ORDER NOW -
Wherever Books Are Sold!Boomer Travel. Food. Laughter. Breaking the Empty Nest Rules!
enlarge video
The Chicago skyline boasts four of the six tallest buildings in America. The Willis Tower, better known as The Sears Tower, is the nation’s… CONTINUE READING >>
The Chicago skyline boasts four of the six tallest buildings in America. The Willis Tower, better known as The Sears Tower, is the nation’s highest skyscraper, joined by The Trump Tower at second, The Aon Center stands in fifth place and The John Hancock Center sixth. For more: https://www.gypsynester.com/chicago.htm
Visit our GypsyNester YouTube Channel!
From the moment we crossed on to Galveston Island, Texas, Glen Campbell’s voice was stuck in our heads. We didn’t even know the words past “Galveston, Oh Galveston,” but that didn’t stop the tape loop in our craniums. Once we found our campground and parked BAMF, we got to Googling and found a copy of the song to relieve our brains. Thank you “The Glen Campbell Good Time Hour” YouTube page!Jimmy Webb wrote the song during a visit to the island, conjuring up the story – a Spanish-American War soldier dreaming of his girl back home in Galveston – while sitting… CONTINUE READING >>
From the moment we crossed on to Galveston Island, Texas, Glen Campbell’s voice was stuck in our heads.
We didn’t even know the words past “Galveston, Oh Galveston,” but that didn’t stop the tape loop in our craniums.
Once we found our campground and parked BAMF, we got to Googling and found a copy of the song to relieve our brains. Thank you “The Glen Campbell Good Time Hour” YouTube page!
Jimmy Webb wrote the song during a visit to the island, conjuring up the story – a Spanish-American War soldier dreaming of his girl back home in Galveston – while sitting on the beach.
He chose that time period because of its importance in the city’s rich history. With the song still ringing in our ears, we mounted up on our trusty two-wheeled steeds and headed out for a first hand look at that history.
The story of a seafaring town begins at the harbor, so did we. A natural haven for ships, the port was first ruled by pirates.
After helping Andrew Jackson defend New Orleans in The War of 1812, pirate Jean Lafitte set up shop on Galveston Island. He declared himself the head of the government of his new pirate kingdom, Campeche. Arrrgh! That had to be a wild thing to behold.
In 1821, the United States Navy ran Lafitte off and the newly liberated Mexican government officially established The Port of Galveston. Mexican rule was short lived, as The Republic of Texas broke away in 1836 and used Galveston as their major naval base and briefly it was the capital of the republic.
When Texas joined the Union, the U.S. Navy took over this important strategic spot.
Throughout the 1800s Galveston grew to be one of America’s busiest ports. With all of this hustle and bustle, a booming town sprouted up.
The area near the harbor known as The Strand became the city’s main business center, so active it was known as the “Wall Street of the South.”
By the twentieth century prostitution and ignoring prohibition had given Galveston a new moniker, “Sin City of The Gulf,” and things were wild once again. The townsfolk seemed to embrace the misconduct, referring to their island as the “Free State of Galveston.”
The Strand is now one of Galveston’s six historic districts, and is the entertainment hub of the city. Bars, clubs, restaurants and, of course, the ever present crap shops make it more Bourbon Street than Wall Street, perhaps proving that wild is its natural state.
One big reason for the change in The Strand’s business focus was The 1900 Storm when Galveston was nearly destroyed. This hurricane was the deadliest in American history, a sad tally that holds to this day. Our next stop was the memorial for this disaster.
David Moore sculpted the ten foot tall bronze statue in memory of the over six thousand that perished. Titled “The Great Storm,” the monument was unveiled on the hurricane’s 100th anniversary in 2000.
From the memorial, we decided to check out the remaining damage from the most recent storm to batter the island, Hurricane Ike. Even though the day was foggy and cool, a ride along the beach is always high on our agenda.
We rode along the huge seawall that was built after the 1900 tragedy, so when Ike roared ashore in 2008 most of the damage was confined to beachside structures. The Flagship Hotel, which sat out over the water, still stands in ruins and many of Galveston’s famous piers are sadly gone forever, but most of the damage has been cleared or rebuilt.
The waterfront businesses tucked safely behind the seawall all seem to have come back, one in particular caught our eye. Salsas proudly advertised “WELCOME CHEERLEADERS BALL HIGH THURSDAY NIGHT.”
Not wanting to know what the sign was referring to, we declined the invitation. Bringing “Sin City of The Gulf” back, we suppose.
Our ride continued through the East End Historic District at the center of the island. There are several stalwart structures that have survived many a storm tucked away there, perhaps the most stunning being The Bishop’s Palace.
This ornate Victorian house, built in 1887, was originally known as Gresham’s Castle, after the first owner, Walter Gresham.
In 1923, the Catholic Diocese of Galveston bought the house, located next door to Sacred Heart Church, and used it as the bishop’s residence. The Galveston Historical Foundation provides guided tours on weekends, but we made due with peeking in the windows
A much less famous home in the district tickled us more than any million dollar mansion could. Attached to a three pawed wooden dog out front, a sign had been erected: “Reward $50 For Dog’s Paw / $500 For Hand of Thief.”
Wanting to be a part of justice, Texas style, we kept an eye peeled for a wooden paw, or better yet, the thief of the wooden paw the rest of the way.
David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com
enlarge video
Perhaps the coolest thing about Mustang Island is the swarms… CONTINUE READING >>
Perhaps the coolest thing about Mustang Island is the hard packed beaches. The sand is so solid that we could ride our bikes right along the water’s edge, actually in the water sometimes. A good part of the island is state park, so the shoreline is undeveloped and free from tourist traps. It was great! We rode for miles, dodging the washed up jellyfish and swarms of seagulls.
For more: https://www.gypsynester.com/of.htm
Visit our GypsyNester YouTube Channel!
Join us in Vermont in the wintertime – quaint and lovely. We survived skiing – all limbs intact – ate at two diverse eateries and stayed at a charming lodge.The quaintness factor continued to increase the entire trip. So much so that when we turned off the main road in Vermont we were immediately greeted by a picture perfect covered bridge over a snowy stream… CONTINUE READING >>
Most years we manage to miss winter altogether. Since we are up north this season, we decided to make the best of it.
Christmas time in New York and some quality time with the offspring. Because we had heard it’s such an NYC thing to do, a quick getaway trip to the mountains in Vermont sounded like a fine idea. Something romantic for our anniversary.
Going north on the Old Merritt Parkway out of the city Veronica noticed that as we crossed from New York to Connecticut, officially into New England, things instantly turned quaint.
The quaintness factor continued to increase the entire trip.
So much so that when we turned off the main road in Vermont, just past a “Moose Crossing” sign (Veronica immediately began muttering about how moose don’t really exist), we were greeted by a picture perfect covered bridge over a snowy stream.
Vermont is famous for these bridges, having more covered bridges per square mile than any other place on Earth. This was the Hall Bridge, also known as Osgood Bridge of Bellows Falls.
Turns out that this “historic” bridge is really a reconstruction, since back in 1980 some doofus with a thirty ton load of rocks tried to drive over the century old original and ended up in the middle of Saxtons River.
Two years later this replica was built to the exact details of the original, right down to having a team of oxen move it into place. Vermonters are serious about their covered bridges.
Got us to wondering, why are the bridges covered? Well, it seems that an exposed wooden bridge will succumb to the harsh Vermont elements in about ten years, but if it is covered, the structural beams are protected and the lifespan is increased eight to ten times. Plus, they look quaint.
Speaking of quaint, a few miles further up State Route 121 the pavement abruptly ended. Google maps didn’t bother to mention this little detail and, call us wacky, we generally don’t expect state highways to be dirt.
That’s a bit too quaint for our liking.
The pavement reappeared and we arrived safely at our destination of Manchester, Vermont, a burg of about four thousand folks that dates clear back to 1761. One might use a certain “Q” word to describe this village tucked away in a Green Mountain valley, but let’s go with charming instead.
At the Olympia Lodge, “The motel that feels like an inn,” our innkeeper Trish checked us in and gave us the scoop on the area.
In the course of our chatting she told us how she had come up here a few years ago to escape Brooklyn with her husband and three kids.
Now they are living the Vermont lifestyle with a real GypsyNester spirit, even though their kids aren’t yet grown.
Once we had settled in we decided to check out the town. This is a year-round resort area.
Hiking, fishing and camping in the summer, spectacular foliage in autumn and snow skiing in the winter months. Shops, restaurants and inns cater to all of these events.
Manchester has also become a bit of a shopper’s Mecca with outlets stores popping up all over. Sort of like high end crap shops.
Instead of jackalopes and cedar outhouses they have Brooks Brothers and Kate Spade. Not our cup of tea, but our exploratory tour did reveal a very interesting choice for the evening’s repast, the Ye Olde Tavern. When Trish back at the lodge also highly recommended it, our plans were set.
Built in 1790, the Ye Olde Tavern really is old, with or without the “e.” Originally as The Stagecoach Inn, then as Lockwood’s, Thayer’s and finally The Fairview Hotel, the building accommodated tired and thirsty Vermonters until closing down in 1904 due to losing its license to sell “spirituous beverages.”
When electricity made it to these parts in 1924, the olde inn was renovated and reopened as a hotel and antique shop. Another extensive restoration took place in 1975, and it became the Ye Olde Tavern.
Obvious care has been given to retaining the original look and feel of the colonial structure with antique furnishings, a blazing hearth and wavy window panes.
The doorways and floorboards slant in wonderful, uneven chaos from centuries of settling. Some people might even use a certain word to describe it, but we’ll go with historic.
When a gentle snowfall began it seemed like the icing on the cake for this magical evening. Well almost, it was our anniversary so some real cake was called for.
What better way to have our cake (but not to eat it too) than flaming? So to top off our venison and Yankee Pot Roast we ordered up the Mocha Chocolate Bombe.
Ah yes, cocoa flavored cake, mocha crème and Belgium chocolate ganache doused with Gran Marnier and set ablaze. Happy anniversary baby, got you on my mi-hind! OK, OK, we won’t sing.
The next day we hit the slopes at the nearby Bromley ski area. The previous night’s blanket of snow made for nearly perfect conditions.
We noticed a curious thing while riding up on the lift – some sort of tubes going down the mountain. They looked like water slides, only much more insane.
Turns out Bromley is also a year-round playground. In the summer it becomes Sun Mountain Adventure Park.
The tubes are The Alpine Slide, the only triple, and one of the longest cart slides in the world. Maniacs actually ride tiny carts down these tubes.
There is also a water slide, Vermont’s biggest of course, and if neither of these are crazy enough, there’s The Sun Mountain Flyer. A 2,400 foot zip line flying through the forest. Makes skiing seem downright safe to us.
Schussing concluded, all limbs intact, we stumbled upon someone’s great idea, a soup shack right outside the parking lot of the ski area.
Smokin’ Bowls features organic home-made soup served up in Mason jars, the perfect warm up after a day on the slopes. To die for. David had the chowder and Veronica happily sipped on tomato parmesan bisque.
On our way back down to The Big Apple, via paved roads this time, we drove through several picturesque mountain hamlets and passed a couple more covered bridges. Quai… OK, I won’t go there.
We also saw a few more “Moose Crossing” signs which really got Veronica going. She has now been to any number of places that claim to have moose running rampant, but has yet to see hide nor hair of Bullwinkle.
Whenever she asks the locals about the creatures, they try to explain that moose are shy, or only come out early in the morning, or it’s the wrong time of year or any number of other excuses which she has now dubbed “moose-cuses.”
Personally, I’ve seen moose, but only in Alaska, so I do have to wonder… maybe they put up these signs just for the tourists.
Maybe they think they’re quaint.
David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com
We spotted pig-like animals in the brush. The fabled Javelina. We even spotted a baby trying to nurse! A New World Pig sometimes known as a Musk Hog, which is really not a pig at all, but a Collared Peccary. For more: https://www.gypsynester.com/mf.htm
Visit our GypsyNester YouTube Channel!
I must confess I have anxiety concerning this GypsyNesting stuff. I have strong ideas about the way I want to live my life, but by nature I’m not exactly the bravest person around. I’m a bit of a worrier. Okay, a lot of a worrier. It doesn’t help that half of our family and friends think that this whole GypsyNesting thing is quite mad.In order to alleviate my fears, I decided to take a self defense course to fight the urge to cop out and just “grow old gracefully.” I wanted to be able to protect myself in that dark alley that was… CONTINUE READING >>
I must confess I have anxiety concerning this GypsyNesting stuff. I have strong ideas about the way I want to live my life, but by nature I’m not exactly the bravest person around. I’m a bit of a worrier.
Okay, a lot of a worrier. It doesn’t help that half of our family and friends think that this whole GypsyNesting thing is quite mad.
In order to alleviate my fears, I decided to take a self defense course to fight the urge to cop out and just “grow old gracefully.” I wanted to be able to protect myself in that dark alley that was setting up roadblocks in my mind. I saw huge growth potential there.
My friend Kate was on board with me, which was great, because when Kate gets on board about something she gets balls-out on board. A close call in a dimly lit parking lot last summer gave her more incentive. Her husband, a karate guy, knew of a class at his gym, so she signed us up.
I didn’t think that I would need to go so far as to order protective gear for this class, but I decided to check it out just in case.
Our instructor was Alda – beautiful, slight, middle-aged. My first reaction was “gimme a break with this women – even I could kick her butt.” We started off with some breathing exercises and Alda told us that the first line of defense for any women is to run away.
This made perfect sense to me — by nature I’m not a hitter, I’m a runner. We worked on body awareness, muscle memory and strengthening exercises. We talked about trusting our instincts and keeping our cool. This was good, this was very “me.” I found myself comfortable with it.
But this Alda chick was a wily one – as the classes progressed I learned some surprising (and slightly disturbing) things about myself. After throwing Kate to the mat in a rape-simulating maneuver, I found myself looking down at her in stunned confusion. Prior to this exercise, Alda had told us to use the momentum of the maneuver to spring to our feet and then run like crazy.
This was not what my adrenaline-charged brain and body want to do at all. All I wanted to do was rush at my fictitious rapist and kick him in the face. How DARE he treat me like a victim! Luckily for Kate, I absolutely adore her and I ultimately decided that kicking her in the face was not the nicest thing to do. I have manners, after all.
Being the card-carrying, militant pacifist (wimp) that I am, it was a total shock that I can have such a violent reaction to a circumstance that would normally turn me into a puddle of melted Jello. This was not the growth I expected. Honestly, I didn’t know I had it in me. It rocks, actually.
More importantly, in terms of growth, I am more confident about trying new things, being in new environments and stepping outside of my comfort zone. These are the gifts I most prize from the experience. And I don’t need to be afraid to kick a little butt if I need to.
But Kate may want to reconsider having me as a sparring partner.
Veronica, GypsyNester.com
This post may contain sponsored links.
Crossing the muddy Mississippi into southeastern Missouri, we were getting mighty hungry. When we saw the sign proclaiming “The Only Home of Throwed Rolls,” we knew this was the place to strap on the feedbag.Lambert’s Cafe has been serving up home cooked meals to the fine folks of Sikeston since 1942. Legend has it that on an particularly busy day back in 1976, ole Norman Lambert couldn’t get rolls to his customers in his usual fashion, walkin’ ‘em around the restaurant. Fed up, an ornery customer yelled out
“Just throw the damn… CONTINUE READING >>
Crossing the muddy Mississippi into southeastern Missouri, we were getting mighty hungry.
When we saw the sign proclaiming The Only Home of Throwed Rolls, we knew this was the place to strap on the feedbag.
Lamberts Cafe has been serving up home cooked meals to the fine folks of Sikeston since 1942.
Legend has it that on an particularly busy day back in 1976, ole Norman Lambert couldnt get rolls to his customers in his usual fashion, walkin em around the restaurant.
Fed up, an ornery customer yelled out Just throw the damn thing! The only home of the Throwed Rolls was born.
At midday on Friday, the joint was jumpin. Just as we sat down, a guy came round with a Jethro bowl full of fried okra and a big ole spoon.
We declined his offer, noting our lack of plates. He simply pointed to a roll of brown paper towels on the table and said, Youve got your paper plate right there.
How could we to argue with that? The hot, sizzling delicious balls of gooey goodness crackled between our teeth.
The okra is just one of the many pass arounds carried though the room in massive silver bowls and offered in addition to the already substantial sides included in the meals. Macaroni & tomatoes, black-eyed peas and Ole Norms fried potatoes are all served up while hot rolls are flying overhead.
When the call Hot rolls, anyone want a hot roll? rang out, the slightest signals sent fresh piping chunks of baked dough soaring across the room.
Right behind them was a fella with a bucket of sorghum molasses. Adding to the mood were the piano stylings of Geneva Bolen.
Her stream of consciousness ragtime versions of old standards and modern favorites helped make the whole scene seem rather madcap and silent movie-y.
We asked our waitress if there were special credentials required to become a Roll Thrower. She said that there werent any — she took a crack at it her ownself a couple times — but was obliged to quit after she beaned an old guy in the forehead.
Soon after our conversation, David was unsuspectingly clipped by a soft, yeasty missile. We figured it happens a lot.
This nonstop show had all taken place before wed even placed our order. The menu is as down home as the whole feel of the establishment, and being in the Boothill of Missouri, David felt compelled to order the hog jowl.
Veronica opted for the four vegetable plate and was tickled that somewhere between Wisconsin and Sikeston cottage cheese had become a vegetable.
Hog jowl is exactly what it sounds like, sliced jowl of hog. Its a lot like bacon and who doesnt like bacon?
However, it looked like at least four pigs gave up their cheeks to make the pile of cured pork heaped onto this plate.
David did his best but there was still plenty left over for at least two days breakfast even after he ate over half of it. He noted if I ate all that, Id of throwed up.
The vegetables were cooked in the southern tradition — long and hard — but very tasty. Some part of the pig was included in most of the veggies and Veronica was sad that her white beans were more ham than legumes.
This, apparently, was not the place for kosher eating.
Beverages, all non-alcoholic, are served in mugs and glasses that rival the town water tower in their ability to hold liquid.
Refills are included and the bathroom is by the front door.
Be sure to bring your folding green cuz they dont take credit cards at the only home of the Throwed Rolls.
Toward the end of the meal the okra fella came around again, pimping his wares. Taking one look at Veronicas face he proclaimed her full as a tick on a dogs back.
We reckoned he was right.
David & Veronica, GypsyNester.com