"I'll take Manhattan . . . " Observations of a Miniature City

New York City is actually a conglomeration of five “boroughs” that collectively make up the urban landscape: Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and the Bronx. Over the years the residents of each borough have identified their own as the most desirable and semi-seriously denigrated the amenities of the other four. One thing every New Yorker can agree on, though, is that Manhattan is the most expensive and lively of the five, with its skyscrapers, Broadway theater area, financial district and, of course, beautiful Central Park.

Bisbee, too, is a city made up of five boroughs: Old Bisbee, Lowell, Warren, San Jose, and Naco. Technically, Naco is a separate town, but it comes down at the end of the long, drawn out sprawl that starts at the top of the Mule Mountain Pass, flows past the giant Lavender Pit, and down to the border with Mexico. We live in Old Bisbee, the Manhattan of this miniature Gotham, where the major commercial development occurred in the early twentieth century and peaked around the 1920s.

This is the main tourist draw, with the colorful storefronts and a winding main street. Jewelry stores, art studios, antique shops, and other businesses are positioned between restaurants and bars, all of which spring to life on the weekends when the tourists plan their visits. We will in future posts elaborate on how this section of the town strikes us.

Lowell is Staten Island, a strange isolated single street of mostly abandoned businesses just on the other side of the Pit. It is mostly owned by one person, and its most famous destination is the Bisbee Breakfast Club.

Next comes Warren, the Brooklyn section of Bisbee where most working people live and the location of a vintage baseball park, a lumber/hardware store, the Dairy Queen, and the little Copper Queen Hospital which advertises it is certified “stroke ready.” (I hope I never have to test that boast.)

San Jose is the Queens section, a sprawling area of older homes interspersed with a couple of small strip malls, a fairly modern Safeway store, and the Ace Hardware franchise.

The Bronx, which has a reputation of being somewhat rough among New Yorkers, finds its parallel with Naco, a small community that straddles the border and looks like the gateway to a concentration camp thanks to the razor-wire decorations mandated by our insane president.

New Beginnings

This blog originally began as a record of our trips to Australia, but I quickly added other countries as we had the opportunity to visit them during my career at Montana State University. Now the direction of these entries will change again as I attempt to describe our retirement and decision to move from Bozeman to Bisbee, Arizona.

I have been unemployed since February 28, my last day as the University Archivist for MSU. I spent the waning hours of my last day at a local pub where I was joined by my co-workers Gary and Heather, friends, and well wishers. It was a delightful exit from my job.

My withdrawal from academic life coincided with some of the worst winter weather we have had the misfortune to endure during our near twenty-five year residence in Montana. From what we have heard, it was bad in Arizona, too, but I spent the first few days of my retirement scarcely leaving our little Bozeman cottage as the snow piled up more than three feet. Since we had put the cottage on the market, we were extremely worried about roof collapses and massive ice dams that would lead to water damage to the inside walls. This meant getting up on the roof with snow shovel in hand to risk life and limb to protect property.

If the weather made our decision to leave easier, the kind and loving gestures of our good friends during our last days in Bozeman made us question our resolution to relocate. We were the guests of so many farewell dinners and get-togethers that I shall not attempt to list everyone, lest anyone be accidentally omitted. Suffice to say the many farewells we were offered were heartfelt and appreciated, and a few photographs illustrate the many festivities.

We rented a truck with an automobile trailer on March 22 and began our drive south. Aside from a little rain in Salt Lake City the drive was uneventful, primarily because we had planned on driving through the Utah megalopolis on Sunday morning to avoid the worst of that area’s notorious traffic jams. We arrived in Bisbee on March 25 and immediately took residence, unloading the truck the following day with the help of local hired labor. Now we slowly unpack and plan for the future, which will include periodic updates on this blog. Stay tuned!

Long May His Story Be Told

Our final days in Oz have been spent with our friends Blanca and Philip at their comfortable Rockdale home, not far from the airport where we will depart tomorrow morning. They have been so kind to us, and Blanca's cooking skills have been very much on display for the past two nights. Home made corn tortillas, chicken mole, and Philip's delicious breakfast biscuits have been our lot; the best you can imagine!

Today I went to the library of New South Wales to view some Australian published Wyatt Earp comic books from the 1950s. It was quite an experience, having my trail in pursuit of the Frontier Marshal take me all the way to the southern hemisphere, but it was worth it. The staff allowed me to photograph as many pages as I wanted, and they were efficient in retrieving the material once I got used to their system. I am most grateful to them, and to my own library, for this opportunity to do this research. Now back to the states to write it all up! Until we are back in Bozeman, this is goodbye.

Paddycake, Paddycake, Shopper's Man

Back in Sydney for our final days in Oz we are comfortably situated in another backyard cottage at an airbnb rental. This time we are in Narrabeen, and about 300 yards away from our friend's home up the hill (by foot, and it is a hell of a hill!) We arrived on Wednesday night after a combination airline flight, train jaunt, ferry ride, and finally a taxi trip to this place that left us less exhausted than you would think. We even had the energy to pick up some wine and dinner during this multi-stage Oddessy, which helped us settle in with ease. On Thursday morning we went with Ronald, our friend, into the city by means of a large double decker bus that makes limited stops. Not as fast as a train, to be sure, since even a bus must stop at traffic lights, but it was easy enough to get to Paddy's Market, a giantic flea market, cheap Chinese goods, t-shirt emporium, and produce stand. We picked up a couple of souvenirs and then had lunch in the adjacent Chinatown where I had the best fried rice I have enjoyed in many a year.

Adios, West Coast

In all honesty, I must say it was more fun getting to Perth than being here. Our last day in the city was spent going to museums that were either closed, under construction, or (more often) both. Our meals were mediocre at best, with the exception of our relaxed visit to one of those rotating restaurants on top of a skyscraper where we had kangaroo croquettes, gnocchi, and a delicious steak. Figuratively and literally, it was the high point of our time in Perth.

There is a rough edge to this city which may reflect its geographic position; after all, you can't go any further than here. I do not believe this city has more homeless than Sydney, but it certainly seemed like it at times. But there are many good things about the place too, including an efficient bus service that is absolutely free, and very pleasant downtown pedestrian malls (at least the portions that were not under construction.

I type these lines while waiting in the airport for our flight back to Sydney. It will be a tough four hours on both of us, but interesting to contemplate the fact that we will cover the distance in that short time span in contrast to the four days it took to get here!

A Full Quota of Quokkas

At the end of the earth, off the coast of Western Australia and on the edge of the vast Indian Ocean stands Rottnest Island, an interesting lump of limestone that has served the same function as a magnet for shipwrecks much like a trailer park for tornadoes. Discovered by a Dutchman in the seventeenth century, the island's name literally means "rat's nest," because the seafarer thought the creatures he saw on shore were giant rodents. They were actually a cute little species of marsupial called quokkas, but more about that later.

The Perth locals refer to the place as "Rotto," and it is a popular destination in the summertime for swimming, snorkling, and bicycling. This last activity is pursued in the wintertime as well since the island has a bewildering network of roads that lack any traffic save the occasional golf cart and obnoxious tourist buses. In that sense, Rotto

is much like Catalina Island in attracting those traffic weary souls who just want to pedal around and look at the sights. This is what drew our attention, and I signed us up for a ferry ride and bike rental on Monday that promised an idyllic time in an ocean isolated paradise. We enjoyed the sensation of being farther from the United States than we have ever been before, (9,796 miles) but several factors came into play when we tried to enjoy the bike ride.

First there was the wind. A gale was howling on the ocean that swept over the island in punishing gusts, and try as we might we discovered our course always included a headwind. Then there was the geography of the place. I believe Rottnest Island is unique on the planet as being a place where all the roads are uphill. Our bikes had three speeds, but we could never shift out of the lowest gear, and many times we had to push our machines up the most brutal inclines. We did a 10 kilometer route which, by the time we drew near our starting point, taxed our aging bodies to the limit. Jayne was a real trouper, managing to finish the ordeal in spite of her constant neck pain. It was not all a negative experience, though.

The ocean was arrayed in such a beautiful shades of blue that the effect was absolutely stunning. All around the island are a number of old shipwrecks that are a boon to snorkelers who wish to commune with the fish that live among the rusting hulks. Some of the wooded areas of the route were also lovely, especially the path that took us past the "lake district" of several large salt ponds. It was here that we encountered our first quokkas, and they were indeed much like rats with their large, nude tails and pointed faces. Tame enough, they posed for photographs like champs.

It was not until we returned to the settlement for our late lunch and some cold drinks that the true nature of our journey was revealed to us. The small museum on Rotto tells the sad story of the island's history as a prison for aboriginals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. To think the quaint buildings that we viewed, and that vacationers

rent for the night or week, were actually constructed as cells by the prisoners themselves was a sobering realization. It almost makes one feel guilty to enjoy oneself on Rotto. Add to that an invasion of quokkas who scurry about the outdoor dining facilities, leaving deposits of excrement visible everywhere, and one almost wishes he or she had never come. I say "almost" because in spite of a return voyage that seemed an eternity, I think we enjoyed our visit to the ends of the earth.

A Tough Act to Follow

A transcontinental trip by rail with interesting companions, great food, stunning scenery, and all the beer and Bundy one cares to consume is rather difficult to top. The journey on the Indian Pacific was one of the high points of our travel experiences, and it was somewhat of a letdown once we unloaded in Perth. From now on, our adventures would be self directed and planned, and the truth is I am no better at picking out excursions than the Indian Pacific was in picking wineries to patronize.

A short cab ride from the station to our hotel brought us to the first beds in three nights that we could enjoy without constant movement, and the hotel room also featured a small range and microwave. Thinking to save a few dollars on dinner, we made our way to the Murray Street pedestrian mall where we eventually found a "Woollies" for groceries. Alas, a warmed up curry from the frozen food section is a poor substitute for a railway chef's offerings, but we soldiered on until bedtime. This quiet evening at home also allowed us the luxury of checking email, writing in this blog, and all other things internet for the first time since Sydney. (There is no wifi on the train, as it should be.)

Sunday morning we went to King's Park and Botanical Gardens. Larger than New York's Central Park (as the locals are continually pointing out) Kings is situated on a hillside overlooking the Swan River and Perth's CBD. We had a difficult time navigating since the place is poorly mapped and signed, and efforts to enter the interior of the reserve were continually met with failure. In this aspect the park reflects the geography of Australia itself with the developed areas around the fringes near water and the interior a more or less abandoned expanse of bush. At the Botanical Garden we went along for a nature walk led by a very nice old chap named Hamish who gave a great explanation of many of the plants and wildlife we encountered. Although it is mid winter, many of the flowers and trees bore blossoms, and the day was sunny and comfortably warm.