Ahh, grand Yosemite! I can tell you one thing–the Sierras confirm over and over for me John Muir’s saying, “The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”
Also, Yosemite during Thanksgiving was even better than Yosemite during Memorial Day Weekend. The same awesome and familiar granite friends and snow melt greeted me. Though less water made for less robust waterfalls, the late season meant less people, and surprisingly, better weather. 
On my previous trip I was awed by the valley’s grandeur and charmed by the toxic California newts that crawled about Hetch Hethchy by the thousands, but the snow and rain had put a damper on the camping.
Just a couple days before Thanksgiving this year we spontaneously decided to Amtrak it. Yes, that’s a verb, I just made it up–like BART it, or google it.
Why hadn’t we taking Amtrak before? I’d taken it across country twice, but not specifically to get to a national park. If I would have known how cheap and easy it was I would have made it over to Yosemite several times by now. Since we don’t own a car, we saved money by not having to rent one, and saved the hassle of driving by jumping on the train from Emeryville to Merced.
Only 3 hours. With a table, views, and wine.
From there it is about an hour and half via the timed bus (YARTS) to the park. Because it was winter and because the lodge rooms (which I don’t have a desire to stay at anyway) and heated cabin tents were all reserved, we got a good deal at Cedar Lodge just outside the park.
From there we could catch the shuttle in and out of the park. Once we missed the bus and decided to hitch-hike into the park (that is, I cajoled Claudia into it with promises that nothing “SAW-like” would occur). After dozens of regular American citizens (trained to have either a fear of strangers or precious too attachment to personal car space) passed us by, a nice British couple picked us up. They were sight-seeing around California and Nevada and were on their way back to Las Vegas to catch their flight.
Because the free park shuttle stays in the valley, we weren’t able to get up into other higher elevations this time. We had been to Hetch Hetchy (San Francisco’s water source) and Tioga Road was closed again due to snow. It gave us a chance to explore in detail most parts of the valley on moderate hikes with beautiful weather. We even made time for an afternoon nap along the Merced river.
I’m really chomping at the bit to get to Toulumne. Meadows. Next time for me though it’s going to be a backpacking trip as part of a John Muir Trail Trek (JMT) next June.
There’s nothing quite so serene as a Thanksgiving dinner of sandwiches, carrots, and hummus under Yosemite Falls with a rainbow for desert. My boulder-hopping to get to the giant crevice towards the top of lower Yosemite falls was exhilarating, though it exacerbated my rib pain that I had incurred the previous weekend at the Oakland Cafe Tacuba show when I made the unwise decision to join the mosh pit–I got pummelled.
No major animal sightings this Thanksgiving–but plenty of black-tail deer, hawks, grosbeaks, Stellar’s jays, and white-headed woodpeckers.
And I think I might have caught a glimpse of the ghost of John Muir and natives past.
More photos on My Picasa Web.
Visit Yosemite’s Live Web Cam.
One of the most memorable experiences of my life was visiting the Gandhi Memorial in Delhi, India, the site of his assassination. Not the least of the site’s salience was its deep serenity, amidst a city and country that seemed to me at the time riven with conflict and chaos. But of course it was much more than that. Gandhi has been an incalculable influence on me, though I still struggle to understand him and don’t agree with him on all points. I have read him. I have taught him. The film Gandhi is still in my top five list. I have attempted to embody and practice some of his ideals and strategies, mostly falling absurdly short.
In honor of his birthday this week I reflect on that moment:
One solemn foot in front of the other, I follow the marked stone prints of a man who seems larger-than-life. Gandhi walked this path in his daily meditation rounds. I imagine him sitting peacefully in his simple robes spinning his famous wheel in the adjacent room where he spent his final months. A bus load of Indian school children are unloading and I imagine them struggling to understand Bapu, the father of their nation. I too want to somehow understand the man better. Continuing forward, the footprints stop abruptly in the middle of the yard. A marble stone column inscribed in Hindi marks the exact spot.
Three bullets.
A blood-soaked dhoti.
A fallen saint.
I’ve made it to the Semi-Final Round for Trazzler’s NYCGO contest!!
You’ve been hiking volcanoes, surviving steep mountain curves on chicken buses, and processing the concentrated poverty surrounding the city’s landfills in a country still healing from decades of war. After traveling for hours by primitive roads watching the clouds of dawn dancing in valleys of lush green mountains, you finally arrive at Semuc Champey. The tranquil, turquoise pools and waterfalls here have everything you need to do nothing. The multiple-layered pools flow gently with clear mountain water, while the Cahabon River rushes underneath. Orange butterflies swirl, birds swoop, and people laze. Hike the trails above to get a panoramic view of the dazzling pozas, but you will mostly find yourself lounging around on the edge of the water. If you have monkey bones you might jump off the side of the cliffs. But be forewarned: if you stay too long, you will begin to wonder if another world even exists outside this oasis in the land of the quetzal.
It’s more than a 100-foot drop into a deep pool ringed by mossy boulders wet from mist being blown off the falls. The thunderous sound of the waterfall pounds the ears, while fine mist gently soaks your clothes. Just outside of Palenque, Misol-Ha is a waterfall-lovers love affair. If you want a mini-adventure and can’t resist the urge (since you’ll already be soaked with sweat from jungle heat), venture across the slippery rocks into the chilly, but refreshing water. All of your strength is required to push your humble human body under the massive downpour. The sound roars, the pulse quickens, adrenaline surges. The cascade hits you like the weight of centuries without regard to your tiny existence, pushing you under like a cork hit by an ocean-liner. Close your eyes and allow this primordial font to baptize you.
Visit my original travel blog: Chiapas 1: Welcome to the Jungle
If the colorful Mission District is the epicenter of murals in San Francisco, then Balmy Alley is the concentrated core of that epicenter. Painted on concrete walls, garage doors, and wood fences, the murals of Balmy Alley will inspire and educate. One beautifully haunting mural called “Un pasado que aun vive” (A past that still lives) depicts El Salvador, including scenes of a flowing river of blood and a woman holding a child and reading a letter from her distant husband. Another mural takes on local gentrification—a recurrent issue in the Mission District—depicting condos as a giant Transformer-like machine stomping through the neighborhood. And just to throw a random flavor into the cultural mix, the last mural on the left is a depiction of Manjushri, a Buddhist figure representing wisdom, dedicated to the Dalai Lama.
5:30 am. Sukhumvit area of Bangkok. It is still dark and you decide to take an early stroll down to Lumpini Park, Bangkok’s green zone of leisure in the midst of this giant Mexico City of South East Asia. You haunt the streets virtually alone except for a few women dressed in high-heels and mini-skirts out finishing a night’s work and the ochre-robed monks just beginning their begging rounds. Soon early commuters arrive, sharply-dressed and walking briskly or racing on motorbikes. Arriving at the park you see it is already hopping with people doing martial arts and tai-chi, badminton and jogging. Some are wielding swords, practicing thrusts and jabs. One man is selling snake blood and bile. Snaking canals, landscaped flower beds, elephant shrubs, and gorgeous lotus ponds surround you as you stretch and greet the beautiful day.
The soft sand squishes between my toes, as I carefully avoid the dark clumps of washed-up green sea plants. It feels particularly refreshing after the 1.9 mile hike in on the Laguna trail to Coast Camp along Point Reyes National Seashore. I came here for a friend’s wedding and camping celebration. Seeking solitude and reflection on Santa Maria beach I found a friend in the form of a pinniped sunning himself, who was gracious enough to allow me to hang with it for an hour. This stretch of beach has is one of the quietest, cleanest, and most alluring beaches in the greater Bay Area. On one side, towering bluffs and carved rock formations. On the other side, the wide ocean view with the heads of other sea lions bobbing playfully.
These kids spontaneously put leaves on their heads as Geraldine and I walked by. San Pedro la Laguna (on Lago de Atitlan), Guatemala.
I am intoducing another new Travelin’ Bones feature: The Travel Smile. I will regularly throw a Travelin’ Smile up here and on my Travelero twitter. The Travel Smile will usually be a photo of someone I met on my travels who is smiling or it could simply be a photo that make me (and hopefully others) smile.
My friends are enjoying the music and outdoors up north, but I didn’t make it to the High Sierra Music Festival this weekend like I wanted to. 
I did get as far as Dolores Park for the premiere of the awesome SF Mime Troupes. But I will be going to Power to the Peaceful in September, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass in October, and perhaps Outside Lands next month. I’ve often wondered about the effects of 10,000s of people showing up to the same place at the same time to hang out for several days. This summer perhaps millions will be visiting music festivals, drinking beer (or in my case tequila) and enjoying live shows. And of course also burning lots of fuel to get there, leaving lots of wrappers and food waste, and perhaps drinking out of lots of plastic bottles. What is the environmental impact? What are ways in which the impact is being mitigated? I looked into a handful of festivals to see and wrote about it in my article “U.S. Summer Music Festivals Gone Green” on Matador Nights.
Today I am launching (sounds pretty official, right?) a new Travelin’ Bones feature: The Travel Bone. I will regularly throw a Travel Bone to you here and on my Travelero twitter page. The Travel Bone will be a cool (or not) travel stat, factoid, or brief destination profile regarding travel and world cultures.
Travel Bone #1: What is the largest pyramid in the world?
Nope, it’s not the one you might be thinking of. The Great Pyramid of Cholula in Mexico is the largest.
The Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt is taller, but the pyramid at Cholula is much larger at the base and in total volume. I visited Cholula in the state of Puebla during my 2-month journey through Mexico in 2006. 
The pyramid, which was started around the 2nd century BCE and not finished until the 15th century, is 1,476 feet long on each side of the base and approximately 217 feet high.
The pyramid was dedicated to the god Quetzalcoatl and is now covered with grass and trees. A giant yellow Catholic Cathedral called Nuestra Señora de los Remedios sits somewhat incongruously at the top.
Because of this, it doesn’t strike the visitor quite the way the Egyptian 
pyramids do, but it is quiet impressive nonetheless. And because of my rare condition–I call it claustrophilia (I love dark, narrow confines)–I enjoyed exploring some of the 5 miles of narrow tunnel pathways beneath it.
Yes, I admit it: I love cavernous spaces in the hollow of the earth. I revel in that sensation of the silent heavy weight of the earth surrounding me, the slightly damp stone walls, the ancient musty smell! For a few minutes I had complete silence, an escape from the ongoing raucous cacophony that typifies Mexican cities. I took a moment to relish being in the bowels of one the greatest architectural achievements of the Americas–indeed, of the world.
