Suzy Guese

A distant dyke collapsed and flooded the city of Szeged back on March 12, 1879, a town set up in southeastern Hungary. Ruining much of the city, Szeged received the help of its neighboring European countries to rebuild, redesign and resolve after such devastation. And like Szeged’s great flood, I was forced to resolve to change my plans to explore Romania. It just so happens Eastern Europe decided to freeze over for my visit.

Szeged is mostly known for being a university town peppered with paprika and salami. The two edibles are praised in Szeged. And like most of my Eastern European trip so far, my plans are almost always changed due to the cold. Szeged is home to a Paprika Museum. As I visited the Butter Museum in Cork, you would think I would be all over arranging a visit to the Paprika Museum, but unfortunately the weather and time wasn’t on my side. Apparently people only need two hours a day to visit such a museum.

Aside from a dash of paprika and a cut of salami, I brave the frigid evening temperatures to marvel at Szeged’s architecture and squares. When the city flooded, it was given a facelift, redesigned with broad avenues and boulevards. Kaluzál tér is one such redesign, a square covered in banks and pastry shops. I guess you need lots of money for the pastries you will consume. Set up right in the pedestrian quarter of the city, the square is named for the statue at the center, Gábor Klauzál, the minister of agriculture, industry and commerce of Hungary’s first democratically elected government.

I rise the next day to snow and more cold, a trend all over Eastern Europe. Not knowing if my rental car would make it over the mountains in Romania, I decide to forgo the freezing and head back up toward Budapest. Now without a long drive, I can spend more time with Szeged.

The Votive Church is hard to miss while in town, built by residents after Szeged’s great flood. In the snow, the twin-towered confection almost looks posed as a lone man braves the freezing to walk across its square, a square exactly the same size as St. Mark’s Square in Venice.

Inside is an ornate and what some may call gaudy meeting. Home to Europe’s third largest church organ, the Votive Church has the viewer constantly gazing toward the heavens.

Leaving the church and Szeged for that matter, I stop for a classic pastry and coffee before hitting the road. The pastry case is almost like neon in color compared to the snowy, gray scene outside.

By the looks of many residents clad in high-heels, you get the sense Szeged is not used to this dusting of white. And yet, the trams keep on running. This city has been through the unexpected as I quickly learn the meaning of the term in the travel sense myself. You can never plan for the weather.

Have you been to Szeged?

When I reach the last few days of a trip, I tend to look at these remaining destinations with finality. On my way to the Dublin Airport, I decided to spend that finality in Trim, a place where many spent their own end. The small town just west of Ireland’s capital used to be a major player in the middle ages. Elizabeth I even considered placing Trinity College here. Home to the county jail, ironically Trim was where you could say the herds were also trimmed and thinned.

I check into my hotel just across from the Trim Castle, obviously the showpiece to this now snoozing town. The Castle brags of its Braveheart fame just merely by appearance. You can see why filmmakers thought it the perfect spot to imagine the past. However, the Trim Castle seems far more proud of its size, restoration and importance.

Serving as Ireland’s largest Anglo Norman fortification, the castle is standing, crumbling proof Trim was not so sleepy in medieval times. Founded in 1173, what I wander around today is mostly from 1200. A green space surrounds this area of Trim, where locals come to walk their dogs. I observe they don’t notice the castle, probably a site they have wandered past their whole lives. It’s funny how with time we forget just how extraordinary our backyard can be.

Across from the castle and the River Boyne is St. Mary’s Abbey, or what is left of it. Cromwell wasn’t kind to this 12^th century Augustinian abbey. However a lone bell tower still stands, albeit in a haphazard fashion, proving you can knock Trim down, but the town can still rise.

I head back in for the evening, but I can’t avoid Trim’s medieval glory. I spot a glow of midnight blue out my window, lights making certain the Trim Castle is still visible through the darkness. And while this was the end of my Ireland adventure, I recognize Trim is the perfect spot from ending and beginning. Quiet, crumbling and stoic, Trim isn’t a big player now, but its remains from the glory days prove that doesn’t matter. It might have been the end of my Ireland excursion, the end of the solo travel glory, but it was also the beginning of a new adventure. The traces of my Ireland trip will still remain, just as Trim Castle seems to say.

Have you been to Trim?

In the late afternoon light of Mississippi, an eerie silence takes hold of a tragic and yet beautiful piece of land. Set up in the northeastern portion of Vicksburg is the Vicksburg National Military Park, where in large part the north won the south during the Civil War.

The 16-mile driving tour of the park follows Union and Confederate siege lines. The Siege of Vicksburg ended on July 4, 1863, after well over 40 days of battle. Those battles would later lend the Union forces control of the Mississippi River south to New Orleans, cutting the Confederacy in two. No wonder President Abraham Lincoln called Vicksburg “the key”. Lincoln reasoned America’s Civil War could not come to an end until the key was in the Union’s pocket.

And today, this pocket of Mississippi is still the key toward understanding one of the most trying times in American history. A number of monuments from states with soldiers participating in the battle can be seen along the 16-mile drive. They scatter about in places across the battlefield, suggesting memory to the natural landscape.

Some are grand, while others are simple. The sculptures depicting soldiers are to me the most poignant. Sculpture by definition is supposed to evoke realistic emotions. Rather than just a construction of stagnant materials, the expressions and emotions created make Vicksburg that much more real.

The late afternoon sun is starting to get to me by the time I reach the U.S.S. Cairo, one of seven ironclad gunboats named in honor of towns along the upper Mississippi and Ohio rivers. Hopes of Union forces taking the Mississippi River largely rested in this ship, one that sank just north of Vicksburg on December 12, 1862. Over 100 years later, the ship was painstakingly raised and reconstructed to stand guard, this time on land.

I complain about the heat, but not for long. The Vicksburg National Cemetery is just up the road, home to 17,000 Union soldiers. Around 13,000 are unknown. Trivial complaints about the weather die here where so much life was lost.

Amidst life and death, Vicksburg is a strangely beautiful place. One viewpoint allows you to see the rolling green hills meeting the mighty Mississippi. It isn’t just the river that is mighty here. It is the souls who fought for causes outside my realm of worry today. Behind Vicksburg’s beauty, there are blemishes and scars. It is a place of tragic beauty, where life drives on by triumphant moments of loss.

Have you been to Vicksburg?

I saw the sun rise over the plains of Colorado on my way to completing a secret goal. This past June, I drove from Denver to the California Coast. In September, I drove from Fayetteville, Arkansas out to the Carolina Coast. The only missing piece to this great American road trip, truly going from coast to coast in a year, was the lonely, often forgotten stretch from Denver down to Arkansas. And so when the opportunity presents itself, I joined an impromptu ride from Denver to Fayetteville and saw the sunrise, something I hadn’t seen in years.

While I could say this completion of driving coast to coast in America was a boring, flat drive, there are towns along the way that convince the doubters otherwise. One of those towns is Goodland, Kansas. A little groggy from rising at 5AM, I set out to find the home of the World’s Largest Easel. Just a few miles from the Colorado state line, I arrived in Goodland to see this giant roadside attraction.

Measuring 80 feet tall, weighing 45,000 pounds and holding up a reproduction of one of Van Gogh’s Sunflower paintings, the easel is appropriately positioned in the Sunflower State and in the town claiming to be the center of the local sunflower industry. This is no accident. Canadian artist Cameron Cross set out to create all seven of Van Gogh’s sunflower paintings around the globe, placing one in Goodland.

As I ham it up, pretending to be Van Gogh, I can’t help but be impressed by an otherwise nothing town for many. While I know that was Goodland’s intention, attract people who can’t resist an oversized attraction, I’m glad Goodland aided me in achieving the missing link to my coast-to-coast drive.

There is always something to see on nothing stretches, giant easels and all. The tumbleweeds and I might be the only ones appreciating this quirky attraction, but this moment is iconic America. Roadside fixtures like this easel are a taste of this country you only see thanks to a little bit of luck, careful research and an open road. In the meanwhile, I will get back to creating my masterpiece. Van Gogh was a redhead after all.

What is your favorite oversized attraction that you have seen on your travels? Have you seen Goodland’s World’s Largest Easel?

I turn the handle on a squeaky blue painted door in Clifden, hoping for a simple meal. That simple meal quickly turns into a complex conversation with the owner about the state of Ireland. As she laments the country’s recession, she says with a hope, “But it will get better.” Her words are simple, and yet so complex. Most worries are only temporary and believing in their passing is the best we can do.

Post dinner and discussion, she bids me good luck on my travels and I enter the colorful streets of Connemara’s capital. Clifden decorates in brightly painted shops and restaurants, generally forgotten in the winter and swarmed in the summer by tourists. I’m happy to be here before the swarm. The silent streets allow me to ponder the resolve of the Irish spirit that café owner possessed.

The next morning, I decide to explore the Connemara coast, an area north of Galway, comprised of rough bogs, valleys of isolation and of course the lapping waters of the Atlantic, the only element connecting me to my home.

On a short drive out of Clifden, I find a tiny sandy islet, one a few cars are driving across. Not wanting to get stuck with a rental car, the ultimate embarrassment, I enjoy the Connemara coast on foot, sinking like quicksand into the surface below me.

A lone boat keeps watch, alluding to the past by the peeling of its paint and its careless location. I wonder who owns it. I wonder who placed it here, perhaps just for the eye candy, for the typical shot of this unbelievable land.

As I head out of Connemara, I stop briefly at the Kylemore Abbey, first a castle built as a declaration of love later turned into an Irish Benedictine Abbey. Set up a few kilometers east of Letterfrack, the castle-abbey looks more 3-D puzzle than real construction.

And like most elements to Connemara, you almost have to pinch the picture in front of you to decide if it is fact or fiction. Post-pinch, I recognize Clifden and the rest of Connemara are composed of scenes of a tangible fairytale. The narrator of this scene, that Clifden café owner, reminds me that all fairytale settings come with a harsher reality. Then again, the harsh reality always gets better, as that Irish spirit would say.

Have you been to Connemara?

Favorite places are not easy to come by and not easy to pare down. Sometimes we have too many and at times we don’t have enough. My favorite places of 2011 are highly subjective, as are all articles of this nature. I have been reading many “Where to go in 2012” articles and I can’t help but wonder about the author. These are their favorite places most likely of 2011.

Every Friday, I feature a favorite place, a moment with a destination that moved me. The idea is to lend a weekly postcard, one I hope you feel is purely addressed to you. These places wish you were here, even if you can’t be. And rather than featuring another new favorite destination on this eve of New Year’s Eve, I decided to compile my favorite “Wish You Were Here” postcards of 2011. I know not everyone reads my site religiously so hopefully you will visit or revisit one of my favorite places in 2011.

Petatlán, Mexico Wishes You Were Here

In January, I traveled to Mexico, where I met a miraculous statue to Jesus, adorned in lime green. Petatlán, Mexico is a major pilgrimage site for the discovery of a statue to Christ in the Petatlán River in the 1500s. The town holds the statue many come to visit in hopes of a miracle in their lives. I was struck by Petatlán’s ability to bring the brightness of Mexico to its faith, one so bright even the statues must wear lime green.

Glendalough, Ireland Wishes You Were Here

Just days after arriving in Ireland, all by my lonesome for my first true stint at solo travel, I headed to the nearest monastery in Glendalough, Ireland. St. Kevin began living in this site back in 570 A.D. His hermit lifestyle would draw followers, developing Glendalough into a major monastic site. As I wandered haphazard gravestones and crumbling churches in the middle of the Wicklow Mountains, I realized that even the solo traveler can’t escape spirits, especially those lingering in Glendalough. I discovered here you are never truly alone when you travel, even if you go it solo.

Carrick-a-Rede, Northern Ireland Wishes You Were Here

One of Northern Ireland’s great attractions, I made the leap to cross the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, a bridge that seemed incredibly unsteady as it swayed in the wind across a 23 meter deep, 20 meter wide chasm. What was used purely out of necessity for salmon fishermen to reach the island of Carrick-a-Rede has now turned tourist attraction. And like all places of great worry over living or dying, a man from the National Trust watches on to avoid tragedy. The point of walking this plank are for the views, views I didn’t see due to mist. The death-defying leap of faith however was enough of a view of the other side for me.

Belfast, Northern Ireland Wishes You Were Here

When a place robs you for the first time, it can be difficult to see the light, the positives of being in its presence. Belfast and I got off on the wrong foot, but I was able to see the city for what it is today. A city in transition, Belfast is no longer a place of machine guns and bombs, but rather one of admirable hope.

Ely, Nevada Wishes You Were Here

At the end of America’s Loneliest Road heading east, you will find Ely, Nevada. Ely surprised me with its series of giant murals, all by their lonesome at the Loneliest Road’s end. Ely rose with the discovery of copper in 1906 and its murals in large part depict its coppery history. Out and exposed to the elements, the murals of Ely prove great museums can be in the most surprising of places.

Beaufort, North Carolina Wishes You Were Here

A road trip across America’s South would lead me to Beaufort, North Carolina. The stories of Beaufort’s past citizens can be heard while wandering the Old Burying Ground. Exploring this town by the water, I felt a great sense of activity, where the lazy-hanging branches of Beaufort’s Old Burying Ground are omniscient.

New York City Wishes You Were Here

A quick trip to New York City in September was still long enough to experience classic New York. From a schnitzel food truck built on endless dreams of making it in the big city to the construction of one of America’s grandest cathedrals in the midst of the Civil War, New York is truly a city where all humanity is represented, where the dream can be a reality.

What were your favorite places in 2011?

The last place you will find me this time of the month is an indoor shopping mall. It is a place all should avoid for fear of being spritzed with the latest scent by a celebrity or for fear of being rundown in the parking lot by an SUV. However, the first place I found in Milan was just that, the original indoor shopping mall, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II.

What would become Milan’s idea of a shopping mall in the 19^th century, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II opens up to a dramatic archway. Within a ceiling of steel and glass, you can still spot the heavens. It’s design takes on the shape of a crucifix for what I believe to be purposeful. We all need divine intervention when braving an indoor shopping mall.

The designer of it all, Giuseppe Mengoni, died just days before he could see his creation opened to the masses of Milanese. It always seems creators of great works of art and architecture often never get to fully appreciate them. Something tells me Giuseppe probably didn’t anticipate these fashions to grace the interior of his work.

Today’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II is a melting pot of this fashion-forward town and every tourist who has decided to give this commercial city a chance. A gaggle of Buddhist monks even stop to admire the windows of Prada.

And yet just off of this monumental indoor shopping mall is the city’s center of faith, the Duomo. The Gothic Cathedral is so detailed, covered in saintly statues, flying buttresses and spires, that I could stare at it for hours and never fully grasp its entirety.

I enter what is said to be the fourth largest church in the world, a place of worship that can hold 40,000. I am drawn to my feet, where a pattern of red, black and white marble flooring infects the entire interior.

Begun in 1386, Milan’s Duomo boasts 135 spires and over 3,000 statues. It holds a 4^th century baptistery where Saint Ambrose supposedly baptized Saint Augustine. Travelers know of the saint’s famous quote, “The world is a book and those who don’t travel read only but a page.” The quote is about as overused as a kitchen dishrag, but at the same time incredibly accurate. I could live knowing the evils of the indoor shopping mall or believe a church is just a church, but thankfully I have traveled to Milan and seen this is not always the case.

I am standing in the middle of a structure that took five centuries to create, a place where no detail was left unturned. Right next-door is a shopping mall, intended to beautify not complicate. I might not want to enter a shopping mall this time of the year, but I would gladly enter Milan’s idea of what retail should be. And I would know that I will get out alive with a crucifix over my head. Milan wishes you were here…

Have you been to Milan?