Encounters

Nashville: Sentiments expressed, not exploited

The bright lights of Broadway, but far from Manhattan.

I am not a country music fan, but the recent death of Earl Scruggs got my attention. It happened mere hours after my arrival in Nashville, where the 88-year-old banjo boy had long lived.

The next day, a bouquet of white flowers and guest book for condolences sat next to the musician’s plaque at the Country Music Hall of Fame, a simple room that enshrines 118 key people in the business. Earl and bluegrass partner Lester Flatt were added in 1985.

At the Grand Ole Opry, days later, musicians still were respectfully dedicating performances to Earl and his cunning, three-finger pickin’ style. That included Sam Bush, whose Newgrass style of mandolin music is a reincarnation of the elder musician’s work.

Eco camp quarters at Torres del Paine National Park.

I learn fast and early that the wind is in charge. It arrives rudely, in the middle of the night, thrashing and tugging at the sides of my tent. The only logical option is to sink deeper into a nest of fleece sheets and heavy blankets of wool.

The howling seems unending, but the tent stays steady and the gusts eventually disappear as abruptly as they hit. How fierce is the wind? My guide will shrug away the question during breakfast. This was a summer breeze compared to the 130 mph squalls that have been documented here.

“Nature is outside, knocking at the door,” is how he explains it.

I am in Patagonia, the southernmost part of South America, and the surprises have only begun. I expect the wind but not its multiple moods. Clothing is layered but I wish for more zippers to react quickly – and repeatedly – to sudden changes in wind velocity and precipitation.

One glimpse of life in Chiba.

After being immersed in another culture, it is impossible and important to not let go of it completely.

Long after returning from my first trip to Japan, I can recall the smooth custard of shark fin soup … the surprising crunch of jellyfish … tempura at room temperature … the swirl of thick, green tea.

Even back in my own bed, I dream of train rides with sumo wrestlers … a garden filled with perfect roses … beginning a Japanese massage at midnight.

While paging through a photo album, I recollect the kindness of strangers … the beauty and challenges of diversity … the universal need to shop, worship, grieve, laugh.

Beomeosa Temple, near Busan.

It’s a chilly Friday night, and our host stokes the conversation with this:

“Are you happy?” he asks, through a translator. “How many of you are happy?”

Sure, it’s a trick question, but a few of us raise our hands anyway.

He looks, nods and prods. “What is it that makes you happy?”

A loving family, one of us decides. Good health, says another. My contribution is “I’m happy because I have what I need.”

Another nod, then this challenge: “What if you lose what makes you happy? You are happy because your desires — food, worth, success, sleep, making love — are filled.” Lose what you cherish, and you’ll be one sloppy sack of sadness (my words, not his.)

Pondering the last day of JFK, Sixth Floor Museum.

It’s almost dusk on a Tuesday in April, too late in the day for school field trips, too far from the weekend for an influx of tourists. I’m poking around downtown Dallas, and it’s quiet but not empty.

My escort already has swatted away a couple of guys who want to educate me for a fee. Everybody here seems to know the story, the details. I want to hear it all, and these word peddlers can smell it.

Little groups, huddled, have leaders who point, inflect and use diagrams. There is rapt attention, a hanging onto every word, no matter how obvious or suspect.

It is one thing to say that you remember where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated – or, OK, that you know where your mom was.

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Encounters

Nashville: Sentiments expressed, not exploited

Patagonia: Journey toward the end of the Earth

Building a sisterhood through sister-state connections

Korea’s Templestay: sampling the bumpy road to nirvana

Decades later, Dallas JFK attractions hit a nerve

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