If you are planning on being in the Jutland region of Denmark, a must visit is in Aarhus, especially right now. Originally known as Aros and lying on the peninsula of Jutland, the Aarhus Festival first began in September 1965 and has developed not only into a major local cultural, but also an international festival. For 10 days every year, the entire city of Aarhus is swarming with entertainment events. Several performances are free.

“Aarhus Open City” is the theme of 2008 Aarhus Festival Week. This yearly festival will only be active from the 29th of August to the 7th September, so hurry and get to Denmark! All over Aarhus, the city is buzzing with music; activity and artistic and cultural events.

The best way to truly indulge in these ten days is to obtain a vacation rental of a cottage in Jutland area and live the life of both a native and visitor. This festival guarantees to be a full throttle of entertainment. No matter where you stay in Denmark, all motorways lead to Aarhus from the north, south and west and easy to reach from anywhere in Denmark.

If you can not make it to the festival, it is good to know that Aarhus and the rest of the Jutland region have much to offer any time of the year. Even if you miss the festival, you’ll find an array of museums, attractive villages, and history.

Things to do in the Jutland Region

Aros Museum – This is the newest museum in Aarhus and the largest art museums in northern Europe. With 10 stories to explore, one day will just not do it. Offering a good variety of paintings, sculptures, and drawings from the Golden Age up through contemporary it is a wonderful visit for the whole family. There are even on-hands art activities available for the younger members of your group.

Den Gamle By – Re-live Danish history in this open-air museum depicting early Danish life throughout all the regions of Denmark. With 75 historical houses, gardens, exhibitions, houses, shops, and workshops situated in the old town of Aarhus, your day will surely be spent understanding the Danish culture. The structures were originally erected between 1550 and the late 1800s in different parts of Denmark and dismantled and reconstructed here.

The Skagen Art Museum- Located in the quaint small city of Skagen is the place to be for those that enjoy Nordic art. Most of these paintings depict the beauty of Skagen and the surrounding sea. Besides a permanent collection, many different exhibitions from throughout Scandinavia make its way to this museum.

Silkeborg Museum - Silkeborg Manor in Silkeborg was erected in 1767 and became a museum in 1951. It houses some of the most amazing museum exhibits you will ever see. The world renowned “Tollund Man” can be found here. The “Tollund Man” is the well- preserved body discovered in 1950 who originated from the Middle Ages in the Village of Tollund. Other artifacts range from the Stone Age, Bronze Age, Iron Age (where the Tollund Man is displayed), Viking Age, and Middle Ages.

For information on the venues and transportation options for “Aarhus Open City” view: http://www.aarhusfestuge.dk/

For details on activities with the Jutland region throughout the year visit: http://www.visitdenmark.com

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Cedar Key is a quaint town off the beaten path, lost in time and perspective. She sits perched precariously on the edge of the Gulf of Mexico, swaddled in salt marshes and mud flats, a time capsule left to fend for a tenuous future and to forget a nostalgic past. The town is similar to the song, ‘A little bit country, and A little bit rock and roll,’ boiling over with enthusiasm and feet stuck in the muddy mixture of natives, renters and tourists.

Flying Over Cedar Key Florida – Video

Cedar Key has the ambience of Key West without the bars, the Duval Stroll, Mallory Square, the chickens, hip stores and boutiques, the eclectic people wandering the streets, water sports, the fine dining and conch critters, the cruise ships, the tourists, the resorts, ethnic bakeries, a state park with great swimming areas, tour guides and tram rides. Cedar Key does, however, support a feral cat population. The pier is undergoing renovation and gone is the old man that entertained the masses by feeding the pelicans with his nightly show.

Cedar Key has daily access to gorgeous sunrises and magnificent sunsets — surrounded on all sides by crystal waters and smelly bogs. Walking trails meanander through the wilds and brambles along the seashore. A newly-built boardwalk wraps around the cemetery and deposits travelers along the bay to fish, relax, swim or take a few photos. Locals bypass the walkway and drive right through to the back portion of the cemetery, park their trucks and trudge to the water’s edge for net fishing and guzzling a brew.

It’s a working town whose livelihood depends on Mother Nature — not always a helpful participant. For many workers, a tidy home and well kept yard is not an asset, but rather: a hindrance.

Fishermen swarm in as if they were fish during spawning season. Fancy fishing boats hug the docks and cruise the waters. Mullet jump out of the water for reasons not clearly defined. Bring your own boat, rent a kayak or take a sunset tour. Rent a golf cart to tour the island in style. Or perhaps rent a scooter from the local grocery store.

Sunset at Cedar Key image by Ramriot

It’s a place smothered by neglect and decay. Trash lines the ditches, the waterways, and the odorous salt marshes. Dilapidated buildings cry silently with despair being their only salvation. Restaurants with bland food and overpriced menus litter the harbor in competition with the feral cats.

Unfriendly waitresses talk trash to their friends, ignoring paying customers. The sign outside the cafe boasts: ‘This is where the locals eat.’

A few campgrounds survive on the edge of destruction and denial, barely making a statement. Instant friends and campfire buddies line the wobbly docks to view the nightly painting of the sky. Quiet contentment spills over the mesmerized campers.

Cedar Key Trail image by Ramriot

Broken roads filled with potholes, hollow dreams littered with debris, buildings in disrepair and a cottage on stilts in the final phase of death define the town. A puddle jumper plane glides gracefully on the small air strip. The sounds of laughter mingles with the cry of the seagulls.

It’s a place overflowing with a salty ambience and an air of yesteryear, where survival meets economic decline. Sit on the lopsided dock and listen to the sounds of nature and man. Air boats flash by making a noisy statement next to the fishing boats that drift lazily with the tide. The orange evening sun explodes across the sky painting a mural of distinction. Birds cry in misery or perhaps ecstasy. The tides crash with a single purpose against the weary shoreline.

Cedar Key ages with a less than graceful swan dance. My fears are that one day I will visit and enter the twilight zone of a ghost town.

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Video describing Guadalest Spain

Spain calls out to many for its supreme beaches, fine cities and cuisine. Although the terrain in Spain is developing rapidly, many hidden jewels still remain unspoiled and hidden. Guadalest is one of them. Situated in the Marina Baja region in the Province of Alicante in the Costa Blanca, Guadalest rises above the rocks and sits on an altitude of 590 meters.

The tiny village of Guadalest offers a spectacular sight perched high above green valleys lush with apple, cherry and orange groves.

Few places in the world can combine a pant as you approach Guadalest, which stands out kilometres away on the winding roads leading to her. When nearing the summit with its picturesque white bell tower perched on top, it sets the stage for a captivating monument. One can only imagine that perhaps the Guadalest Fortress may be where Hemingway was inspired for the title of his classic novel, For Whom the Bell Tolls.

The Guadalest Fortress

The Guadalest Fortress, which existed during the invasion of the Moors, was re-conquered by the Christians in the 13th century and ruled by several Aragon kings. Following the narrow streets upward and pass the simplicity of its buildings, you will come upon a spectacular square with an awesome view looking down to valleys filled with almond, cherry and orange trees, the stunning Bernia Mountain Range and the Guadalest River. On an especially clear day, even the Med is in view being only 11KM away.

In 1974, the fortress was declared an area of historic and artistic importance. The municipality meanwhile has remained small with a population of about 204 and is a popular day trip for holiday makers and residents alike.

There are several small museums, the most impressive being Casa Orduña, which belonged to a noble family in the 16^th century. It was completely restored by the family’s descendants, whose roots are of Basque origin. The family received the title of marquis of Guadalest in 1542 by the Admirals of Aragon. T he generation of the family members served of guardians of the fortress and governors of their states.

The house sits on an irregular plot with one half supported by and overlapping the jagged rock, while the other half is adjoin to the chapel and bell tower. The structure consists of four floors.

Some of the furnishings, artwork and linens are intact. During the month of July, worldwide artists display their works against this wonderful backdrop of this manor house. There are many galleries and even in the Casa Orduña, the third floor is dedicated to art work from world wide submissions representing Guadalest and its bell tower. It is unique to see hundreds of art work depicting similar scenes and yet all individually different.

The highlight everyone waits for is a fiesta to its patron saint, La Virgen de la Asuncion held from August 14 to 17 each year.

The surrounding areas throughout Spain are filled with folklore, history, delicious food, superb wine, brilliant art and breathtaking terrain and beaches. The beauty of visiting these old pueblos is that they are never too far away from modern resorts and casinos. There will be a town somewhere not to be missed and an auto is a necessity to allow you the freedom to visit these concealed treasures without the crowds.

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Skirted by dense bamboo forests and shrouded in a shawl of clouds and fog looms a masterpiece carved by nature out of granite millennia ago. Huangshan, Yellow Mountain, located in the fertile Anhui province, is probably China’s favorite mountain and one of the most beautiful in the world.

Since ancient times Mount Huang has been irresistible to artists, poets, explorers, and nature lovers. Its bamboo groves, giant peaks, oddly-shaped boulders and pines create stunning, often surreal vistas that steal your breath away. But no artist’s rendering, not even the spectacular footage of Yellow Mountain in the wildly popular film Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon can do justice to the sublime beauty.

Ominous clouds and thick fog covered our view of Huangshan when we arrived at its foot. We were told that weather as well as climates change as you go up the mountain’s many tall peaks, some of which are at least 1,800 meters (over one mile high!) Donning rain slickers and rubber “socks” over our already wet shoes, we were driven at a breakneck speed along a winding mountain road to one of the cable cars that would take us about half-way up the mountain. From there, we would proceed on foot.

Despite the rain, the mountain was teeming with people wearing colorful hooded rain slickers that made us all look like members of some long-lost elven tribe. Chinese, Japanese, English, German, even Russian could be heard through the gusts of wind and the whisper of rain drops on our hoods. We were bubbling over with excitement as we got off the cable cars and followed our guides into the rain clouds that seemed to be caught in the crown of Huangshan.

Some of us were concerned about climbing this mountain in the rain. Those who visited the Grand Canyon, for example, knew how dangerous a rocky trail can be even in dry weather. But we soon discovered that humans who lived on this mountain for centuries deserved to be marveled at as well.

Over countless decades they had cut winding stairs, bridges, and walkways into several sides of the most glorious peaks. Being made out of granite the mountain provided them with the strongest, most durable material they could ever hope for so they attempted to tame the terrain of Huangshan making it possible for us, hundreds of years later, to enjoy its beauty. To this day their descendants make their way up and down the mountain carrying large loads of provisions and building materials for the resort located at one of the scenic spots at the top and the rest stops along the trails.

It took us hours to climb four famous peaks, stopping along the way to take photos. Even through the fog the weird black pines, the flowering trees covering the slopes, and the strange shapes of large boulders that seemed to have been dropped by some giant along the way made us feel like we entered some fairy world where there is a new sight waiting around every bend of the winding stairways.

Whenever the wind blew really hard we held our breath, cameras ready, waiting for the clouds to part just a bit. As they did golden sunshine poured through the fog lighting up the slopes. It looked as if the sun itself was trapped in the middle of the mountain’s crown of peaks illuminating them from within.

By the time we sloshed our way to the resort for lunch the rain had taken a recess and all that was left was a soupy fog. Looking over one of the ledges surrounding the resort we saw a basketball court appear through the fog like a mirage. Some of our guys couldn’t resist the temptation of the misty hoop and joined a few “locals” in a game.

After a delicious and much needed lunch our group split up. Those who were particularly exhausted and soggy decided to walk to another cable car just twenty minutes away and cable down. Others decided to walk down. For most of us this was the first and probably the only opportunity to explore this magical place so were very pleased that the weather allowed us an opportunity to remain here just a bit longer.

Forty minutes into the walk I figured out that I had fallen seriously behind the group because of all the pictures I was taking. Luckily, I wasn’t alone. Three other people also chose to take their time walking down as this trail offered a completely different view of the mountain than we had seen on our way up. Unlike the other trails, this one wound its way through a forest of black pines and many different kinds of flowering trees and shrubs. The walls of the mountain were speckled red, brown, and black. Much of the rock was covered by patches of velvety green moss. The bald spots were gleaming with trickles of water rushing down the sides of the mountain. Every couple of minutes we stopped to take pictures. Our cameras eventually lost their battle to the humid air and intense fog but we still stopped and marveled.

“How many waterfalls can a mountain have?” I remember myself thinking. Each unique and stunning in its own way there were waterfalls at every turn. After a while we got tired of cleaning our cameras and snapping pictures so we took turns. But mostly we just stood and stared, agape, at every new scene because each was breathtaking.

It was sweltering at the top of the mountain when the sun came out and we were stewing in our rain slickers so we had taken them off. About halfway down the mountain it started to drizzle. Then it poured. But we decided that the cool rain was just one more gift from the mountain on this hot and muggy day so we left our rain slickers off. The rain proved to be very helpful indeed as it seemed to melt away most of the fog. As it did all the colors became brighter and everything around us just came alive. The vibrant green of the moss, the red and black of the granite, the white of the churning waterfalls and streams, were mesmerizing. Looking at each other we realized that we were sad to leave this place. By this time we were about two thirds of the way down and had spent over five hours on the mountain. If we could, we would have stayed here for days exploring every walkway and every slope we could climb. But the rest of the group was no doubt waiting for us at the bottom getting antsy and frustrated so we had to pick up the pace.

We found a narrow bridge over an especially tumultuous stream far below. We couldn’t resist venturing out on it to get a better glimpse of the churning white water rushing down the mountainside.

Getting back to the trail we ran down the slippery steps. Our legs were beginning to cramp up so we stopped at one of the rest areas that popped up all along the way like oases in the desert. We got some frozen yogurt and asked for directions before resuming our marathon. As fast as we were moving two local bearers passed us hauling giant buckets and pipes. They called out to us, telling us to follow them down quickly. We tried but they were too fast for us, their giant calves as hard as the mountain itself carried them down with amazing speed. When we finally made it down, achy and thoroughly soaked, we found out why they were urging us on.

The mountain was about to close to visitors. Had we stayed there even a few minutes longer we would have been stranded overnight. As inconvenient as that may have been, it was not such an unwelcome prospect for my trail mates and me. We just quietly smiled at each other as the others from our group chastised us for cutting it so close. We knew that even breathing Huangshan’s air for just several more minutes was worth the embarrassment of being publicly scolded, the aching joints, and the soggy clothes for Yellow Mountain conquered us and stole our hearts.

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As we sailed across what I would soon find out is the world’s tenth largest lake, we could not help but think about the dangers that this place contained for any traveler. We were on our way to Isla Ometepe in Lago, Nicaragua. It’s a small island on the map but much bigger in real life.

Why is it dangerous? For one, the island is home to an active volcano that should erupt once about every 50 years. It hasn’t erupted since 1957. The math worried me. But more about that in a minute.

Another particularly dangerous feature of the island: If an eruption occurs, and you’re in the water, then swimming for your life might not be the best of ideas. Even if that doesn’t scare you away, the lake is also home to one of the world’s only species of fresh water-tolerating sharks. How comforting! The sharks are bull sharks, a species known to — at times — enter into fresh water from the sea. Studies show that it takes the sharks about 7-11 days to make the journey up or down the rapids of the San Juan river from the Caribbean Ocean. One of our guides on the island believes that once the sharks are locked in the lake, after arriving from the ocean, they’ll stay indefinitely. But some sharks tagged in the lake have been caught later in the sea. Interesting, but no by means comforting — the bull shark is one of the world’s most aggressive sharks and responsible for the majority of attacks on humans! Needless to say we made it to and from without incident.

It took about an hour to get across the lake to the island. The view of the island is absolutely fantastic, even breathtaking. We stayed in a dumpy little hostel but it served the intended purpose. One feature of the island was that every night at around 8 or 9 a torrential downpour would come through the island. It lasted each night for between 30 minutes and 2 hours. All the buildings (including our humble hostel) had tin roofs.

Clouds often shroud the peak of the volcano Concepción.

Our second day on the island we climbed up the active volcano nearby called Concepción. The guides won’t tell you how hard of a climb it is because they want you to fill their pockets. Be assured, though, it’s grueling. The guide will only take you to 1000 meters, still 600 from the top. It is too dangerous to go any higher. Toxic gases, hurricane strength winds, impenetrable fog… Possible eruption! You get the idea.

The view from 1,000 meters.

Up to the last 100 meters of the climb, you find yourself trekking through a dense rainforest. You see snakes, pink lizards, dung beetles, every biting insect you ever knew existed and then some more you didn’t. Then there’s the monkeys. There are large colonies of Capuchin and howler monkeys on the trek. Some will actually converse with you if you can master their language. It was an exhausting journey to the (pseudo)-top, but well worth the 7.50 USD a person. The view was absolutely stupendous.

Petroglyphs on the Island

Another neat feature of the island is its archaeology. At several sites on the island you’ll find petroglyphs. We were told that some of them are over 2,000 years old. It’s fun to try and figure out what the drawings depict. Some of them gave us a run for our money. It also gave us appreciation for the forefathers of the island’s present 35,000 inhabitants.

The other volcano, Maderas, can be climbed all the way to the crater, which converges into a beautiful lagoon. We opted out (seven hours uphill through the mud didn’t sound as exciting as the lagoon at top). Maybe next time.

Video of Travels on Isla de Ometepe

Isla Ometepe is an enchanting place. The food and people are more-than-agreeable and the views, incredible. One tip though. If you’re on the ferry (the big boat), don’t miss out on the air-conditioned room upstairs. It’s a lifesaver. The two flat screen TVs kept us all entertained with 1980s music videos. Isla Ometepe — I’d say it’s definitely on my list of world wonders.

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Living a mile high can play tricks on your psyche. Even in Denver, a tranquil day in the park may not be what it seems. Especially in Denver, you’re very likely to encounter a park with a macabre stratum.

Denver’s Cheesman Park – despite its comedic moniker (it’s actually named after the 19th century water baron of Denver, Walter S. Cheeseman) – will call out to your need for serenity. The calming aura and collection of sombre trees can be a refreshing sight. You may think that you’re finally going to get off the busy streets of the city once and for all. Looking around, you might stop and wonder what kept this place so untouched? How could such a peaceful locale remain virgin and untouched by developers? Certainly, it isn’t the 150 miles of panoramic views.

From Congress Park to Cheesman Park

To really dig into its history, you’ll need to consider its life as and former name of “Congress Park.” Even before the location was known as Congress Park, it was an abandoned and disused cemetary, full of broken coffins and grave-robbed holes. Local landowners didn’t want an abandoned cemetery bringing down land values, so real estate developers determined a park would add more to property values. Colorado Senator Teller went to the U.S. Congress to have the cemetary converted to a park. In recognition of the swift approval in Congress, Denver named the place Congress Park.

Then came the dirty work. Families of the deceased were asked to claim their corpses. For those who went unclaimed, the city inked a contract to a local undertaker known as McGovern. McGovern’s contract was terminated as a result of unscrupulous business practices. His work went incomplete, and unclaimed bodies remained underground.

Over the years Congress Park was demarcated in half by a residential community. The sale of this land towards the end of the 19^th century, gave rise to an ordinance motion being passed and approved by the City Council, thereby preventing future sale of this park.

Heroes and saints were not interred here, but rather the first to be buried here were John Stoefel and the brother-in-law that he murdered. These are the two people who never found peace in the exact place where you might be standing. So now you need to ask yourself: Why were you led to Cheeseman? Was it the unclaimed souls who couldn’t find peace in a park?

Today, Cheesman Park is host to scores of unsuspecting tango dancers. Do they know that they could be dancing over the remains of past Denverites?

Today, Cheesman Park is bounded on all four sides by the historic districts of Wyman’s Island, Humboldt’s Island and Morgan’s Island. It is one of the first residential areas in the whole of Denver that has the honor of being classified as a historic district. Its controversial history, spooky stories and beautiful landscapes make it an enigmatic location of interest for locals and tourists alike.

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The Inside of the Lost Mission of Satevo. See the previous entry for more on Satevo.

I had the privilege of touring with a Tarahumaran guide. The Tarahumara, as a people, are fascinating. They are the most resilient and self-sufficient people I’ve met. Their sandals are made from the rubber of old tires. They use the sandals to race in world renowned races. Tarahumara men, because of the elevation, the heat, the extreme length of their travels – are able to run hundreds of miles without a stop. They are some of the world’s best natural marathon runners. And I was hiking with one!

A video of a Tarahumara showing us how to tie the patented Tarahumara Huarachi Sandals

Awaking at six, with a liter of water in hand and some granola bars in the camera bag, I walked out of the streets with Modesto. He’s a short and friendly man with a tinge of gray hair. In fact, he looks like an extremely well-tanned Mel Gibson. Modesto knows the Native Tarahumaran tongue, and I was lucky enough to hear him speak it when he ran into a friend on the trail.

Walking along Rio Batopilas

We walked along the crystal clear waters of Batopilas River. It was a gorgeous, but hot, hike. All along the trail, I adamantly tried to strike up conversation with Modesto. Naturally, my Spanish would serve its purpose, I thought. But most Tarahumara don’t know Spanish, or very little, if they do. And, I’m sure understanding my mediocre Spanish is about as difficult as me trying to understand his Native Tarahumara dialect.

On the trail, there were abanoned buildings and the occasional Mexican cowboy (make no mistake: These are real cowboys – the types of cowboys that existed even before pilgrims landed in the U.S.). There was a small school in the middle of nowhere, and it seemed to be empty. I probably saw about fifty burros on the way. Rio Batopilas is a beautiful river that somehow manages to remain cool in 95-degree weather. halfway along the trail my water was down to 1/4 of a liter. It was empty by the time we reached Cerro Colorado. The outside temperature had topped 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

Pueblo de Cerro Colorado

The tiny pueblo of Cerro Colorado (“cerro” means silver in Spanish) is comprised of one truck, and about ten houses. It is a derelict mining boomtown. Three-hundred years ago, the houses of Cerro Colorado probably contained Spanish criollos who supervised the back-breaking work of mining silver. Undoubtedly, Modesto’s ancestors were probably slaves in the silver mines at one time.

We sat down on a bench before returning to Batopilas (which seemed like a metropolis compared to this town) and Modesto chatted it up with a guy sharpening his knife on a rock. An old woman, who had to be at least 95, and had likely lived deep in these canyons for the whole duration, caned her way to the gate to see who was sitting on the bench. Apparently, a pale-faced gringo is the last thing she expected to see!

I gave Modesto a granola bar; he couldn’t figure out how to open it, so I gave it a good tear. I hadn’t realized that we walked 10 kilometers by this time. That would mean the return trip would be a seven mile trek in 100-degree weather (and shade was nowhere to be seen). Upon returning, the only thing in my sights was the river full of water and the aquedect next to me (constructed for the mines in the 1700s, but still in full use!) My clean water was gone! I couldn’t drink for the seven mile trip back.

Modesto told me earlier that the water in the aqueduct is very “sucio” (dirty), so I refrained. But, to my surprise, less than a mile out of Batopilas, he dipped his hands into the aqueduct and began drinking prodigiously. I’m sure his stomach was fully aware of the microbes that existed in the water – his DNA contains a natural resistance to burro dung, perhaps?

Modesto laughed when I saw him drinking. Laughing at me was a normal occurrence for Modesto, so I shrugged it off and smiled. Upon return, Monse fixed me water with lime juice from the trees in her garden.

Monse is an avid gardener and leads a gardening group in Batopilas. The lime water was the most satiating substance I’ve imbibed in my life. After about three litres of this nectar of the gods, I crashed on the hammock. It was a state of half-sleep and half-awareness, as the weather was unbearably hot, but somehow the hammock and a leak in one of her garden irrigators made everything better.

I am now recouped. just took my bath in the river (there are no baths in the bathroom, ironically; just a toilet). This is a paradise – if only it was a bit cooler, everything would be perfect.

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Plaza Central de Chihuahua

What I’ve seen today rivals what I saw in San Francisco, the first time I had seen a city. The U.S. calls itself a melting pot, but they can’t lay claim to what Mexico can be proud of. In the space of one block, I saw middle-class Mexican mestizos, upper-class criollos (pure-bred Spanish), Tarahumara (Chihuahua’s native indeginous people who wear colorful dresses and still live in caves – the men wear loin cloths, believe it or not). I saw Mennonites (they’re not only in Pennsylvania, apparently)

These colorful boots in Chihuahua are a reflection of Mexican culture as a whole. America doesn’t even compare to the melting pot of Mexico.

And the cattleman – they put American cattlemen to shame. They actually use their horses for utilitarian reasons around here. I was just driving down the road about an hour ago and I saw a kid who didn’t look older than nine who was riding as if he was on Seabiscuit, jumping fences and canyons, putting my truck to shame.

Everything in Mexico has to dazzle the eyes – even this dust devil the size of a tornado.

Talking Over Tecate in Creel

I rolled into Creel about 5 p.m. to encounter Americans. This made me sad. I thought it would become my special Mexican town that nobody else knew about. Creel is a tiny little pueblo. There are a few banks and restaurants. I think it boasts a population of about 6,000. As I changed my money in a casa de cambio, I crossed the street and found a little restaurant/bar.

A unique view of mountain biking in Creel, Mexico

Nobody was in there, but I asked for Tecate, and it was readily produced. The woman who I met was very talkative and easygoing. She had a small daughter with her who was nine years of age. I told her where I was from. Funny, every Mexican I’ve talked to so far always talk about the bridge. Even in the small pueblo of Creel, 300 miles south of the border, this woman knew about the Golden Gate Bridge.

We exchanged the normal conversation starters – thank god I can understand and somewhat respond to most of them. Her daughter was a bit shy at first, but she opened up to me and brought out her textbook from school. She wanted me to show her on the map where San Francisco was. She told me she spoke English and sang to me “Frere Jacques” in English. I helped teach her the word for “honga” in English (hongas are mushrooms and the woman said that there were many in the surrouding hills). I’m now sitting at the top of the Sierra Madres.

The Espactaculo in Creel

The people here are friendly, and I’ve never felt safer anywhere. It’s odd. Even though they are poor, they never ask for anything directly – they are always open to chatting. At my camping spot, I heard music playing from a tent down the block. The circus, or “espactaculo” was in town. There are only two actors in the troupe. It’s not a freak show. The best way to describe it is to say it’s a lot like the talent shows we had as kids in Elementary School. There is a magic show, lip syncing of popular songs, and the ever-so-popular ass jiggling (I’m not joking). There were to main actors and one assistant. the two actors played all of the parts. The kids in the audience loved the show, and there was the occassional young couple, old couple, random cowboy with wranglers and cowboy hat in the tent.

What struck me were the overtly sexual jokes when the majority of the audience were children.The kids seemed to laugh the most at them, too. For twenty pesos, it was a steal. I watched the people watching the circus, more than I watched the circus itself.

There are ravenous dogs around my campground. I had to barricade myself in the back of the pickup truck. Otherwise, I still feel safe, and the crescent moon is low in the horizon, a chilly breeze with a tinge of pine scent carried from the mountains sweeps by, and the sound of Ranchera music in the background. There was no feeling lonely in the company of stars at 6,000 feet in the Sierra Madre.

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1. Nuclear Fusion

Many may not realize that we have in our hands the technology to create a completely self-sustaining continuous and limitless form of energy. The process basically involves recreating the forces of the sun and bringing them to a large underground Tokamak – basically a big, cylindrical tube surrounded my magnets – to isolate the energy of the reaction and drive that heat energy to turbines.

The joint European torus in the U.K.. This is the most efficient nuclear fusion reactor thus far, but ITER promises to be 10-15 times more efficient.

Fusion energy produces no greenhouse gases; any radioactive byproducts degrade from 50-100 years; and the danger of catastrophic meltdown with fallout – a very real threat with fission – is absent. But there are still limitations. The best performing Tokamak (the cylinder in which the reaction would occur) has only been able to get a ratio of 7/10ths, meaning that for every 7 units of energy that this reactor produces, another 10 need to be injected into the system. Obviously, the technology isn’t completely there, but with the promise of ITER, this ratio could be increased 30-fold. By 2030 or thereabouts, it’s estimated that we’ll have commercially viable fusion energy. Most importantly, the fuels that this energy depends upon are in ocean water.

2. Algael Biofuels

Certain strains of algae have a lipid content as high as 70-80%, which is hands-over-fist beyond the oils present in other forms of bioenergy. In fact, the yield of certain strains is about 5,000 to 20,000 gallons per acre, per year; this represents a 7 to 30-fold improvement over the next best crop (Chinese tallow – 700 gallons/acre/year).

Algae biodiesel (spirulina) pond.

Another rarely recognized truth of algae oil is that it would be grown on land that is generally considered ‘desolate’ and ‘infertile,’ largely because the algae would best thrive in open ponds in the desert. And most importantly, algae eats carbon monoxide like a pothead with the munchies. Therefore, any carbon dioxide produced by burning algae fuel could be circulated back to growing algae in the ponds, creating a near carbon-neutral footprint.

Of course, providing the large amount of water necessary to cultivate this algae is one challenge. It’s estimated that – in order to replace our entire oil consumption with algae fuel – we would need a land area about 1.3 times the size of Belgium.

3. Photovoltaic Cells (PVCs)

Back in the days, everyone gave PVCs a bad rap. But that was when the average cell only captured about 20% of the sun’s energy. Now, cells from Boeing’s Spectrolab Terrestrial Solar Cells can capture over 40% of the sun’s energy. At the same time, venture capital is flocking to solar as new techniques for capturing the sun’s energy are coming up, including ultra-thin films that can be applied to surfaces like a sticker — even a paint-on photovoltaic! The push in investment has made solar competitive with its dirty step-sister, coal in cost per Watt.

Efficiencies of different Photovoltaic Cells throughout history.

Despite all these great strides, the downsides are still present, including the fact that solar still produces negligible amounts of greenhouse gases (currently about twice the footprint of wind turbines), the high use of cadmium in solar power, and the high costs associated with production (which are only recently being cut).

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1. Did Lights Out! Work?

I am a child of Southern California. Though I feel more out of place there than anywhere else in the world, it is the place of my birth. As a child I remember the falling ashes and the smoke-engulfed sky. I remember the floods and the Rodney King riots, and the Northridge earthquake.

This past weekend, I was down in Ventura visiting family. It was a bright, clear day. We went into the theater to catch Across the Universe, the new movie inspired by the music of the Beatles. As we exited the corridors of the theater everything seemed darker and more orange in hue.

I walked outside and ashes were falling like snowflakes. Tiny bits of burnt mesquite and tumbleweed floated through the sky. It never snows in Ventura, so the experience was all the more surreal.

It was only after listening to the radio for a few minutes that I realized the gravity of the situation. I could guess how severe the problem would be. I knew the fires would burn and continue burning; the previous night the news had announced the arrival of the Santa Ana winds, whose zephyrs of hell blow Westward, defying all logic about the proverbial “ocean breeze.” Raymond Chandler in “Red Wind” describes the winds eloquently:

Those hot dry winds that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen.

The Santa Ana’s hot, spine-tingling breeze comes from the East due to high pressure systems in the deserts. It’s a common misconception that these winds are heated by the desert, but the majority of the warmth is a result of adiabatic heating — the effect of air dumping from high altitudes into low altitudes; the subsequent compression of air causes it to warm up and expel any humidity.By the time these winds reach the California lowland coast, they’re bone-dry and they make you feel as if you’re walking on the face of Mars. They’re also the ideal winds for fires — and as they reached record levels above 75 mph last weekend, one could only guess what would follow.

A 2002 satellite image showing wind patterns. The red markers indicate Santa Ana patterns (courtesy NASA).

As of now, two have died, 1,200 homes and business are destroyed, a historic castle is in ruins, and 300,000 acres look like a mercurial firescape at this moment.

It is a uniquely geographic weather anomaly with devastating results. Why do people live in these places? Why are the most desirable home sites often the most disastrous? I only mean to pose the question. I have no answers.

Further Reading:

BBC News: California Santa Ana Fires
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7058809.stm

Wikipedia on Santa Ana Winds
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_ana_winds

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