ALEXANDRIA, Virginia

Old Town Alexandria is one of those places I go just often enough to sort of know my way around and wind my way to the same haunts. It brings back snippets of memory from High School through Grandmotherdom. I can time-travel while I sit on the top floor of The Fish Market on King Street and peel my spiced shrimp or wander the concrete floors of art galleries at the Torpedo Factory. Alexandria is small enough to delve in for a day and catch the full flavor. We stayed two nights on our drive north from Wilmington. En route, I exited for a gas-station rest-stop that turned out to be two-miles out. So we followed the signs for the Potomac Winery, thinking it would make for a quicker stop. Wrong! We forged up a windy road with no restroom options and realized we may as well stay the course rather than backtrack. It turned out to be a great place to refresh and stretch our little legs. When we reached Alexandria we were delighted to find ourselves in a 10th floor room with a view of the Potomac (another Priceline success story!) and a river-front-park-walk-away from the heart of Old Town.

I'd anticipated driving into D.C. but decided to give the car a 36-hour rest and our only form of transportation was the round-trip Trolley ride, where Elliott befriended football fans from Idaho and the Matthew Henry ferry-ride over to Georgetown, where Elliott befriended more football fans from Idaho. We meandered along the canal just long enough for Elliott to drop his sandal in, and for Gaga to rustle up a stick and fetch it out. Elliott didn't complain about wearing a wet shoe through dinner at the mainstay Vietnam Georgetown Restaurant on M Street. The food was so good, I wouldn't have noticed if I'd been the one in the wet shoe! We made it back to the dazzling and bustling waterfront just in time to board our boat for a sightseeing tour of the monuments-by-night that I recommend you not miss on a trip to D.C.

NEW ORLEANS, Louisiana

If you like music and booze with a backdrop of history steeped in slavery and voodoo, I can't imagine anyplace you'd like better than New Orleans. I tagged along on Shelaine's trip to see Auntie Kylee in her new digs. Our first stop was the Rock*Art*Circus, an eclectic affair at The Big Top where we had immediate immersion in local culture. The six days that followed involved several trips to the French Quarter, an easy bus (or bicycle) ride, a long walk through Audubon Park, a drive across to West Bank which is more utilitarian than scenic, scenic drives through the Garden District, a bonfire in MidCity and a tour of the Lower 9th Ward (or Lower 9-11 as referred to by Zoe). The day we arrived, Hurricane Ida was heading our way and New Orleans is a bit sensitive to hurricane threats so by Monday schools were closed and the concert Shelaine had hoped to see was cancelled. By Tuesday Ida was downgraded to a Tropical Storm and we barely had a few raindrops. Every conversation and encounter was punctuated with pre- and post-Katrina references. In the French Quarter and the Garden District there's little evidence remaining of storm damage but the year and a half disruption of lives and livelihoods makes a more compelling impression. Not to mention the shattered lives of those who no longer have a story to tell or a place to come home to. In brief below, selected snapshots of our week in The Big Easy.


Music and dancing on a Sunday afternoon in Jackson Square.
New Orleans version of "street meat."
At the Half Moon watching the Saints Game with barking dogs.
Audubon Park.


At "The Fly" along the Mississipi with clouds from Hurricane, then Tropical Storm Ida lurking.

Tree telling us all the juicy details. (And Tanya gave us a tour of the art galleries on Julia Street.)
The Tinmen at d.b.a.
Pontalba apartments built in 1850's flanking Jackson Square by the colorful Baroness Michaela Pontalba. The oldest apartment buildings in the U.S.
Voodoo museum.
Free ferry across the Mississippi to Algiers.
Miniature house in Algiers.

FAIRBANKS, Alaska (and more of DENALI)

Headed North to Fairbanks after stopping in for our second round of halibut and chips at the Denali Visitors Center's Marino Grill. We tried it our first day and weren't leaving Denali without having another helping. We planned a stop in Healy for gas, one of the two towns between Denali and Fairbanks. The town consisted of two gas stations (one with groceries) and no sign of anything else. We glanced up the turnoff to the Stampede Trail, made famous by Jon Krakauer's account of Chris McCandless's fateful summer living and dying in the abandoned bus that's become a pilgrimage for career wanderers, and continued North.

We didn't spend enough time to give Fairbanks a fair reading but on first blush it's your average sprawl U.S. town. A Princess cruise bus dropped off a load just as we arrived at the Chena River waterfront. They took their photos and were back on the bus within 15 minutes. Our perusal lasted longer only because I was in search of a restroom. We considered visiting the Ice Museum but the attendant left a "be right back" note on the door so we moved on. The tourism board may be pushing for a polishing as a new welcome center (not actually on any of the Fairbanks maps) is complete with a just-opened museum-quality exhibit of traditional Alaskan life through the changing seasons.

Fairbanks was so unpicturesque that I only came up with three photos to share. But don't despair, we spent the morning in Denali so take a walk back with us to the dog kennels. During the winter the park is patrolled by dogsled teams. The Alaska huskies take the summer off, cutting their daily food intake by half and do a little moonlighting showing visitors their amazing skills. After the park ranger gave us a little intro, barking mayhem commenced as every dog vied for a spot on the team. Once harnessed, off they bolted like Olympic sprinters. Invigorating to watch, and I imagine like a roller coaster to ride.

We took the Rock Creek trail 2.8 miles mostly uphill back to the visitors center and encountered the Alaska state bird, a ptarmigan, midway. With the "don't approach the wildlife" warning in mind, we watched from 8 feet for 10 minutes until she wandered into the woods. Our climb was rewarded with mountain and valley vistas that literally stopped us in our tracks, until the thought of that halibut nudged us forward.

After our brief rest in Fairbanks we pushed on another 60 miles to the Chena Hot Springs Resort (more on that in my next post). The "Dog Team Crossing" and shooting range signs with the backdrop of meandering moose along the way reminded us we'd reached "the last frontier."