The Greatest Travel Writer

In my humble opinion, the greatest travel writer I’ve read is Mr. H.V. Morton. Morton’s original claim to fame was as the journalist who broke the story of King Tut’s tomb back when Howard Carter was poking around the Egyptian desert. He went on to write an entire shelf of books about various countries, cities, and regions, all in the context of a travelogue.

Before discussing Morton’s work further, I’d like to say that most other travel books I’ve read are either the romp-through-a-place-kind, or the guidebooks that have about twenty words for each stop. Both of these serve a purpose. The first type are vicarious fun. The second give practical information and pointers in the right direction when assembling an itinerary. Almost without exception I’ve found these books quite thin on the type of information I’m looking for.

Thus, H.V. Morton. Morton synthesizes history, culture, geography, all sorts of things into an integrated travel experience. In the course of his books, he relates these facts through a series of encounters with whatever subject matter is at hand. It might be a hidden gem of a church in a back street in Rome or a pawnshop in Venice. Each gives an opportunity to inform the reader of an incredible array of details, each more fascinating than the one before it. It is this type of presentation that offers the reader a sense of “knowing” a place. Morton sleeps in monasteries and run-down hotels. He eats meals that give him stomach troubles. He rides on mules when he has to. And he doesn’t hesitate to let the reader know that all does not go well when traveling, a reality that too many other writers ignore.

I read A Stranger In Spain between my second and third trips to that country. Upon my third and several trips thereafter, I found myself recalling much of what Morton had written. Astonishingly, many of the places he visited are still there, some in the same condition as he found them. The same could be said for In Search of London. I read this before a trip to that city and while in the Temple area remembered Morton’s stories about the Knight’s Templar and the lawyers that operated there in his time.

Anthony Bourdain said, “Be a traveler, not a tourist.” This certainly holds true for Morton. Who is your favorite travel writer? Do you have a favorite book about a place you’ve visited or would like to?

Published in: on June 28, 2008 at 12:23 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Numbered Days

For the ships in the back basin at what remains of the Philadelphia Navy Yard, the days are numbered. These vessels are on the inactive list and subject to sale, scrapping, or another fate, that of an artificial reef. Before I became a novelist full time, I used to sink ships to build artificial reefs. Yes, it’s a long story from there to here. Anyway, I sank several small tankers like the one pictured below.

This little tanker is what the navy used to call a “yard oiler.” It carried fuel of various types to top off ships or other floating equipment. They were mostly built in 1944 and saw limited service until the end of World War II. In the end, they landed in places like this, moving no further than up and down with the tide. I sank three of these off the coast of New Jersey. They became great dive and fishing sites. However, it was a sad sight, watching them sink. Anyone who has lived and worked aboard a sea-going vessel knows that you become attached to your boat. You learn its foibles, the noises it makes, the noises it doesn’t make, and just where you fit in among its bulkheads. Thus, when you know all hope is lost and it’s destined for the bottom, you can’t help but feel a sadness others might not appreciate. Imagine your house, your job, your car, and all the times you’ve spent there, everything… disappearing in a matter of minutes, never to be seen again, except by the fish and the occasional scuba diver. There’s no rebuilding, as in the case of a hurricane or a tornado that knocked your house down. This was your boat, the specific one you knew. Gone.

Nonetheless, the fish need houses, too, and if the vessel is destined for nothing better than the scrappers, better it finds a home among the creatures of the sea.

And here is the demise of an old yard oiler, off the coast of Manasquan Inlet, New Jersey, USA. The first photo below shows the ship at anchor. I’ve just opened a series of valves and removed plates in the hull to let water in.

A local beer distributer helped pay for the cost of sinking this ship. Thus, the Budweiser sign. In the next photo the ship is well on its way to the bottom.

It rolled to the port side and took a nose dive toward Davy Jones’ locker. Finally, it’s all but under the surface, belching air as water finds its way into every space.

In the back of the last photo, you can see a fishing boat. Once the ship settled onto the bottom, he cruised over, logging the exact position on his GPS so that he can come back and reap the benefit. The States of New Jersey and Delaware promote reef construction as much as possible. It helps the environment and provides a renewable fishing resource for sport fisherman. These wrecks last about fifty to eighty years.

Still, it’s sad to put a good ship down. I’ll post one more separately, a former US Coast Guard buoy tender named the Red Oak.

Published in: on June 27, 2008 at 4:36 pm  Leave a Comment  
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The Way to Go

The cleverness of cats should never be underestimated. As the old joke goes, the ancient Egyptians worships cats, and cats have never forgotten it. I’m not sure what other animal can make this claim to fame. There I was in Cuenca, Spain, looking for a little place to eat, when I spotted this cat. I figured he was on his way to a snack or a nap. (Two things I also happen to enjoy, usually in that order.)

My gray and white short haired friend got to the top of the stairs, hung a left, and leaped into an open window! Brilliant for him but I was clearly not invited. As for me, well, I was on my own. Luckily, just down the lane was a narrow restaurant I might never have found. (You see, that was the cat’s plan, to show me the way and leave the bill to my account.) It turned out to be a good place to practice Spanish for this native English speaker. The waiter asked me a dozen questions, everything from where I was from to why had I come to Cuenca to where I was going next. He was an affable fellow. Like so many Spaniards I meet in my travels, he was intensely proud of his culture and immediate family.

After the meal I was back on the streets, looking for more interesting things, keeping a sharp eye for cats and other sneaky creatures.

Published in: on June 27, 2008 at 11:54 am  Comments (1)  
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Tugboat Anatomy, Part III

This will be the final installment for Tugboat Anatomy. At least for now. It’s time for a look at living aboard a tug. The High Roller works around the Philadelphia Harbor with a crew of five. On long, ocean tows, she would carry seven and sometimes as many as ten men.

Here’s where they sleep.

This is a typical bunkroom for the crew. Two bunks, two lockers, one porthole and a few shelves. The captain has his own suite just behind the wheelhouse. There are two bunks in there with a sink. The rest of the crew doesn’t get a sink, except for the one in the head. The head on the High Roller has two showers, two sinks, two toilets. There’s also a washing machine for laundry.

And here’s the galley.

The galley spans the boat from one side to the other. Out of the frame is a large refrigerator and freezer. The table on the left faces a bench that seats four. Notice the racks above the sink, designed to keep plates and cups from flying during rough weather. This boat has the galley at the stern, which encourages the crew to check the engine room every time they pass from the bunk area to get something to eat. You can never check the engine room too much.

Here’s a look at the engine room, facing forward. The main engines are right and left, with the electrical distribution panel directly ahead. Electricity is provided by two separate diesel driven generators which make enough power for about four typical houses.

Another look at a main engine, in this case a Caterpiller D399 of 16 cylinders, developing 1,200 horsepower.

That engine uses tons of fuel. Literally. The High Roller carries more than 20,000 gallons of fuel. Do the math at today’s prices. (Hey, put it on your credit card and get the frequent flier miles.) Anyway, that engine is connected to a clutch and reduction gear that looks like this:

That’s a little bigger than the tranny in your old Camaro. When one of these gears lets go, it makes a hell of a racket and costs a fortune and ruins your whole week.

Again, notice there isn’t much space to live and work on a tugboat. Most things have the aroma of diesel or fresh paint. If two guys aren’t getting along, there’s no where to hide. I knew one captain who used to take two feuding men and toss them into the smallest room on the boat. They weren’t to come out until whatever they were arguing about was settled. If not, he’d go in there with them and settle it himself. Furthermore, things have to be maintained and repaired while underway. Spare parts are carried on the boat. Except in the case of a major breakdown, the work continues, the solutions implemented and improvised by those aboard.

In An Island Away, the reader gets some of the back story of Nathan Beck. He started working on launches and small tugs as a teenager then worked his way up to captain. This experience helped to shape his outlook on the world and turned him into the man the reader meets in the novel. I hope this post augments the narrative and puts a few pictures to the words.

Published in: on June 26, 2008 at 10:55 pm  Leave a Comment  
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