Hoover Dam

Hoover Dam Complex

Hoover Dam.

My knowledge of dams is strictly African in focus - we learned about the Aswan High Dam years ago in school. But it seems that Hoover Dam is something that you should see if you're in the Vegas area so off we went in SuperBug.

A work colleague had warned me before going not to wear rubber-soled shoes. Apparently when she had gone several years before, her mother's flip-flops melted in the heat. As if I would wear flip-flops anyway! But while we're on the subject of heat, this was the first real day that I was out in the full sun (much of the drive to Area 51 being just that - a drive in a comfy air-conditioned car). I had not yet adjusted and so was not on my A-game at dam. Big dam. Water. Damn it's hot! Definite kudos to Bullfrog Sunscreen though. My pale English skin burns very, very easily. A trip to the beach in Hilton Head several years ago resulted in second-degree burns, despite layers of SPF 50. We picked up some Bullfrog spray to try for this trip, since Nic had heard it was used by soldiers in the desert. Not one burn. I've finally found a sunscreen that works!

Back to the dam.

How about a few nice historical facts for non-US readers:

Originally called Boulder Dam, it was constructed between 1931 and 1935, and straddles the Arizona-Nevada border. It was officially dedicated as Hoover Dam by FDR in 1935.

Cost some $49 million to build and more than one hundred workers died during its construction. Despite what you may hear, there are no bodies in it. The concrete was poured one foot at a time so chances are they'd have been noticed!

Very nice monument to the construction workers.

That beautiful azur-colored water you see is Lake Mead. And it truly was the most stunning color. The water level was also VERY low, a reminder of the drought conditions facing much of the Southwest and California.

When at maximum capacity, Lake Mead is the largest reservoir in the US; that hasn't happened since 1983.

In fact, just yesterday, a story ran on CBS about how the decreasing water levels are revealing some interesting historical sites.

Note the low water levels on Lake Mead.

Kentucky Kicks Ass shirt at the Hoover Dam.

We spent some time walking around atop the dam, taking plenty of pics, making sure we didn't lose our ballcaps in the wind, and Nic making a good show of representing his home state. He also took a few shots over the edge, gingerly leaning with his iPhone.

View Over the Edge

Eventually though, the strong sun was a touch too much. (Oh how I miss it now!) So it was back to the car and off into Boulder for a very nice (but huge) lunch at the Southwest Diner, followed by exploration into Arizona. But you'll have to wait to read about what we found there until later in the week.

Until then, I leave you with a few more pics of the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead.

Driving to Lake Mead

Atomic Aliens Part 2 - Area 51

Panoramic Shot of Rachel, NV. Photo by Nic Brown.

After whetting our appetites with the Area 51 exhibit at the National Atomic Testing Museum, what better way to spend our first full day in Nevada than a trip to Area 51 itself.

We got off to a rather late start due to an unscheduled trip to the emergency room (expect a future blog post about what to do when you forget your meds on a trip). But, we soon set off with some handy directions from Vagabond3, a full tank of gas, sunscreen, and plenty of water.

The aforementioned items should all be considered essential before you go off driving in the deserts of the Southwest. You don't know how far it might be until your next gas station, and so take lots of water with you. Since the temps were north of 100F, sunscreen and water were key.

Long Road Ahead

First stop was the Pilot at exit 64 off I-15. The place was heaving, clearly a last potential stop for many travelers. For some reason, our radio was tuned to a Chinese-language station and I listened to the incoherent chatter, watching people come and go. As it happened most of those stopping were continuing on I-15 and so we drove off along US-93N leaving the hustle and bustle behind.

This was my and Nic's first time in the Nevada desert, and one thing that struck us over the next few days was just how different the landscape was, depending which direction we drove from Las Vegas. The desert north of the city looked very different from what we would see in Arizona and in Death Valley. All were similar for their sense of space. As we drove, we discussed if we would rather live in the open like this, where you could see for miles, or in the forest, where you could remain hidden but you'd have no idea who was watching you. I found myself preferring the space.

Much further down the road, we made a brief stop at the Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge Visitors Center, long enough to stretch our legs and refill our water bottles. Then it was back on the road through the isolation. Finally, we passed through the small towns of Alamo and Ash Springs, which alerted us to our drawing close to Area 51 and the Extraterrestrial Highway.

Nic's New Friend

One mile further and we came to the impressive-sounding Alien Research Center. Sadly, although we had heard it was open at weekends, there was no sign of life, except for one other car of equally-disappointed tourists. We did, however, make sure to pose for the obligatory photos with our new friend.

Back to more miles of lonely road. It is easy enough to see why this part of the desert is still used by the military for testing new aircraft. The flats stretch for miles and miles, providing excellent opportunities for low-flight without attracting too much attention. Since sound and light no doubt extend for miles here at night, I'm sure the area's few residents have many stories to tell.

And speaking of stories to tell, we heard a few once we made it to Rachel, Nevada, home to some 98 humans.

I admit I did find myself wondering what 98 people could possibly find to do in and around Rachel. My best guess is farming cattle and dodging abduction.

Once in Rachel, there is one obvious place to go....

The Little A'Le'Inn is Rachel's bar, hotel, restaurant, souvenir store, community meeting spot, and source for chatting to locals about their mysterious nearby neighbors.

The walls are covered with alien and movie memorabilia, including signed photos from the cast and crew of Paul. Other displays shared photos of strange, unexplained lights, sent from around the world. Plenty here to keep you entertained.

As we enjoyed our late lunch of - what else- the World Famous Alien Burger with a side of potato salad, one of the staff shared tales of the unexplained lights she had seen at night, far too high in the sky to be riders rounding up the cattle. Some new aircraft? Or visitors from another galaxy stopping by for a beer?

Little A'Le'Inn - the Alien Burger is delicious!

Inside the Little A'Le'Inn

What lies beyond those gates?

Recharged with food, a bathroom break, and souvenir t-shirts for friends, we hit the road again. This time our destination was the back gate of Area 51. We knew that we would be stopped before we could reach the gate, and so we respectfully stopped at a reasonable distance, took photos and turned around to make our way back to Vegas. On the way, I stopped to take pics of a cow skeleton we had passed as we drove from Rachel to the gates. I was having a Georgia O'Keeffe moment so I snapped dozens of pics of bones, while Nic snapped pics of me taking pics of bones.

Stopping for my Georgia O'Keeffe moment

One for the conspiracy theorists: hit by car at night or something more unworldly?

If you're up on your Area 51 knowledge, you may have noticed that I haven't mentioned the Black Mailbox, mistakenly believed by many to have been the mailbox for the secret military base. I had kept an eye open for it on our way to Rachel, but having no luck, we asked at the diner. Sadly, it is no more, and this is where I have to go on a little rant. The mailbox belonged to a local resident. For more than 40 years, he had collected his mail there... until some idiots decided to break into it and open his mail. This happened several times, at one point private tax documentation being destroyed. Eventually the post office said that they would no longer deliver there. So now, thanks to the selfishness of a few jackasses who somehow thought they might find secret alien documents (?! because we all know the Government would use USPS for that!), this poor local now has to drive to the Post Office at Alamo, a good 45 minutes away, to collect his mail.

Meanwhile, a rather odd but touching little memorial has popped up where the mailbox used to be - a few rocks piled atop each other with messages scrawled on them. Paper notes are also wedged beneath the rocks, offering consolation to the man for the loss of his mailbox.

The drive back to Las Vegas was rather uneventful, save for the unmarked (not even a license plate) white vans that occasionally passed us, transporting Area 51 workers back home after their shifts. Not exactly inconspicuous but better than unmarked black vehicles, I guess.

Did we see signs of alien life? No. Did we have fun? Yes. And when you think about, the aliens probably found ways to disguise themselves anyway. :-)

Atomic Aliens in Nevada

Landed in Las Vegas.
Check.
Picked up car after ridiculously long lines and a free upgrade to SuperBug.
Check.
Stopped for lunch at very tasty but overpriced Indian restaurant.
Check.

What do you do upon arrival in Sin City?

Go to the National Atomic Testing Museum of course.
Stranger still, it was my choice!

Science was most definitely not my forte in school. I took physics GCSE purely because I had to take one science and it was the only one that fit in with my schedule. Boy, was I glad to be done with that. And there, at the age of 15, ended my scientific education.

But a few years ago, I was hired by some folks at the University of Kentucky to write a history of a gaseous diffusion plant in Paducah. My lack of scientific knowledge was just what they wanted - someone able to translate the dry engineering talk into something people would want to read. For the next few months, I researched and studied the development of the plant, its impact on the local community, the history of the Manhattan Project, and so on. It was absolutely fascinating.

Since then I've had a strong interest in the social history surrounding the atomic bomb so sign me up for a visit to the National Atomic Testing Museum.

You can find plenty of info about the museum online, as well as reviews, so I'm not going to add a bunch of info here. However, if you go, and I do recommend it, be aware that the museum is very pro-atomic bomb. To my disappointment, there was no mention of several topics that could have made interesting counterpoints - after-effects in the South Pacific, changes of opinion among some of the project's architects, etc. Nevertheless, it is an incredibly detailed attraction, and well worth a few hours of your time.

Nic meets a friend at the Atomic Testing Museum.

The museum also featured a visiting exhibit about Area 51 and aliens - lots of newspaper clips and news footage of sightings. Whether you believe in alien life or not, it was a fun addition.

It was also the perfect prequel to our planned trip on Sunday... to Area 51.

Come back tomorrow to see if we find any extraterrestrial life.

This Hermit Gets Her Week in the Desert

I'm something of a hermit. Not - as my husband would like to believe - the sort that would happily live in the middle of nowhere for the rest of my days, with zero human contact. I just find being around people draining and I have to carefully balance my being social with alone time... which is why I never found the idea of Las Vegas appealing, but I did love the idea of visiting the less-populated areas around it.

We were recently lucky to find a great deal through Orbitz (no, they're not paying me to say this and they did not comp the vacation - I wish!). A week in Vegas - hotel, flights, and car rental - all for about $1500. Some people told us we were crazy to go there in July, at the height of summer. Given the storms of Kentucky, staying here was not overly attractive. Others instantly thought we would be gambling and trolling the strip for the entire time we were there. These same folks told us we were silly for not staying on the strip. But we had other plans.

Our cute blue upgrade!

We flew out via American Airlines, and I'll leave my comment on the airline there, except to note that interior parts of the plane fell off and I was less than impressed. The car rental and hotel more than made up for it though. After checking in for the car, and refusing a paid-upgrade, we were told that we were getting a free upgrade and could choose any car available in the standard row. Goodbye Kia and hello sporty blue Bug! The guy loading his family into a Camry looked envious as he admitted he'd love to have had this instead.

Our hotel was in the Fremont Street area. The El Cortez is the city's oldest continually operating hotel and casino. As we wandered through the maze of slot machines and casino tables to reach the check-in desk, I wondered what we were in for. Surprise! Another upgrade! Instead of our original room, we were across the street in the Cabana Suites, recently renovated in a fabulously funky retro style. There was also a huge shower - how I miss that shower!

Retro at El Cortez.

I should also give kudos to the staff at the El Cortez. The morning after arriving, I discovered I had mistakenly brought an empty bottle of my medication. The woman at the front desk instantly leapt into action, calling her sister (a nurse) and helping me find a local clinic that would be able to provide a new prescription at 10am on a Sunday, thereby saving my bacon and our vacation!

Over the next week, I will be sharing details of our many trips, as well as some of our fun Vegas discoveries. I ended up liking Vegas much, much more than I expected to, although that may have been because we alternated time in the city with time on the road. So check back in tomorrow for the next installment.

Step Off the Bourbon Trail

Most visitors to Kentucky make time for at least one bourbon distillery tour, and I can't blame them. Although I still have to complete my Bourbon Trail passport, I've thoroughly enjoyed each distillery tour I've taken. In addition to learning more about the production of Kentucky's most beloved spirit, I love the fact that each distillery offers something unique, both in architecture and history.

So much bourbon - but don't drink it yet!

But if you're serious about bourbon, or if you want to skip some of the crowds, I'd suggest adding some of the smaller distilleries to your list, some of the ones that aren't on the official trail. I'm not saying you should skip the beautiful Spanish-inspired architecture of Four Roses, or the scenic tranquility of Maker's Mark. But why not add something different to the mix?

We stumbled upon Bardstown's Barton 1792 Distillery purely by accident. Just a stone's throw from downtown Bardstown, we passed it on our way to a BBQ Festival last weekend. Since there was not much happening at the BBQ fest - a quick brisket sandwich and we were done - we decided to enjoy the weather and head to a local distillery. Originally, we had planned to revisit Maker's Mark, but driving past Barton 1792 and noticing the sign for free tours, we decided to go explore.

Barton 1792 in Bardstown

It turns out that Barton is now owned by New Orleans-based Sazerac, the same company that owns Buffalo Trace in Frankfort and Glenmore in Owensboro.

Our small group (no doubt much smaller than many of the larger distilleries would attract on a Saturday afternoon) was shown around the plant. We learned about distillery mold (the reason why so many aging warehouses are now painted black), the distillation process, aging, the importance of the barrels and so on.

And of course there is the final part of any bourbon tour - the tasting. Since each visitor is allowed two samples (and bourbon balls), I chose to try the 1792 Small Batch, and the Chocolate Bourbon Ball Cream Liqueur. Our guide explained what to look for in each sip - to sniff with your mouth open to get the full benefit of the aroma, to notice the flavors and the heat as you swallow. Is it burning or warming? And please - sip, don't chug. Good bourbon should be sipped, not taken as a shot. Take time to appreciate it.

Charred oak barrels give bourbon its distinctive flavor.

The Small Batch was smooth, with spicy hints but (thankfully) without the harsh burn of some bourbons. It left a comforting trail of warmth down my throat and chest, and, just as I thought it would fade, the warmth returned. Very nice indeed.

The second of my samples mirrors a trend among many of the distilleries now - a cream liqueur. I had first come across one at Buffalo Trace several years ago, before it was released in shops. The Chocolate Bourbon Ball Cream Liqueur is currently only available from the distillery shop so I couldn't pass up the opportunity to try it. How can I describe it beyond liquid chocolate heaven? Yes, I bought a bottle, and yes, I predict a rather nice bourbon chocolate ice cream in my future.

The Vintage Whinery at Niagara Falls.

Mural in the entryway

This is a long overdue post but one that has to be written, because I cannot wait to go back.
Over the past few years, I have heard mixed reviews about Airbnb, both from travelers and property owners. However, a good friend had wonderful luck finding a place during a trip to Paris and so we decided to give it a try for our summer trip to Niagara Falls.

As soon as we found The Vintage Whinery on the Airbnb site, we fell in love. And the price was incredible.

The only way to truly do The Vintage Whinery justice is by sharing some of the many pictures I took during my stay there. The house is a two story, with the owners Sheila and Rachel living upstairs with their canine companions while you enjoy the two bedroomed apartment downstairs. Sadly, Rachel was out of town during our stay but Sheila was the most perfect hostess you could ever wish for and her breakfasts made even a non-breakfast person like me jump out of bed in the morning: oatmeal with nuts and berries, fresh waffles, bacon, baked goods, the works!

Both Sheila and Rachel are artists and so the entire apartment is decorated in a fabulous turn of the century Parisian style. Put it this way - we loved it so much, we were all walking around photographing everything before we unpacked.

My parents stayed in the children's room, decked out beautifully with all sorts of nostalgic childhood goodies, and yes, that is a giant giraffe in a pram in the corner.

Nic and I had the opulent Opera Room, just across the hall, complete with rich fabrics and a bed so comfortable, I could have stayed there all days.

Handmade artwork and Art Deco prints covered the walls. I felt as if I were living in one of the Alfonse Mucha prints that had adorned my college dorm wall, although I lacked the glamorous gowns!

Collage in the Opera Bedroom

With a fully equipped kitchen, and a comfortable living room, the four nights we spent here were a delightful break from the standard hotel room experience.

Now I know that not all Airbnb properties are like this.
We had originally searched for one in New York, only to find many that were little more than an airbed on a spare room floor, at an exorbitant rate.

Living room at The Vintage Whinery

But if you take your time to browse the listings, you can find some truly wonderful places. Incidentally, The Vintage Whinery would make an ideal location for a writing retreat so I may well have to head back for just such a vacation some time.

So which would you prefer when you go to Niagara Falls - a bland room in one of the usual chain hotels, maybe a bit run down, and a scramble for the breakfast buffet? Or a little taste of creative heaven with privacy, comfort, relaxation, and a gracious host who offers breakfasts to die for?

I will be using Airbnb again this holiday season when we visit San Francisco with some friends, and if you happen to visit The Vintage Whinery, be sure to say hi to Sheila.

Why I'll Never Stay at a Howard Johnson Hotel Again.

The first time I stayed at a Howard Johnson, or HoJo, was 20 years ago. An exchange student at the University of Iowa, some fellow foreign students and I rented two cars and drove to Washington D.C. for spring break. The four guys crammed in one room, the four girls in another... and another. Our first room lasted all of five minutes before we realized that not only was the toilet lacking a seat, it also failed to flush. After some time at the front desk, and some considerable griping (they were at first unwilling to move us), we eventually secured a new room, with working toilet and a remote control for the television (for a deposit - who knew there was such a black market trade in remote controls?)

Our first night was noisy but nothing we couldn't live with. The second night, we were awoken by police banging on the door of the adjoining room. My friend from Finland got to see his first drugs and prostitution bust.

We spent the remainder of our stay enjoying the sights of D.C. and Annapolis, returning to the hotel only to bar our doors and attempt to sleep.

I swore afterwards to never stay at one again.

And stupidly, I broke that promise to myself.

We recently found ourselves looking for two hotel rooms in New York. My parents were flying in for a visit and we were to meet them in the city before driving on to Niagara Falls and Toronto. The trouble was, we were on a budget. And New York is not cheap. Looking on Hotels.com, my husband came across a listing in the Bronx. Not my first choice of locations but the prices were reasonable (though still not cheap), and the hotel had a surprising number of good reviews. Enough good reviews that, even upon learning it was a Howard Johnson and expressing some surprise that they were still in business, I agreed to the reservation. Reviews talked of the delightful spacious rooms, the proximity to local transport into the city, etc. Could it be that we had stumbled upon a hidden gem?

So we reserved two rooms, paid up front (no refunds available), and continued planning our trip.

August arrived and we found ourselves completing the long drive from Kentucky to New York City and decided to drop our stuff off at the hotel before going to pick my parents up at JFK. As we got closer, I felt concerned. This was not the nicest looking neighborhood. And then we arrived at the hotel. Feeling some trepidation as we parked, I agreed to be optimistic and to at least give the rooms a chance. Remember - it might be a gem.

Our first bad sign was when we asked at the front desk if our car was ok. She told us she wouldn't leave a car parked here and to remove everything from it. She then announced we had smoking rooms, which we had certainly not booked given that my husband is an asthmatic. Not to worry, she assured us, as soon as a nonsmoking room became available, she would move us.

Our room was... how to describe it...dismal. I have stayed in some great places and some grotty places before. I've stayed in places where I've barred the door while drunk truck drivers argue all night outside. At the end of the day, it's a place to sleep, and so, after carefully checking the bed for bugs and finding it clear, I placed my bags on the mattress. The carpet was brown, not a warm inviting brown, but the sort of dingy dung color made worse by years of cigarette smoke, the smell of which hung in the air like a fog. The bedspread, also brown, was dotted with cigarette burns. Before I could open the window to let some air in, it hit me. A loud, deafening roar across metal. The hotel was indeed close to the public transportation. In fact the track ran immediately outside our third floor room. So close that I could probably sell newspapers to the passing commuters.

I wanted to cry but we had no time. We had to pick up my parents. As we shared our first slices of New York pizza in a city diner, I warned them. Good job I had as I saw my mum's face drop as she entered their room, the better of the two, which is like comparing a pile of horse manure to a pile of pig manure. We all agreed that we would stick it out for the night and discuss what to do in the morning.

Then I returned to our room and cried.

The night began with despair and passed through delirium and a range of other emotions previously unknown in such a short space of time.

The trains rumbled past every ten minutes or so. My husband and I lay in bed, marking each one and thinking surely they wouldn't run past midnight. Or past 1 a.m. Perhaps 2 a.m. Finally at about 2, they stopped.

The air conditioning unit rattled nearly as loudly as the train and spewed random streams of water across the room. But switching it off, made the room unbearably hot. By 1.30 or so, my husband, already having difficulty breathing because of the cigarette smoke, and now more so because of the heat, had stripped naked and was laying on the bed with two cool washcloths, one on his head, and one on his genitals, in an attempt to reach a comfortable temperature. Meanwhile I was laying there, laughing hysterically. By this point, I didn't know what else to do.

We eventually passed out from exhaustion at about 3.30. A few hours later, the phone rang. My parents had experienced a similar night. The decision was made.

We knew we couldn't get a refund but that didn't matter. For our sanity's sake, we had to move. Hubby found a Marriott hotel in Queens, and spoke to a wonderful guy at front desk who told us he had rooms available. After venturing into the breakfast room, we packed our bags, and left without a word. When we arrived at our hotel in Queens, they checked us in, helped with our bags, and showed us our rooms. My mum jumped for joy - they have pictures on the wall, nice ones, and plenty of towels, and look at the beds.

I left reviews at Hotels.com and at TripAdvisor, and I'm pleased to say the remainder of our trip went ahead with no lodging problems. I can't help but wonder though, who these people are that raved online about the beautiful spacious rooms. Where do they normally live that this miserable (and it was truly miserable) place could be called delightful?

And more importantly, how on earth are Howard Johnson STILL in business?