Fathers without fathers

Posted on June 16, 2025 by arleebug54

So if you’re following along, you know I have been looking at my matriarchs. But Father’s Day and all the lovely posts my friends shared about their own fathers stirred me up enough to change the progression of these posts, and today I’ll talk a little about my father and his line, the Mortensens, from Fanø, Denmark,

Facebook used to have a lovely category to describe relationships: “It’s complicated.” This is often true of one’s familial relationships, and it’s certainly true of my relationship with both my fathers, my biological progenitor and my legally acquired stepfather. Frankly, neither of them seemed to care much for me in the slightest, although neither physically abused me and in the case of my stepfather, he stalwartly took on my physical maintenance for a goodly period of time when he married my divorced mother.

A long life gives one a long time to reflect, and by now I can view my father with considerably more compassion and acceptance than I could decades ago. I can now see that he was a product of his difficult childhood and of course the difficult childhoods of both of his parents, as well as his unrealistic life expectations and then a good bit of egotism, alcohol, and sloth. Still, he’s an interesting character and his father’s line has given me a great deal of insight. So let’s begin.

This is the only picture I have of my father and me together, taken when I was about 18 months old or so. He apparently found me amusing as a small child, since he could teach me things and I could then show off to strangers. My best party trick, apparently, since it’s the only one I know about, was to identify artists by their paintings after he drilled me on this for a while. “That’s Mr. Monet!” I would exclaim, or “That’s Mr. Van Gogh!”

Niels Laurids Mortensen Jr., ca 1955

Niels Laurids was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in 1922 to Niels Laurids Sr. and Johanne (a chapter on whom will be forthcoming). His Danish immigrant father was an engineer at Cutler Hammer, a company which specialized in motor starters. (Think the ignition in your car. Now think the control equipment for the Panama Canal, which the company oversaw.) My grandfather apparently had around 20 US patents to his name and was quite the rising star when he, almost exactly like my maternal grandfather, died at his desk in the early 1930s of an apparent stroke. Niels, at 11, and his brother Erik, at 7, were left with their mother.

My father, with his rakish good looks, expansive European vacations, and clever way with words, was quite the chick magnet in high school where he met my mother. He went off to study aeronautical engineering at MIT where he quickly disabused himself of any sincere technological interest. After being expelled for some piece of mischief or other, he next found himself at the University of Chicago studying English literature with an eye to being the next great American novelist.

Post-university, sadly, Niels’s life was a twisting tale of cruel disappointments, missed opportunities, poor choices, very occasional bright spots, and probably some serious undiagnosed mental illness (my mother tried to talk him into a lobotomy at some point, if you can believe that). So at this moment, let me leave you with a photo of Niels with his friend and colleague Alex Haley, who attributed Niels with making sure that “Roots” actually saw the light of day:

Moving back one generation, Niels Laurids Sr. was born in 1885 on the small Danish island of Fanø. Just a few kilometers off the southern Danish coast near Esbjerg (pronounced ES-bee-yow), Fanø is currently a very popular summer vacation site, known for its long kite-flying beach and lovely holiday accommodations. But the history is much more interesting and complicated than that. More in a bit. Fanø is the northern one of the two small islands that you see on the west coast just above the German border. If I could have figured out how to mark in on this map, I would have.

The first of seven brothers born to Morten Hansen Mortensen and Ellen Lauridsen, Niels Sr. was a hardworking and ambitious lad with one fatal flaw in the eyes of his family. He did not want to go to sea. Almost all the Mortensen men and their kin went to sea, and Niels’s desire to be (horrors!) an engineer was seen as basically ‘coming out gay’ in my great-grandfather’s eye. Undaunted, Niels headed south to Mittweida, Germany, where around 1903 or so he enrolled in what is now called the University of Applied Sciences (Hochschule) Mittweida, one of the largest private universities in Germany around the turn of the 20th century for machine-building engineers. He then immigrated to Milwaukee in 1906 and toiled away as a solitary Scandinavian bachelor until he met and fell in love with my grandmother Johanne sometime around 1916 or so.

Niels Laurids around 1927 with my father’s brother

The pair married in 1920 and had two sons, my father in 1922 and Erik (seen above) in 1927. In my father’s recollection, Niels Sr. always rose early and quickly left for work, returned late, and was rarely available for much interaction. That being said, my father was devastated when Niels Sr died, although during the following years before the Second World War his mother took the boys to visit Fanø nearly ever summer, allowing them to form a bond with the island and close relationships with their relatives and cousins.

Sadly, I don’t know anything more about this (to me) impressive man, no habits or preferences, no stories, no favorite sayings, no quirks. One summer my grandmother showed me his high school transcripts, his slide rule, his fountain pen, and his Mason’s pin, all she had kept of him. Sadly, even those small tangible bits of his life were lost when her house burned down in 2000, even more sadly together with my Uncle Erik.

Now we move back another generation, and here’s where my maniacal interest in genealogy offers the most clues. As I mentioned above, Niels was the first of seven brothers born to Morten Hansen Mortensen (1854-1932) and his wife Ellen Lauridsen (1858-1931):

Morten Hansen was a ship master. His father Morten Jensen was a ship captain and a miller (in the off-season). His grandfather Jen was a ship captain. His great-grandfather Morten Jensen was a ship captain. You get the drift. Of the seven brothers in my grandfather’s nuclear family, he and his brother Morten immigrated to the US; three brothers died at sea, one ran away to another city never to be heard from again, and one stayed home. And that’s not even starting to talk about the fathers/brothers/uncles of all the women in the family. This was an extended sea-faring family on a sea-faring island in a sea-faring nation and therefore any other career was basically heresy, especially for a first son.

Fanø in the olden days

Originally composed just a few fishing villages on a sandy spit of land, the residents of Fanø bought the island from the Danish king in 1741 and began their own independent maritime industry. From 1768 to 1896, a total of around 1100 ships were built and manned out of Fanø’s harbor, with these ships and their cargo sailing the globe (my extended relatives died anywhere from Indonesia to Chile). A change in construction technology and the gradual silting of the harbor made it impossible for Fanø to compete with bigger shipping ports at the turn of the 20th century, and the golden era eventually wound down…probably around the time that my grandfather was growing up, giving him the idea that perhaps there were other career fish to fry, as it were.

One must by needs now turn one’s attention to the lives of the women who married all these captains and seamen. A local statue in one of the two graveyards on the island gives a good clue:

I visited Fanø in 1984 and visited the museum there, which gave me a tremendous and somewhat bittersweet insight into the lives of the island’s women. The yearly calendar went like this:

In November, the ships returned. The busy winter season of repairs and replacement of all needed parts began. In December, the holidays were a joyous time of celebration and relaxation. In January and into February, weddings took place, and in March, the ships set sail again. For the rest of the year, the women planted the potatoes and wheat and cared for the children. And waited. And waited. And waited.

While Fanø has a lovely and unique local dressing tradition, I was most touched by the exhibit of the widows’ wardrobe. There was one outfit one wore for the first six months after one’s husband died, a second for the second six months, and then a third that one usually wore *for the rest of one’s life.* Some widows were lucky enough to scoop up an available widower, but that was by no means guaranteed. Long lives of hoping and serving seem to have been the norm:

Itinerant father aside, what this all leaves me with is a deep appreciation of generations and centuries of tough lives breeding tough relationships with tough people who endured difficult weather and challenging situations. But I also in the process have grown to admire and appreciate my grandfather all the more, who turned his back on this cold constricted life and chose to go a different direction by setting sail, as it were, for a new profession in a new land. I only wish I could have known him, even just a little bit. And I’m sure my father felt the same way and would have benefitted greatly from his counsel.

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Mothers without mothers

Posted on June 8, 2025 by arleebug54

In the last chapter, I introduced you to Violet Chrudimsky, my maternal grandmother, a woman who rose from humble beginnings to become a 1920s socialite in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Today I’m moving to her mother-in-law, my great-grandmother Alice Louise Button Sellmer, whom she never met. While actual facts on Alice’s life are somewhat threadbare, there is a great deal to be learned, I believe, through what is left to us, the spaces in-between.

Not surprisingly, that’s Alice Louise on the left in the above photo, but the key detail here is that the man is not her father, which may account for her somewhat somber mien. The distinguished gentleman on the right is James Campbell, her maternal grandfather, with whom she lived most of her childhood. This was due to the death of her mother, Ellen Esther Campbell in 1858, when Ellen was 22 and Alice was only two years old, and then the subsequent abandonment by her father, Edward Louis Button, departing Milwaukee for points elsewhere after depositing the orphaned Alice in his in-laws, the Campbell’s, capable hands. Alice’s father ultimately remarried and had another child in Chicago, but there’s no evidence the two ever saw each other again. (The Button family is another fascinating tale, but that must wait for another time.)

James and his wife Helen Wallace had immigrated to the US from Scotland in 1842 and by the 1850s he was thriving as a trunk maker in Milwaukee, He and his sons worked on all manner of leather products, including boots and shoes, and this allowed him to provide handily for his daughter’s child, at least materially.

Milwaukee Wisconsin in the mid-19th century was a bustling industrial hub, expanding rapidly with an enormous influx of immigrants from all across Europe, particularly Germany, Ireland, and Poland, pushing the city to quickly become a center for manufacturing and brewing and a leading hub for grain exports.

Across the world in Ulm, Germany, Alice’s future husband, Joseph Julius Sellmer, had heard the siren song of Milwaukee from an uncle and decided to come and see for himself. Originally from a family of book printers, Julius was keenly aware that his hometown had just become a “fortress city” in the German empire, meaning nearly university conscription for all males in the city. Appearing to want to skip the draft, Julius applied for immigration at the age of 19, and in December of 1870 boarded the “SS Hansa” for the typical 16-day trip from Bremen to New York and joined the roughly 350 or souls who made the trip in steerage.

Julius indeed traveled to his uncle in Wisconsin where he began his career as a bookkeeper. Shortly after his arrival in Wisconsin, he somehow crossed paths with the Campbell/Button clan, and apparently made a very VERY deep impression on the 15-year-old Alice.

Writing to her uncle shortly after meeting him, Alice’s initial impressions seemed pretty positive:

Watertown, Friday May 26, 1871

“Dear John,

I received two letters the 23th and am very glad to hear that the rat is dead it will not trouble you any more. Papa (her grandfather) thinks we will come home to-morrow start from here at one o’clock so you see we did stay here longer than you thought we would. Papa says he never enjoyed himself so well everybody is just so kind. I have got acquainted with a young gentleman, Julius Selmer he is Mr. Ricker nephew he has been to Italy all over it and in Scotland at Peterhead to New York Chicago than down here. Mr. Ricker asked Papa if he could get a situation for his nephew down in Milwaukee and Papa said he did not know if he could or not. I brought my butter in and gave Barbara some and the other Mr. Ricker. Papa is telling every one that it is the best butter they ever tasted. You know I churned made and salted it all my self. How is the gift concert? How much did I get? Did Nettie or Mamma get anything? I don’t get anything I know. We came into Watertown Thursday, (riding in) the cars (were) Papa, Mr. Ramsey Jr., Aggie and I. Mr. Ramsey rode in the buggy. Papa and Mr. Ricker have gone up to see John. I did not want to go so I stayed to Barbara’s. I do not think of any thing more to say but I will have lots to tell about Papa when I get home. He has let me have my own way all the time so I will say good-by till tomorrow and then I will tell you lots more. I remain your Niece Alice P.S. Excuse lead pencil please.”

(The references to Italy and Scotland in the above letter are most puzzling; there is no evidence to suggest any of that travel, but perhaps it fired the imagination of his young admirer.)

Throughout the following years 1871-1877 that most probably composed their lengthy courtship, Julius was busy trying to find a way make a living and thereby earn his piece of the American Dream. After his year of bookkeeping, he briefly worked in the furnace business before being employed by Charles Stein & Co. in the woolen wholesale and hat and cap business. He became a naturalized American citizen on December 18, 1875, and his passport was issued four months later. It described him as being “5’7” with blue eyes and brown hair.”

A family photograph shows Julius as a serious young man gazing slightly off-camera with light brown curly hair and significant mutton-chop sideburns that arc across his prominent cheeks into a mustache; perhaps an effort to appear older than his natural age. His American passport was issued on April 20, 1876 when he was 26 years of age.

Much to no-one’s surprise, I imagine, Julius and Alice were finally married on the 28th of August 1877. At that time, he was 27 and she 21.

If number of progeny are any indication, theirs was a happy and extremely fruitful marriage. Julius and Alice welcomed the first of their ten children in August of 1879, of whom eight lived to adulthood, and two – Louise and Anita – are pictured below. The two who died were one of two pairs of twins, which I have now learned were prominent on both sides of my material line.

The family’s life and fortune took a significant turn when Julius went to work for the Delorme and Quentin Soap Company in 1885. Shortly thereafter, in 1890, Julius and his partner Arthur J. Morawetz managed to buy the firm as well as another going concern called the Crystal Soap Company, which had begun in 1872. A growing country with a huge industrial focus would have a lot of dirty workers, it would seem, and a soap manufacturer, if clever and hardworking, could create and sustain a large commercial venture.  Julius and mostly of his children were to do just that over the course of the next 40 years, overseeing the development of the firm and its subsequent sale to the Palmolive Peat Company which later merged with Colgate, another soap and candle maker of the time.

Sadly, this apparently happy domestic and professional life was not to be long-lived. The wear of three decades of hard physical labor and running a company, as well as the financial demands of an ever-expanding family, became apparent 15 years into Julius’s ownership of the company. “We regret to learn that Mr. Sellmer of the Crystal Soap Company is quite ill,” recorded the American Soap Journal and Manufacturing Chemist in late 1900. He died on January 16, 1902 at the age of 51 after being in “poor health” for some time, and was buried two days later, suggesting his demise has been anticipated. The cause of death as listed in the death certificate is “Morbus Brightii,” Bright’s Disease, or acute nephritis, an inflammation of the kidneys which apparently he had had for some time. He had been an active member of the Masonic fraternity and they assumed charge of his funeral.

Alice, who became a widow at age 45, lived on without her husband for only another ten years. During that period she had to endure the loss of her son Gustave, also of acute nephritis, at the age of 19. Fortunately, the other seven surviving children lived with her until her death in 1911.

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Back to the Motherlode

Posted on May 26, 2025 by arleebug54

While there has been some debate, current research suggests that intelligence comes to us through the x chromosome, meaning that the smarts one possesses most likely come from Mom:

https://www.techexplorist.com/scientists-confirm-intelligence-comes-mother/3785/

With this in mind, I thought I might start my Family Tales with a look at the women in my family line, but of course, typically, these tend to be be a bit tricker to research. (May it be said that I am never one to pass up a Lost Cause.)

Writing about my own mother is perhaps still a bit too raw. So I thought I’d start with her mother, a somewhat shadowy figure in my life named Violet Chrudimsky.

I believe Violet is the reflective figure in the middle, standing between her younger sister Myrtle and her twin Lilian. This picture was taken circa 1902 and shows off the extraordinary tailoring skills of her parents.

Violet and her twin were born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1891 to her Bohemian immigrant father Emanuel Herman Chrudimsky, a tailor, and her Bohemian-Wisconsin-settled mother Barbara Kolman. While there are obviously three children pictured above, my research suggests there were three other children born to the couple, a boy and another set of twin girls, who did not make it out of infancy. Barbara’s face reflects, perhaps, a certain dissatisfaction with her life:

…while her husband displays to me what appears to be a rather Buddhist acceptance of the whims of fate:

The family was extremely close, according to my mother. While Myrtle made significant waves by attending medical school – the only women in her class – and becoming a doctor, the twins stayed a bit more conventional, becoming “stenos” in the words of the 1910 census.

Here’s a shot of the twins and their social set. One twin has lace; the other does not. I believe the lacy one was my grandmother.

Violet initially worked for an auto company, where perhaps she caught the eye of my grandfather Julius Carl Sellmer, an early car aficionado, seen below behind the wheel of a prize acquisition:

The pair married in 1912, she at 21, he at 29, and they honeymooned by driving from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to Yellowstone National Park (in a car with no windows) and back. There was only one tire flat a day, I’m told. Seriously, can you imagine this? That takes some serious chops.

The Sellmer’s first child, Robert, was born in 1913. He was followed by Jane in 1917 and my mother Dorothy, apparently the “oops” baby, in 1924.

During the 1920s, my grandfather’s company, the Crystal Soap Company, was purchased by the Palmolive Peet Company, and they in turn were purchased by Colgate. These were heady days, and I’m guessing my grandparents were thrust into a social sphere for which neither was socially prepared. It appears, in other words, that they roared in the 1920s. The main piece of evidence I have for this is an immigration manifest for an arrival for the pair in 1928 from Havana to Key West on the SS Governor Cobb:

And Havana, ladies and gentlemen, was quite the place in 1928. The Dfford’s Guide tells us:

So Carl and Violet clearly tripped the light fantastic, at least for a short while. My mother told another tale about a trip to Canada where her doll case was “repurposed” and used for transporting as many adult beverages as possible.

But sadly the good times did not roll for long. Shortly after relocating to Montclair, New Jersey and buying a huge home with a large staff, my grandfather died at his desk in 1931 at the age of 48. Violet, only 39 at the time packed up the family – Robert, graduating high school, Jane at 14 and my mother at 7 – and went home to Milwaukee to be closer to her family.

Back in Milwaukee, my mother was enrolled in the best schools and her social progress was closely monitored in the local press. Violet embraced the sedate but socially acceptable life of a respectable widow and refused any efforts at match-making, telling my mother “No one could ever replace your father.”

The World War II years were tough on Violet. Her son Robert was abroad from 1937-1944 and saw action under three flags. I can only imagine the strain this must have had on her. My mother’s sole remark from this time was a poignant story that when she, Dorothy, ran home from school one day to announce a success in some venture, Violet’s only remark was “Please don’t interrupt me until I finish the crossword puzzle.” Ouch.

Violet’s parents both died in 1951 and she followed in 1953 at only 62. If my math is correct, I was the consolation encounter my parents apparent had following her funeral. I never met her, obviously, but her staunch Victorian values and gritty determination have followed her down the generations.

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Family tales

Posted on May 26, 2025 by arleebug54

What some of my friends and readers may know is that besides travel, one of my great passions in life is family genealogy. I am completely gaga about researching my family origins (ping me if you’d like help with this – seriously) and I now have upwards of 11,000 or so souls entered on my own personal family tree.

What began as a historical interest became a time-sucking passion during the pandemic, and has now extended far and wide across the globe. In discussing this with my cousin recently, he inspired me to start telling these tales to a broader audience. And since I already have this blog, guess what, you’ll be treated to my offerings.

I haven’t found any kings or queens or pirates or scientists. For the most part, my family has been generation about generation of the most common and humble trades – farming, sailing, tailoring. But among the sheets, as it were, there are some intriguing overlaps with history and I hope you don’t mind that I take you along for a few of these rides.

Remember, the delete key is always your friend.

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Lima Redoux

Posted on February 9, 2025 by arleebug54

You’re not crazy. The post immediately before (or below) this is also about Lima, yet it was written in May 2024. This post is written in February 2025. My excuse is that the blog muse has been silent due to a variety of factors including, not surprisingly, the current political milieu.

Short answer: my in-person training class for the Peruvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs was so well received last April that not only was I asked to offer an eight week/three times a week class during the fall of 2024 but I was also invited back for another three-week in-person class just this past January. Who knew you could become a rock star just through teaching English?

I thought I would give you (and name for myself) some of the highlights and interesting odd moments of this latest sojourn. Much of the time was spent as the last visit: teaching from 7:00 am to 11:00 am Monday-Friday (missing breakfast and subsisting on strong black coffee through the class) and then eating and resting and preparing for the next day after that. Here’s a shot of my long daily commute each way to the training site:

Lima traffic is crazy and pretty much non-stop. I named it “El Baile Loco,” the crazy dance.

Since this training class designed for advanced learners who were involved in the OECD Accession process, I got to play with some pretty fun and wonky grammar points. One of my favorites is below:

But thanks to serendipity and just plain luck, there were a lot more people to play with this trip than last. I spent one full Saturday with a participant I had met during the last training session. We visited the amazing Basílica and Convent of San Francisco, Lima (personal photos NOT allowed indoors – google it – this is a stock photo) and saw this treasure from the 17th century and its catacombs with the remainders of thousands and thousands of skeletons:

As we left the complex, we stumbled into one of Lima’s frequent weekend parades:

Another weekend day, I joined with a new friend and toured the nearby neighborhood of Barranco, known as the artsy hippy “Kreutzberg” of Lima and famous for beautiful murals/graffiti:

Nearby we stumbled into an outstanding restaurant, Mérito, where I finally had some of that world-class Peruvian cuisine that I had only read about previously. Here’s my first ever Ceviche, beautifully plated up:

A third trip out found me at a somewhat odd cultural center that featured a combination of foods, dances, and horseback riding from across the country. Somewhat touristy, but with some Peruvian insights I couldn’t have found elsewhere. Here’s a picture of the culinary offerings along with a sign which explains why I ultimately didn’t try very many of them:

The sign that stopped me in my tracks:

But the dancing more than made up for the food. Here’s a snap of a dance that originated with the African-Peruvian community in the south of the country, a dance in which the boys and the girls swish their tails and others actually try to light the swishers on fire:

Anand here’s me being a good sport and posing on a barstool saddle:

One big difference between this visit and the last was the choice of hotel. My funders had booked me into a typical drab boxy tourist option, but I rebelled and relocated myself to a much friendly venue in the livelier district of Miraflores. Here’s a shot of evenings on the terrace in front of the building:

And a shot of one of Lima’s many cat parks nearby:

And finally, a shot from the informal Friday night gathering my class held in my honor before I left this time. How can you not love these faces and want to give these beautiful souls the best you can? I will always feel privileged and honored by these opportunities.

Adios, Lima, hasta luego. You have my heart.

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A last look at Lima

Posted on May 5, 2024 by arleebug54

Wow, that was quick! Three very intense weeks of teaching and training and whoosh, suddenly I’m back on a plane and back in Berlin. While I’m still processing a lot of the experience, particularly with an eye to what and how I might do things differently next time I go (should there be a next time), I also wanted to take a moment to share a few more moments and visions of this amazing trip.

So a bit more about my day-to-day. At 6:30 am every morning, I was picked up by a Peruvian MFA driver in a sparkling clean Lexus sedan and driven to work, accompanied either by loud Latin music, US rock hits of the 1970s and 1980s, or a very fast-talking news reporter:

Since 6:30 was the exact time that the hotel breakfast opened, my only option was a cup of take-away coffee that had been in a canister since 4:00 am for the early risers and a couple cookies. Mmmmm.

I would arrive the training site at about 6:50, still before the little cafes on the street were awake. We were fortunate that the MFA had provided us a classroom in a lovely historic building, thankfully updated with teaching mod cons, meaning a computer, an internet connection, and a big screen. Here’s a shot of the building itself, and know that our classroom was through the door on the very far right:

Once the class began, I kept the program participants busy with a varied round of activities including targeted reading, vocabulary, role plays, videos, writing assignments, grammar competitions, pronunciation practice, group problem solving activities, and dog knows what else. Here’s a shot of the group during a negotiation exercise:

One of my faithful readers, Brad, sent a note wanting to know more about the pictures on the wall in this room. When I tried to puzzle this out, I learned that there is a copy of the University Declaration of Human Rights on the wall of this room, and that the pictures were efforts by a group artists to reflect those themes in (mostly abstract) works of art. I took some pictures of them to post, but unfortunately, because they are all covered in glass, I couldn’t get a good shot of any without mostly reflections. Sorry about that.

During the second week, I was asked to take on an additional class for some MFA members who weren’t available for the longer periods. So I would end the first class at 11:00 and then head down the street to another building where I taught until 1:00 pm. Happily this gave me a chance to enjoy some of the intriguing streets and byways of the historic center city:

Of course I had to explore the “Basilica Metropolitan Cathedral of Lima and Primate of Peru,” and here’s a shot of the central ceiling:

As in so many of these cases, the Catholic authorities planned this building to sit directly on the site of the Inca shrine to the sun god Inti. The foundation stone of the building was laid by Francisco Pizarro himself, the famed Spanish conquistador and founder of Lima, whose life came to a (some would say deserved) violent end when he was assassinated by a political rival. His bones can be seen here:

Other days after class I moved from the sacred to the secular by enjoying a stroll around Larcomar, a large mall complex on the palisade overlooking the Pacific Ocean:

I knew I had reached the “McDonalds” stage of the trip (meaning you just get sick of the delicious local offerings and just want a burger) when I found myself at a, yes, FGIFridays. (Just don’t tell anyone.) These lapses in my Peruvian acculturation did allow me, however, to see this most amusing sign hanging in the loo:

English teachers still needed, apparently

Another day wandering in Miraflores, I stumbled onto the Alpaca Museum, a clever mixed-purpose venue with both fascinating information about alpacas and vicunas as well as, no surprise, a number of beautiful items boasting the wool from those iconic animals. I learned that the animal itself allegedly originated as a camel in the Middle East and slowly slowly migrated east to Mongolia and over the Bering Straight into the North American continent and thus eventually down to South America. This seems utterly amazing to me.

But before it got dark and therefore more dangerous in Lima, I headed back to my crib at the Swissotel. Because Lima is so close to the equator, it gets light and dark at pretty much the same time every day, year round. So light at 6:00 am, dark at 6:00 pm. Add to that a mono-climate of fog in the morning, sun in the afternoon, temps in the 70s (21-28 C) and no rain EVER, there’s kind of a “Groundhog’s Day” feeling to the weather in the place. Here are some of my friends at the front desk:

But before we all knew it, the three weeks had flown by and it was time to end the course, to great acclaim, to pack up and to head home. We had some Embassy and MFA bigwigs show up for our commencement activities, but my favorite shot is of the happy participants with me as I try to keep the tears back:

Screenshot

Thanks as always for your interest in my adventures, and I look forward to sharing more with you soon. ❤

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Scenes from the street

Posted on April 12, 2024 by arleebug54

With the bulk of my first teaching week behind me (still another class tomorrow), this morning I decided I had to stretch the old legs and head out on a ramble. Before we hit the streets, though, here’s proof that I actually did work the last four days. Brave Wendy here is pretending to be the President of Peru (who everyone vehemently hates, apparently) during our “Answering Difficult Questions” exercise:

Tomorrow I teach a different group of folks, attempting in cram into four hours what I taught the weekday class in 16. (Wish me luck.) But then’s then and now’s now, and I’m sure the gods will be with me.

So most days I miss the breakfast buffet because the MFA picks me up (a new Lexus! a driver!) at 6:30 am, which is precisely the moment when the doors open for breakfast. I’ve been doing with a carry-out bag consisting of a chicken sandwich, a yogurt, and two small croissants for a few days, but this morning, I got to experience the Real Meal Deal again, as it were. Saints be praised:

Heartily fortified for the day, I spent the morning preparing my PowerPoint for tomorrow and then I strapped on my trusty sandals and headed out. First stop – the lovely park with the olive trees for a blessing from the Virgin herself:

…followed by a short chat with the resident turtles:

My goal today was a section of Lima called Miraflores. I couldn’t hit all the highlights, but I was curious to see what are called the Inka Markets, a series of highly commercial bazaars where (ahem) allegedly authentic souvenirs and local goods could be bought. More soon on that. But between HERE and THERE, I found a lovely bike and walking path down a major thoroughfare which would take me very close to my goal and help me avoid a lot of treacherous sidewalks and intersections. If you know Lima, this is part of the Avenida Arequipa:

Another great thing about this stretch of safer pavement was that it gave me good perspectives for snapping shots. Here’s a picture of the Alliance Francais, which, because of the prominent use of its abbreviation, sent my mind in a sadly puerile direction:

Here’s a vibrant mural with historical themes, I think:

…and a sad phone booth suffering its inevitable fate in a country which now, like most, is blanketed in mobile devices…

….a school of engineering and a curious passing cyclist. I hope I haven’t violated any privacy regulations…

…and finally a local bus which crossed my path…

I finally reached my destination, a cosmic sinkhole of tourist shops:

Since I didn’t want to be immediately judgmental, I tried, I really tried, to give the place/s a chance. However, it felt a good bit like the Great Bazaar in Istanbul, if you have been there. Everyone is WAY too friendly, everyone trying to lure you into their teeny tiny stalls chock-a-block full of alpaca hats and sweaters, llamas in wool or wood or felt or silver or whatever, lots of woven bracelets, you get the idea. I did want to take this fellow home:

At least he’s somewhat tasteful, even if you can’t “tocar” him. For you chess players out there, consider these bad boys:

But if you really want to set your teeth on edge, I’ve got just the ticket. And behold:

“Llamasutras,” indeed. And you thought YOU had seen it all. Finally unable to take any more of the local color, I fled back to my quiet expat paradise and shocked the bar staff by mixing a lemonade with a local pilsner for a Lima version of a British shandy. (Actually quite quite good. I’m going to make them try it next time.) Adios amigos…hasta luego.

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A little more Lima

Posted on April 9, 2024 by arleebug54

Thanks to all of you who commented so positively on my last post. I’m going to offer a few more views before my teaching starts to eat up my whole life. Yesterday was my free day and today was my very first day with my class, and so far everything is going extremely well. Knock wood.

In terms of showing more of Lima, I find myself in my typical challenge in a developing country. That challenge is….how to photograph sensitively. Much of wealthy Lima is walled, guarded, heavily camera-ed. One or more slightly bored security guard/s might take my actions amiss. And much of unwealthy Lima isn’t scenic at all, and people might not take kindly to me shooting pictures of things…that just aren’t much to write home about. So I am proceeding with caution, and hopefully the following will give you a good idea.

So, here’s a typical street scene in my hotel’s neighborhood:

High buildings, low buildings, not much street life, trees here and there. There’s a lot of this. An interesting unguarded house gives you an idea of the (ahem) range of architectural styles:

So instead of street walking, I set out to explore some of the archeological ruins that dot the city. Here’s one (closed Sundays, of course) that’s quite near my hotel:

This is Huaca Huallamarca, originally located near one of the main settlements of the Pinazo peoples dating from about 200 BCE. It appears to have been a cemetery of sorts, with nearly 50 funerary bundles of human remains having been extracted. Both cool and slightly creepy to have this just sitting there, surrounded by urban sprawl.

So, since the quick, close, and easy option was out of the question yesterday, I continued my quest and strolled down to the Huaca Pucllana Site Museum, which is supposed to look something like this:

This is another adobe and clay pyramid structure located a few kilometers from the first one. It is constructed of seven staggered platforms and, according to Wiki, served as an important ceremonial and administrative center for the advancements of the Lima Culture, flourishing between 200 AD and 700 AD.

Alas, all I could see, since it was too hot for me to enter and be unshaded long enough to tour the site, was a bit of the dirt. Still pretty cool.

By now I was just plain hot and tired, and on my way back to my air conditioned expat heaven, I ran into this lovely urban green space, known as Parque El Oliver de San Isidro.

The story here is that a Spanish colonialist in the 16th century brought several olive trees from Seville to Peru, but only three of them survived the voyage. He planted them in this area, at that point far outside the small settlement of Lima. Those three grew to an orchard of over 3000, and the grandaddy of them all is this bad boy:

By this time I was well and truly done in, with only one clear path of action: dinner. Here’s proof positive that I have actually now finally had a pisco sour, and a fine fine beverage it is indeed, here served with some damn tasty tacos:

As I was heading back to my hotel, I saw the most interesting sign on the wall of another local restaurant:

…which crudely translated into the vernacular of my peeps states:

“It is prohibited to carry out physical or verbal behavior of a sexual nature or connotation that offends any personnel who is and/or transits through this district.”

Hmmm. One truly wonders what must have been the provocation for this posted sign. Any and all cultural insights welcome.

So by now you’ve completely forgotten that I have actually come here *to work.* But today the adventure began – I met a group of smart young Peruvian government employees facing a huge task. We got off to a good start and I hope I can continue to deliver the support they need. Here we are in some group exercise or other, enjoying a lovely ceremonial room in a lovely historical building in downtown Lima:

More soonish, inshallah. Enjoying every moment of this wild ride.

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Leapin’ to Lima

Posted on April 7, 2024 by arleebug54

As some of you know, I have been selected for a three-week English teaching contract working with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Lima, Peru. This assignment comes from a branch of the English Language Programs office that sent me to Georgia lo these many 12 years ago. These “specialist” assignments are pretty demanding and pretty cushy in equal measure, and today I get to share a little of the “cush.” But, as is often the case, first we climb onto a plane…

My first flight left Berlin at 6:00 am, so there I was with 2000 of my new best friends checking in at 4:00 am yesterday morning. (I had no idea that beer bars could be open and frequented at that hour, but they are at BER.) I just hopped on board and zzzzzed my way to Amsterdam, where it’s always a challenge to navigate one’s way through the always under construction Schiphol (“Shi-pil”) Airport. Fortunately, amusing venues like this chain of tulip stores (!!) kept things interesting as I struggled to find my way to my next gate:

I don’t get to make my travel arrangements in these government-sponsored programs and normally one has to fly on only US flag carriers and only in economy class. But, because I’m going from Berlin to Lima, I got to fly KLM (Delta codeshare) AND I begged for and was granted an *upgradeable* ticket. Since the main leg of the journey was just over 12 hours and I’m no longer the flexible indestructible traveler I used to be, I blew the big bucks and bought myself a little piece of heaven, aka a seat in KLM World Business Class.

OMG. What made Biz Class so amazing was literally that seat. The damn thing reclined to completely flat and was well and comfortably padded with an ottoman. The food was good, not great (fresh orange juice, though, yum), the screen worked perfectly, and the flight attendants were as charming and personable as humanly possible. A very pleasant experience all around. Here’s the appetizer before the main course, salmon with a bit too much hollandaise, and you’ll see a bit of my tan-shod food on the ottoman which kept my legs blissfully elevated throughout the flight:

Like the travel arrangements, the government chooses the amount of time I can be in the country of assignment and makes no allowances for any additional travel. So, even though Cuzco and Manchu Picchu have been on my bucket list for decades, I won’t have a chance to see them this time. I’m consoling myself with at least these charming fellows as my touch of the Andes:

Once on the ground in Lima, the hotel had arranged a pickup for me, and Señor Willie, complete with my first bottled water, took me to my hotel. Again, I had little choice in the matter of the hotel, since the Embassy had to balance safety and transport concerns against my desire to be in some cool and groovy local neighborhood. So here’s a shot of my crib for the next three weeks or so:

Just your garden-variety shiny spiffy expat heaven. Happily for me, the room is cozy, the bed amazing, and the staff very accommodating. Just feels a little…odd.

This morning I enjoyed the lavish breakfast buffet, with everything one’s little heart could desire. I figured “When in Lima,” so I dug into a delicious chicken tamale and fried sweet potato plate, complete with papayas and a chocolate croissant chaser…

You’ll notice I haven’t showed you much of Lima. That’s because I haven’t SEEN much of Lima, aside from Señor Willie’s ride (where he cruised me along the Pacific coast, very nice indeed). So far, most of what I’ve seen is from my window, where the southern view looks like this (please excuse the ghostly image of me in the background, like something out of Wim Wenders movie):

So, as there’s more (hopefully there will be), I’ll share more. Aside from that, tomorrow at 7:00 am I start a training class with 25 (I think) members of the MFA who want to improve their English. How that all takes shape remains to be seen – but I’m looking very much forward to the challenge and I remain extraordinarily grateful for this amazing opportunity. As always, stay tuned!

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A moment in Mannheim

Posted on February 27, 2024 by arleebug54

I’m not going to tell you to rush and visit Mannheim – it’s not that kind of place. But if you do find yourself there for any reason, there are some true local gems that are well worth appreciating. My choice of Mannheim for a quick getaway was because dear friend A, who lives in France, and I decided that we wanted to have a good long chat and we needed a place that was: halfway between our respective abodes; not a tourist paradise and hence reasonably priced; and only required one train transfer each. Bingo, Mannheim.

Mannheim, with its current 310,000 inhabitants, is and has always been a place where things get done. It’s an industrial and commercial city, a university city, and a transportation hub, including Germany’s largest inland port. Its notable citizens invented the automobile, and bicycle, and the tractor (Karl Benz is from there, as is, cough cough, Albert Speer). It’s also a city of music and culture, with a long rich history that dates back to the Roman era.

What it isn’t, alas, is very pretty these days. Allied raids completely destroyed the city center and aside from a few carefully rebuilt relics, there is very little of the lovely Baroque city that stood for centuries. And in addition, even by their own admission, Mannheimers have a very strange German dialect which even they enjoy poking fun at.

A and I booked ourselves into a cheery little B&B near the train station where we found charming folks and inexpensive digs that made us feel right at home. Here’s my cozy rack at the Hotel Kurpfalzstuben:

After a long train ride, A an I were both starving and we headed out for dinner. We stumbled onto the best Japanese noodle house I’ve found this side of Tokyo and we dug into tremendously good bowls of ramen and a side of edamame, which A had never tried. HiKoo, I really wish you would franchise to Berlin:

Stretching our legs after dinner in the balmy evening air, we first strolled the main commercial drag, the Planken, which is lined with lights and allows pedestrians to mingle with the occasional tram. At the end of the Planken, we enjoyed a lovely moonlit view of Mannheim’s iconic Water Tower:

Next morning we awakened ready for busy sight-seeing but not before we had a breakfast feast, of which you only see the beginning below. A, a Brit, needed a lot of tea to get going, and, of course, the whole reason for the trip was chatting, and here’s a great place to do all of it.

One of the most curious and interesting facts about Mannheim is the layout of the central city. A huge Baroque palace was built near the Rhine River by Electoral Prince Frederick IV of the Pfalz in the early part of the 17th century. His architect, the Dutch fortification expert Bartel Janson, then laid out a city that consisted of a large circle containing a carefully numbered grid pattern which remains to this day:

But those streets, while busy and full of life are, well, just a bit…dull…

…which made the discoveries of charm, curiosity, and beauty all the more worthwhile. We visited the Jesuitenkirche, which was green and golden Baroque restored loveliness, but I was most attracted by this most striking sculpture near the votives:

Delp was a Jesuit Catholic priest who was a member of the German Resistance against the Nazi movement. He was falsely accused of being part of a plot to assassinate Hitler and was therefore imprisoned and hung in a Berlin prison. A quote of his that touched me was “God does not need great pathos or great works. He needs greatness of hearts.”

After that somber moment, we needed a break. Not far away, A spotted a charming little cafe and we settled in to do our best imitation of Sartreans enjoying an espresso and Gaulois (absent the Gaulois, of course) in Cafe Prag:

Fortified, we sheaded back near the Water Tower to Mannheim’s justly well-known Kunsthalle (art museum). This museum was reputed to have a large collection of the work of Anselm Kiefer, one of my favorites, but of course that wing was closed in preparation for a new exhibit. ^%$#. We really enjoyed the place anyway, and here’s A doing a little photo art of her own:

At least there was one Kiefer to console me:

One now enters the museum through the new wing, where A is standing above, but the older wing is connected and is a marvel of Art Nouveau architecture:

After the museum we walked around the area nearby and enjoyed seeing a few remainders of pre-WWII architecture, some which appears to form an arcade (see the green space at 3:00 o’clock on the Quadrate map above). There were more cafes and some high-end shops to enjoy and then melt at the sight of the prices. But one window stood out to me, and A and I decided it won the day:

Carpe diem, dear ones, and catch you on the next round.

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