travelblog

   Almost 3 years ago we got the idea to spend a couple of months camping in Australia to celebrate Jeannette's retirement from daycare after 31 glorious years of chasing kids, wiping bums, and guiding little angels down life's road.
   Two months in the Oz presented some problems, however.  I'd have to hire an editor to replace me at Northern Express Weekly and figured that as long as we took it that far, we may as well visit India and Indonesia, since we'd be "in the neighborhood."
   From there it seemed sensible to carry on right around the world, and before you could say "Marco Polo," our 2-month camping trip had become a 7-month safari around the earth, including plans to travel by boat down the Ganges, walk across Tasmania, cycle parts of Australia and hike through Italy.
   I had a nest egg of around $5,000 from sales of my book, Planet Backpacker.  And, since our home is paid off and we have no debts to speak of, it was an easy matter to toss considerable savings into the bank each month.  Within 2 1/2 years i had saved enough to give us a budget of roughly $150 per day to spend on a trip that would include lots of camping and cheap lodgings. By saving my pocket change each day, i was also able to save more than $430 for J'nette's retirement party bash this October 15.
   Saving the money and planning a complicated trip to Australia, Tasmania, Bali, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, India, Dubai, Turkey, Greece, Croatia and Italy was the easy part.  The hard part was (and still is) the last-minute details of leaving home.
   What to do with our car?  Our house?  Our cat?  My job? 
   There are also some family issues.  Jeannette's father, Bob, developed colon cancer and ended up in the fight of his life.  Daughter Chloe and boyfriend John are expecting the birth of their first child while we're gone.  Son Nathan and his wife Nicole had the threat of foreclosure. 
   Meanwhile, our savings are rapidly disappearing to airfares, tours, visas, insurance and gear as our trip looms closer.
   Somehow, everything is getting resolved.  Grandpa Bob had surgery and is bouncing back.  We've made a promise to visit Chloe as soon as we return home and will certainly enjoy seeing the new baby via Skype on the iPad we're taking along.  And Nate, Nicole and the 4 grandkids, Emily, Anna, Luke and Benjamin will be house-sitting for us while we're gone.  Nate is also taking care of our car and Fat Cat, the feline he is regrettably allergic to...

   Like countless other American families, our son Nathan and his wife Nicole are losing their home to foreclosure next month.  They and their four kids, ages 7, 5 and (twins) 3 will have to move out on Oct. 6, at which time sheriffs' deputies will be padlocking their door.

  There are so many things to do to get ready for a 7-month trip around the world.  Starting with saving up $30,000, for instance.

“They tried to make me go to rehab and I said no, no, no...”

                -- “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse

   Some 2,500 years ago, Buddha offered the advice that the best path through life is the “middle way.”  The former prince who gave up his kingdom and all its pleasures to live naked and alone in the forest prior to becoming a saint learned that too much or too little of anything was no good.  In particular, he meant money, fame and power.

   We seldom think about the benefits of the middle way here in the West where songs such as “If I Had a Million Dollars” by Barenaked Ladies and “I Want to Be a Billionaire (so freakin’ bad)” by Travie McCoy spell out the daydreams of millions of people.  Winning the lottery, bagging the cute bachelor on TV, dancing to the stars and the meth-rush euphoria of being named an Idol are the dreams of our society as expressed in the media.  No one wants to get voted off the island, even though that might offer a saner, happier life.

   But considering the death of torch singer Amy Winehouse, one might pause to consider Buddha’s advice on just how unhappy one can become by “having it all.”

   Winehouse is in the 27 Club now, occupied by musicians who died on or around that age at the peak of their powers.  Jim Morrison -- died of an overdose in a bathtub in Paris. Jimi Hendrix -- choked on his vomit while ODing on drugs.  Robert Johnson -- poisoned with strychnine at age 26 by a jealous husband.  Hank Williams -- drank himself to death at age 29.  Janis Joplin -- heroin overdose. Kurt Cobain -- suicide by shotgun.

   Winehouse picked up the torch dropped in the ‘60s by British soul singers such as Petula Clark and Lulu and turned its flame a cool blue.  She had a voice that could snake around a phrase like a python, embracing the notes in a microsecond and squeezing the agony and anguish from a song straight into your heart.

   Add the beehive 'doo, the road map of tattoos, toothpick arms and kohl-dark eyes of an ancient Egyptian princess and Amy Winehouse was certainly a woman to remember.

   But a lot of female singers have the ability to wrangle a note, and one could argue that what took Winehouse to the top was her pursuit of dark material as exhibited on her breakout 2006 album, “Back to Black,”  

   On that album, which earned Winehouse a Grammy and critical acclaim, the theme of the songs tended to be rehab, drinkin’ and “doin’ blow.”  And of course the obligatory broken heart song or two.

   One might argue that this might be likely territory for a singer-surviver who’d been around the bar and booze scene for a few decades -- Lucinda Williams comes to mind -- but Winehouse was only 21 when she was recording this material.  Obviously, if you feel compelled to dwell on your rehab options at that age, you’re neck-deep in trouble.

   One could also argue that her get-drunk shtick did more to turn her into the butt of jokes on Leno and Letterman than it did to advance her career in the U.S.  It seems likely that Amy will sell more downloads from her coffin than she did while she was among us.

   One of life’s great lessons is “be careful you don’t get what you wish for.”  The dream job turns out to be a nightmare; the beautiful woman or handsome man you pursue and place on a pedestal turns out to be a monster who eats you alive.  The fame shot through your veins like a drug burns you from the inside out...  That last bit is the theme of Eminem’s albums, “Relapse” and “Recovery.”

   Pop music is full of examples of stars who got the keys to the proverbial candy store but were still basically kids and couldn’t keep a lid on their desires.  Members of The Doors reported that Jim Morrison used to line up a row of screwdrivers on the bar -- his favorite drink -- and refuse to leave them for fear one would get snatched. He’d piss his leather pants rather than risk making the trip to the men’s room.

   Even lesser talents came to doom on the road to fame and fortune.  Members of The Band, for instance, who served as Dylan’s backup band, made musical history, and produced some of the most acclaimed music of the ‘60s.  You’d think that with all of their adventures and success that the members of The Band would have been reasonably happy, but keyboardist Richard Manuel committed suicide while drummer Rick Danko died in his sleep of a drug overdose.

   Then there was Canned Heat, bearers of the boogie-woogie blues torch in the ‘60s.  When the blues lost its mojo to punk and disco in the ‘70s, the resulting depression lead to the suicides and overdoses of three visionary members.

   Successful musicians don’t have a monopoly on depression, drugs and suicide.  Author David Foster Wallace who wrote “Infinite Jest” in 1996 was at the peak of critical acclaim for his byzantine (and to me unreadable) books with a blank check available on demand from his publishers.

   But like grunge rocker Kurt Cobain, Wallace lived ‘too high up in his head,’ so to speak and never could master the demon of depression.   He hung himself at age 46 in 2008.

   Sometimes “having it all” is a bummer. For all her glory, Marilyn Monroe got heartbreak and a barbiturate overdose at age 36.  John F. Kennedy, Jr. had the resources to buy his own plane, but went down in a fog over the ocean at the age of 38 as night fell with his star. John Lennon shot at the age of 40 by a lunatic who was incensed about an article he’d read in Esquire magazine. Judy Garland’s emerald slippers couldn’t save her from a drug overdose at the age of 47...

  And Amy Winehouse?  Farewell to a comet that crossed our orbit, leaving a trail that others will surely follow at their peril.

   Robert Downes is author of "Planet Backpacker: The Good Life Bumming Around the World.

   While planning a six-month trip around the world, i was delighted to find that my travel plans are helping to organize my stay-at-home life.

   It's no secret that planning a trip takes a lot of time and thought, even if it's just a weekend out of town.  But a spin-off of that planning is the potential for putting many housekeeping duties in order before you depart.

   These are some of the improvements i've made in my life in advance of my travels:

  -- Converting to online bill payment will allow me to pay invoices from anywhere on the planet.

  -- I've switched our NetFlix account from receiving DVDs in the mail to live-streaming only -- perfect for downloading films online at some faraway hostel and one less piece of mail to deal with.

  -- Speaking of which, our home address mail will be diverted to a postbox while we're gone.

  -- I've converted all auto and home insurance bills to self-renewing payments on my credit card.  This will mean fewer online bills to pay while adding up credit card air-miles.

  -- Planning for a six-month trip has also prompted me to take action on the bushels of junk mail my wife and i receive each week.  Financial come-ons for credit cards and insurance offers can be stopped by contacting the Direct Marketing Association (Google it) which is a joint venture of four credit bureaus.

  In general, my travel plans have prompted me to 'think ahead.'  I'll be leaving checks for my property tax payments with a friend, for instance, which can be dropped in the mail when they come due, months after i've left town.

   Result:  a complicated, well-planned trip is making my own life simpler to boot. 

   'Planet Backpacker' was posted to Amazon.com Kindle only a month ago, yet as of yesterday, was well within the top 10% of books sold on the world's largest distributor.

   Gazing at my Delta air miles redemption options, i can't help but wonder if the 'End of Travel' as we know it is within sight.  Delta is asking for 90,000-100,000 points in addition to more than $325 in "fees" and taxes for a flight from Europe to the U.S. - and that's per person, one way.

Experienced travelers know that the world is generally a safe place where one is far more likely to encounter smiles and the hand of friendship than the kind of scary situations we see on the TV news each night.

 There’s a man in our town who looks like a walking pile of rags.  Ten years ago, he was a well-groomed street person, handsome in a Brad Pitt sort of way and wearing stylish clothes, like someone was caring for him.  But he’s dwindled down through the years to the visage of a ragged scarecrow with long, knotted hair and a matted beard -- his layered clothes in tatters -- shambling down the streets with the look of a kicked dog in his eyes.

   And he’s not the only one.  In late November, while jogging a couple of loops in the moonlight around the Civic Center here in Traverse City, Michigan, I noticed a gathering of homeless men at the small amphitheater on the southwestern corner.  They were nestled in the darkness behind a screen of trees, smoking their cigarettes and huddling against the cold.  They're the guys you see lugging all of their possessions around town in kiddie trailers, towed behind bikes. 

  There’s also the Can Man, a well-known presence in town, who walks for miles each day, picking trash for beer and soda cans and dressed in heavy layers.  Late at night, you can sometimes see him in silhouette, sitting alone at a picnic table beneath the Civic Center pavilion as the temperature drops below freezing.  I saw him in the darkness there last week with the thermometer at 23 degrees and going down... Does he sleep there?  How does he make it through the winter?  One might conceivably help this man for a day, but what about the day after and beyond?

   Recently, I saw the ragged man standing in the doorway of a store downtown, watching people walk by.  He never seems to say anything -- just watches -- as expectant as a dog.  A clerk came out and asked him politely to move along; he seems to have an advanced case of schizophrenia and scares the customers.  It made me wonder, where can he go? And what can he do?  

   Ironically, my office (and the place where I’m typing this column) is located in a wing of what was once the men’s ward of the old Northern Michigan Asylum.  Today, it’s a renovated section of the Village at Grand Traverse Commons and a prestigious address. But a generation ago, the ragged man and the Can Man might have shared some bunks in what is now our office suite.  Perhaps they would have lived in my  own small office, protected from the winter cold by 18-inch brick walls and a society that was poorer in possessions, and yet more caring than our own.

   A few years ago, while traveling through India, I saw an old man of 80 or so tumble down the stairs of his home and fall unconscious into the gutter alongside the highway.  “Shouldn’t we stop and see if he’s alright?” I asked our driver.  “No, someone else will stop,” he answered, waving off the very idea.  In India, no one would  dream of stopping to help an old man in the gutter -- there are just too many of them, and they are someone else’s problem.  They are their own problem.

   Unfortunately, we’ve arrived at the same shores in our own country.  We wouldn’t allow a stray dog to wander around town in the cold for more than a day, but a clearly insane person? There seem to be a fair number of them out there. Quite possibly it's like herding cats to care for them without the old institutions around to keep them under lock and key, and perhaps they even prefer their freedom to being institutionalized.  The State begged off its responsibility 20-30 years ago when it closed the "inhumane" mental hospitals in favor of drug therapy and the mercies of the winter, the blizzard, the cold rain, and a camp beneath a bridge or in the woods just out of town.  

   Still, we try to do our bit, each in our own small way, even if our government has failed to care for the people who need us most. We write our end-of-the-year checks for charities, drop our dollars in the Salvation Army buckets, give to Toys for Tots, donate to the homeless shelter, join the Jingle Bell Run, drop off clothes at Goodwill, put an extra $10 in the collection plate, box up canned goods for the food pantries, and maybe if there’s a little left, send a check off to Haiti or some other favorite cause.  

   But it never seems to be enough, does it?

 Two years ago this month, I embarked on a personal adventure, launching a publishing company to print my travel book, "Planet Backpacker."

   My book is about a solo trip around the world in 2007, including through a number of developing countries. Since many people dream of writing a book or launching a business, some of you might profit from my experience. Or perhaps, enjoy a cautionary tale.

   I published "Planet Backpacker" on my own because I knew that finding a literary agent and going through the traditional channel of seeking a mainstream publisher in New York takes about three years -- if ever.  My book was timely in nature and I didn’t feel like begging an agent to take it on and then sitting by the phone for years, hoping a publisher would bite at a time when the book industry is caving in.  Two years ago, hundreds of green-lighted books were being cancelled by the big publishing houses.

   Consider that an estimated 2,000,000 manuscripts are submitted to publishers each year, with some large publishers receiving 3,000-5,000 manuscripts per week.  Of those which get published, the vast majority of books sell less than 5,000 copies, and the author’s share may be only 6% of the net receipts.  So there’s good reason to do-it-yourself these days, and you join a fraternity that included self-publishers such as Mark Twain, Margaret Atwood, Edgar Allan Poe and Charles Dickens.

    I approached publishing as a hobby and a learning experience with the goal of simply breaking even.  I’ve known many people in the creative arts who wrapped all of their hopes and self-esteem into producing their own CD, film, or publishing venture, only to have their feelings crushed by the inevitable flop.  So I aimed low, rather than high.  

   Even so, I never anticipated that my so-called ‘business’ would become one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.

   But it was also a very humbling experience.  I made mistakes -- my first batch was rushed to the printer with a spell-check error that was entirely my fault, resulting in words running together throughout the text.  The whole thing had to be reprinted at considerable cost. 

   I also learned that it’s fairly easy to write and  produce a book, but infinitely harder to get it distributed.  Locally, this involves nagging independent bookstores to take you on. Nationally, it means finding a distributor who has an extremely slim shot at placing your book on the shelves across the nation, where tens of thousands of other books vie for attention.

   Since there are up to 700,000 new books published each year in America, you can imagine the odds for the budding author.  Major publishers pay for space on the front counters of chain bookstores or at airport kiosks where books have the best shot at selling. That’s why gems such as  Do They Serve Beer in Hell? stay on the New York Times bestseller list for years on end.

   The solution for me was to take my book on the road.  I’ve spoken to hundreds of people in the past two years with a funny slide show at libraries and bookstores throughout Northern Michigan and in Kalamazoo, Royal Oak, Novi, Grand Haven, Rochester Hills and many other towns.  Audiences have ranged from zero attendees on a sunny spring afternoon at a New York Public Library branch in Harlem, to library crowds of 150 and packed houses at the REI Superstore on Chicago’s North Side.  

   More than anything, it has been this one-on-one contact with people, sharing laughs and adventures from around the world that did the trick.  I’ve had the honor of being featured in  the Sunday travel sections of the New York Daily News, Detroit Free Press and many other papers, in addition to writing articles for newspapers and magazines in New York, South Africa, Canada and elsewhere. These have reached millions of readers with little effect; I’ve found it’s the personal touch that greases the gears of commerce.

   Similarly, my adventure has made me deeply cynical about the Internet as a way to 'save' newspapers or promote local television and radio stations.  My book has been  reviewed by some of the world's top travel websites in addition to consistently having 5-6 first-page hits on Google (this is considered 'huge').  But again, with fairly small effect:  these days a website or a blog is a lonely pine tree in a digital Siberia of millions.

   All of the above has meant a crash education in publishing, distribution, marketing, website design, web optimization, blogging, ebook publishing, and assorted kicks in the head.

  But an education doesn't guarantee a high return. Often, I sell a book from my website to a reader in Europe or Australia and make nothing at all after the $9-$12 is paid in postage. Even so, I’m grateful to have a reader.  

  I've sold out my second edition, and after all of the bills were paid for the printing, marketing and travel, I managed to make a small profit -- but it was on par with what a high school kid might earn working part time for the summer at a Dairy Queen.

   But I’ve had a lot of fun -- made new friends around the world -- and learned some new tricks.  And I’ve gained new respect for anyone who dares to put themselves on the line with a business plan.  A new business is like going to war: you have to take risks and be on patrol 24/7. You need passion and inspiration to carry out the mission; sometimes you step on a land mine, but sometimes you win a battle or two.

   Recently, a British writer living in Siberia contacted me, asking if I’d be interested in publishing his adventure travel book, as did a young woman living in Malaysia who’s writing a travel novel.  I’d love to, but as I explained to them, for me this has been a hobby that paid off more with memories and good times than with money.  

                               ***

   But there is a third way for would-be authors:  I'd advise creating an e-book through Lulu.com and have them publish it.  They can handle the distribution to amazon.com, etc.  

   It's also possible to create your own e-book via Indesign's e-publishing software, which adapts to multiple e-reader platforms.  Amazon.com's Kindle requires a simple PDF document.

 It's also possible to create print-on-demand copies for keepsakes or bookstore sales.  That's the route i'm going with 'Planet Backpacker' in the months ahead: an e-book with more photos and a print-on-demand version.

  For more travel writings, see www.planetbackpacker.net

   How can one afford to travel to expensive destinations all over the world?

    Travel is expensive, especially in America.  Thus, the arrival of the so-called "staycation," the oxymoronic equivalent of a cruel joke perpetuated on people who are unaware of cheaper options.

   There is an exciting alternative with a rock bottom budget, however: bicycle camping.

   The only problem is, only an idiot or a fool would do it; or so you think the fourth time a bungee cord has snapped you in the face while strapping a pair of bulging panniers, tent and sleeping bag onto your bike.  It seems unlikely this clumsy load will make it an hour down the road, much less 185 miles down a trail through a dense forest where the nearest help is many miles away.

       Whatever; cheap thrills are on my mind this week because my wife Jeannette and I recently completed cycling the C&O Canal Trail from Cumberland, Maryland to Washington, D.C.  If you're looking for a vacation idea that costs next to nothing -- yet involves a healthful dose of adventure --  this trail enjoyed by thousands of through-riders, is worth checking out.

   Riding the C&O Canal Trail takes you 150 years into the past.  It's an old tow path that runs along the north bank of the Potomac River through some of the most stirring scenes of American history.  Once, mule teams dragged 90-foot canal boats up this waterway, filled with 120 tons of cargo. In fact, you feel a bit like a mule yourself, with your bike loaded with canned chili, chicken, rice, pasta, breakfast bars and three liters of wine.

  That's because the second rule of bike camping is to eat well around the campfire each night -- with the first rule being to take along everything you could possibly need to fix a breakdown.  

   God help you if you have a breakdown out here, because few roads cross the path and it's often 25-40 miles between towns, some of which are rather desolate places. It's a deep, wild forest all the way to D.C.

   The Chesapeake & Ohio Canal was built between 1828 and 1850 at a time when canals and rivers served as America's freight highways. It was used to transport lumber, coal, wheat and produce through a pass in the Allegheny Mountains from Pittsburgh and the Ohio River Valley.  During the early 1800s, America was in a canal-building frenzy, with immigrants from Ireland and other European countries employed at digging the Erie Canal, Welland Canal, and the C&O Canal, among many others.  Many of you readers probably had ancestors who worked on these canals in America's youth, breaking their backs with shovels and picks or blasting rock with black powder.

   The Confederate and Union armies fought back and forth along the canal and the Potomac River.  You pass near the Civil War battleground of Antietam and Sharpsburg, which hosted the bloodiest day of the war.  It was here on Sept. 17, 1862 that 23,000 men died in a single day as the forces of Confederate General Robert E. Lee clashed with Union Army Major General George McClellan in an attack on the North.

   Harper's Ferry is also a stop along the route:  the site of a United States Armory and Arsenal that was attacked by radical abolitionist John Brown and 22 raiders on Oct. 16, 1859.  Brown hoped to seize 100,000 firearms to arm the slaves for an uprising in the South.  But Brown and his men were bottled up in a small firehouse during an intense firefight.  He was stabbed in the leg with a sword during the seige, captured, and hung for treason in nearby Charles Town in early December.

   The spread of railroads put an end to the canal boom, and although the C&O was used until 1924, periodic floods and rail competition put it out of business. 

   In 1954, U.S. Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas, newsmen from the Washington Post, and a band of supporters staged an eight-day hike to save the old towpath from destruction.  Thanks to the judge, the towpath and canal were turned into a National Historic Park in 1971.

   On our fourth afternoon of riding, we emerged from a jungle of vines to find the Key Bridge and Washington Monument before us.  Within minutes, we rolled into historic, cobble-bricked Georgetown, the yuppie section of Washington, D.C.; a place filled with restaurants, boutiques, lobbyists and lawmakers.  And me with an absolutely filthy tank top (who knew bike camping could be such a dirty business?).  But we'd enjoyed a perfect trip under sunny skies and 80-degree weather, with no headlong plunges into the canal, sidewall blowouts or bear collisions to report.

  If you're so inclined (as we were), you can keep on riding south across the Key Bridge another 18 miles to Mt. Vernon, the farm where George Washington spent his final years.

   Washington, as you may know, enjoyed a daily horseback ride around the miles of his plantation.  Perhaps he too would have enjoyed cycling the C&O Canal if he were with us today.  After all, he tramped and rode through much of the same ground as a young surveyor, prior to the American Revolution.

   One more thing -- even if you've never bike camped before -- as was the case with Jeannette (she loved it) -- one thing that both newcomers and old camping veterans agree upon is that your first shower off the trail sure feels like heaven.

-- by Robert Downes, Planet Backpacker

A big thank you to writer/traveler Ellen Creager, who wrote a very nice story about yours truly in the Detroit Free Press entitled "Around the World on $85 a Day."  

Hey Bob,

     Just awoke to day 9 in Peru.  We took the 21 hora (25) bus ride from Lima to Cusco with a night in Nasca.  My participation in that bus ride, I'm quite certain, will wipe out any time in Purgatory that I may have accumulated.  I stress ´may have´, Bob.  It certainly does give you an appreciation of how far, how very, very far away from the sea Cusco is.  Up mountains, down mountains, up mountains, down mountains, bus swaying side to side, motor pissing and moaning beneath my seat as gears changed every 200 feet.
     And I was in the LUXURY seats!

     When I fly in airplanes, I´m willing to suspend my cares and become a child, marvelling at how high, how fast and how smooth we´re zipping along, well aware that I´m somehow six miles up in the air.  But on this bus, I could never stop worrying about the bus driver´s home life, his marriage, his economic difficulties and how easy it would be for him to just say ´fuck you world !´ and send us off on one last Disney ride.

      Cusco´s 11,000 feet kicked my ass.  I couldn´t walk a block without aging 30 years.  If it was uphill, it was 50 years.  And I didn´t sleep for 3 days.  I know people exaggerate when they say shit like that -- but I didn´t sleep for 3 days.  Day 1, tough.  Day 2, loss of about 15% of mental facility, day 3, I.Q. drops to about 70 and the voices begin to take over.  No wonder they use it as torture!  Sorry, interrogation.  It was not a fun place to be.  Thank God for previous drug experiences because when the voices started taking over I told myself to just ride it out and I´d be back to being the good Jack Lane at some point.

      Fortunately, I finally called for a doctor who gave me magic pills and we lit off for Machu Pichu -- where the air was absolutely fucking swamped with oxygen!

      Anyway, we´re back in Cusco, the magic pills came through . . . we'll be here for 3 more days . . . . and i was just wondering what were the top 3 or 4 things you enjoyed about Cusco?  Don´t miss kinda places? 

Jack

Jack,
   Wow! You're living large, Jack -- my hat is off to you for taking the bus all the way to Cusco -- only the tuffest of the tuff are crazy enough to do that.  Way to go!
   In Cusco's main plaza you've probably seen the many tour guide kiosks --   the day long Urubamba River Valley tour is excellent with a visit to the Incas last-stand fortress against the Spanish. Also consider a day trip to the market town of Pisac.  Another must-do is the mountain biking trip out of Cusco -- about 20 miles, across the altiplano through some small villages and the salt mines.  Also worthwhile is the Sacsaywama fortress above town, which is said to be riddled with tunnels filled with Inca treasure (and hundreds of skeletons of lost treasure hunters).  Can't miss with those. 
   For dining options, check out Loma Saltado -- a marinated steak with french fries and rice, or the fresh trucha (trout) caught in the river of the Sacred Valley.
   Sorry to hear about your alt sickness.  For some reason it didn't affect us.  We drank the tea and spent a week in Cusco.  I did get it once on a visit to Leadville, Colorado though -- also at 11,000 feet, and can relate that it's no fun.
   You have a great writing style -- keep it up!

Bob

   p.s. One of the scariest flights i ever had was that trip from Cusco back to Lima, descending into a dense fog that looked like a scene from hell.   Down, down, down into the engulfing blanket of gray gloom, wondering if the Peruvian plane's radar really worked.  White knuckles, cold sweat, the works... Enjoy.

   Even Newsweek notes that readers are likely to disagree with the findings of its first-ever Best Countries in the World edition, which rates nations in five categories of well-being, including education, health, quality of life, economic competitiveness and political environment.

   If you’re into the ‘less is more’ lifestyle built on simplifying your life, you’ve probably heard of the “100 Thing Challenge.”

   If not, then now’s your chance to have one heck of a garage sale this weekend.

   The Challenge may be of special interest to travelers who'd rather fill up their lives with experiences than things. The idea is to get rid of all of your possessions except for the 100 things you can’t live without for an extended period of time -- from 100 days to a year.

    Blogger Dave Bruno (www.guynameddave.com) came up with the idea and has charted his progress (perhaps “regress” is a better word) online and in a soon-to-be-published book.  He’s been feted in Time magazine as far back as 2008 and apparently has plenty of disciples who are busy ditching the clutter in their lives.

   Bruno was motivated to reject consumerism not out of any strong belief in the so-called simple living movement, but by his Christian values:

   “I am a Christian and feel strongly that a 100 Thing Challenge fits well with a Christian understanding of what’s most important in life, loving God and loving other people,” he writes on his blog. “And I suspect that living for an extended period of time outside of the soul-numbing habits of consumerism will spark a bit of the spiritual in pretty much any person. But a 100 Thing Challenge does not have to be religious.”

   Amen, brutha’.  If you check online you’ll find Bruno’s list of the 100 things he’s chosen to keep, including three Bibles, a mechanical pencil, wallet, iMac, MacBook Pro, cell phone, desk lamp, camera, backpack, tent, running shorts, seven t-shirts, etc.   Turns out you can still own quite a pile of stuff, even if it’s only 100 things.  Bruno fudges a bit by counting 10 pairs of underpants and six undershirts as one “thing” each, but otherwise, he keeps a pretty tight kit.

   Closer to home, many of our recent ancestors owned very little of the junk we have piled up everywhere today.  In his excellent book of local history, “Who We Were, What We Did,” Traverse City author Richard Fidler notes that  42% of persons living in Grand Traverse County in 1904 reported being “boarders” without property.  “Many were retail clerks, laborers, students, and teachers,” Fidler writes.  “For the most part, their scant possessions could be contained in a packing trunk.  Though most could escape starvation and the cold, there were few amenities in their lives.”

   Beyond simple poverty, getting rid of your possessions has long had religious or aesthetic overtones.  Buddha, a prince who ran away from his earthly kingdom to become a holy man, set the 2,500-year tradition for his monks to own only a wooden bowl for begging food and a robe.  And upon his death, the possessions of human rights champion Mohandas Gandhi could be counted on the fingers of his two hands: he owned two dinner bowls, a wooden fork and spoon, some porcelain monkeys, a diary, prayer book, watch, spittoon, letter openers and two pair of sandals. Gandhi also famously owned a spinning wheel to spin the cotton to make his clothes.

   Some folks are finding the simple life to be a good way to go, especially during the  recession.  Last week, the New York Times wrote of a couple who got tired of being on the “work-spend treadmill” and decided to get off. Tammy Strobel (who was earning $40,000 per year, but was unhappy with her life) and her husband Logan Smith donated most of their belongings to charity, eventually giving up their cars as well.  Today, they live on $24,000 per year in a 400-square-foot studio in Portland, Ore. and claim to be much happier.  They are no longer in debt to the tune of $30,000, and spend what money they do have on experiences, such as travel.

   As someone who enjoys traveling to the point of addiction, I can relate to that.  My wife and I drive a couple of 10-year-old vehicles and I often reflect that people who buy cars on time payments are coughing up the equivalent of a round-trip ticket to San Francisco each month, year after year.

   Well, each to their own.  For some, the simple life is getting to be a matter of economic privation, rather than a lifestyle experiment.  And needless to say, if everyone stops buying all of the consumer goodies that make the world go round, we’ll soon have the economy of the cave men to deal with.

   It makes you wonder though, what will Dave Bruno do with all of his money once his book comes out?  It’s sure to be a bestseller.  And as a wise man once said, money is like manure: left in a pile it raises quite a stink, but spread it around and it makes things grow.

   I've rediscovered the exquisite pain of running in the noonday sun during these swampy days of summer, harking back to a time 20 years ago when I used to practice 'heat training' to get in shape for an upcoming race.

   Running in the heat is all a matter of pacing, willpower and desire.  Today's measured run (a jog, really) was manageable in the 90 degree heat (32C) simply because i embraced the day as my personal trainer of the unsympathetic drill sergeant variety.  The relentless sun, the humidity that only a bug could love, the torment of aging muscle straining at the grasp of gravity -- all a wonderful reminder that i am more than an inert cinderblock chained to an iMac monitor.  

   Somewhere, perhaps, Zeus is smiling.

   I haven't run in 20 years, so my rebirth as a runner this year has been tenuous and approached with some trepidation.  In 1992, after years of doing scores of 10Ks, triathlons and various other races, my back suffered a devastating collapse.  Initially there were times when i found myself unable to even rise from the floor, trapped by my mutinous vertebrae upside down like a turtle.  I went from doing 15 and 10-mile training runs each week to being unable to run even a few feet, and if it had meant dodging a car while crossing a street, i'd have been a goner.

   Thus, i've also missed out on 20 years of running during my travels, because there's nothing like an early-morning run in a foreign land to get you used the the rhythm of the day in a strange place, and to cover more ground than you'd likely see just walking around.

   But it's said that the body heals itself of 80% of all it's ills and after 8 years of chronic pain and disability, my back problem disappeared one night (abetted by the purchase of a new, firmer mattress).  Even so, i haven't tried returning to any sort of running schedule until this, my 57th year.

   So i'm back to running a couple times a week, and have also returned to my old habit of heat training.  Because just as i ran in the heat 20 years ago to push through the ache of a triathlon or marathon, today i think of it more as spitting in the eye of Age.  I don't believe in the notion that people lose muscle tone or mass as they age: i believe they simply get lazy and give up instead of pushing on.  

   I also don't believe that air conditioning leads to any real sense of physical conditioning.  To quote Goethe, who might have been speaking of heat training here: "What doesn't kill me makes me stronger." 

  Greetings loyal readers!  I'm happy to announce that Planet Backpacker: Thoughts on Bumming Around the World will make its debut in the coming year as an e-book.

   For a memorable dining experience, there's nothing like Campfire Pizza cooked over an open fire.

   In the end, i just couldn't take it any more.

   Many travelers to Australia buy used cars to tour the country.  Cars are obviously useful for visiting far-off parks and regions such as the Blue Mountains and Snowy River.  Used cars can also be resold at the end of one's trip, often to other travelers.

   A major problem with buying a car, however, is that those designed for a backpacker's budget tend to be jalopies from the early '90s with 100,000-250,000 miles on the odometer.  So you're gambling on an outlay of $2,000-$4,000, along with various fees, taxes, insurance, and the need for a "roadworthy" certificate.  If you're lucky, there will be no additional repairs for the few months you use it.

  Then there is the price of gas, which varies from $4.50 to $6.50 per gallon and the necessity of driving thousands of miles to cover the major sights of the continent.

   An alternative option is taking the bus, which is also a popular choice for travelers Down Under.

   Greyhound has a variety of two-month passes with the most popular route (Sydney to Cairns) going for as little as $400.  These are get-on-get-off passes that drop you in any town along a number of routes.

   Greyhound also has six-month passes that cover the entire country, including the west coast (Perth and north), the Top End (Darwin) and the Red Center (Alice Springs and the Outback)

   Additionally, there are a number of backpacker bus companies, including the Oz Experience and Wayward Bus that take passengers along set routes that include hostels and beach camps for lodging.  Passengers are generally in the 18-35 age group with the emphasis being on making friends while seeing the country.

   In planning a three-month trip Down Under in 2012, my wife and i have settled on the bus as being the best way to see the country.  Besides the savings, we presume we'll be more likely to meet Australians and other travelers on the bus network than while touring in a car.  We'll augment our two-month bus passes with rental cars, as needed.

   I personally like the bus idea because, as the principal driver in our family, the thought of hanging onto the wheel of an old car for thousands of miles of dull country in between sights doesn't sound like much fun.  I'd rather be reading or talking to other passengers on a bus.

  Here's a rough breakdown on the pros and cons of taking a bus with six weeks of car rentals added in, versus buying a $5,000 car.

Australian bus passes:

-- Greyhound passes

Melbourne to Cairns - $450

Aussie Coast & Red Center -- $1,100

Cosmopolitan (southeast)  -- $350

-- The Oz Experience

Sort of an Intrepid Travel by bus for backpackers -- small vans

The Bruce Pass - Syndney to Cairns - $600

---------------------------------------------------------------

CAR RENTAL

Europcar

1 week from Sydney: $220 for cheapest - not including additional fees, etc.

Totals:

2 Greyhound bus passes (Melbourne-Cairns and Cairns-Darwin): $1,300

Plus car rentals (6 weeks x $250): $1,500

Total: $2,800

------------------------------

USED CAR SAMPLES

2002 Hyundai Accent, 79,000 mi -- $6,200

1999 Hundai Excel, 92,000 mi  -- $3,100

Insurance, roadworthy certificate & tax?  $1,000 (rough guess)

---------------------------------

GAS

$1.30 per liter  (1 liter + 3.7 gallons)

About $4.50 - $6 per gallon

4,000 miles divided by 300 mile gas tanks: 13

15 gallon tank x 13 fill ups:  195 gallons gas

195 gallons X $5: $975

-------------------------------

CAR EXPENSE

Car (average) $5,000

fees/tax         $1,000

gas                $1,000

TOTAL           $7,000

resale            -$3,000

Total:             $4,000 - car

                     $2,800 - bus

   What do people do when times get tough?  They hold big parties and try to fuggedaboudit for awhile.
   Now, more than ever, we need the festivals that put the cherry on the top of Northern Michigan's sundae.
   Sorry for that lame metaphor, but consider: it's said that in Rio de Janeiro, where millions live in destitute poverty, slum-dwellers who may not even have electricity or running water spend the entire year working on parade costumes and floats for their annual Carnival.  And during a trip to Havana 10 years ago, I noticed that the people didn't have two pesos in their pockets to scrape together, but always managed to have a house party to go to each night, where they'd make their own music.
   The same spirit holds true for the National Cherry Festival in Traverse City, Michigan, which brings out hundreds of volunteers who contribute more than 35,000 hours of their time to host an 8-day party for more than 500,000 people.  This is on top of 10,000 hours of professional staff time"  Cherry Festival staffers Tim Hinkley, Susan Wilcox Olson, Trevor Tkach, Karen Siekas, Stephanie Neville, Chuck O'Connor, Mandy DePuy, Jennifer Parlette, Erika Olsen and Emily LaFollette get the ball rolling on 150 events, based out of a small suite of offices in downtown Traverse City.
   This is the 84th outing for the Cherry Festival, which got its start in 1926 as a harvest celebration for the cherry crop.  It's been a bit of a bum season for the cherry crop this year, owing to a hard frost which split the budding fruit this spring.  On the other hand, the remaining cherries came early this year, so we'll have something of the spirit of 1926 with our own local fruit to savor, instead of the imported stuff.
   Some people have groused in recent years that the Festival has grown "too corporate" with sponsorships.  But the good news is that 85% of festival events are still free of charge, and that's a fine thing in this economy, especially for cash-strapped families who are looking to catch a break at a time when even a bucket of movie popcorn runs $5 or more.
   These are tough times: last week alone, the gusher in the Gulf pounded out another 700,000 barrels of oil and the stock market fell another 268 points.  The Republicans shot down an extension of unemployment benefits, creating another gusher of 200,000 people per week dangling without a safety net, on top of 1 million whose benefits have already expired. The Asian Carp made progress splashing its way to within five miles of Lake Michigan, and there was the usual creepy stuff in the news about child molesters, break-ins, druggers, muggers and other bummers.
   In short, we could use a break from the status quo, and lo and behold, here 'tis.  This week, hundreds of thousands of us will line the bay to watch the fireworks and the Blue Angels; camp out on Front Street for hours of parades; party with our friends at the Open Space and its Bayside Music Stage; and enjoy the simple sensation of walking to town with our kids, if only to avoid the traffic.  People from all over the country will be here, enjoying one of the Top 10 Festivals in the United States.  And the good news is that every small town in Northern Michigan has its own version of the Cherry Festival as the summer unfolds.  As the saying goes, it's the berries.  See you downtown.

I'm 57 and the sands of time are rapidly sifting through the hourglass of what's left of my time on earth --  only 30-40 years left, i imagine.  Time is running out on life's meter, and i don't have much change left in my pocket to pay for what i love  most, which is traveling the world.
   Planning a trip to Brazil this winter, i daydream about what it would be like to back up my life by 30 years  or so and spend months exploring that exotic land's beaches, towns and jungles. 
   Not to complain -- i'm thrilled to have the privilege and gift to be going there with my intrepid wife, Jeannette, but two weeks seems such a miserly foray into a place that could consume at the very least, months.
   Funny how life conspires to make it so difficult to travel to the strangest and most remote places when we're young; a time when most of your focus is on career and family.  You get older and you've got the dough to go, and perhaps even the time, but the fact remains that... you're older!  No all night in the disco and waking up on the beach in a wet embrace for you!

Making plans to visit Rio de Janeiro and southern Brazil next winter.  It's very exciting to investigate this corner of the globe, which appears to be as exotic in its own way as India or Southeast Asia.

   Sometimes, your old gear is like an old friend that you just can't bear to part with.  I have a light jacket from EMS, for instance, that my wife gave me 10 years ago.  It has been ideal apparel for winter camping, travel, cross-country skiing and cycling.

   I've found that publishing a book tends to be a work in progress, like a sculpture that you keep refining, albeit with the aim of not refining it 'too' much.

Dear Readers,

   Over the past year I've had the pleasure of speaking at libraries around the state, doing the author thing.  My subject is world travel, and I always meet people who've been to more interesting places than me, and have done amazing things.

  I met a black man, for instance, who launched a business in Morocco in the mid-'60s after getting out of the Air Force.  He later bummed his way all the way through Africa -- Senegal, Nigeria, Angola, Namibia, South Africa -- astounding the natives everywhere he went with his derring-do and wherewithal. "No one could believe that I was a black American and could travel wherever I wanted," he said.

   One thing I've noticed over the past year, however, is the growing number of homeless people who now spend their days at our libraries.  Last February in Royal Oak, for instance, it seemed like there were more homeless people hanging out in the library than actual patrons.    

   The same can be said for book stores, where again, the homeless gather to get out of the cold in a friendly, public space.  On one memorable trip last winter, I spoke to a "full house" at a bookstore in Northern Michigan, half of whom were homeless people trying to cope with hard luck and/or dysfunctional personalities that tend to render then unemployable.

   "We try to look at it from a humanitarian angle," a librarian told me during a recent trip downstate.  "The library is a warm, safe place where the homeless can come during the day to get out of the cold. We also have a lot of the mentally ill here who have nowhere else to go."

   Mostly there's no problem, she said.  The libraries lay down the rules which are meekly obeyed.  I did notice an empty liquor bottle in a bathroom stall though, and the librarian did exhibit a touch of exasperation over some of the younger homeless persons who fail to demonstrate much ambition, other than an aggrieved sense of entitlement.  "I just wish they'd spend less time on our computers playing solitaire all day and use them to try getting ahead instead," she said.

                       ***

    Beyond that, have you ever heard the saying: "Be careful you don't get what you wish for."?  So true.  Mostly I've found that the 'glamorous' life of a traveling author involves long hours of staring at the back of semi trucks on the freeway in the rain, traveling to some faraway bookstore and an uncertain fate.  And you've got to love the heavy odor of disinfectant over musk for all the cheap hotel rooms you'll be roosting in.

   My worst event was on the first nice day of the summer after a long, cold,  rainy spring.  The manager at Border's in Metro Detroit booked me for 3 p.m. on a Saturday.  As the sun came up in the full blast of its glory and the temperature hit 80, I knew the event would be a disaster.  Sure enough, there were only two people in the audience, one of whom was my Detroit-area friend Allan.

   It's not always that way: sometimes you whip up a crowd of 50-100 and it's a party. 

   But the same is true for those foolish enough to become traveling musicians: sometimes there are only two snarling drunks in the audience who yell at you to turn it down so they can watch Big Time Wrestling reruns on the tube; other times there's lightning on the dance floor at midnight on a Thursday, for no apparent reason.

  I sometimes marvel that some of the guys who play in bands passing through the area can go for years and years touring together across the country without ever really 'making it' with a big recording contract.  You know who they are: they're the guys edging into their 30s who play all of the local folk festivals in between bar gigs at Union Street, the Loading Dock or Papa Lou's.

   I too am in a band, but we have the laziest manager in the history of the world and get few gigs -- none more than 50 miles away. But on one occasion a former member suggested that we hit the road and do a national tour, starting with some place like Vegas.

   I didn't have the heart to tell him that half our problem getting jobs is that people in their 20s don't want to see people old enough to be their parents cavorting onstage, playing rock and roll. But beyond that, the idea of traveling with four guys in their mid-50s around the country, "living the dream" in a van full of fast food wrappers, playing at a different dive every night... sounded like hell on earth.  Can you imagine?  

  The new film, "2012" is old news for New Age types, who've been talking about the Mayan Prophecy for a couple of years now on the Internet and radio talk shows such as “Coast-to-Coast,” which explores paranormal topics. 
   Apparently, before their civilization collapsed in Central America 1,000 years ago, the Mayans predicted that the world would end in the year 2012.
   This is the date which coincides with the “end” of the Mayan calendar -- and the end of the world as we know it. 
   So queue up that old R.E.M. song, because you’ve got four years left to party like it’s 1999. Then -- kaboom... if you believe in what a Mayan prophet had to say 1,300 years ago, that is. 
   Some New Agers speculate that the Mayans were wise to the magnetic field shift of the Earth in which the positive and negative poles of our planet “flip” on the average of every 200,000 years
   The Earth, you see, is believed to have a core of solid iron, located some 4,000 miles beneath your feet. According to National Geographic, this core is surrounded by molten iron and nickel which whips around, generating a magnetic field that protects our planet from charged particles shooting from the sun.
   In other words, you’re living on a giant magnet and its polarity could flip at any moment, possibly scrambling your brain or something, such as it is...
Geological evidence shows that the last time the Earth’s magnetic field flipped was 780,000 years ago. So, we’re long overdue.
   Other possible end-of-the-world culprits include global warming, solar flares, a supervolcano under Yellowstone Park, and Jesus returning in a really bad mood.
   Unfortunately, there are reasons to believe that those long-gone Mayans could be right. In the New York Times last year, Al Gore noted that we’re currently pumping 70 million tons of CO2 into the atmosphere every day by burning coal and oil.
   He also pointed out that Venus and the Earth contain about the same amount of CO2; the difference is that the CO2 on Venus is in the atmosphere and our CO2 is mostly in the ground. So why are we feverishly trying to turn our planet into Venus?
   Did you know the average temperature on Venus is 867 degrees? 
But the thing is, people have been predicting the end of the world for eons, and we’re still here. If there's anything you can predict about prophets, it's that they tend to be dead wrong.
   Writer Benjamin Anastas noted in the New York Times Magazine that the Jehovah’s Witnesses have predicted the end of the world for 1914, 1915, 1918, 1920, 1925, 1941, 1975 and 1994. The Russians believed that Napolean was the Antichrist and that the world would end in the early 1800s. The Shakers said the world would end in 1792; and there was a so-called “Great Disappointment” among Baptists when the world failed to end on Oct. 22, 1844.
   As has been noted elsewhere, the world is always ending for someone. For the Mayans, it ended around 900 A.D. when their civilization fell apart due to depleted soil and the social consequences of their bloodthirsty religion. The world ended for the Confederate South in 1865. It ended for the Jews of Europe in the early 1940s and for Native Americans in the period between 1492 and the 1870s.
   But when the world ends, the survivors pick themselves up and move on.
So, stock up on pizza and beer. Lay in a supply of funny DVDs and run your credit cards up to the max. Give up dieting and exercise -- you won’t need ‘em where you’re going. The world is ending in 2012 -- the Mayans said so, so it must be true. 

   The older I get, the less inclined I am to have a 'second helping.'

   This is the time of year when Northwest Airlines starts offering cheap flights to Asia.  Obviously, there's no crystal ball for predicting or assurances that airfares will rocket down as they usually do in late August-early September, but I've noticed through the years that you can usually count on snagging a cheap flight to Japan or China roundabouts this time of year.

Well, who cares, really, but here's what i'm taking along to Swaziland, Mozambique and South Africa:

To Pee or Not to Pee

Travel tip #43 

   Here's a situation every camper can relate to.  It's 2 a.m. and you wake up having to pee like a race horse, owing perhaps, to the beer you drank around the camp fire before nodding off.

   Coincidentally, it's also freezing outside (or raining) and the last thing you feel like doing is stumbling around in the dark, looking for the potty or a tree to whiz on.  And who knows?  There could be a bear out there -- they're nocturnal, you know.

   Solution? Pack a large extra water bottle to serve as an in-tent urinal, to be dumped the next morning.  Ideal for the ladies too, if you invest in one of those funnel-shaped backpacking urinals for women that fits over your crotch.

   Sounds gross, but consider that this is exactly what your great-grandparents and all your ancestors before them did in the age of outhouses, a time when night jars were kept in the bedroom for nocturnal relief. These bedpans were dumped the next morning after a good night's rest.

   This worked well for me while biking across Ireland, England and down the Danube in 2007, where the nights were chilly and heavy with dew.  The last thing I wanted to do was crawl out of my tent to take a pee. 

   I'm planning to do the same on a trip to Africa this year, where my wife and I don't care to stumble across a lion or hyena while meeting the call of nature.

   Do be sure, however, not to mix your portable urinal up with your regular water bottle...

For more travel tips, check out www.planetbackpacker.net

   Greetings from Northern Michigan where Michael Moore's Traverse City Film Festival is in full swing, bringing film stars, directors, writers, composers and filmmakers from around the world.

Building a good website is a lengthy process -- Rome wasn't built in a day... America took thousands of years to conceive... Christianity took 300 years to take root... that sort of thing.

Hey Travelers,

“Don’t forget the Motor City -- All you need is music, sweet music, there’ll be music everywhere...”

                       - Dancing in the Streets

   Recently, National Public Radio aired a program wondering why it is that Detroit has created some of the best music in the world, and yet has failed miserably in marketing itself as a capital of creativity.

   Good point: While Detroit and Michigan have obsessed for years over what to do about the auto meltdown, we’ve ignored the potential of our other top export: music.

Consider this partial list: Bob Seger, Kid Rock, Jack White, Madonna, Iggy Pop, Ted Nugent, Eminem and all the stars of Motown: Aretha Franklin, Stevie Wonder, The Temptations, The Supremes, Marvin Gaye, Four Tops... Then there was Detroit’s electronic music scene in the ‘90s, which was better known worldwide than it was in most of Michigan.

   Many other musicians got a boost into the big time as a direct result of their enthusiastic reception by Detroit audiences, including The Who, Alice Cooper, Mountain, Jethro Tull and KISS.  Even David Bowie has a connection to Detroit via his friendship with Iggy Pop.

   To paraphrase an old Talking Heads hit, this ain’t no Arkansas, this ain’t no Wisconsin, this ain’t no fooling around: few states (or countries for that matter) can boast anywhere near the amount of musical talent that has come out of Michigan. 

   That should make Detroit a lively entertainment destination on par with Nashville, Branson, or Las Vegas. Detroit should be to music what Hollywood is to film. Yet, like a pauper walking along a road paved with gold without a clue as to its value, our state has failed to capitalize on a resource before its eyes. 

   We never needed the state’s Cool Cities program -- Michigan was one of the inventors of 'cool' back in the ‘60s when Motown was going head-to-head on the airwaves with the sounds of London or Southern California. 

   What Detroit needs is the imagination to capture that energy in the same spirit as Branson, Memphis or Nashville, with music showcases, non-stop shows, package tours, historical sites, recording studios, museums, a music college and more. 

When you go to Nashville, you can walk the hallowed halls of the Grand Ole Opry, check out the pink Cadillac Elvis was chauffeured around in (complete with on-board shoe polisher and 45-rpm turntable), and wander through the Musicians’ Row of old honky-tonks where generations of country legends got their start.

   Then there’s Beale Street, “home of the blues” in Memphis, where you can check out the haunts of B.B. King or Muddy Waters. Branson, Missouri? This world-famous destination was virtually invented out of thin air, based on the fact that Patsy Cline and Hank Williams used to play the Ozarks decades ago.

   But Detroit -- a place that arguably outshines them all with its depth and diversity? The Motor City’s music scene is spread out among dozens of small clubs, with nothing holding it together.

   So consider some of the following ideas for recharging Detroit. They may be facetious, but this is what a former homeboy would suggest:

   First, the Motown Historical Museum is presently located on West Grand Boulevard about three miles from downtown, which might as well be on the moon, even for most of the three million people living in the metro area. Detroit needs to move "Hitsville USA" and the Motown museum brick-by-brick downtown, where tourists are more likely to see it.

Next, Detroit missed a tourist goldmine when the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame was built in Cleveland. Take it back with the city’s own ‘hall of fame’ featuring the likes of Bob Seger, Kid Rock, Eminem, the MC5, the Stooges and the next wave of rappers.

   There's a tribute to Dolly Parton called Dollywood in Tennessee; why not MadonnaLand in Detroit? A big, tacky musical funhouse downtown with a cone bra roof and an IMAX theater inside that would play Madonna concerts and special guest pop artists such as Britney Spears or Hannah Montana. 

   • A restaurant arcade based around Detroit music: The Motown Rib Shack, Kid Rock’s Cracker Stack, Stevie Wonder’s Midnight Taste Experience, the Candy KISS Chocolate Factory, Ted Nugent’s Natural World... 

   • A rock & roll music college. L.A. has one -- why not Detroit? Classes could cover everything from electronic music to guitar, drums and home recording.

   • A big Times Square-style electronic billboard scene in the heart of the city, reminding every visitor that Detroit is one of the music capitals of the world. At the heart of this district would be a Hard Rock Hotel, a House of Blues and Detroit’s Fillmore and Fox theaters.

   Well, you get the picture -- the idea would be to create a ‘scene’ big enough to put a new tourist destination on the map, with half the population of America within a day's drive. 

Who will pay for all this? For starters, tap some of the musicians mentioned here who rake in tens of millions of dollars each year. Perhaps, like the pharoahs of Egypt, they'd enjoy leaving a monument to their success and helping to old home turf to boot.

   Detroit currently has a few downtown attractions, such as Greektown, Bricktown and the new stadiums, but nothing that’s ever going to rev anyone’s propeller in a big way. But knocking out about six square blocks in the heart of downtown for a world-class music district would also knock some socks off and maybe get the Motor City back on its feet... and dancin’ in the streets.

Could backpacking have saved Michael Jackson?

   Stupid question, but hey...
   When Kurt Cobain blew his brains out with a shotgun in  1994, I wrote a column noting that the depressed, drug-addled rocker probably could have saved himself by ditching his ass-kissing staff and taking a 1,000-mile raft trip down the Yukon River.
   There, thousands of miles from his wife, sycophantic "friends" and heroin connection, he could have rediscovered himself through a backcountry experience.  Cobain would have cleaned up and filled his head with healthful endorphins and visions of the Northern Lights, instead of the chatter that drove him crazy.
   The same, perhaps, could have been said for Michael Jackson, who most likely used painkillers to fight the despair in his head more than the ache in his joints.
   Judging from the blizzard of documentaries, Jackson was probably incapable of existing outside his wall of retainers, but perhaps if he'd been able to break free with a band of adventurers for -- say -- a hike up Mt. Kilimanjaro or a few months in Borneo or the Australian Outback, he would have gotten a new perspective on life.  The kind that comes from traveling off a leash.
   Michael's one white glove signified that he was born to be a hitch-hiker.  Unfortunately, he let the "Wacko" side of Jacko steer his course. Rest in peace, Man in the Mirror.