July 25 - Scotland to London (written by Jenny)

It was our last morning in Scotland, and we wanted to make it memorable. So we got up at 5:15 a.m. and set out across the countryside for one last castle: the Castle Urquhart (pronounced “Erkhart”) on the bank of the famous Loch Ness. Just the thought of seeing that famous loch and perhaps catching a glimpse of the legendary monster, Nessie, was enough to justify the early morning. The drive was a couple of hours, and we saw more sheep and more cows (though no highland ones with the bushy hair in their eyes). We also saw more quaint towns. As we drove along the length of the loch, we kept our eyes open for Nessie – just in case.

The Castle Urquhart was, again, mostly ruins; the last inhabitants had blown it up. But being perched on the shore of the loch made it enchanting somehow. Andy and I wandered around the grounds, taking pictures and enjoying the view of the stone walls against the water. It was truly a Scottish dream. Only one thing was missing for me: a bagpiper. Can’t you just imagine what it would be like to have a real bagpiper dressed in his kilt, standing on a hill with the castle behind him, and producing that unique, beautiful music? I could, and that faint sound of bagpipes in my head seemed to grow louder and louder. But, wait! That sound was not in my head. I was sure I heard the bagpipe, so I went to investigate. Then it was gone. Just, a minute or so later, I heard it again. I ran through the castle entrance and saw him.

I called to Andy to come quick. I was mesmerized by the music. Andy came and took pictures and video, and several others stood up beside the piper to get their pictures taken. All I wanted to do was hear him play. It was like magic to me. I don’t know why but the sound of bagpipes playing is one of my favorite sounds. Later, he played again, inside the castle right next to the loch. We had spent a few minutes chatting with him and discovered that he is also a Fraser. That certainly got Andy’s attention, especially when our new friend corrected Andy’s pronunciation of the family name. We told him we were from California and exchanged a few stories. We had to keep an eye on the clock - our London-bound flight would be leaving soon - but we stayed long enough to hear him play a bit more. To my delight, he played my favorite bagpipe piece, “Amazing Grace.” He then played “Scotland the Brave,” a standard Scottish favorite, followed by Yankee Doodle (which made us Americans laugh). I swear, my eyes were tearing up, I was so happy. This was the best ending to our Scottish visit. As the piper belted out his last piece, Andy and I shook his hand and said our goodbyes. I was still on a high from that experience for a long time after.

The flight to London was uneventful – exactly what you want a flight to be. And then we were there: London! I had always wanted to come to this city, so this was quite exciting for me. We rode the Gatwick Express from the airport to the Victoria station. From there we hopped on the tube. A couple of quick stops delivered us just two blocks from our hotel. We stayed at the Byron, just north of Hyde Park. It is a quaint townhouse style hotel. The room was small but comfortable and even had a window you could actually open to let some cool, fresh air flood into the room. How often do you find that anymore? And it was quiet, which pleased Andy.

Right away we decided to take a walk. I wanted to really see London, so we set out across Hyde Park toward the Thames River. The park was lovely with lots of green, some statues, and people strolling about. It was a beautiful day. At the south side of the park we found the Prince Albert Memorial, all covered with gold leaf and intricate carvings. After the park, we made our way through the Chelsea area. When we got to the Thames we were surprised to find one of the things Andy wanted to see, a statue of Thomas More. Andy took a few photos and then we decided it was time to find something to eat. We came across a typical London pub wand enjoyed some fish and chips (this became a bit of a staple for Andy). We love the malt vinegar!

Then, it was time to really see something: Big Ben! For this we had to plot out the underground tube route, which turned out to be pretty easy. We love metros when we tour a big city. We set our sights on Westminster Station, and when we finally arrived and found the exit, we saw Big Ben towering above us. It was quite stunning, offering much more intricate detail than I expected. We wandered around for a while, walking past Westminster Abbey, crossing a bridge across the river, and studying the London Eye on the other side. Along the way, Andy noticed one of those shell game swindlers and wanted to watch for a while. There were also merchants selling trinkets and crunchy caramel covered peanuts. With all our stopping and looking, it took us probably a half hour to cross that bridge.

When we got to the other side we thought we’d just see what was up with the London eye. The lines didn’t look too long but we’d heard it was just an overpriced Ferris wheel. But the price didn’t shock us (15 pounds each) so we grabbed some of the last tickets they were selling for the day joined the late evening queue. They loaded us into a large plexiglass capsule with about 15 other people. It was big enough for us all to walk around and see the view from all sides. Up we rode, surveying a grand view of the city. Not only can you see Big Ben, the Parliament buildings and Westminster Abbey, you can also see Buckingham Palace and St. Paul’s Cathedral too. Since we rode it at night, we saw the city all alight under a black sky. Disembarking, we were tired, so we took the tube back to our hotel. The room was quiet and comfortable, and we left the window open all night.

Day 2 | Day 4

July 24 - Scotland (written by Andy)

Sleeping in downtown Aberdeen is a risky proposition. The good news is that you can assure easy access to plenty of nightlife. The bad news: pretty much the same thing. We stayed at the Carmelite, a three story inn wedged among a couple of loud bars and karaoke joints (the "Hen Hoose" looked like an especially jumping joint). Fun, right? Only, closing time brought streams of lurching drunks cheering as if they'd stumbled into a football game. Various romantic entanglements and tough-guy staring contests rustled up enough shrieking, screaming, and crying jags to keep us up past 3 a.m. And when the inebriants finally slouched off, the seagulls picked up the slack, piercing the silence with shrill calls throughout the night. Aberdeen is, after all, a shore town. As a result, we slept in until one in the afternoon.

When we finally stumbled out of bed (well, technically Jenny woke earlier, but she succumbed to jet lag after writing out some postcards, figuring I'd certainly wake up soon) we confronted a dreary sky and sour moods. We couldn't find the car park, we couldn't find the proper way out of town, and we weren't sure if we had enough time to see Castle Fraser this late in the day. Nonetheless we plowed ahead, getting lost every three turns as bad luck seemed only to get worse. While, yesterday, cheery blue skies lit up the fields dotted with sheep and cast long shadows along the stone walls that march toward the hills, this afternoon seemed to bring only sullen prairies marred by lame suburban housing projects.

Jenny and I decided, though, that we'd best cheer up anyway, no matter what we'd find. And not too long afterward we made the final turn to the castle I'd so longed to see. As I've written elsewhere, I trace my lineage back through the Frazier line on my mother's side. Thus I was naturally keen on visiting a place associated with the family from which my people are an offshoot. Originally we hail from France, coming over with the Norman invasion in 1066. Later, my line traveled to Northern Ireland and then across the Atlantic, becoming Fraziers along the way. While I hardly expected a (distant) family discount upon visiting Castle Fraser, I was delighted that docents took a special interest in me, offering a personalized tour of some of the rooms and pointing out some of the castle's secret peepholes and escape hatches.

On the walls are hung portraits of famous Frasers, including Andrew Fraser, 1st Lord of the Castle. Again, though I have no direct lineage to this family - my line is most likely cast from a "cadet" branch - I still felt some pride and the sense that this place is, in a small way, part of me. Of course, the real experience of my Frazier-ness was to follow. Jenny and I enjoyed our tour (especially due to the endlessly engaging patter of one docent who was determined to interpret the meaning of every nook and cranny) learning to read a bit of my family's story from the icons carved into the stone walls. After the tour we had no other specific plans. At last we were freed from the pressure of having to get somewhere "on time," and we agreed that it'd be fun to drive north a bit, to cruise along the coast.

My mom once explained that any effort to understand myself as a Frazier must start by seeing the rocky shores of northern Scotland, a place swept by rains and marked by such isolation that one must learn independence early. And as the weather was suitably grim, with a hint of rain in the air, it seemed like a good time to follow mom's advice. Better yet, Jenny pointed out the fact that we were merely an hour or so away from a dot at the top edge of Aberdeenshire: Fraserburgh (with a suffix I'd learned at last to pronounce "bur-ah"). We were both up for some adventure, so we hit the road…

…And almost immediately pulled over to the Cock and Bull in Balmedie. Given our rush out the door this afternoon, neither of us had eaten. Fortunately this country inn was serving a swell three course meal with plentiful family style sides and tasty deserts (sticky toffee pudding for Jenny; fresh fruit and mango sorbet for me). Best of all, the proprietor offered me a snifter of Laphroaig, a single malt from the Isle of Islay. This is an especially "peaty" scotch, tasting of earth and firewood while being remarkably smooth. I ordered a dram and committed to finding a bottle or two for my return Stateside. Thereafter we found our way to Fraserburgh, and I stared out at crashing waves punishing the shore.

Fraserborough is quiet, gritty, windy, and cold. Maybe it's the romantic in me, but the place seemed just right. We cruised the streets, stopping now and again, once to take a snapshot of a statue commemorating crews lost in lifeboat disasters. We also took a moment to study the names of family members who died in World War II. Watching the seagulls beat their wings against the wind of that rocky beach, I thought about my mother's assurance that coming to Scotland would explain something about me. I'm so glad I came.

Day 1 | Day 3

July 22 and 23 - Scotland (written by Jenny)

We landed in Edinburgh (pronounced “Edinbur-ah”) on Saturday morning around 8:40 a.m. But we met our first Scot while crossing the Atlantic. I sat next to Alistair on the plane and we talked for a good few hours of the trip from Newark. He talked about some Scottish history, his work as a platform designer for Chevron, and some places he recommended we see during our visit. His Scottish accent and gruff mannerisms were captivating. As we got off the plane he reminded us not to miss the Highland cows - he called them “ginger” with lots of hair hanging over their faces. We took a mental note to look for them on our travels. His conversation, and the fact that our flight from SFO began in the morning, meant that we got very little sleep on the flight. I got about got two hours or so; Andy got even less. So, it would have been quite understandable for us to grab a hotel right away and sleep. But not us! We had just landed in Scotland, where neither one of us had ever been, and we were ready for adventure, fatigue be darned.

We picked up a rental car and were ready for our first adventure – which, to our dismay, turned out to be Andy re-learning how to drive on the left-hand side of the road. We had done this in Australia, but it’s not as much like riding a bike as you’d like. Plus, this car was a manual, so Andy had the pleasure of learning how to drive with the stick in his left hand, something he’d never had to do before. That was probably the most challenging part, as first gear and reverse were right next to each other and were almost indistinguishable. Andy had his work cut out for him, but he managed well, except for maybe a few brushes with the curb. Another tricky part with driving on the left is that you tend to drift toward the curb without noticing. The passenger’s responsibility is to warn the driver when he’s getting too close. I did my best but wasn’t perfect by any means.

Our first stop (and official adventure) was about a half-hour away: Doune Castle. Not only did we start with an authentic Scottish castle, we visited the film location for many of the scenes of one of our all-time favorite movies, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Andy found it on the web and had the brilliant idea to visit. The managers of the castle play up this part of the history, selling Holy Grail beer and even giving you coconut halves to clap together as you playfully gallop around the courtyard. The audio tour that they gave us featured Terry Gilliam, one of the cast members of Holy Grail, narrating both the long-ago history of the castle, tales about Earl Robert Stewart and his family’s lifestyle, but also the more recent history of the Monty Python scenes that were played out in each room.

The servery and kitchen set the stage for Castle Anthrax and the many virgins tempting Sir Galahad. The upper room held the scene of the Swamp Castle played out between the King and his son who didn’t want any of what his dad had to give him, he just wanted to sing… ["Stop that, stop that!"]. The Great Hall was the scene of Camelot and the silliness that dissuaded King Arthur from taking his knights there. And the courtyard was where John Cleese fought off guards and guests to the Swamp Castle’s star-crossed wedding celebration. As Andy and I listened and took lots of pictures, we laughed and quoted favorite lines from the movie. Outside we walked the grounds, looking up to pinpoint the exact place where the Frenchman taunted King Arthur. It was a perfect first stop for the Wood Family.

By the time we left Castle Doune, we were famished; it was lunch time, and our last meal was a mediocre meal of airplane food served hours ago. The kind folks in the gift shop recommended a pub in the village, the Red Lion Inn. It sounded like just the place to grab some authentic Scottish pub food, and we were right. It was a great spot to join locals visiting to share a pint and some conversation. We had a lovely lunch of beef and ale pie, along with some fish and chips. Once we were done eating, the fatigue began to set in. But that was no deterrent. We had all afternoon to enjoy Scotland and we weren’t going to waste it! Besides it was only a two to three hour drive to Aberdeen where we had a room waiting, and we might as well enjoy the ride. But first we strolled around the village of Doune, taking in the local flavor and grabbing pics of the architecture.

From Doune we decided to take one of Alistair’s recommendations and drive the coastal road up to Aberdeen, as opposed to the inland road that Google Maps gave us. It would be a bit longer but a lot nicer. Plus, he said we should definitely stop in Arbroath to see the Abbey and the Declaration of Arbroath that was housed there. Apparently Scots believe that our own U.S. Declaration of Independence was patterned after this document. Well, of course a challenge like that has to be investigated, so we made sure to stop and see this document. The Abbey fortunately was also quite lovely and a joy to see, so it was well worth the stop. Built centuries ago, it is now mostly rubble, like a lot of these old historic places; Doune Castle was similar. But what is left is beautiful: stone walls and some rooms and a large old cemetery with tall headstones – not like the small flush-to-the-ground ones you see in so many cemeteries these days. These were tall headstones covered with carvings and scriptures.

Seagulls are now the current residents of the Abbey at Arbroath. There were quite a number of them perched atop an old stone wall, flying around and even wandering through the gravestones in an almost reverent way. One of the rooms we found was the sacristy. The person in the gift shop told us this room possessed great acoustics, and if you felt like singing that would be the right place. Sure enough when we got in there, though we really had no intention of singing, we could tell right away that there was an enchanting sound reverberation. Neither one of us could resist a few bars of “Amazing Grace.” Even our weak voices sounded heavenly there.

After some hunting we found the declaration. It’s a copy, but it still gives the impression of being centuries old. It has lots of strips of its cloth hanging from the bottom (much like a flyer you’d see hanging at the grocery store with phone numbers on strips cut into the bottom), each with a wax seal from one of the people who codified it, representing regions of Scotland at the time. Unfortunately, it was written in another language so I couldn’t read it or verify its role as a basis for our Declaration of Independence. Of course, the shopkeeper confirmed what I’d heard and assured me that if I read the translation next to our document, they would be strikingly similar. In the shop, I was able to find a portion of the translation, and the one similarity I could see was list of complaints the Scots had against the King at the time. I remember from my history that ours has a list of complaints against the King as well. But otherwise I saw nothing all that similar; more investigation is needed.

Continuing our journey up the coast, we decided to stop at a castle we had scheduled for tomorrow: the Castle Dunnottar. Unfortunately we got there a bit late to see the tour. This castle – or the ruins thereof – are set out on a cliff that’s separated from the mainland and mostly inaccessible accept for a small strip of land that joins it. It is high above the rocky shoals of Scotland, a gorgeous site to see. We came at the right time to photograph it in late afternoon light, just before the fog came rolling in. There was a bit of hiking needed to get out to it and to get to a nearby cliff that was perfect for photography, but it was well worth it. We said we’d try to return tomorrow to see it in its entirety.

By this point in the day I was falling asleep anytime I sat still for more than two minutes, but I had to navigate our way into Aberdeen – no small task. After getting lost a bit in that big city we found our hotel, the Carmelite in the center of town. We were quite hungry, so we had to head out again for a quick bite of dinner. Then, finally, we returned one last time to crash in our hotel. It had been an exhausting two days but entirely worth every effort. It was a great start to what promises to be an amazing three weeks.


Day 2

Salzburg and Innsbruck, Austria

Riding the train from Salzburg to Innsbruck, a brief detour on my way back to Munich and then home, I am struck by how charming this place is. Back in the States, referring to something or someone as "charming" sometimes carries the slightest tinge of condescension. But that's not remotely the feeling here.

The green valleys of the countryside - dotted with pleasant homes, exalted with church spires, threaded by rivers and biking trails, and ringed by sunlit mountains - call forth such superlatives: charming, quaint, picturesque, joyful. On this, my second trip to the Salzburg Global Seminar (my first trip was exactly one year ago), I expected to be somewhat jaded by the sights. If anything, I am even more enchanted [OK, one exception: I could do without my fellow passenger slurring songs from The Sound of Music after one too many biers…]

I returned to Salzburg to collect footage and interviews to produce a video about the Seminar (I've embedded a "trailer" above this post), a series of meetings launched by three Harvard students who, with the help of Margaret Mead, hoped to strengthen cross-Atlantic ties through conversation that would motivate action on local and international levels. Since 1947, that vision grew to accommodate the need for Cold War adversaries to meet in a neutral location and expanded beyond its initial American Studies roots. Now the Salzburg Seminar invites students, educators, advocates, and policymakers from around the world to engage issues that include sustainability, human rights, and globalization. Participants almost invariably return to their homes with enthusiasm and a deep desire to make things happen. That's certainly how I feel.

Highlights of this trip begin with the pleasure of getting to know so many fascinating people, especially SJSU colleagues whom I had not previously met. Sitting on the terrace of Schloss Leopoldskron - yep, a Sound of Music landmark - sipping wine and chatting with new friends as the sun sets behind Mount Untersberg … it's hard to imagine a nicer way to spend an evening. And since I'd visited before, I played tour guide to a band of folks wanting to enjoy Salzburg's romantic town center.

We enjoyed our first walk so much that we gathered more pals for a trek to my favorite outdoor spot, Zum Eulenspiegel, followed by dinner at Stiftskeller St. Peter, an inn that's attracted the likes of Charlemagne and Christopher Columbus since it opened over 12 centuries ago. Afterward, as we hoofed our way around the curve of Festung hill, the evening's combination of fine dining and plenty of bier (and some schnapps, I should add) inspired us to form a traveling chorus, as we took turns belting out songs from our childhoods.

In between an exhausting schedule of meetings, interviews, and individual ambling to collect footage for the video project, I also ventured into the surrounding countryside on two bike tours led by Joan Reckmeyer, wheeling through sun-dappled circuits that tie nearby villages together, stopping to watch would-be Salzburger surfers practice on the rushing currents of a canal, and parking in Grödig for refreshing glasses of grapefruit Stiegl radler (a carbonated "biker's beer" made in town). I enjoyed the stuff so much that I hit up a nearby Billa market to grab a six-pack for pals back at the Schloss.

And, repeating a highlight from last year, I joined the latest Salzburg Seminar cohort for a concert of Mozart, Schumann, and Satie played by a superb pianist named Damir Sertic, followed by a candlelight banquet where we toasted the end of a thought-provoking week. The next morning, I returned my key to the castle and shared hugs with departing friends.

I had few plans for the next two days; I just thought it'd be nice to see more of Austria. During my previous stay, I wrapped up my visit by touring Vienna. This time I took the train southwest to Innsbruck. I knew nothing about the place, but I quickly came to love it. Innsbruck, famous as the site of two winter olympic games, offers another charming Old Town, complete with ornate cathedrals, al fresco restaurants, and medieval alleys packed with souvenir shops.

After dropping off my gear at Sailer Gasthof, a hotel located conveniently near the train station, I made my way to the riverside to gaze upon a smiling curve of narrow taffy-colored buildings hugging the opposite shore, their arched roofs mirroring the Alps that rise above. Afterward, I sauntered the arcades of the Altstadt and joined the crowds to photograph the Golden Roof built for Emperor Maximilian in 1500.

Then I took a bus to Wattens to visit the Swarovski Kristallwelten and check out the waterfall that tumbles out of a towering grassy head. Just read that sentence again; wouldn't you want to check it out too?


For a late afternoon meal I enjoyed a delightfully complex Hauspfandl at Weisses Rössl. Here's the menu description: "Tender slices of pork fillet, broiled, well spiced with garlic and caraway, quenched with brandy and served with green beans in smoked bacon and [Stove House] Swabian dumplings." Walking back to the hotel for a break before some night shooting, I spotted a double rainbow, rejoicing in the opportunity to share it with others who'd not looked up yet.


For my second day I checked out the panorama painting "Innsbruck Riesenrundgemälde" that depicts the third battle of Bergisel on a 1,000 square meter canvas that circles viewers with wrap-around depiction of local militiamen (and a few Austrian soldiers) braving the superior firepower of French and Bavarian troops. While the French-led forces ultimately quashed the rebellion, this painting helped varnish the Tyrolean Myth: an image of purity that combines the surrounding mountains, religious piety, and hardscrabble resistance against oppression [Click the painting to better see the fighting priest leading the charge].

The Riesenrundgemälde is one of around 24 panoramas created before World War II - another one is nearby in Salzburg - to survive as a tourist attraction, having been moved from its rotunda near Inn River to a newly built museum that rewards hikers willing to mount ponderous switchbacks with a gorgeous view of the valley.

Much of the later afternoon was spent walking some of the town's less touristy quarters in search for stencil art, little bits of rebellion and whimsy that always seem to catch my eye [I'll dedicate a special post to these images soon]. Stopping now and again to sample cold, clear Alps-water from a few of Innsbruck's many fountains, I savored the opportunity to learn more about a place that had once been only a random notion in my mind. That night I took the train to Munich for an overnight stop before heading home to California, looking back fondly on my brief Austrian sojourn.


(Video and Photographs by Andrew Wood - except for the bike line-up, which is by Diane Guerrazzi)

Salzburg Morning View

This is my morning view from the Schloss Leopoldskron in Salzburg. The bells chiming from the distant cathedral, the ducks quacking in the lake, the birds flying past the window... If I can't find inspiration here, I can't find it anywhere!

One Night In Vegas

As part of our recent Wood Family visit to Bryce Canyon we scheduled a stopover in Las Vegas. Since I've done some academic writing about this place, I wanted to check out the current state of Sin City's omnitopian phantasmagoria. That meant a pricy but pleasant stay in New York-New York. Talk about a totalizing environment! When we drove into the parking garage, a poster-version of "Vinny" (The NYNY spokes-guido) reminded us to say "Yo" to the guy at the gate. Inside, "Vinny" was constantly offering tips on where to get "unfreakingbelievable" deals in a place that's like New York, but "without the potholes." We wandered around a fake Greenwich Village, we strolled across a miniature Brooklyn Bridge, and, of course, we gazed upon an ersatz Lady Liberty statue holding her own against the nearby Luxor Pyramid and "Paris" Eiffel tower. As always, Vegas entertains exhaustively.


After settling in we tackled a late-afternoon hike along the Strip from our hotel to "Paris" in search of Le Village Buffet. Sure, you'll spot dozens of I-15 billboards touting cheap eats ("Steak and Lobster, $3.95!") but most sure things in Vegas cost a premium. So we aimed relatively high. Foodies will scoff, but we found the Paris buffet to be a pretty decent meal for the price. The buffet is organized around various interpretations of French provinces, so you can try roast beef in "Burgundy," crepes in "Brittany," or pasta in "Provence," and, depending on the crowd, you might even find yourself in a cheery seating area complete with a "fireplace." Jenny was initially wary at the exorbitant cost, but our seats - right next to the dessert station - convinced her that we made the right call.

Returning to our hotel, we found ourselves caught in a surprisingly persistent summer shower. One benefit, at least, was the quick drop in temperature from its earlier shoe-melting 100+ degree high. After the rain cleared Jenny and I headed out once more to jostle our way down the Strip, wading through neon street puddles in search of night photography opportunities.

Ah, the Strip: overdressed kids stumbling on high heels while shrieking "Vegas, Baby!" at random intervals and photographing themselves for posterity, middle-aged aloha-wearing dudes sipping from yard-long booze-tubes hanging from their necks, and scruffy-looking "snappers" hustling to plant "Sexy Girls in Your Hotel Room!" business cards into the sweaty hands of the desperate and the stupid [As you can see from the photo above, Jenny wasn't buying that particular pitch]. The highlight of our walk was a Caesars Palace fireworks show that joined the Bellagio Fountains to produce an Independence Day spectacle. Sure, it wasn't technically the Fourth of July yet. But Vegas doesn't seem too stressed about verisimilitude. Thanks, Vinny. We loved the show.

(Photographs by Andrew Wood)

Bryce Canyon Family Road Trip

Over the Independence Day weekend, Jenny, Vienna, and I took a 14 hour drive to Utah's Bryce Canyon National Park. Once we completed our initial southwestern sweep toward Barstow, pitching north toward Las Vegas, onward to Utah, I was inspired to recite from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas ("Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in..."). How I love desert driving! We arrived in early afternoon under a tranquil blue sky, which meant we had enough time to start our tour with the Navajo/Peekaboo hiking trail. Even as the sun began to set behind the cliffs, we couldn't wait to explore some of Bryce's grand amphitheater. And when we were forced to fight off a swarm of gnats, Vienna borrowed from Hunter S. Thompson's drug-fueled heat-stroke odyssey to forge the perfect response: "We can't stop here - this is gnat country!"

Bryce Canyon is one of those places where the photos barely do any justice to the beauty of the scene. The hoodoos - those towering protrusions for which Bryce is so famous - can't be appreciated in two dimensions. Still, we shot picture after picture (Vienna trying out an old SLR film camera, and producing some lovely images). Afterward we joined the crowds for stargazing under a moonless evening. Just our luck, we arrived in time for the 11th Annual Bryce Canyon Astronomy Festival, which attracts night sky aficionados who offer free telescope tours of Saturn's rings, the M13 cluster, and other celestial objects we could never see under the glare of city lights. Even from our cabin, though, we could also enjoy staring at the Milky Way overhead and feel a million miles from home.

The next morning we plotted out a day of hiking and relaxation, starting at Mossy Cave Trail. Now, I know that this shot (above) looks Photoshopped, but we've got the scrapes and bruises to prove that we made our way behind the waterfall near the cave, all to satisfy our Wood Family sense of adventure, such as it is. After much discussion to chart a relatively safe route from the trail to the fall, we opted to simply scramble down the stony side of the gorge - Rock Surfing, to borrow Jenny's phrase - knowing that we'd have to thread our way along the stream back to an accessible pathway to the trail. The torrents of water froze our feet, but taking a dip in the pool formed by those raging falls offered a welcome respite from the summer heat.

By late morning we decided to drive east along Highway 12 to Kodachrome Basin State Park, where we hiked to Shakespeare Arch and grooved on cool breezes near the green vista nearby. Later, after lounging a couple hours at a KOA pool to escape the broiling heat, we returned to Bryce Canyon, this time to see the orientation film at the visitor center and plan our next adventure for the day. Well, Jenny and Vienna decided to take a quick nap during the film, but we somehow managed to agree on our next hike: Bristlecone Pine Trail [Bryce regulars can surely tell that the Wood Family, no matter how adventuresome we imagine ourselves to be, rarely opts for "strenuous" hikes].

Bristlecone is located 17 miles from the visitor center, climbing over a thousand feet above the canyon floor. We chatted noisily at first but eventually grew more silent, enjoying the sound of our clomping feet while we ambled among spruce and fir trees. From time to time we'd peer over the red panorama of hoodoos that line up like a fortress of stone, occasionally stepping close enough to imagine how easily a gust of wind could flick us into the abyss. After our hike we took a dreamy spiral back down the road, stopping at a viewpoint when our pamphlet's description attracted us to pull over. At one such stop, we met two crows who preened and posed for a growing crowd of shutterbugs. We giggled at the sight (especially seeing one person photographing the birds with an iPad) but we had to join the fun.

We spent some of our second afternoon and the following morning at the park surveying that incredible vista of hoodoos from Bryce Point. Waving off those pesky gnats, we gathered for family photos and surveyed the panorama some more, knowing that we had a long drive ahead to get back home. Already we're planning for a return to Bryce Canyon, ideally sometime in fall or spring. At this altitude, the ice and snow hangs on for months, surely affording some gorgeous photo opportunities. In the meantime, we had our evening stay in Las Vegas to anticipate. So we set off from Utah, barreling north toward one of Sin City's gaudy simulacrums. And once more I found myself reciting those lines from Fear and Loathing: "Every now and then...").

Check out more photos at my Facebook album!

(Photographs by Andy, Jenny, and Vienna Wood)