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Sunday, December 20, 2009

The magic of Scranton


Published in The Philadelphia Inquirer on August 9, 2009

The magic of Scranton
By Anne Supsic

For The Inquirer

SCRANTON - These days, it's best known as the setting of the quirky TV sitcom The Office, or as Electric City, because it operated the first electric trolley system.

But it was daredevil Harry Houdini who lured me here - and he's been dead for 83 years. Now, that's a magic trick.

It started as a day trip for my husband, Frank, and myself to explore the Houdini Museum - touted as the only building in the world devoted to the famous escapologist - with our grandson, Christopher, 12.

And it expanded to a Weekend Journey a few weeks later, to tour this city of more than 70,000 that's enjoying a cultural renaissance, with historic sites that celebrate the industrial past; glorious, restored buildings; and a vibrant ethnic diversity.

The inside of the Houdini Museum looks like a dusty antique store, but the jumble of exciting memorabilia lining the walls includes a milk can large enough to hide a magician, a collection of locks and handcuffs, and a well-worn straitjacket.

Houdini's legacy is kept alive by devoted proprietors Dick Brooks, who performs as Bravo the Great, and Dorothy Dietrich, billed as one of the world's leading female magicians. Brooks provides a detailed biography of the magician, from his birth as Ehrich Weiss in Budapest, Hungary, in 1874 to his mysterious death on Halloween in 1926 at age 52. And he injects little-known facts, such as that during World War I, Houdini taught U.S. soldiers how to escape from German handcuffs. As Houdini liked to say, "My brain is the key that sets me free."

Brooks leads us into the high-ceilinged theater, where we watch rare film footage of Houdini freeing himself from a straitjacket and surviving the famous Chinese Water Torture Cell. Exciting stuff, priming us for some live magic.

My husband and I do not expect much, but Bravo the Great and Dorothy put on a top-notch show, using doves, a rabbit, a duck, and two poodles. And they pull a boy out of the audience for an amazing levitation trick that my husband is still pondering.

Only one nagging question remains: What was Houdini's connection to Scranton? It turns out the Poli Theater was a popular stop on the vaudeville circuit, where Houdini joined such stars as Fred Astaire and Groucho Marx. In fact, Scranton supposedly was one of Houdini's favorite venues, so maybe he knew something about Scranton that was worth our making a return trip.

Mary Ann Moran Savakinus, director of the Lackawanna Historical Society, gives us the city's history in a nutshell: "The industrial boom was fueled by the holy trinity of iron, rail, and coal." In 1847, brothers Selden T. and George W. Scranton were the first to mass-produce iron rails in America. Their iron-manufacturing business was short-lived, but coal stayed hot. With local fields containing 85 percent of the world's anthracite coal, the family shifted to railroading to transport those "black diamonds" around the country.

By 1900, Scranton had grown into the 38th-largest city in the country, with a population of more than 100,000, and families such as the Scrantons had joined the so-called robber barons of the era.

But the city's story is not just about the wealthy. Industrial growth required labor, and immigrants poured into the city to fill the jobs. The Irish and the Welsh were among the earliest arrivals, followed by Eastern Europeans and Italians.

"Having mined anthracite coal in their native country, the Welsh were a perfect match for the Pennsylvania mines," Moran Savakinus says. "Back then, Scranton had the largest Welsh population outside of Wales itself."

After World War II, coal was displaced by cheaper fuels - oil and natural gas - and the city's fortunes faded.

The city boomed as a major rail hub in the late 1800s, with the most railroad tracks per square mile in the country. So we start our Weekend Journey at Steamtown, a national historic site.

Anchoring the heart of the compact downtown (about six square blocks), Steamtown is dedicated to preserving the era of the steam locomotive. It's a working roundhouse, where restored steam engines are serviced and prepared so tourists can ride authentic steam-powered trains.

On the one-hour Locomotive Workshop tour, a park ranger leads us into a restricted area - the workshop where these monster machines are maintained. My husband and a group of Boy Scouts are in grease-monkey heaven.

After the tour, we drop by one of Scranton's oldest lunch spots: Coney Island Lunch, serving Texas Wieners since 1923. The walls are covered with baseball paraphernalia, much of it devoted to the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees and their predecessors, the Red Barons, who were the top minor-league farm team for the Phillies until 2006. (For hockey fans, there are the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins, affectionately called the Baby Penguins.)

The tiny Coney Island booths have seen a lot of action, and nothing much has changed since the 1950s. Prices are in a time warp, too - the yummy wieners, topped with spicy chili, are only $1.95.

We are staying at the Radisson Lackawanna Station Hotel, a charmingly renovated train station that was once the pride of the Scranton family's Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad.

The 1908 French Renaissance-style building was once described as one of the most beautiful train stations in the country. T he graceful lobby retains the classic train clock, a barrel-vaulted stained-glass ceiling, and Italian marble walls decorated with ceramic tiles depicting sites along the train routes.

This former train station is just one of the city's architectural gems. The coal and rail magnates left a legacy of impressive buildings, in styles from elaborate Gothic Revival to the clean lines of art deco. On summer Saturdays, the Lackawanna Historical Society offers walking tours for visitors to gaze at the grandeur.

Dining options reflect the city's immigrant past with lots of ethnic choices, including Italian restaurants and a fine selection of Irish pubs. For dinner, we stroll past the dramatic Courthouse Square and a towering neon sign that blares "Scranton the Electric City" over the skyline, to Thai Rak Thai. The nua nam tok (beef salad) and pad prik khing (spicy stir-fry) are as good as anything we've eaten in Thailand. And a woman sitting near us likes her red-curry dish enough to order a second bowl.

We top off the night at Kildare's, a hopping Irish pub that also has locations in Manayunk, West Chester, King of Prussia, and Newark, Del. Our cozy table is in an alcove appropriately called "the snug" - a spot where women and children used to wait while the menfolk downed a pint or two at the bar. Live music is due to start at 10 p.m., but after a Guinness-on-tap nightcap, we are ready to curl up in our Sleep Number adjustable bed, a first-time hotel amenity for us.

A train whistle wakes me up. I think I must be dreaming, but a look out the window confirms that trains still roll on these rails.

On this bright, sunny day, we are headed underground. At the Lackawanna Coal Mine, we board a low-slung, yellow coal car and descend into the dark - about 300 feet down Lackawanna Slope 190. After a ride that feels like a slow, creaky roller coaster, a former coal miner guides us through a small portion of the 40 miles of dank tunnels.

I find myself humming that old favorite, Working in a Coal Mine ("Goin' down, down, down"). But coal mining was no day at the beach. It was backbreaking work - dirty, dark, and dangerous. Miners crawled into "monkey veins," only two to three feet high, where they shoveled coal for 12 hours a day. Ten-year-old boys worked in the shafts from sunup to sundown, tending to mules and coal cars. We emerge into the welcome sunlight with a new appreciation for those who powered our modern age.

Not wanting our Weekend Journey to end, we stop at Old Forge, about five miles southwest of Scranton. The pizzeria-filled neighborhood is known as "the Pizza Capital of the World," and we enjoy a few "cuts" of the savory, rectangular pies at Revello's Cafe.

There's so much more that we didn't get to see or do in Scranton and the surrounding Lackawanna County countryside: the city's Trolley Museum and the Lion Brewery in Wilkes-Barre; hiking in Nay Aug Park, fishing in 198-acre Lackawanna Lake; and skiing and snowboarding at Elk and Snö mountains.

I guess Harry Houdini was right - Scranton really is a black diamond in the rough.

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Scranton: From Magic to Mines

Things to do

For magical thrills, check out the Houdini Museum (1433 N. Main Ave.). Admission: $14.95. Information: 570-342-5555, www.houdini.org. Call for reservations.

Exhibits at Steamtown National Historic Site (Lackawanna and Cliff Avenues) re-create the era of steam engines. Plan to spend at least two to three hours. Admission: $6 (free for children 16 and under), plus $3 for a short train ride. Information: 570-340-5200; 570-340-5204 for train-ride reservations; www.nps.gov/stea/index.htm.

Also at Steamtown, take a trolley ride at the Electric City Trolley Museum between May and October. Information: 570-963-6590, www.ectma.org.

The Lackawanna Coal Mine (on Bald Mountain Road in McDade Park) will make you appreciate your above-ground job. Bundle up - it's about 53 degrees year-round. Admission: $10, adults; $7.50, children 3-12. Information: 570-963-6463, www.lackawannacounty.org/attractions_coal.asp.

For a better understanding of immigrant life in Scranton, visit the Pennsylvania Anthracite Heritage Museum (next to the Lackawanna Coal Mine). Admission: $6, adults; $4, children 3-11. Information: 570-963-4804, www.anthracitemuseum.org.

Sports fans can catch a minor-league baseball game with the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees in Moosic (570-969-2255, www.swbyankees.com) and a minor-league hockey game with the Baby Penguins in Wilkes-Barre (570-208-7367, www.wbspenguins.com).

Satisfy your thirst and tour the Lion Brewery (700 N. Pennsylvania Ave., Wilkes-Barre). Information: 1-800-233-8327, www.lionbrewery.com.

Grab your fishing rod or hiking boots and head to Lackawanna State Park, 10 miles north of the city. Information: 1-888-727-2757, www.dcnr.state.pa.us/stateparks/parks/lackawanna.aspx.

Gaze into a gorge or swim and try the water slides ($5 per person) at Nay Aug Park (1901 Mulberry St.). Information: 570-348-4186, www.scrantonpa.gov/nayaug_park.html.

During the winter, hit the slopes at Elk Mountain (570-679-4400, www.elkskier.com) and Snö Mountain (570-969-7669, www.snomtn.com).

Places to stay

We stayed in a lovely room at the Radisson Lackawanna Station Hotel (700 Lackawanna Ave., 1-888-201-1718, www.radisson.com/scrantonpa.

Another downtown option is the Hilton Scranton & Conference Center (100 Adams Ave., 1-866-539-0036, www.hilton.com).

Places to eat

Breakfast in the Radisson's elegant former train-station lobby is a must. The hotel's Carmen's Ristorante offers a breakfast buffet ($10.95) and a legendary Sunday brunch ($25.95).

Good lunch options include Coney Island Lunch (515 Lackawanna Ave., 570-961-9004, www.texas-wiener.com); the Glider, a classic diner not far from the Houdini Museum, (890 Providence Rd., 570-343-8036, www.gliderdiner.com); and the pizzerias of the Old Forge neighborhood, particularly Revello's Café (502 S. Main St., 570-457-9843).

For dinner, bring a bottle of gewurztraminer to Thai Rak Thai (349 Adams Ave., 570-344-2240, www.thairakthaiusa.com), since it's BYOB. Reservations suggested.

More Information

Lackawanna County Convention and Visitor's Bureau
1-800-229-3526
www.visitnepa.org

Lackawanna Historical Society
The Caitlin House
232 Monroe Ave.
570-344-3841
www.lackawannahistory.org

- Anne Supsic

Easter Island: Shoes for Jorge


Published in South American Explorer magazine July 2009

Anne Supsic discovers that sometimes when you travel it's the people, not the place that you remember afterwards.

Easter Island (also known as Rapa Nui) is one of the most isolated places on earth, and lies about midway between Chile and Tahiti -- 4023 km west of Santiago. Formed by three volcanoes, Easter Island is a tiny triangle of land only 24 km long and 12 km wide. My husband and I get our first glimpse of the island when our plane does a flyby before turning to land. From the air, it looks totally uinhabited with bleak landscapes more like Mars than a tropical island.

After spending some relaxing days admiring stone statues, we were doing some last minute souvenir shopping on the main drag in Hanga Roa -- Easter Island’s only town -- when a tall, English-speaking islander with a friendly (if somewhat toothless) smile approached us. He asked the usual questions, where we were from and how we liked the island. Eventually, he introduced himself as 'Jorge' and then asked if he could give us US$60 to buy him a pair of his favorite shoes from Payless Shoe Stores in the US!

Jorge explained that while Payless would charge a fortune to ship the shoes to him, we could mail them for much less. We were a bit flabbergasted and suspicious of his request. After all, who would trust two total strangers enough to give them US$60 based on nothing more than a chance meeting on the street? I felt uneasy, but my husband figured if Jorge was willing to trust us with his US$60, why not help the guy out?

Jorge led us to an outdoor café table where he happily gave us his address (which consisted of little more than his name and 'Easter Island, Chile') plus all the specifics on his shoe size (11 wide), and his preferred shoe style (Hunter Bay). He was actually wearing a pair of his special Payless shoes looking due for replacement, so my detail-oriented, engineer husband whipped out his camera for some picture-taking. He even asked Jorge to remove one of his shoes for a better shot. Jorge hesitated for a moment saying, “It may not smell very good.” But eventually he gave in to my husband’s enthusiastic request.

Jorge described Easter as “his island.” Later we learned that he was a well-known character on the island and was even running for mayor of Hanga Roa. He gave enough money to cover both the cost of the shoes (US$39.99 as advertised on the Internet) and the shipping. In exchange, we gave him our email address and told him we would be in touch when we got back home. We shook hands, and Jorge told us he would come to the airport to see us off the next day. He sure was excited about getting another pair of those shoes.

The following morning at the airport, we wondered whether Jorge would show up as he had promised. It was a miserable rainy day, and I had my doubts. After we passed through Security, I said, “Well, Jorge can’t reach us now.” Just then, I sensed a large presence in a yellow slicker looming over us – it was Jorge! He thanked us again for helping him out and wished us well on our journey. Then we watched in amazement as Jorge nonchalantly walked out of our secured area, setting off the metal detector as he passed through. We expected to see drawn weapons and Jorge spread-eagled on the ground, but no one did a thing. I guess this really is his island!

When we returned home, we found Jorge's favorite shoes, exactly as he had described, at a nearby Payless Shoe Store. We packaged them up and sent them off to Easter Island. A few weeks later, a very happy Jorge sent us an email telling us how thrilled he was with his new Payless shoes.

Sometimes when you travel, a chance encounter can turn out to be one of the highlights of your trip.

Further Information:

For general information about Easter Island, see the travel guide "Lonely Planet Chile & Easter Island." Other good web sources include http://Frommers.com, the comprehensive visitor guide available at http://islandheritage.org, and the one page summary at http://easterislandpage.com/.

Places to Stay: Contact the highly rated T’eora via their website at http://easterislandteora.bizland.com. Another recommended lodging is Residencial Tadeo y Lili (http://tadeolili.bizland.com/).

Places to Eat: Try the popular Te Moana restaurant for dinner and Tia Berta’s for a terrific tuna and cheese empanada. Also, don’t miss the delicious homemade ice cream at the small café down by the harbor.

How to Get There: LAN is the only airline servicing Easter Island with flights from Santiago, Chile or Papeete, Tahiti.

Anne Supsic is a travel writer who has previously been published in The Philadelphia Inquirer, Frommer's 'The Smart Traveler's passport: 399 Tips from Seasoned Travelers', and several other regional publications. All photographs by Frank Supsic.

Peru: Ollanta's Hideaway


Published in South American Explorer magazine April 2009

Anne Supsic discovers Ollantaytambo, a hidden gem in Peru's Sacred Valley

When traveling in Peru, people invariably ask if you have visited Machu Picchu yet (since every tourist does). In fact, most visitors race from Lima to Cusco and on to Aguas Calientes, the gateway to Machu Picchu. But these fast-track travelers miss the phenomenal beauty of the area between Cusco and Aguas Calientes where the Sacred Valley offers an eclectic array of Inca ruins that rival even those of fabled Machu Picchu.

The sights of the Sacred Valley could keep a traveler happily entertained for days. The town of Pisac offers both stunning Inca ruins and a colorful handicraft market where shopaholics can haggle for hours. The crusty, white salt pans of Maras are a fascinating ancient operation with salt water of unknown origin channeled into shallow pools where the air evaporates, and only the salt remains. The concentric terraces built by the Incas at Moray sink hundreds of feet into the earth creating what look like giant amphitheaters. These terraced craters may have been designed as laboratories for agricultural experiments, but are also believed to be mystic centers of energy. And at the northern end of this magical valley, halfway between Cusco and Machu Picchu, lies my favorite spot of all, a gem of an Inca village called Ollantaytambo.

Ollantaytambo is situated in a narrow section of the Sacred Valley surrounded by mountains flaunting spectacular Inca ruins. Opposing mountains display agricultural terraces and a formidable fortress on one side, while rows of grain bins with symmetrical, peaked rooflines create a harmonious pattern on the other side. Remarkably, this little out-of-the-way village offers the best surviving example of Inca town planning and has been inhabited continuously since the 13th century. Eighty percent of the buildings in Ollantaytambo contain original Inca stonework.

In contrast to Machu Picchu, this is a living town with roughly 3,000 residents leading ordinary lives right in the midst of Incan antiquity. Except for the occasional tour bus roaring down the main thoroughfare, Ollantaytambo is a sleepy place with good visitor facilities, but without the frenzied pursuit of tourist dollars typical of more famous destinations.

Unlike Cusco, my husband and I are not besieged by local crafts sellers or shoeshine boys at every turn. Here the owners of native handicraft shops wait for us to come to them, and well-mannered children in sparkling school uniforms stifle giggles as they politely respond to our greetings of Hola and Buenos Dias. The only hucksters we encounter are two preschoolers who ham it up for the camera, and then ask us for bombones. We have no candy (and prefer not to give it to children anyway), but a granola bar comes to the rescue, and they happily gobble it up.

Walking along Ollantaytambo’s narrow alleys, we marvel at the precision of the Inca walls. These stones are so perfectly joined that a thin knife blade cannot fit between them. What engineers these Incas must have been to achieve such precision with only the crudest of tools. And since this is earthquake country, the ingenious Incas also perfected masonry techniques, like trapezoidal doorways, to make their buildings earthquake-proof. While structures built by the Spaniards have suffered great damage over the years, the Inca walls still remain standing.

We are staying in Ollantaytambo for three nights at the Hostal Orquideas in a double room with a private bath for $30/night. Our room is basic but clean, and the shower is hot and powerful. Best of all, the room has an excellent view of the fortress ruins from our second story window.

In this tranquil atmosphere, we find ourselves slowing down to match the rhythm of the town. We sleep in and then take a walk in search of a laundry. A friendly place just off the main square is the perfect choice with a single washing machine visible in the back room--the only lavanderia in town with a washing machine, we are told. For 8 soles (about $2.50), our clothes are returned to us fresh and neatly folded in just three hours.

Outside the laundry, we really appreciate the value of modern conveniences when we see an old woman washing her clothes in the street. Literally. The Incas carved open stone waterways into the streets, and many are still used to carry water throughout the town today. We try not to stare as the woman dips her garments in and out of the water rushing through the narrow channel.

We have hired a private guide for our Sacred Valley sightseeing. Percy is pleasant, speaks decent English and is extremely knowledgeable. Today, he leads us on an exploration of our very own Ollantaytambo ruins. The fortress was a major outpost of the Inca Empire, and the only site where the Incas defeated the Spanish in battle. But the site is also a ceremonial center, and our goal is to hike to the Temple of the Sun at the top of the mountainside. We follow a zigzag path, climbing up the mountain across orderly agricultural terraces.

As we labor up the two hundred steps, hampered by the thin air at this 9,000 foot altitude, Percy entertains us with the legend of Ollanta, the famous Inca warrior.

Ollanta was a talented Inca general responsible for expanding the Inca Empire throughout the Cusco region. According to the storytellers, Ollanta is so successful that he soon becomes the right-hand man of Pachacuti, the ruler of the Incas. Unfortunately, General Ollanta, a member of the lower class, falls in love with Pachacuti’s daughter, Princess Joyful Star. Despite all of his achievements, Ollanta lacks the right pedigree, and Pachacuti refuses to allow the couple to wed. A furious Ollanta forms his own army and takes off into the hills outside of Cusco where he leads a rebellion against his former commander. Eventually, Ollanta builds his own secret hideaway--Ollantaytambo (Ollanta’s place).

Meanwhile back at the royal court, a horrified Pachacuti learns that Princess Joyful Star is pregnant; he forces her to give up the child and banishes her to a convent. All seems lost, but like any good fairytale, this story has a happy ending. Ten years later Pachacuti dies, and his son, the new Inca ruler, makes peace with Ollanta and welcomes him into the family. The general finally returns to Cusco where he is reunited with Princess Joyful Star and with his child who he didn’t even know existed.

Back in the real world, we are panting when we reach the Temple of the Sun, and the exquisite stonework takes away what little breath we have left. One of the most stunning sights is a composition of six finely polished monoliths made from red volcanic rock--perfectly joined and carefully positioned to catch the rays of the morning sun. We are incredulous when Percy tells us that these huge stones, weighing over 8 tons each, were dragged all the way up here from a quarry located miles away on the other side of a river.

Standing on this summit surrounded by the Andes, we are awestruck by the view and by the brilliance of the Incas. Gazing out over the sweet, little town that Ollanta built, I wonder how he would feel about his secret hideaway today. I think the General would be pleased.

More info:

Lodging: Contact Hostal Orquideas, an excellent budget option, via email at lasorquideas3@hotmail.com. For best results, send your request in Spanish (use the free language translator at babelfish.yahoo.com). If you prefer 3-star comfort consider Hostal Sauce (http://www.hostalsauce.com.pe/).

Dining: Try El Chasqui for delectable fresh trout or check out the healthy choices at Heart’s Café, whose profits go to children’s projects in the Sacred Valley. My favorite eating spot is the restaurant at the KB Tambo Hostal where they serve superb burritos and massive breakfast platters.

How to Get There: Ollantaytambo can be reached by taxi from Cusco in about 1 ½ hours. Also, the Ollantaytambo train station sits on the Aguas Calientes rail line making the town a perfect stop en route to Machu Picchu. (Plus the train ride from Ollantaytambo is cheaper, faster, and often less crowded.)

Anne Supsic is a travel writer who has previously been published in The Philadelphia Inquirer, Frommer's 'The Smart Traveler's passport: 399 Tips from Seasoned Travelers', and several other regional publications.

All photographs by Frank Supsic.

In Search of the Singing Baguette


Published in The Philadelphia Inquirer on August 17, 2008

By Anne Supsic
For The Inquirer

 
French baked goods rank high on my list of favorite things in life, so for only 6 euros (less than $10), I jumped at the chance to take a behind-the-scenes tour of a boulangerie in Paris.

It was one of the Meeting the French tours (www.meetingthefrench.com), which offer rare glimpses of Parisians at work, such as chocolate makers, herbalists, bookbinders and musical-instrument makers.

Our English-speaking guide, Florence, meets us outside the Au Grand Richelieu in the 1st arrondissement, not far from the Louvre. Established in 1810, Au Grand Richelieu is the oldest bakery in Paris - a fact that is proudly announced in five languages on a chalkboard in the front window.

Florence takes us through the small bakery shop, and we duck into the back room, where we meet Claude Esnault, the baker. After 38 years of baking, Esnault is retired, and his daughter runs the bakery, but he still comes to work nearly every day.

Our host does not speak English, but he is very welcoming, and Florence is an adept interpreter. Esnault leads us into the working part of the boulangerie, a different world from the bakery shop. The 10 of us barely squeeze into the windowless baking rooms where, from midnight to 7 a.m. daily, two bakers produce 400 baguettes, 250 croissants, and 200 pains au chocolat.

When does a baker sleep? "Sleeping is a waste of time," Esnault replies.

In the cavelike baguette baking room, we learn that 3 tons of flour are stored in the room above us. A nifty system of pipes delivers the flour directly to the dough mixer, a vintage floor model with a 2-foot-wide bowl.

The baguette recipe is simple: flour, water, yeast and salt. But the method is precise, requiring particular temperatures and a closely regulated "rest time" for the dough to rise. The size and weight of a baguette are strictly enforced by the government - 2 feet long, 3 to 4 inches wide - and Monsieur Esnault shows off his baguette-rolling machine, designed to create perfectly sized baguettes.

Esnault lets us slash the tops of some baguettes to release the gas, using his double-sided razor blade. Our baguettes are easy to spot, looking overly deflated compared to his. Then he rolls racks of the baguettes into a special oven, which sprays the baguettes with water to create that familiar golden crust.

While the baguettes bake, we descend by ladder to the croissant baker's cramped work area. Apparently, baking is not a profession for the claustrophobic.

Interestingly, croissants and pains au chocolat follow the same basic recipe used for the baguettes, with sugar added and butter blended in to create the flaky layers. A non-melting chocolate is tucked into the center of the pain au chocolat.

We each get to roll a croissant and sample the chocolate before returning to the baguette room to taste our handiwork straight from the oven.

This is my favorite moment: Esnault deftly rolls the large baguette-filled rack out of the walk-in oven. The intoxicating smell of fresh-baked bread fills the small room as the baguettes hiss and crackle from the heat. The baker smiles and says, "Listen. The bread is singing!"

A Euphoric End


Published in The Philadelphia Inquirer on June 29, 2008

By Anne Supsic
For The Inquirer

In Bali, death calls not for tears, but a fiery celebration.

UBUD, Bali - A parade down Main Street with marching musicians and eye-popping pyrotechnics - sounds like the Fourth of July, right? Well, that's not far off the mark. As we discovered, a Bali cremation is like Independence Day for the dead.

Cremation, this most personal of Hindu religious events, begins with a mid-morning meet-and-greet at the home of the deceased. In our visit to a rural village outside Ubud, the deceased is a Brahman priest, and the family compound teems with family and friends enjoying food, drink and lively conversation.

Women are dressed in lacy blouses and patterned sarongs, while the men are more casual in T-shirts, sarongs and turbans. The atmosphere is festive because, in Hinduism, cremation day is a happy occasion -- the spirit of the departed is released from this world to seek reincarnation in a future life. No one cries at a cremation in Bali because, if they did, their sadness might distract the spirit of the deceased from making the journey to that next incarnation.

Family members graciously thank my husband and me for coming as they serve us snacks and cups of extremely hot, strong coffee. Meanwhile, the deceased looks on from his perch in an open pavilion where he lies wrapped in white funeral cloth. He has been on display like this for the last week, injected with enough embalming fluid to keep him "fresh" in the 100-degree heat.

Our visit has been arranged by Suta Tours, which drove us from our Ubud hotel to this rural village in central Bali. For us to show respect, our guide, Poni, provided sarongs, which she deftly secured around our waists. There are only two other people on the tour, a couple from California.

Until now, my husband and I have been content to enjoy Ubud, the SoHo of Bali. The streets are lined with art galleries, handicraft shops and health spas. Intriguing dance performances are available nightly.

We are spending a week on the island as the last leg of a two-month visit to Southeast Asia. After hiking through Thai hill-tribe villages and scaling the ruins of Cambodia's Angkor Wat, we were ready for some R&R. We were looking forward to a week of art museum visits, souvenir shopping, and luxurious massages.

But a brief mention in my Lonely Planet guidebook of the unique Bali cremation ceremony sparked my interest. Learning about other cultures is one of the main reasons we travel, and we are constantly on the lookout for the unusual. When I spotted a flyer at the Tourist Information Office in Ubud about a cremation, I knew we had to do it.

We are fortunate to witness this ceremony, because individual cremations are rare. Cremations are expensive, so poor people usually are buried in a common grave, where they can remain for two to three years while the community pools its money. When enough people chip in, they dig up the bones and cremate the remains en masse. Because of his high rank, our priest cannot be buried and must be cremated within seven days of his death.

By early afternoon, the excitement is building as the priest's body is tied to a colorful, 20-foot tower. The person's status determines the number of tiers in the tower. Our priest merits a six-tier tower, elaborately decorated in orange and gold, that looks like the top of a giant wedding cake.

The tower sits on a bamboo pallet, with pallbearers positioning themselves to lift the unwieldy load. With the body securely strapped on the top tier, the strong, young pallbearers carry the tower, procession style, down the village street to the cremation grounds.

It feels like Mardi Gras as we join about 300 people swirling around the Balinese-style hearse. The tower, which rises above the telephone poles, lurches along. The pallbearers purposely swing it in circles and from side to side to confuse the dead man's spirit so that it will not try to find its way home.

Children laugh, gongs and cymbals resound, and women sway past us, balancing baskets of offerings on their heads.

A half-mile away, the parade ends at the cremation grounds, where a giant, white papier-mâché bull, looking like an oversized Mexican piñata, stands on the funeral pyre. Boys cut a rectangular opening in the bull's back and stuff the priest's body inside, followed by offerings of food and flowers. Then everything is splashed with a kerosene-like fuel.

The gongs and cymbals really get cranked up, and a group of old men, sitting on the grass in front of the bull, chant an eerie song that recalls National Geographic specials about funeral pyres floating down the Ganges River.

At last, it's time for the big event. The piñata bull, dripping with fuel, is ignited from beneath with a torch. Within minutes, the bull is ablaze. With his head poking out of the flames, it looks as if he is screaming. The fire becomes so hot that the crowd draws back.

A man notices my husband discreetly taking photos and escorts him to the front of the pyre, saying, "I will make sure that you get some really good pictures."

As the fire burns, the priest's skeleton drops through the underside of the bull, and the flames rise toward the heavens.

Meanwhile, the carnival atmosphere continues. Vendors sell ice cream and balloons, and children run around, acting as though the circus has come to town. We are mystified, but we wish our priest well and hope this wild send-off helps him attain a first-rate reincarnation.

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Cremation Tours

Suta Tours offers Bali cremation tours whenever cremations are scheduled. The cost of the half-day tour is $19 per person. For more information, go to www.sutatour.com or e-mail the company at suta@sutatour.com.

For information about Ubud and Bali, see the travel guide Lonely Planet Bali & Lombok; Frommers.com; and a Bali tourism Web site, www.balinesia.com.

How to get there

American, British Airways, Delta, Japan Airlines, United and US Airways fly to Denpasar Airport from Philadelphia International Airport with at least two stops. The lowest recent round-trip fare was about $2,549.

Employers should pay Penalty for Illegals

Published on the editorial page of the Pocono Record on June 29, 2007

Congress seems incapable of solving the illegal immigration problem in this country, and now we have a perfect example of how we got into this immigration mess –- right here in our own backyard.

Eighty-one of Iridium’s 130 workers (that’s 62% of their work force) were arrested last week as part of an investigation into the hiring of illegal workers. Here’s the kicker: Iridium has not been charged. Iridium’s excuse, that some fly-by-night temp agency is to blame, is beyond ridiculous. Even former Iridium employees acknowledge that the workers’ illegal status was well-known within the company.

How can anyone believe that Iridium is blameless? While the political posturing continues ad nauseam, the one aspect of illegal immigration that doesn’t get enough attention is the employer. Let’s face it, a major part of the blame rests with the American employer who hires illegal workers. If we didn’t hire them, they wouldn’t come here.

Instead of filling our correctional facilities with illegal Mexicans, Ecuadorans, Indonesians, and Malaysians, we should add some American employers to the mix.

That might take us one step closer to solving our illegal immigration problem.

Camera Ready

Published in The Smart Traveler's Passport: 399 Tips from Seasoned Travelers compiled by Frommer’s Budget Travel magazine, 2007

In Europe, my husband and I like to use public transportation. As a result, we frequently find ourselves studying itineraries displayed on train station walls, trying to read schedules posted at bus stops, or staring at kiosk-size town maps. On our last trip, my husband snapped digital photographs of those things. We were able to take the map or itinerary with us and could refer to it by using the zoom feature.  Anne Supsic, St. Leonard, Maryland

Bonjour Europe! Buckingham vagabonds on the road again


Published in the Bucks County Herald on October 5, 2006

Bonjour, Europe!
By Anne Supsic

The Supsics are on the road again.

You may remember Anne and Frank from the Herald's Feb. 16th article describing their nine-month trip around the world. This year, Frank and I concentrated on Europe, spending a mere five and a half months abroad including in-depth explorations of Greece and Croatia, and immersion for a month in the French language and culture.

Starting out on March 14th, the first stop on this year’s journey was Greece where we spent a month exploring the Peloponnesian Peninsula. This peninsula is a treasure trove of antiquity including the theatre at Epidaurus with its remarkable acoustics (which Frank, always the engineer, verified by dropping a euro at center stage), and the massive “cyclopean” rock walls of the Citadel at Mycenae.

Another highlight was the medieval town of Monemvasia, carved from the side of an immense rock known as the Greek Gibraltar. We enjoyed a challenging climb to the top of the rock for a spectacular view of the dramatic southern Greek coastline.

Always looking for that off the beaten track experience, we toured an area known as the Mani, a starkly beautiful and romantic place, where we stayed in a Mani Tower House. For centuries, feuding families would retreat to their tower houses and blast one another with whatever weapons they had. The longest feud lasted for 40 years and the very last feud required intervention by 400 members of the Greek military.

In search of more ancient treasures, we hopped an overnight ferry to the island of Crete where we explored the Palace of Knossos, former residence of King Minos and legendary home of the Minotaur. The Archaeology Museum in the city of Heraklion was another top sight with an astounding collection of Minoan art including the colorful frescoes that once adorned the walls of the Palace of Knossos.

Easter is the biggest holiday in Greece and the Easter Saturday celebration was unlike anything we had ever experienced. At the stroke of midnight, the church went dark except for a single candle on the altar whose flame was passed from person to person until the light rippled through the church and out into the street. Then, the sky erupted with fireworks and a flaming effigy of Judas roared to life on the hillside.

The event was a combination of New Year’s Eve on Times Square and the Fourth of July, except that through it all, the Greek Orthodox priest could occasionally be heard above the clamor as he continued the religious ceremony.

Back on the Greek mainland, a visit to the monasteries of Meteora made Frank’s list of all-time top ten sights. These 13th century monasteries of Meteora are perched on top of huge, rocky monoliths in the most inaccessible locations. Frank explains, “In medieval times, supplies (and monks) were “airlifted” up to the monastery in rope nets, hanging precariously over the crevasse below, suspended only by a rope attached to a hand-operated winch.” Luckily, today’s visitors can climb steep, stone stairs to the lofty heights.

Next, we traveled the scenic Croatian coastline making our way south by public bus and ferry, eventually arriving in Dubrovnik, the “Pearl of the Adriatic”. Fifteen years after being pummeled with bombs during the Balkan War, the old town has been completely restored and a walk around the city walls revealed stunning architecture.

Another highlight was a day trip to the small, mountainous country of Montenegro. Five days before our visit, Montenegro had voted to become independent of Serbia (after the break-up of Yugoslavia, they had been part of the country called Serbia-Montenegro). The Montenegrin flag was flying everywhere and we were thrilled to witness this historic event.

From Croatia, they headed north through Ljubljana, Slovenia to Salzburg, Austria, Mozart’s birthplace. Big Mozart fans, were delighted to join in the celebration of the 250th anniversary of Mozart’s birth. Then, it was on to Munich. With the World Cup just days away, old town Munich was hopping and the Hofbräuhaus Beer Hall was party central hosting a multi-national beer-drinking crowd.

In June, we headed for France to the village of Le Puy en Velay, where we encountered modern-day pilgrims preparing to walk the famous pilgrimage route across the Pyrenees Mountains to Santiago de Compostela in Spain.

Next, we embarked on our own adventure: a “French Immersion” experience in Montpellier, a lively university town in southern France. We went back to school to study French and lived with a French woman named Marie-Odile who did not speak English. We attended French language class for four hours every day and ate dinner with Marie-Odile every night.

Dinner conversation was always lively even though communication could be a challenge. We just brought our French/English dictionary with us to the dinner table.

What did we learn? Well, our French improved significantly, but we also learned that the French language is très difficile and will require lots more study. We thoroughly enjoyed living in a French household: shopping for fresh food at the outdoor markets, eating cheese for dessert (with a choice of both cow cheese and goat cheese) and, of course, drinking wine with every dinner.

Staying with Marie-Odile was a joy; she treated us like special guests and even took us on outings to nearby historical sights. Frank noted, “This French immersion was one of our best travel experiences and we look forward to doing it again someday.”

French school grads, we spent our last two travel months practicing our new language skills as we toured the French countryside from the little wine village of St. Emilion, through the Loire Valley, and on to the vineyards of Burgundy.

We love France and encourages others to see what France has to offer. Many Americans think the French are rude and dislike us. Nothing could be further from the truth. In our experience, the French are remarkably friendly people who constantly went out of their way to make sure that we enjoyed our time in France.

What lies in store for next year? Perhaps Russia. Maybe Egypt. Or, they may hike along that famous route of the pilgrims from France to Santiago de Compostela, Spain.