I felt the ghosts of segregation as I walked the downtown streets of Montgomery, Alabama today. It was difficult to imagine a time when a black skinned person could be jailed if they sat in the front of a bus, took a seat at a restaurant lunch counter or attempted to enter a bus terminal through a whites only passageway. The evidence was clear at the Rosa Parks Museum, however, that these heinous acts of racial discrimination against African Americans were once sanctioned by law in this city.

What exactly it meant to be black as I followed the segregationist path of history at this museum confused me. If you looked white, but we’re actually a mulatto black, you might obtain a first class travel ticket. If you were white and painted your face black, you could be adored as a performer in a vaudeville minstrel show. At the federal level, a black could be protected by the equal protection provisions of the 14th amendment but at the state/local level they were sure to be denied basic rights by racist, Jim Crow laws. Accordingly, inner city, public schools were technically integrated by mixed race, yet white flight to suburban communities ultimately re-segregated them over time.

I took a short walk along Dexter Avenue to find the imposing presence of the Alabama State Capitol and the adjoining First White House of the Confederacy. Along the way, rebel flags flew as an anti-abortion protest took place nearby. It was here that Martin Luther King and his freedom fighters ended their peaceful march from Selma to Montgomery after being viciously attacked by angry, white supremacists along the way. Only a simple, Civil Rights Memorial plaque remains today to honor the forty one people who died in this infamous episode of American History.

As I concluded my brief glimpse of Montgomery’s turbulent past, signs of a better times became clear. A black college student spoke to me of her plans to obtain a doctoral degree in her hometown. Restaurants were filled with integrated gatherings of many races. The Confederate flag no longer flew atop of the conspicuous dome of the State Capitol. Rosa Parks’ courage to peacefully reject the injustices of a blatantly, racist system reminded me that Americans must have similar resolve to preserve their “liberty, justice, and pursuit of happiness” for all. Donald Trump’s example of perpetuating violence and distrust among our citizenry cannot be tolerated in this pivotal election year.

Prime Time of Life So Why Not Dance Away

My Time Our Time For When There Is No Care

Trouble Now Music Stops Before the Light of Day.

Precious Lives Gone No Longer Couples Pair

We Seek No Revenge For Vainglory Kill

For Smoke or Fire Grows Quickly Distant Foes

No Words Of  Blood Can Quell An Angry Will

That Finds A Place To Hell in Others Woes

See The World As A Place For All To Love

Find Inner Peace in Brethren We Serve

Will To Be One Oh Silence Mourning Dove

Gain Wisdom of Grace As Fallen Deserve

Anger Will Not Redress Dreams Gone Shattered

Our Souls Can Find Peace Our Lives Had Mattered

On a rainy, London morning, I sit quietly in my tiny, Bloomsbury flat, immersed in a neighborhood that is steeped in intellectual tradition. As an aspiring writer, I admire the mystical towers of Kings Cross Rail Station reminding me of the amazing wizardry of Harry Potter. As a history buff, the massive, British Museum collection is there to display evidence of the evolving greatness of world civilization. As a former professor, I walk near the renowned University of London to observe serious students of many cultures busily pursuing their dreams to pursue academic paths to address the uncertain dilemmas of our modern times. It seems clear that while London has often been ravaged by mass destruction in war, a high standard of excellence remains in the fields of science, education, and literature,

On the surface, one might envision London as a place where its citizenry pays homage to an out of touch, monarchical system governed by unalterable, class distinctions. One might be surprised, then, to know that the city of London recently elected its first, Islamic mayor, Sadiq Khan, to govern a population where over 12% of the population is considered to be of Muslim ethnicity. In a continent that has been continually ravaged by religious strife and war, London voters clearly have learned a lesson from history that an embrace of multiculturalism can be the right choice to manage national security in a dangerously violent world.

As I stumble along cobblestone alleys of Dickens and Darwin, I embrace the authentic feel of old English tradition. Resisting the path of gentrification, small pubs and shops line each street where catchy names – Fuzzy’s Grub, Neal’s Yard Remedies, and Lamb and Flag …provide motivation for me to engage in polite, friendly conversation with local sellers. Pub fare for me today seems suitable. Perhaps a lunch of mushy peas or bangers and mash accompanied by a quick conversation about soccer might suffice now. This might also be the afternoon that I relax for English high tea and an accompanying crumpet.

As our friend in war and peace, Londoners welcome American tourists with open arms. I wonder, however, how much damage to this legacy will take place if the hostile message of Donald Trump, ultimately isolates my country from its allies with his arrogantly defiant ways. Can my country go it alone to learn the lesson of sacrifice that Londoners experienced when Hitler’s invading WWII armies threatened to occupy British homeland? As “Big Ben” rings proudly in the distance now, freedom reigns true here. May I continue to live in a country that will honor this precious right as I return home in these truly irrational  times.

What a relief to have finally left the open sea to enter the southerly path of the Elbe River Narrows.This gateway to historic, Hamburg Germany functions as a maritime highway, with a noticeable gridlock of oil tankers, fishing boats and recreational yachts. It seems improbable that a large, cruise ship, such as ours could even traverse this busy waterway.

There is a plethora of action in the cold air over the Elbe as well. Overhead, helicopters buzz our boat as hungry sea birds hover for a free meal. German flags fly gloriously in their struggle with gusty conditions aboard ship. White trails of jet exhaust disperse into smoky clouds that partition the blue sky above.

Our cruise ship will now be guided by pilot boat for the remaining 37 miles to Hamburg through increasingly urban environs. This journey will seemingly give me a decent look at German wind and petrochemical power interspersed with fairy tale, town settlements of its medieval past. Nothing flashy, but certainly a testament to German efficiency.

With great enthusiasm, I hear that we dock near downtown Hamburg a day early. Amazingly, Hamburg celebrates a national holiday this weekend and the riverfront is choked with sea vessels of past and present. A carnival atmosphere of excitement develops as thousands of people make their way to the riverfront now to watch the great parade of ships

Realizing that my visit today would be a perfect time to obtain firsthand knowledge about the Elbe’s importance, I make my way to the downtown docks for a view of this maritime celebration. German sailors in spotless, white caps and uniforms stand proudly aboard their respective, military vessels. A young, Russian sailor smiles broadly at the crowd as he performs the tedious task of polishing his ship’s insignia. I make my around a long queue of avid, tour seekers nearest a modern, Polish vessel and realize that the Elbe is truly an international gateway for many countries around the world.

I return to my cruise ship now as the river parade ends. I stand on board the largest vessel on the river that day and wave back below at those who gaze in awe at the immensity of our presence ashore. It seems surreal that a massive city such as Hamburg could virtually shut down for the day to pay homage to its maritime glories. Home is where this welcoming spirit resides in me today on a sunny day above the Elbe River.

L

The first Saturday in June is a special day in a small, Nebraska town. USFman is in for a rare treat as he eagerly awaits his first visit to Val Days, a special gathering of family and friends on Town Square tonight. He imagines having a good time tonight at the invitation of his farming friend from the State Capitol.

“Hop aboard the Hillbilly Limousine as your wagon whisks you through the farmlands of America’s heartland to the highlight of tonight’s festivities: the barbecue competition. As always, there are three, home cooked categories to choose from – ribs, pork, and chicken. Fill your plate as high as you can and don’t worry about the calories. Pay close attention to your meal tickets and place them in the cardboard voting boxes of your choice as we dutifully do every June.”

“For extra entertainment, check out the nifty tractor and hot rods parked across the field. Don’t worry about the kids as the hayride wagon ride will keep them busy. Tonight would also be a great night to challenge a beer drinking buddy to a fierce contest of horseshoes or ring toss. If you’re still hungry, the snow cone stand is just around the corner. They even have root beer tonight.”

“Your Hawaiian shirt and urban sunglasses will definitely attract notice. So turn off your device and talk with some of the friendliest people you have ever met before. Slow down your pace for once and savor the beauty of the vast fields of gold beyond tonight. And most certainly you wouldn’t want to miss the grand finale: our legendary, awards ceremony for the first place, barbecue winner in town.”

Thoughts of reality creep into USFman’s mind now as he settles in to devour the immense plate of food he has selected. “Oh my God, someone just fainted in the barbecue tent. I would have called an ambulance immediately. Wait a minute, there are probably no hospitals for miles around here. Why do these people appear so disinterested and continue to eat? Oh well, chalk it up to the hard life on the prairie. Just remember that country people work hard, attend church, and by all means stay honest and humble.”

Our first stop after a solid week of sea days landed us in Beatleland, or Liverpool if you prefer. It’s not difficult to realize that the Beatles experience is the primary attraction here. Stepping off the cruise boat, a walk to the right along the Mersey River and my wife and I arrived at the tourist friendly, “Beatles Story Museum.” Deciding to skip this show of tour bus madness, we alternatively headed downtown to Matthew Street, where it all began for the Fab. Four.

Descending down steep stairs to the basement of the dark and dingy Cavern Club, we became immersed in authentic, Beatle history. Picture the blue shaded glasses of John Lennon and old guitars interspersed with famous concert photos taken of the Fab Four in these early, rock and roll times. Feel the cool vibe of memorable performances in this renowned venue like the Who, the Yardbirds, and Paul McCartney’s brother, who played regular “gigs” into the late night there.

Further along Matthew Street, we gazed with interest at the famous Music Wall where early British rock figures are memorialized in red brick partitions. Beatles memory shops lined the street to allow us ample time to purchase our obligatory souvenirs of the late 1960s era. Paying our respects to the John Lennon and Eleanor Rigby statue, we ended our return down Beatles memory lane in Liverpool. Returning to the cruise terminal, we admired surrounding yachts and tugboats painted in full psychedelic display. I regret that we lacked the time to venture out into the Liverpool suburbs to view the real Strawberry Fields and Penny Lane. Interestingly, cruising on our vessel today would be Pete Best, the original drummer of the Beatles. This mystery celebrity would talk live on board about his memories of crazed, 1960s Beatlemania.

Returning to Liverpool today was nostalgically memorable. Twenty five years ago, my wife and I attended a live concert in Liverpool with Paul McCartney and Wings. We stood for the entire concert screaming among throngs of Beatle lovers that day. Liverpool remains a very hip place to appreciate that time when five, unknown musicians- Paul, John, George, Ringo, and Pete began a legacy to become the greatest rock and roll band of all time.

I had originally foreseen that Bermuda would represent merely a brief, pit stop along our transcontinental cruise path to Europe. Having read of this country’s reputation as an opulent paradise of seaside, golf courses, and pricey, estate residences, I expected that a prerequisite to any pleasures indulged there would not go cheaply.

Having purchased an off-line, sightseeing app for the island, we set out in mid-morning with an abundant supply of U.S. money to explore on our own. The itinerary would require us to take the more expensive ferry option directly to Hamilton, the capital city. For the morning leg of this excursion, we would walk a little, shop a lot and indulge in a seaside lunch. In the afternoon, we would board a local bus to see how the rich live along the road to the famous pink sands of Horseshoe Bay.

Upon coming ashore in Hamilton, we entered a world that paid homage to Britain’s colonial past. Walking through the neatly manicured lawns of Queen Elizabeth Gardens, and the imposing, white columns of The National Museum, the rigid, class-based feel of English Imperial rule was in full display. Stopping for a outdoor seating lunch at the “Pickled Onion”, fish and chips became he order of the day. At $25.00 per plate, this most certainly though was not casual dining.

Hopping on a local bus now, we headed for Horseshoe Bay. At some point along this winding road, I became curiously drawn to the azure purity of the ocean in the distance.The appearance of blue water and pink sand amidst rocky coves seemed to calm my mind now from the “small talk” conversations of cruise passengers of this crowded bus.

As our bus driver routinely announced our arrival at Horseshoe Bay, we exited to the island sounds of reggae beyond. How was it possible that snobby Bermuda would allow this indigenous feel now? A steep walk down to the public beach continued to captivate my senses as we soon entered a pristinely sheltered cove of horizontally slanted boulders overlooking crystal clear waters.

A childish urge to climb to a rocky overlook become became too strong to resist. From this vantage point, A lone, parrotfish swam aimlessly near the shoreline, oblivious to the humans surrounding it. The pinkish granules of sand seemed to provide a “red carpet” entrance for each gentle wave ashore. The smooth firmness of my rocky foothold on this ground crowned me as King of this exalted land now.

I return to the easy life of my cruise vessel with new wisdom gained about my traveling mind. The positive energy that had been gained from my brief visit to these mesmerizing sands of Bermuda meant much more to me than any aspiration to live my life in decadent pursuit of wealth and property. Skipping the art auction and timeshare presentation today, I savored the new island of internal paradise that resided now in my soul.

I rarely get excited about South Florida, having lived my life there in suburban isolation for over 40 years. However, from the perspective of a snow – weary tourist, I often imagine the desire to escape to the sun-kissed shores of beachlike paradise. If only I could have one day to remove myself from the myopia of urban survival there to become an eager visitor on my own turf.

Thus, I was curiously interested to know that one of our destinations on the 21 day transatlantic cruise from Houston to London would be Fort Lauderdale.For the first time, I would be able to walk off this boat to become a visiting, South Floridian tourist in my hometown.

How perfect my world seemed to be now. Joining the throngs of cruise walkers from the ship, an atmosphere of casual pleasure surrounded me in all directions. The thought of buying tacky sunglasses and cheap souvenirs filled my head now and the abundance of eateries at every corner seemed exotically new to me,   although I had regularly eaten at many of them before.

In this atmosphere of overindulgence, Fort Lauderdale was well prepared to take my money. I could step into one of many yacht dealers nearby and imagine sailing the high seas. Perhaps my whims would entice me to rent the exotic car of my dreams and whisk away to a tropical hideaway. Amid the towering glamour of high rises along the Inter coastal Waterway, a new, winter home might soon be in my future.

Returning to reality, I hesitantly reached for my phone. As I checked my unwieldy email and social media postings, family, finances, and health, now returned me to the familiar script of middle class, survival. Perhaps, I have learned today that that living in the Margaritaville milieu of South Florida is possible at any time in my life now. Enjoy each day of my life unburdened by the neurotic obsession of human distractions.

My wife and I patiently waited in the terminal to board the Caribbean Princess in Houston on our 21 day transcontinental cruise. Scanning the departing crowd of largely 60 or older, I became convinced that this cruise would most appeal to the sedentary needs of this “over the hill” set. I logically reasoned that they were the age group who had more time each day to seek rest and pampered, easy living. With an abundance of long, sea days and a plethora of “eager to please” service attendants on board this ship, the opportunities for being doted on would certainly not be lacking. I would thus assume that our need for staying physically active in travel might not be easily accommodated.

A penchant for restless pacing of the ship, however, convinced me to take another look at these assumptions. Classic rock blasted from the top deck stage as hippie-like couples got up to dance. Walking paths filled with sporty garbed passengers, intently completing their scheduled laps. The spa buzzed with golden aged men and women, busily inquiring about fitness and strength training packages available. A tennis court for a game called Pickleball teemed with competitively interested seniors. It soon became obvious to me that there would be plenty of opportunity for us to stay in shape on those long, sea days, in the company of similarly minded individuals.

For many on board, then, I sensed that transcontinental cruising had been viewed as a lifestyle commitment to active, world travel. Talking with strangers aboard would become a chance to become educated about new places to visit. Planning a self-excursion off the boat fulfilled a need to escape from the “cattle car” atmosphere of a tour bus. Inevitably then, we would settle in and learn to enjoy our well-deserved freedom in long distance cruising.

The expected departure in Houston of our 21 day cruise never came on the expected day. The captain’s decision to wait for sixty eight, late cruise passengers had resulted in the delay of our late afternoon departure. By the time of their arrival at 8:00 pm., a severe weather pattern of gusty winds emerged from the Great Plains to scrub the entire mission this day. An atmosphere of foggy desolation pervaded the cruise port as we awaited in limbo for a break in the weather. It seemed fitting then that the captain would inform the passengers that we would be leaving on the last cruise boat to be docked at this inland location.

To make the best of these uncertain times, my wife and I took advantage of the extra Internet time available from the Texas shore. At these times, we were often distracted by the synergy of wind swooping gulls and pelicans with the mother ship that remained silently still. Settling into my soggy lounge chair, I envisioned the reappearance of Noah’s Ark to carry me away from the great flood beyond the Texas shore.

It appeared to me that the impulsive solution to dredge this waterway to make way for the passage of Houston oil tankers in this inland waterway had not fared well as a location for a busy cruise port. Our point of debarkation nearby the ugliness of burning oil wells did not please the eye while the long and winding passageway to the Gulf of Mexico ahead seemed ill suited for the modern era of colossal sized ocean liners in today’s times. Any kind of movement from this inauspicious place seemed to be sorely overdue.

I regretted the long term costs of this ill-fated passenger terminal. Hungry pelicans intently landed near our ship now as time passed more slowly. In their desperate plunge to the sea to find fish, I pondered their future loneliness at the impending abandonment of this location. In addition, it seemed wasteful that so many trees had to be uprooted, to make way for this colossal failure of man-made construction in the name of profit. Perhaps, the windswept destruction of a hurricane here would provide a better solution for the use of this land.

A sign of optimism now appeared on our second morning on the ship. Tugboats begin to circle our vessel as wind and rain diminished. Black smoke rose into the air now as the ground began to rumble. At last, the stern voice of the captain from the intercom gave the “all clear” for us to proceed. The experience of nearly two days in a place of unknown idleness had been a test of my patience for sure. Bon voyage Houston.