed to be the short cut since the main road had washed out, but I do not think so. Two cars could not pass without one backing up to find a tiny piece of roadside to hang off of. We climbed up to about 6,000 feet this way. The Inn was lovely with a view overlooking the mountains but no where did we see tea plantations. We arrived too late to do anything, so we decided to have a slide show for our last night together. Traveling with professional photographers can be intimidating but all of us had strong pictures. We were only allowed 30, Shap managed to slip in 80.

This morning we got in the van to begin our journey to the Harrison Tea Plantation. On the way we went by the Tetley Tea Plantation that is owned by TaTa. They do not allow any visitors into the plantation and so we gazed from the roadside. There were no workers but the views were incredible. Row after row of plants carpeting the hillsides. The morning mist added a bit of mystery as it floated across the mountainside. Everything was so lush and groomed. These plants are over a hundred years old and every five years they cut them down to the stalks, otherwise they would grow too large.

We arrived at the Harrison Tea Plantation and hiked up through the fields. Lovely flowers, and waterfalls dotted the hillside with the tea plants and cows mingled among the pathways. It was spectacular looking at all of the groomed plants going on for miles and miles. The tea is harvested by a shears with a box attached to collect the leaves. Then this is dumped into an apron type of shirt, and then to large bags. The workers get about $5 a day for picking 27 kilos of leaves. They get free housing but nothing else. However, when we came upon them, they seemed happy to be working there.

These pictures below tell the story of what we saw. Off tomorrow, on our way home. India has been an amazing trip with colors, and smells, and spices, and food and sites to photograph. I am so happy to have experienced this with Shap and our two friends that we met in Cuba on a Sante Fe School of Photography trip, Friendships grow out of the strangest circumstances. Who would think that two young women, who could be our daughters, would want to travel with us, the seniors. But it was wonderful and sealed our friendships with plans to travel some more.

 

The Elephant says it all. Landing late at night we came out of the airport which is new and completely powered by solar. We were hit by oppressive humidity and heat. I felt like the only thing I would be able to do is lay down in an air-conditioned room.

Cochin is an hour and a half from the airport, crossing bridges from island to island, some of those man made and others natural. We pulled up to the Colonial Inn which looked like a storybook illustration of old colonial architecture. A beautiful courtyard with large 300-year-old trees and a pool. Our room opened to a private courtyard with a fountain and lovely flowers. The art work throughout the Inn was interesting and a mixture of contemporary and antique sculptures and paintings.

This area of India is completely different from the rest. There is only a population of three million, there is little honking of horns, less traffic, and overall there is a sense of peace. This area is mostly Christian with a mix of Hindu and Muslin. The Portuguese, Dutch, and English settled here and the architecture reflects those different styles. There are sections throughout the city which are designated areas by religion but all of the people live in harmony. They refer to the Jewish section as “Jew Town.” This is the wholesale spice market area. And there are only two Jews left. However, the temple is a destination for many Jewish people as it is one of the first temples in the area to be built and is quite beautiful.

In the morning we went to the port to see the fisherman who fish with the Chinese fishing nets. It is a very strenuous process, which takes several men to pull the net out of the water as the net is weighted down with very heavy rocks.

That evening we went off to see a traditional dance. We watched them do their makeup which is quite elaborate. Afterwards there was an explanation of the  eye, hand and finger movements. This was helpful, plus the English translation, for understand the performance. The singer sounded like he was giving birth and we all had to hold our laughter in as it went on and on. It was interesting but long and something we could have missed. Yet it is all part of learning about the culture. Only the men perform.

Other images of Cochin: The laundry,where the men do the washing,ironing etc. Some of the women iron. This is the same group of people generation after generation that do the laundry. The iron is coal fired, although the one in the picture is electric. The hand irons are heated by charcoalthey produce from burning the coconut shell.

 

If you had to decide to go to only one thing in India, I would say, the Camel Festival. It is impossible to describe. Every sense is assaulted the minute you arrive. It is like every county fair you have ever seen on steroids. More than a 125,000 people attend it and it lasts a week. It is both a horse and camel festival, but the camels steal the show. Dressed in their finery with elaborate carts to pull they regally walk between people, cars, scooters, horses etc. One of the reasons for the snooty look is the flower that is put on the camel’s nose. When the flower is on their nose they look at it and hold their head up. Every camel that you see out for show has one on its nose.

Among the camels are campfires and tents for the camel owners who sleep there and tether their camels nearby.

The horses are tethered in large tents. And scattered among the horses are bulls. The prize bull weighed in at about 4000 pounds. He was about as large as an SUV. Quite handsome but not something I would want to mess with in the field.

Then there are the hackers, the rides, the booths selling everything imaginable, the dancers, the turban tying contest and the mustache contest.

There was not enough time for all of it. We went at sunrise and sunset and during the day. It was exhausting as it was hot, dusty and a constant stream of traffic that you had to be aware of. I am including more pictures than usual as I think the pictures say more than my words.