A long time ago, when we first started traveling to Europe, we discovered an excellent tour guide company, Context Travel. Their guides were people who weren’t just passionate about the material they presented, but usually had an advanced degree or extensive experience. So, the guide who took us through Central Park in New York City was a Ph.D. candidate in Landscape Architecture with a dissertation on the effect of the Park on the city’s history. The tour we did of the “back stage” of the New York Met was led by someone who’d been an archivist for the Met for 30 years. Needless to say, they were outstanding tours, albeit about twice as expensive as other guides and companies.

Fast forward a few decades and Context has become (to our mind) outrageously expensive. We’re all for paying people well for their time and expertise, but when a 4-hour tour costs nearly $1,000 that is well over our comfort level. Tours from aggregate companies like GetYourGuide are utterly hit or miss in our experience (we tell you when we have a good one, and there have been very few over the years.)

This trip (Spain, Winter Holiday 2025) we decided to try and maximize our learning and exploration and booked several tours through the same company: Tours by Locals. As the name implies, the guides are all people who live in the city/ region and have deep knowledge from years of direct, personal experience. In our experience, they are also passionate about imparting their knowledge and affection for the area. Our first tour was a full day excursion to Toledo from Madrid with Paul, a longtime resident of Madrid. The tour cost included his renting a car and door-to-door service from our hotel. It was a full day, and Paul was happy to incorporate a visit to the Royal Palace of Aranjuez. Our second tour was with Sandra, a lifelong resident of Seville. She showed us many non-typical places full of history and shared anecdotes that imparted a lot of Spanish history and culture. Finally, we spent an afternoon with Mirian, thoroughly exploring The Alhambra in Granada. Her degrees in Archeology, Art, and History all combined in powerful journey through Spanish history through various viewpoints.

Each guide was unique, and outstanding. It was holiday time and many typical sites were unavailable (overbooked or closed for religious reasons). Each did an excellent job of finding alternatives which were as interesting (or more so) than what would have been on a typical tour. Moreover, the places we saw and visited were squarely placed within appropriate context, making it an incredible learning experience. Each also did a great job of introducing (or extending) local knowledge of culture, whether through food or wine recommendations, or specific places to see on our own.

We don’t use tour guides much, but will actively look for Tours By Locals in the future.

When putting together our (fairly last-minute) trip to Spain, we got excited about maybe doing some day trips out of Madrid. Not that Madrid wasn’t capable of holding our attention for a few days, but we always thought of this trip as our “Spanish Whitman’s Sampler”, so to speak. We wanted to take little bites out of a lot of places so we’d know what we want to explore in more depth on future trips. After a bit of research we chose Toledo as one of our bon-bons and, to make sure we got a good bite of the place, we decided to get a guide both to transport us and show us around.

It was an excellent choice.

Our guide, a lovely man named Paul that we found on Tours By Locals, picked us up at our hotel around 8:30 and drove us a little more than an hour down the road to Toledo. We began at the Synagogue of Santa María la Blanca, a very special place built between the 12th and 14th centuries. After a fire in 1250, it was rebuilt in 1260 by royal edict, “the largest and most beautiful synagogue in Europe.” In the 15th century, it was converted into a church and Renaissance reforms in 1554 added chapels and vaults. In the 19th century, it was used as a barracks and finally declared a national monument in 1930. The architecture is a unique example of mudejar art (created by Moorish architects for non-Islamic purposes) in Toledo, fusing Muslim techniques with castilian and nasrid influences. The octagonal pillars and the complex decoration with discs and pine cones — symbols of life — stand out. Surrounded by a wall and a garden of cypress trees, its design invites contemplation, both inside and out. Pictures don’t adequately capture the deep serenity and sense of sacred that infuses this space.

From there we visited the Synagogue of El Tránsito, built around 1357 and its Sephardic Museum. Considered the most beautiful and best conserved medieval synagogue in the world, the trustees aim to unveil the mantle of silence on Jewish culture in Spain, from its expulsion to today. Therefore, expository script does not end in 1492, but continues to present time, focusing on the exile and development of the Sephardic communities throughout the world. In structure the space is simple. Yet the elevation of the walls and the rich wood of the coffered ceiling with inlays of ivory and painted decoration make it sumptuous. What grabs the visitor is the “ataurique”, vegetal decoration of Arab creation, that densely covers the east wall. The women’s gallery is not only intact, but sumptuously decorated and filled with a multimedia collection of information and artifacts describing daily life. Attached to the main room is a museum with information and artifacts of the Jews from Ancient Orient through to recent archeological finds.

Wandering through the Jewish Quarter we were treated to the occasional porcelain tile embedded in the walkway or wall.

We finished with a visit to the Primate Cathedral of Saint Mary of Toledo. We were there for several hours, and could have spent an entire day. It is one of three 13th-century High Gothic cathedrals in Spain and considered a masterpiece of the Gothic style in Spain. It’s huge; bigger than Notre Dame. It’s so much, in so many different styles that it’s hard to describe. The massive altarpiece of polychrome and golden wood is three panels in width and five rows high, staggered with two narrower panels at the end. It includes a lumina or transparente, a great rock crystal piece that captures the sunlight and beams it onto the altar at mass. Gloriously Baroque is a gilded confection of angels, Archangels, and solar rays. All around are small chapels (tombs, really) for many important people. There is a magnificent choir with amusingly carved wood chairs. In the Treasure Room we saw the Custodia of Toledo (also called Monstrance), a work of art made in two parts from different centuries. The smaller is made out of gold, with precious stones, and was property of Isabel the Catholic (15th century). After Isabel died the Cardinal Cisneros bought it, and made a bigger one to hold it. That one is made in gold and silver. In total it weighs 370Kg (816 Pounds). It holds the Eucharistic host during Corpus Christi Festivities. Every year, 60 days after Resurrection Sunday, the enormous Monstrance is carried around in the city of Toledo in procession.

Fantastic.

Most guidebooks say that Toledo is a day trip, but we don’t think that is nearly enough time to enjoy this historically multicultural city. We have plans to return and spend several days here.

We have been pinky-promising each other that we would take our Portuguese-language class seriously; it’s important for our future happiness here for a couple of different reasons and we really want to knock it out. However, part of that commitment has been that we wouldn’t take any trips that would keep us out of class, which has meant that we’ve been curtailing some of our more far-flung adventures. Because of some unforeseen complications we ended up having to drop from the class last year and are retaking it again this year…. which means we’re in year two of having ants in our pants. (If you’ve been following along here on The Ramble you know we haven’t exactly been housebound, but still, it’s been a different vibe.) We recently decided that we wanted to work a little harder at carving out some adventure time, and the first opportunity for that is the Christmas/Holiday/End-of-Year break. Freed from the restrictions of our language class, we began a nine-ish day trip to Spain; olé! And so, at 0-dark-thirty on a Tuesday morning we took a quick (100 min) flight to Madrid, dropped our bags at the hotel, and immediately joined the exceptional tour guide Amanda of Gather To Travel for a walking tour of the historic center. Well, a walking and eating tour.

Meeting Amanda was easy, as we exchanged coat and scarf colors via text that morning. It was COLD, sub-ten degrees (mid 30s F), so we were all bundled to the brim. We started at The Plaza de Cánovas del Castillo, a very pretty Neptune fountain and roundabout just outside the Museo Del Prado. From there we walked a short distance to the Congreso de los Diputados which, if we understood correctly, is a political hub for the country despite being a relatively modest building.

Along the way, we passed a bronze statue of a blind man in a suit, Dubbes The Lottery Seller, In the neighbourhood of Las Letras, specifically in Calle del Prado on the corner with San Agustín and in front of the Spanish Parliament building, there is a sculpture paying tribute to “Fortunato”, the seller of lottery tickets in support of ONCE (Spain’s national organisation for the blind). Cast in bronze by the sculptor Santiago de Santiago, the sculpture commemorates those who for 75 years, since the foundation was created, have sold lottery tickets and luck, becoming emblematic figures in the streets and squares throughout Spain.

Across the street from the Congreso is a statue of Miguel de Cervantes, which was actually the launching point for much of our next couple of hours in the literary district. We meandered along the Calle de Cervantes, discussing his life and legacy as we admired the various plaques, tiles and other homages to this most revered of men. (John’s personal favorite piece of trivia is that the musical could easily have been called “Man of Manchego Cheese”, although admittedly it’s not quite as catchy.) We passed by the location of his home in Madrid, although the building itself had long since been replaced.

Turning onto another street, we admired the bronze centenary plaques scattered about, marking stores and craftspeople who had been in business for at least 100 years. The first one that Amanda pointed out to us was for a pharmacy that had been in business since the 1700s! Each is different and marks a unique presence.

We also observed the regularly-spaced quotations inlaid into the street pavement, each honoring a different Spanish writer. This whole area is known as the literary district and has many interesting sights and stores supporting Madrid’s long enthusiasm for the arts. As we were strolling along we got excited by a statue that we saw at the Plaza de Santa Ana, drawing Amanda over to it – given that we had given no indication that we were particularly well-educated on Spanish literature she was bemused that we were so enthusiastic about a memorial statue to Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca of all people.

(Short-ish version of a longer tale: in 2003 we saw the premiere of Nilo Cruz’s play “Lorca In A Green Dress”, which is about, yep, Frederico Garcia Lorca. It was a mind-blowing experience for us, not least because John had practically no theater experience prior to that and it was an especially surreal production. The memory has stuck.)

In any event, it was amusing that we went from wide-eyed tourists being shown around to being, for a very short moment, subject matter experts. Then we resumed our roles and she explained far more about the man than we had known before. About this time we entered the nibbles portion of our tour, as Andrea took us to a couple of her favorite spots for tapas; more on those later. We rounded out the day with a stop in the Perta del Sol, currently the home of a large Christmas market.

We thought we knew what goes on at Christmas markets, but in Madrid the Day of the Innocents (December 27th) has become a day of children playing “practical jokes” on the level of whoopie cushions and little snapping firecrackers…. all of which was on display in the market. Egad. Clashing with the fart toys and joy buzzers were the shops catering to another Christmas passion in Madrid – creches. Apparently even more than usual the people of Madrid go nuts with elaborate nativity scenes, sometimes taking up whole rooms of their homes for the season(!). We saw “kilometer zero” which is the spot that Franco decreed all the highways he was ordering the construction of would emanate from. Apparently it’s a true thing and they still measure all distance markers from it on the national roads; it was such a popular tourist spot that we didn’t even try to get a photo.

She walked us to a taxi stand by way of some lovely pastry shops. Now, about the tapas.

The first, Alimentación Quiroga (Calle Huertas 19, Barrio de Las Letras, Madrid, ES 28014) is a tiny place with limited seating. We managed to snag a high-top table in the back and quickly ordered a dish of Alcachofas plancha (artichoke hearts in a lemon-olive oil sauce with a bit of pepper, topped with shaved ham) and another of toasted bread spread with fresh tomatoes and Iberico ham. A coke, cerveza, and glass of rioja rounded us out well and we happily munched away. The artichokes were perfectly sweet, contrasted by the grassy oil and sharp lemon, the beef added a rich depth, quite unlike the typical preserved ham. The bread dish was simpler, with a very light (almost schmear) of spread of fresh tomatoes providing the background to the ham’s salty yumminess.

Our other stop was at Prada a Tope (Calle Principe 11, Madrid, ES 28012), a larger establishment that was expecting large parties, so only bar seating was available. (‘Tis the season!) Here we quickly grabbed a high top and ordered the Verduras a la Plancha (grilled eggplant, asparagus, onion, peppers, tomato, and zucchini) and Cecina (shaved beef). The vegetables were smoky and almost sweet from the grilling, drizzled with the Spanish olive oil and the beef was delicious. Chewy texture and a burst of intensely flavorful ***beef*** in the mouth.

It was a fun, tasty, and informative walk that we recommend without hesitation. (Any errors are entirely our fault for not remembering Amanda’s information correctly!)

Last year around Christmastime, we put together a house-gift to ourselves. It’s not very fancy, in fact it starts with an empty pretzel container from Continente. Inside this container our numerous folded slips of paper. Written inside the fold is an activity in or around Braga – a place to visit, perhaps a lunch spot picked out (we’re much happier when we aren’t picking out a restaurant spur-of-the-moment). The sheets are taped shut (this isn’t a high tech operation), and on the outside of the paper there is general information: how long does it take, is it walking/bus ride/ride share, is there a meal involved, and does weather or season matter. We call this little plastic barrel our “Jar of Wonders”, and every once in awhile we draw until we get something that fits our day, and off we go! One of our earliest pulls was a few months ago, when we visited the Sé de Braga, a Roman Catholic Church that predates the founding of Portugal. From time to time, we are reminded of how very *old* the country we live in is

The civitas (roughly, city) Bracara Augusta was founded by the Romans in 16 BC and the Diocese of Braga dates from the 3rd century AD, being one of the oldest in the Iberian peninsula. In 1071 Bishop Pedro began building the cathedral (Sé) and it was consecrated while still unfinished in 1089. Building continued through he 13th century. The Kingdom of Portugal was officially recognized in 1179. And that’s enough history.

What makes the Sé so fascinating is that it is a gorgeous hodgepodge of architectural styles. The original 12th century-building was built in the Burgundian Romanesque style, but later construction added Gothic (chapels and entrance), Moorish, Manueline (main chapel) and Baroque (towers, chapels, and loads of interior decoration)elements.

Here is a collection of pictures we took as we wandered through, enjoying so many elements.

Throughout the interior are the remains of several important people, including D. Afonso, the son of King John I and what purports to be Saint Peter of Rates. (Modern science suggests that it’s actually the body of a child from the 9th century.)

There is an excellent museum upstairs, and most of the signage is in both English and Portuguese. There are a number of tours that include a visit to the Sé, and we highly recommend including this magnificent and beautiful historic site in your visit.

As Lisa told you in our last post, we were recently(-ish) in Edinburgh. This was, in fact, no less than our fourth time in Edinburgh, but we had never before really seen the place. Dating all the way back to our honeymoon trip to the UK, we’ve passed through Edinburgh without ever really getting a chance to stop and see it. On our honeymoon the weather was so filthy we went to the movies; another time we just landed at the airport late at night, stayed in a hotel for a quick rest, then met friends, rented a car and made for the countryside. It was like that – we wanted to see Edinburgh, we’d get our noses up against the window, and that’d be it. So, heck with that, we carved out a few days to finally see the city.

Two other motivations called us towards Edinburgh. One was the previously-mentioned Andy Goldsworthy exhibition, which was as magnificent as last week’s post showcased. The second was a serendipitous chance to catch up with a new friend from America who was stretching her wings with some solo travel in the UK. She was going to be in the city while the exhibition was going on, and that was the final straw; we had to go. (Oh, darn.) We had a predictably annoying flight over on Ryanair -maybe someday we will shrug off the potential savings in favor of a more civilized flying experience, but that day has not yet arrived. We did arrange to stay at Eden Locke again, a place we discovered back in 2023 that suits as to a “t”. We were in the UK in late October, so the weather was garbage but we knew that going in and packed mostly appropriately.

On our one full day with our friend that wasn’t dedicated to the gallery exhibition, we made like tourists and went up into “Old Town.” Edinburgh spreads out and around from an oblong hill which, being a high point in the terrain, somebody put a castle on way back in the day. Thus the hilltop became the earliest kernel of the city and to this day has a certain cachet; an address in Old Town signaled prestige back in the day, although now it has a healthy dose of “also tourists out the ying-yang.” We wandered the “Royal Mile” for a bit, which is a stretch of road that terminates at the castle on one end and runs the whole length of the hill. Eventually we made it to an actual bit of classic tourism, a guided visit into “Mary King’s Close.”

Ok, so that name needs some unpacking. First, a “close” was what they called these streets that basically exist as alleys but between two rows of buildings rather than along the back of ’em. Closes were essentially the streets that poor folk lived on, in tenements going up into the sky. They provided a bit of shelter and stability, but all manner of industry took place in and round the closes so they were often smelly, dirty places. “Mary King” was a woman of some reputation and stature in her time, and since the closes formed naturally and without any central planning, they didn’t have official names to them. So, people settled on them by acclimation so to speak. Mrs. Close was a notable enough figure that her Close referred to her even long after her death. A company has taken over the close and several adjacent buildings and put on a tour with period costumes and a bit of narrative flair; they don’t take it too seriously but your guide does assume the role of a citizen of the time. It’s a good time, and you do learn a lot about life in the closes, including how they dealt with plague (badly), close quarters (as politely as you could stand), and their general lot in life (more acceptance than rebellion from what we could figure).

We had dinner that evening at The Witchery, which seemed particularly appropriate since we were visiting around Samhain. Alas, while it certainly lived up to its advertised ambiance, it seemed about 20% too much theme park vibe rather than genuine gothic decor and design. Nor was the food up to promised. It was a cozy enough experience, but certainly for the price we don’t feel compelled to make a repeat visit when we’re next in Edinburgh. Still and all, it was a lovely time that day in which we finally, finally got a taste of life in this city.

As we have said from time to time, one reason we retired and moved to Europe was to be able to take advantage of last minute events and exhibitions.

Back in June a little notice floated across our ‘feed’ and we immediately took notice. Andy Goldsworthy: Fifty Years, July 26 through November 2 at the Royal Scottish Academy in Edinburgh. As a bonus, it coincided with a week when a new friend from the States was going to visit Edinburgh. After 30 seconds of making sure we had time on our calendar, we bought tickets (we didn’t even ask her if she wanted to come, we just got her a ticket). After seeing one of the best exhibits of our lives, we are so glad.

Hailed as a genius, Goldsworthy’s art is ephemeral, site-specific, and transient. He works with leaves, reeds, trees, stones, flowers, and water both flowing and frozen. He is internationally renowned for building, weaving, floating and folding natural materials from leaf to fern, snow to sand and then walking away, letting the installations dissolve back into the land they were built from. He documents his creations in vivid photographs, mapping, inspecting, and recording the everyday wonders of nature.

The Royal Scottish Academy building is an unusual venue for an artist like Goldsworthy. Built in 1826 it has Greek columns and is thoroughly neo-classical in its design. yet, when talking about setting up the exhibition, Goldsworthy simply noted that nature exists everywhere, not just in rural spaces, it doesn’t stop at the city boundary.

For him, the land is raw and he enjoys the hard manual labor of his creations. “The land may look pastoral and picturesque, but it’s a brutal place, the farm a tough place. Sheep make the Scottish landscape.” Thus, the carpet of raw fleece going up the long stairs from the entry and ending at a pair of marble columns wrapped in barbed wire. The fleece is softly inviting, yet closer inspection reveals the dirt and vegetation trapped within the fleece, dotted by the paint used by farmers to note age and final disposition of the sheep. “That wire fence is about the difficulties and obstructions which every artist has to face, especially one that works in the land. But it is also about finding a way through.”

Atop the polished fine oak of the flooring, Goldsworthy piled fallen oak branches, windfall salvaged from Dumfriesshire fields (where he lives), arranged in a dramatic passage you must walk through. “We are bound up in the land. Look at your dining room table. There is a disconnect nowadays between us and the land.”

His most spectacular room installation is of 10,000 reeds or bullrushes suspended from its skylights. Pictures do not convey the sheer grandeur of this installation, provoking a cathedral-like sense of sacred. Using only natural light, reed mace (bullrushes) from Scottish lochs was used to create this curtained chamber that you can step into and feel the light change.

A simple room of stones speaks eloquently of our deepest connection to the earth. The stones are dug out, not under a hedge or around a cow barn, but from grave sites, including that of his wife. “My former wife Judith died in 2008 and when I was visiting her grave, I noticed there was a pile of stones by the cemetery wall. And I discovered they’re found in every cemetery, displaced from digging graves,” he says. “So when a body goes into the earth, there are always some stones left over. There’s an exchange between the body and the land and I thought that was very powerful.” He collected the stones from hundreds of gravesites across the region over nearly three years.

Judith Gregson, a ceramicist from the Potteries, and her father also inspired the wall of cracked red mud in the exhibition, which took 20 people to make and ten days to dry. Like much of his work, it looks effortless, but it is far from it. The catalogues notes that red earth is used by local farmers to mark the sheep and its distinctive color comes from the high iron content of the earth, which we share in our blood. On the wall next to Red Wall are three monitors playing a video of the artist cleaning a rock with the red clay literally bleeding into the stream. A visceral connection of blood, iron, water, and earth. Stunning.

In another room, a video of him “washing” his hands with blackberries links to this imagery.

Nearby, a video of his “Hedge walk” plays. In an interview for The Guardian, he talks about how his performance pieces are uncomfortable because he is not a performer. “They are very personal acts done in an often public place.” Hedge walking is “pretty brutal”, he admits. “I came out of one or two of those feeling pretty beaten up. But what a beautiful thing to do. Swimming through a hedge.” He’s probably retired from hedge walking, however. “You only do them while they are giving you something. The intention of my work has always been to understand my relationship with the land. I don’t go out to improve what is there. But I do feel this need to be a participant, working with it, learning about it. Art has an amazing ability to open your eyes to what’s around you – such as the hedge. Maybe that’s what art is. It just takes you somewhere you’ve never thought of going, whether it’s in the mind or the world.”

I particularly enjoyed the lower gallery area which had many images from his early works, going back to the late 1970s.

All images copyright Lisa McSherry, 2025, except where noted.

A .pdf of the Exhibition Guide is here.

More photos are here, including many taken during the installation, which offer a fascinating glimpse into the process of creation.

As a finale to our series on Lisa’s trip to Alaska, here is a collection of images from the journey. Enjoy!

Click on an image to see it full size

As a final note, for those of you who waded through my “infinite slide show” . . .

My one sadness is that I never took the time or spent the money to have Dungeness Crab or Halibut while I was on shore. Mostly, I was daunted by sticker shock ($42 for a crab roll) and the huge lines of cruisers all doing exactly the same thing.

Cruising is not my preferred way to travel. I like having more control over my itinerary, both in terms of where to go and what to do each day. I also am not a consumer, and the constant sales pitch of the ship, and locations visited were overwhelming.

That said, My friend and I had a great time. We saw beautiful even magnificent scenery and learned interesting things about this small portion of Alaska. Vancouver, BC and Alaska were amazing and I am profoundly glad I went on this journey.

Early the next morning (as in 5 am, by dawn’s early light) the ship slowly cruised up the 30-mile long Endicott Arm Fjord paused at the Dawes Glacier, then turned and began its return journey.

Such dull language to express an outrageously spectacular experience. The Endicott Arm Fjord itself is a frozen wonderland full of granite cliffs, verdant valleys, and several gushing waterfalls. Then there is Dawes Glacier, a 600-foot-tall and mile-wide active icecap that “calves” all day long. (It’s a bit sad to see just how many pictures I took of bits of glacier floating alongside the ship!)

A professional naturalist narrated the journey for us, telling us about wildlife we might see (not much) and what the landscape revealed.

During the last ice age, over 16,000 years ago, most of Alaska was covered by two miles of ice. Glaciers slowly carved out spectacular valleys and fjords, one of which we were currently traveling down in a 112-year-old, beautifully converted wooden tugboat. Dawes Glacier, the one we were heading 30 nautical miles up Endicott Arm to see, once extended this far out. It pushed rocks, gravel, and silt, digging out a massive “gully” up to 1,000 feet deep in some places, leaving behind a picturesque terminal moraine called Wood Spit, where we had conveniently anchored the night before. You can’t look around at Alaska’s landscape and not see evidence of how glaciers sculpted this place—it’s everywhere.

As the ship steamed further up the fjord, it grew narrower, and the air got colder, as if we were entering a gigantic freezer. The mass of ice that makes up Dawes Glacier begins with the Stikine Icefield at an elevation of 5,200 feet (1,585 meters). From this source, the ice flows slowly—about 15 feet per day—along the path of least resistance. Multiple tributary glaciers feed into the main tongue, like streams into a river. This mass of ice cools the air around it, and the cold, dense air stays within the confines of the fjord, flowing outward.

The first visible sign that there’s a tidewater glacier ahead of us is the presence of small pieces of ice, looking like sculpted crystals, floating by the ship. These aren’t icebergs—these are mostly bergy bits (1-5 meters in size) or growlers (<1 meter in size). They’ve crumbled off the face of the glacier into the water and are flowing out with the wind and tide. And they are an eerie pale neon blue. It’s unearthly.

You see, glacier ice is blue. Ice traps long wavelengths of light, such as red and green, while allowing the shorter wavelengths, like blue, to pass through the ice and reach our eyes.

This is a long morning of slow movement, a 360* turn so everyone has a chance to see the magnificence from their balcony, or breakfast. Truly a highlight of the trip, and a “bucket list” event that I am very glad to have done.

A huge draw for me on this journey was a guided tour of Saxon Native Village, one of several “totem capitals of Alaska.”

Many of the totem poles on display at the park today were carved in the 1940s to preserve native culture, and they are replicas of the original poles left in abandoned villages by Native Alaskans. Each pole tells unique stories through intricate carvings and vibrant colors. In addition to the 11 on the Totem Way, there are 14 more near the clan house. Of the 25, the Eagle Beaver Pole is repeated three times, and there are four Totem Guards on either side of the steps. Outside of the carving center, where we caught a glimpse of the celebrated carver, Nathan Jackson, lies a “sleeping totem.” (I would love to tell you more, but the guide was clearly reluctant to say anything about it and I don’t want to be the revealer of private knowledge.)

Some things I learned:

• Inanimate objects are forbidden on poles and all of the figures represent living beings.
• Among the Haida poles you will see many whale carvings as the Haida Indians have a spiritual connection with the whale. They believe the whale’s display of loyalty and obedience amongst themselves parallels the values of their clan system.
• The Tribal House was traditionally used as a communal house for several clans or families of a tribe. The Totems inside are family poles that tell the history of the clan or family living inside.
• The Tlingit of Saxman are the Saanya Kwaan, or “People of the Southeast Wind”.
• The “low man on the totem pole,” isn’t an insult; the bottom figure is often the most important one – and usually, isn’t a man.

Totem poles are often not meant to be clear in their meaning (a very non-Western attitude). The story of the pole is primarily shared between the person commissioning the carving of the pole and the carver. Upon completion, it is up to the owner whether to share the story. (To my mind, this “secrecy” is an example of intellectual property within a cultural perspective.) This explains why most of the poles have no informational signage. To my mind, this encourages visitors to buy materials at the (pretty nice) gift shop on the grounds. I think such materials are excellent souvenirs, much better than a mug or shot glass.

Totem poles serve a variety of purposes. They are not only artistic expressions but also symbols of family lineage, tribal heritage, and the natural world. The animals carved onto the poles often represent the clan’s totem or the spirit guides that are believed to protect or guide the people. The significance of each animal varies depending on the cultural context and the specific animal’s traits, behaviors, and role in the ecosystem. In this way, totem poles serve as a visual language, communicating the spiritual beliefs and connection to nature that is central to these cultures.

Note that you do not need to take a tour here. You can walk to Saxman Native Village 2-3 miles along an oceanfront path, take a public bus ($2 — cash only — at time of writing) near Berth 2 of the cruise terminal, or catch a quick taxi ride (approx. $15 one way). The village welcomes independent travelers with a self-guided tour option for just USD 5 per person.

The Totem Pole Art is magnificent. It boggles my mind how each is carved by hand and I enjoyed trying to figure out which animal was represented on the poles. Not being Native, the symbols aren’t easy to decipher. (A place where I really would have appreciated signage, even just the names of the totems). The street that the Totem Poles are on display is on an incline with a paved sidewalk that was easy to navigate. The Clan House features a magnificent carving of a Beaver on the outside and inside are four carved house posts as well as another large panel carving inside the building. Outside the Clan House are two short, gravel lined, walking paths through the rainforest that surrounds the park. Along these paths are the native trees, shrubs, flowers, plants, berries, & more that is found in the rainforest.

This wikipedia entry has a list of all of the poles on site: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saxman_Totem_Park

We also went through Ketchikan with its National Historic Landmark District. Alaska’s first city and the salmon capital of the world, we had a chance to stop and visit a small park where we watched salmon swimming upstream. The salmon run is a primal moment of deep connection to nature and her rhythms. Here is a video I took — no jumping, but you can get a sense of how many fish were doing their thing.

Otherwise, there is Creek Street, once the town’s red-light district. The area is distinct for its brothels built on stilts over a salmon-filled creek. Today, it’s a colorful stretch of shops and galleries with a few small museums that tell the story of Ketchikan’s salty past. Otherwise, the city (8,000 year-round residents makes this a very small city) is primarily a collection of jewelry stores (56, according to our guide) most of which are owned and operated by the cruise ships and tour companies.

We stopped at Skagway, Alaska, also known as the “Gateway to the Klondike,” and one of the most interesting places we visited.

While a few places told us the Tlingit origin of the town’s name, sha-ka-ԍéi, it wasn’t until after I returned home that I learned of its richer history. Sha-ka-ԍéi is a verbal noun which means pretty woman and is a Tlingit idiom which figuratively refers to rough seas in the Taiya Inlet, caused by strong north winds. The story behind the name is that Sha-ka-ԍéi [“Pretty Woman”] was the nickname of Kanagoo, a mythical woman who transformed herself into stone at Skagway Bay and who (according to the story) now causes the strong, channeled winds which blow toward Haines, Alaska.

Gold was discovered in 1896 in the klondike region of Canada, 500 miles away, and Skagway was the closest city from which prospectors could travel to (hopefully) find their fortune. The journey, as you can imagine, was brutal. Within one year of the discovery of gold in the Klondike thousands of people were attempting the journey. Animals brought to Skagway were often not cared for by anyone knowledgeable. Some animals were forced to stand for two weeks straight and did not get the luxury of food and water. If they didn’t die on their way to Skagway they were threatened by accidents, shipwrecks, or on the trails. Horses, mules, oxen, sheep, and dogs were loaded down, forced to wait in long lines, and exhausted by the trail leading over the pass. Horses were not trained or equipped to deal with the constant physical demands, boggy mud holes, and slippery rocks. It’s estimated that 3,000 horses died in a one year period on the White Pass Trail, earning it the nickname “Dead Horse Trail.”

In an attempt to find a better way to get goods to the Yukon, construction of the narrow gauge White Pass & Yukon Route railroad began in 1898. Thousands of people worked together to finish the 110 mile track from Skagway to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory Canada. There were many challenges to completion, including harsh weather and phenomenally high labor turnover. Nonetheless, the track was completed in 2 years, 2 months, and 2 days.

The main part of town is a gorgeous collection of “Old West” storefronts, often used in movies and television sets. There is a ton of locally made art and goods available, and we had a lot of fun shopping and admiring the high quality offered.

A highlight was the White Pass Railroad tour, a 20 mile journey to the Summit (a 2,865-foot elevation) Narrated by interesting and informed guides, we learned a ton about the history of Skagway and the gold rush. The rail cars are vintage coaches, with lovely wooden benches and wide/ tall windows. The train follows the original route to White Pass summit, passing Bridal Veil Falls, Inspiration Point, and Dead Horse Gulch.

Despite deep fog, we were treated to a breathtaking panorama of mountains, glaciers, gorges, waterfalls, tunnels, trestles, and historic sites.