Theo Visits Talkeetna and Gets Ice cream

 Talkeetna, Alaska, has been called quirky and quaint, boasts more tourists than locals (only 900 residents) and is one of those towns where you feel you've gone back in time when you step foot onto Main Street.

I'm thinking of a small town, circa 1950, although it was settled in the late 1890's. It was the real inspiration for the fictional town of Cicely in the 1990's television show Northern Exposure. It was connected with the gold rush, the Alaskan Railroad and is known for its rustic log cabins.  It is also called the base camp for climbers who want to ascend the heights of Mt. Denali.

If you can block out the crowds of people queuing for ice cream. Block out the people waiting to get seated for lunch at the local pizzeria . . . you can begin to feel what Alaska was like 100 years ago.

Theo loves Talkeetna immediately when he learns that the locals elected Stubbs (and then Aurora), a cat as mayor (honorary mayor), but just the idea tickles Theo's underbelly. 

Our first decision is to take a boat ride up the Susitna River. The water is a grayish blue color which contrasts weirdly with the bluish gray sky. The clouds make a statement. 

We're headed towards historic sites that have been preserved. How did the native Alaskans live before the town was founded? 

They fished and hunted. They hung their animal hides up to dry. They used sleighs pulled by dogs to move across the snow. 

They lived in small cabins and made sure to store their food high off the ground.

We're off the boat and walking towards the main part of town, intending to take an historic tour. I love this part of visiting a new place. I love peeking into what people's houses (I mean cabins) looked like. I love learning the local history.

But Theo will have none of it. He wants ice cream. Before lunch?

The line for ice cream is about 100 people long. And it's slow moving. The sun is out and surprisingly hot. I look over at Dan, hoping he can save the day.

He has an idea. We duck into Nagley's Store, small general store -- smaller than your typical Wawa (but this is where Alaskans shop in Talkeetna) because Dan remembers they have ice cream. No line! 

Later, we're sitting outside in the shade eating our ice cream. Theo hunkers down at our feet, snoozing. He's had a rough sniffing day.

That darned gangster cat was right again. We needed an ice cream break. And then onto lunch. And an historic walking tour. 

Can Theo Spot Wildlife in Denali?

 Finally we are cruising along the road in Denali. We're concentrating, so much so, that our eyes hurt--desperate to see wildlife. My expectations that we'll be up close and personal with the grizzlies or the wolves or the caribou are dashed. Instead, we're surrounded by breathtaking scenery--mountains in the distance, clouds floating by overhead, streams and trees and so much greenery that we'd bet the landscape is greener than Ireland. 

"Where are the animals?" I ask no one in particular.

"Out there somewhere . . ." I imagine someone saying.

Everyone on the bus is given the same mission. Shout out when you see something, if you see something. We hear a shout. Our first sighting. But the animal is so far away we don't know if we're looking at a boulder or a living thing. Ah . . . suddenly our guide focuses the lens, and an image is projected on the screen.

Now we can see. But I can't help thinking--this is so ironic. We're out here in the middle of Denali National Park and looking at the animals on what looks suspiciously like a television screen. Really?

"Get a grip on yourself," I can almost hear Theo meowing. "Why would these animals walk along the road, in danger of buses, etc. They live up there." He means the land we can't get to, the wilderness.

No he isn't pointing with his paw, but he's looking at me with that disappointed look on his face. And then he's peering out the bus window. I suspect he can see farther than I can. I suspect he doesn't need the screen to see wildlife.

We have other sightings. The white blobs are Dall sheep. There are caribou. Ironically, we have seen more bears and wolves in Yellowstone National Park--at dawn or dusk. Through binoculars. 

Dan saves the day. "Forget about the wildlife," he tells me. "Look around. Isn't the landscape magnificent?"

He's absolutely right. The park is a glimpse at a world that no longer exists in too many places. Nature. The air is clean and fresh. Water flows downstream. The trees seem to be saying--we like it here. It's one of those special days when you feel a spiritual presence. When you realize we humans can't be alone on this earth. When you vow to protect our natural resources and, of course, the animals. 

Theo is in his glory. He snacks away. Spots some wildlife. 

And when we stop occasionally and get out of the school bus, Theo is all about sniffing the ground and the flowers. He's immediately connected. And as he boards the bus, he's grateful that he got sort of close to some birds.

"Thanks," he meows. 

Our gangster car is cowed by the beauty and the majesty. And the birds, of course! And, frankly, so are we.

Theo, Ice Age Fossils and Gold-Part 2

 We're still at Gold Daughters and have wandered to other side of the place with the geodesic dome in the distance.

Gold. Who doesn't want a pocket full of gold? Who hasn't heard the stories of settlers going west in search of gold? And, maybe, just maybe, you've tried your hand at panning for gold.

Gold Daughters boast that there's gold in these there hills. Actually, they don't talk that way at all. They're two rather sophisticated ladies who know they have gold on their land. And they're making money off of that fact.

People can arrive, get a quick lesson on how to pan for gold and then pay to do just that---swirl some muck in your pan with just the right amount of water and at the right angle--because they'll tell you that gold weighs more than dirt and will sink to the bottom of your pan. Tiny flecks of gold. 

Really?

Theo has no interest in gold. He'd rather mooch around outside--even though it has begun to drizzle--and sniff his way around while Dan and I sit at a table and pan for gold. 

The motivating story is that a guy showed up a while back, paid for his time and walked away with about $200,000 worth of gold. It didn't happen all at once. I think he stayed about a week and really worked hard. 

Dan and I swirl and swirl. We see nothing in the bottom of our pan. One of the Gold daughters comes over and helps. She tilts the pan a little, adds some more water and then when we whoosh away the dirt, we see something.

It's the tiniest bit of something you can possibly see. If you don't do it right, you'll swish that gold right out of your pan. She helps us not do anything that stupid. At the end of it all, we put our gold specks together and empty them into a plastic container. 

Our plan is to take the precious gold home and leave it on our bedroom dresser. For a rainy day. Or stare at it. Remember. 

Meanwhile, Theo is soaked to the bone. He's had enough. 

"Don't ask," I warn him. 

He tilts his head in that enquiring and endearing way he has.

I hold up the container. Cats have great far eyesight and lousy close up vision. I have to hold the container in the air as he looks at it from a distance.

"The gold is in the bottom of the container," I explain.

He squints.

"Nevermind."

His paws are dirty. His fur is drenched. But he's not complaining. And he's not particularly interested in the gold. 

"Theo, look at you," Dan says.

"I think he had a bit too much fun," I add.

Dan laughs. But all Theo can do is give us the evil eye while we wrap him in a towel to dry off. 

Later, of course, once we're home with our plastic container of gold safely on our dresser . . .

we discover Theo with the container under his nose sniffing. Really?

Typical for a gangster cat to want to cash in on our gold!

Castles or Nap--Theo Decides

 I want to say--I give up. What more castles? I'd like to blame Theo, but this time he's the innocent one. We're booked for a scenic ride down the Rhine River--on our way to Koblentz. It's described as scenic and filled with fairytale like castles.

Normally, we'd be thrilled. Doesn't everyone dream of living in a castle at least once in their lives? But how many castles can Germany offer? Did everyone live in or near a castle back then?

Before we go outside on deck, I struggle to get a photo of Theo, but he's a wily one. Not exactly shy. I end up with a tail as he scoots behind a chair. 

Now Theo, who hasn't whispered a meow, is perched on deck, ready to take in the sights. He has a plastic pop-up bowl filled with special treats, we have our chairs in a far-away corner of the deck so we won't be bothered, and we begin to sail.

Castle sighting number one:

Castle sighting number two:

Adorable houses perched on the side of the river:

Castle sighting number three:

We pass an unusual structure--is it a castle? Indeed, it is. Officially this is Pfalzgrafenstein Castle. How cool! 

And then we hit the highlight of the excursion. Loreley (Lorelei.) Legend has it that this rock--yes, that's what you're looking at--a large rock that rises 440 feet above the river. Legends of sirens, women who lure sailors to their death on the rocks with sweet songs. The legend dates back to Ancient Greece. There's also an Ancient Germanic legend which places a golden-haired siren here:

Final castle sighting. 

Can a cat be in seventh heaven? All his snacks are gone. I look over and he's stretched out a bit too comfortably on the chair. I move closer. Is the kid sleeping? 

Did he see even one of those castles?

Later, Theo assures me that he saw them all . . . before he fell asleep and had the most delicious nap. 

Theo Visits a Medieval Torture Museum

 

Theo is fond of using the word torture. When he wants his snack, and we're not ready to give it, he meows, "It's torture, mom." When Mico steals his favorite spot on the couch, again Theo responds by calling it torture. Somedays he seems to feel his life is, indeed, torturous. If he only knew what real torture is. I get an idea.

Fast forward. We're traveling around Germany and stop in a little town called Rothenburg, known for its medieval charm. After wandering around, we end up in the purrfect place.

Officially the museum is called the Medieval Crime Museum, but it's really all about torture. In the historical legal sense, torture began as part of the criminal system in Europe in the 14th century. When someone was accused of a crime--witchcraft, for example, where there was no proof, a confession brought on by torture was enough.

Public shaming was another kind of torture--chains with scissors attached was hung around the neck of unscrupulous sellers who sold inferior products, masks with chicken feathers were attached to the faces of promiscuous people, etc. Women who gossiped about each other were confined to the public square, one woman's wrists inserted in one side of a cruel wooden device, the other woman's wrists inserted into the other side. Others could see what they've done.

Once through the doors, you're faced with someone who appears to have been tortured--a sad and despairing face. 

Then you're introduced to various forms of torture: the stretching ladder, the rack (both which stretch joins and dislocate bones), the spiked chair, various instruments to put pressure on thumbs, etc to cause pain. There was also the shame mask with iron spikes that gouged the face, worn by men who led a wild life.  The museum houses over 50,000 objects of torture.

The museum offers a slew of torture devices and engravings in books that documents how torture was done. 

Theo is amazingly quiet during our entire tour of the museum. He looks intently through the glass as Dan and I point out various forms of torture instruments and explain how confessions were gotten from people accused of a crime when there was no evidence. 

"Well," I finally say to him, "I brought you here for a reason."

His big little eyes widen even further.

"You want to . . . " Is he thinking we're going to torture him?

"No, Theo, of course not. I want you to understand what real torture is. What you call torture is, well, that's just mom and dad being good parents. You can't get what you want all the time."

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Do you understand?"

"I get it," he meows. "I see."

"So, find another word."

He pauses for a second. "Can I say torture and do this?" He puts his delicately outlined paws into the air and makes air quotes as he meows torture.

Once a gangster cat, always a gangster cat.