I just got back from the Smithsonian Folklife Festival down on the National Mall. The two regions the festival focused on this year were Armenia, and, the place where I studied abroad back in 2012: Catalonia. A lot of memories came back up as I meandered around the Mall, checking out all the cultural, food, and craft exhibits. I knew it was still in DC, but the festival had setup a mock plaça where there were dances and concerts, and it felt, for just a small moment, that I was back in Barcelona. There were umbrellas with places to sit along the edges, and even the occasional pigeon swooping into the square to try and sneak food from unsuspecting attendants. The arches had slotted roofs, and I brought my Armenian lavash to the performance space to see a traditional Catalan dance called a "sardana". It reminded me of the time that I went to a Sunday festival in Barcelona at the Plaça de la Seu in front of the Barcelona Cathedral (not to be confused for the Sagrada Familia).
A picture of the Plaça Major in front of the Department of Agriculture on the National Mall. Take away any hint of American folks, and the fact that the stage that says "Catalonia", you might think this was in Spain.
People wheeled around in the traditional dance, just like in Spain, and they put their bags in the middle, just like my experience. Albeit, the footwork wasn't as good as Catalonians, but otherwise, it was... Community. People were welcoming, and having a good time, and happy to be experiencing a music somewhere between a mariachi band and a medieval court.
After listening to and watching some sardanes, I moved over to watch some teams build human towers, or in Catalan: castelles, or literally- a castle. I also saw these when I was in Barcelona, and it is amazing to see them be built, and disassembled within a matter of two to three minutes. It was great to see the two teams that had traveled from Catalonia to perform in the festival, and to watch the crowd's reaction as the children, getting progressively younger, begin to climb to the higher tiers. (I mean, smaller children = less weight = easier to hold up at higher heights, right?)
A shot of the final "tower", which actually is three different towers lined up. The troop members are wearing light red/pink shirts, and the bottom tiers are made up of multiple layers of people for support.
One part of the castelles I forgot about was the music accompaniment. There is a small band of people playing instruments as part of a procession preceding the performance. It reminded me that Catalonian people are very proud of their culture and heritage, and they are no strangers to flaunting their uniqueness. The history of Catalonia and greater Spain is fascinating, and has been tumultuous since medieval times, and the tension continues to today. I saw this demonstrated quite well when I was in Catalonia for six weeks, and the demonstrations at the Mall were not shy to show off the history and tradition of the region.
The Folklife Festival spanned two weekends, and during this weekend the Hirshhorn Modern Art Museum was holding their yearly sound art focused event: Sound Scene. I went last year, and really enjoyed it despite the large crowds. This year there was specifically an artist "showing" his sound creation that related to Hiroshima and the atomic bombing of the city in World War II. It is titled: "Peace Resonance: Hiroshima/Wendover" I traveled to Hiroshima just last November, so I ran over after the human towers to experience the sound installation.
The idea behind the work was well done: The artist, Alan Nakagawa, had gone into two locations to simply record their static sounds- basically what they sounded like in that moment, with no modifications. One of these two places was the Hiroshima Atomic Bomb Dome, the structure that was directly below the atomic bomb blast, and was still intact after the maelstrom destroyed much of the rest of the city. The other structure was a place called Wendover Hanger, which was the hanger from which the Enola Gay departed on it's way to the Pacific and with it's mission to drop the nuclear weapon on the city.
I actually did not take pictures of the Hiroshima Peace Park while I was there, so here is a photo of a diorama of the city showing how high up in the air the bomb exploded and the buildings it leveled, and damaged. (The red ball was detonation.) The Atomic Bomb Dome is on the shore of the river to the left of the red dot, and was made out of brick and steel, which helped it to withstand some of the blast.
Being in Hiroshima, I knew what the landscape and city looked like and felt like in person, but the Dome itself is closed off so nobody can get into it unless they get special permission. Mr. Nakagawa did get permission though, and setup three recorders around the dome. He also had the same setup in Wendover Hanger. After he collected the recordings he mashed them together in an audio experience, and mixed the audio in a very artistic way to emphasize certain aspects and portions.
For the performance, we received earplugs and a balloon when we came into the theater. Mr. Nakagawa told us the story, and showed us a short silent film on how he went about recording the sounds. Then we put in our earplugs, blew up our balloons, and were exposed to 17 minutes of recorded sounds from both places. The balloons helped capture and transmit the sound frequencies (which were quite loud, hence the earplugs) into a physical sensation, and we were encouraged to walk around the room because the three microphone recording setup was meant to capture the essence of the space and for it to be experienced from all vantage points.
There's a portion of sound installations that cannot be translated into text. The speakers transmitting the sounds obviously were the strongest, but walking around the room, one found certain pockets of nuanced sound. Along the walls were louder echos of the machines in the hanger, and of the birds chirping in the dome. In the middle of the room were uniform throbs of engines, and faint sounds of tourists talking at the gates of the Dome. Holding the balloon allowed one to feel the intensity of the experience: A cricket chirp here, a branch crunch there, a door sliding open to the right, and a plane taking off on the left. Then there was the sense of completeness from it all. The fact that the two experiences, from beginning to end, were linked in one product, and it seemed to be a gesture of closure, and of acknowledging the weight of the moment. The fact that life moves on, and that, in some sort of way, things will be okay.
After leaving the quick and impactful Hirshhorn visit, I went back to the Folklife Festival to catch any final concerts or demonstrations before the festival closed. Meandering around, I checked out the Armenian side of the festival, and tried to set aside my Catalonian bias. Walking around, I saw the unique script used for the language, and learned that it was created in the 300's in order to promulgate the nation's newly introduced religion of Christianity. I also got to see bits of a wedding ceremony, as well as artists working on stone relief carvings, as well as beautiful rugs and carpets.
I poked my head into the marketplace, and bought some Catalonian vermouth and some killer jam made in Girona that I had at a dinner the day before with someone who had gone to the festival and bought it. I also saw a plethora of other folk arts, as well as a local DC artist's hand painted map of Barcelona, which I really wanted to buy, but I ended up passing up because of the price. Meandering back out with a bottle of vermouth and jam, I decided to head home and call it an early evening.
A street mosaic done in Catalonian tradition depicting icons and logos from this year's Smithsonian Folklife Festival. It was done with sand and rocks, and has flowers that create the Smithsonian's logo.
Thinking back on all of this has put me in a pretty substantial nostalgia trip for a place I unexpectedly came to love over the course of a summer. It also reminded me of the importance of place and it's role in people's lives. Place has always been a major factor in my life, and has entranced me for quite a while now. I am not entirely tied down to Ohio, but growing up in the Midwest instilled me with an appreciation for the land and the geography from which you originate, and in which you live. I've carried that forward, and it has laid at the heart of my desires and drive in life. Most people know that I love transit, and by extension transportation. While I do love to dive into the intricacies of transport, my uncanny draw to the subject is a reference for a greater love of geography, and the spatial relationships of objects in our physical world.
I love maps. Google Maps is kind of addictive to me. Sometimes I will simply go on Google Maps and get caught in a scrolling/street view loop to see what other parts of the world look like. Ever since the integration of Google Earth's 3D buildings and terrain, the service is the perfect time suck for me. Patterns of development, integrated landscapes, separations and barriers. They all entice my eye and my mind, and they make me wonder: "Why" and "how" is the "where" of the "what", and "who" determines that, and experiences it? Maps can lend you insight to some of these things, but culture can help fill out the answers, and economics can serve as a third factor, power structures yet another, and countless other aspects that shift the ratios of the ground level reality of experience of people.
Those places I've been, and that I've experienced, have only given me a small glimpse into the multi-faceted web that is our world, and a part of my soul is ever striving to see more, to live as much as I can in the time I've been allotted for this wild ride we call life.
What is there to say about a total solar eclipse. I was not expecting it, and it is something you can only fully experience in person. The sight cannot be accurately captured on film, the feeling of the cooling atmosphere as solar radiation disappears behind Earth's only natural satellite. Absorbed across a minuscule astronomical distance, yet one that only a handful of humans have experienced.
You don't quite understand what sunlight is, or how valuable it feels until it is taken away by a celestial object in the middle of the day.
Our journey started only one day after our my return from Atlanta. Thinking back, it is quite silly how I flew back from Atlanta only to drive back to within 120 miles of the exact same city I was in two days before. But I had booked the plane trip through work (read, I didn't have to pay), and I had people who hadn't met before driving down together. I felt like I should have at least been there to facilitate first experiences.
A picture of the back deck of the house that I had rented for all of us. A sunbeam is gently shining through the top left corner, with the forest reflecting a morning awakening. I have lit a bug candle (it was mid August in South Carolina), and have my book "On Trails" (a philosophical examination of all things trails) on the table in front of me. And in classic Nick fashion: a cup of freshly brewed coffee on the right hand side of the table.
Being there was like being in paradise. The first day I had vowed to do absolutely nothing, and followed through with that promise. In addition to witnessing an extremely rare event, this was a vacation for me. My summer getaway. It was a chance to not worry about the rantings of DC and the heavy workload I was currently experiencing.
The day of the eclipse did eventually roll around, although it was not slated to happen until around 3 PM in the afternoon. The total time of the eclipse was 2 minutes, but the anticipation and built up was hours. We did end up going on a couple of food runs, and completing a couple of errands for the rest of the days we were going to be staying there.
All throughout the day the shadows started getting more and more crescent shaped. This effect happens when the light being blocked from the moon still needs to hit earth, so instead of a full blast of light, the "crescent light" ends up hitting objects, rendering the eclipse visible simply through the trees. Of course, we had solar shades as well so we could look at the moon as it passed over the sun.
Moon shadows through the trees and onto the deck.
More moon shadows.
A terrible shot of the moon over the sun, taken through the solar glasses I had.
When the eclipse came to its peak, the day started to wane. But from all directions. Sunsets have a point of origin. Eclipses come from three hundred and sixty degree views. The moon was just about to complete the eclipse when it happened. God dimmed the lights on earth, a simple slider taken from 70 percent to nearly the off position. And it was quick. Nothing gradual. The sky went from a hazy summer day to a cool spring sunset. The temperature had been falling ever so slightly, and about 30 seconds in, a cool breeze swept past us.
Crickets started chirping. Hawks came out to circle, their retinas sensing the time of day for the peak movement of their prey. In the distance coyotes howled, along with some of their human counterparts on the lake. One by one the planets and starts popped into our view. Gradually the eye shifted center, to recognize that our most important heavenly body, the provider of life on our planet, was completely obscured by the moon. All one could see was the blazing corona of the star, white, hot, in its unadulterated form, flowing from the edges of the lunar surface. Small red spots appeared, plumes of gas ejected from the surface. Flares. Flares seen with the naked eye. White wisps wafted around the blazing ring.
I stood, shaking at such a natural phenomenon. I could not believe that the laws of physics were perfectly aligned to provide passage through my own lens. The fact of the moon being the perfect size (at least for another couple million years) to block the sun from reaching the surface is amazing. Other planets are too far away, and transit the sun. Man made satellites are too small, and... transit the sun as well. The moon is simply the perfect size, and the perfect distance from the Earth, to create a total eclipse.
We did other things while we were in South Carolina. I took an entire cadre of friends. We drank, we watched wrestling, we cooked. In-jokes were made, there were paranormal experiences with a coyote (only the head was stuffed), and I got to catch up with and enjoy the woods with people I loved. And while we were only there for a couple of days. I arrived back in DC a changed person. Someone who had witnessed the beauty of nature in its most powerful form, renewed for the next adventure.
A bridge across one of the inlets of Lake Hartwell. The place we stayed was right on the lake, a perfect natural setting for watching the eclipse. In the photo the sun is setting behind some clouds, with pink and white rays filtering from an opening.
A mural in... Fredericksburg I think? We stopped before we got into DC to get local supplies.
The park in Fredericksburg where I hung out for a hot second after being in the car for 8 or 9 hours.
So apparently last summer, or late August in particular, was a major time of travel/vacation/get-out-of-Washington-DC for me. Over the course of three weeks I was only in DC for a total of three or so days. I first traveled to Atlanta, Georgia for work:
Downtown Atlanta from my hotel room at the Embassy Suites at Centennial Park (more on that later).The skyscrapers (of which I was amazed at because DC has a height limit for buildings) include some run-of-the-mill modern architecture, glass, nothing too interesting. But there is the Ferris Wheel on the edge of Centennial Park that lit up at night which was pretty cool!
My much needed exile from DC started by carpooling with my boss from work to the airport to catch a 1:30 PM flight out of National Airport. I like to endearingly describe my boss as a grumpy, 70 year-old man who likes to yell at people to get off his lawn, but deep down you know he's a teddy bear and has a heart of gold. Except my supervisor is 40 years-old, but he still seems to embody that quintessential grumpy, but lovable grandfather stereotype. So we are in the car just setting out for the airport, and I seem to break through the disillusioned veneer of his personality by asking if he was interested in cars, such as if he was looking to collect any kind of vintage or custom built cars. He immediately replied "No", at which point in normal conversation he would remain silent. But apparently this question had struck something at which he had thought about, and had more buy-in that a one-word answer. He continued to talk about how his ideal setup would be to keep a fuel efficient car, and use his money to buy a main house on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, and use a "city pad" to crash when he needed to be physically present at work. His ideal future plan utilized telework fairly heavily. It made me think about my end goals, and what those might look like.
A video of my plane taking off from Washington National Airport.
I've always been, and will probably always be, enamored with flying. There's something about being in a pressurized metal tube hurling through the air at speeds humans were never naturally designed to go. It's straight magical and I can never resist taking a video out of the window or simply just marveling at one of the most unique vantage points human beings have ever created.
I arrived in Atlanta to a setting sun, and not much of a desire to see the city after a day of work and flying. I cozied up in my room after eating some dinner and watched some TV, a luxury I never need, but take full advantage of when I'm in a hotel. The next day included a lengthy visit to the Eastern Service Center and Southern Regional Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) Headquarters. After conducting interviews, I was ready for a mini adventure, one that wouldn't take too long, but would also get me to a delicious meal and let me see a part of the city that I have not seen before. I looked up some vegetarian food, and I got the results for a vegetarian soul food place, rated best in Atlanta. I figured I'd give it a shot.
One entrance to Centennial Park. Three skyscrapers are in the background, with lawns and trees in the middle of the shot, and a stone pillar with a plaque for the park in the foreground. Everything is very well groomed, and some people are sitting below a tree in the distance as well as someone is playing around with a ball
A statue of Pierre de Coubertin, who was essential to reviving the Olympics in 1896. It features him walking up steps towards the five Olympic rings, all being carried by doves. Atlanta's Olympics were held in 1996, 100 years after the start of the modern Olympics, henceforth the name: Centennial Park
A water feature and cascading fountain winding through Centennial Park. There are trees and benches giving people plenty of respite from the sun, and a cool place to dip their feet in the summer.
To start my journey towards vegetarian soul food I needed to first get to my transportation options via Centennial Park. I knew that Atlanta had hosted the Olympics at some point in history, but I was a little fuzzy on the details. The park helped educate me with some plaques and information, but overall, it served as a pleasant place to walk through, and reflect in. After meandering across the lawns and through the trees and statues, I made it to the Peachtree Center MARTA station.
The Peachtree Center MARTA Station. It's unique in that they kept the walls of exposed rock from the original blasting of the tunnel. There is a small, narrow sign with the name and the colors of the lines, and that's it. The roof has narrow white slats, reminiscent of an airport terminal.
After boarding the MARTA train, I rode it a couple stops to the south, in the direction of the airport. My stop for the Soul Vegetarian South restaurant was West End. After getting off the train, I immediately realized that MARTA stations do not equal economical development like the Metro stations do here in DC. While the West End station was nice, the surrounding neighborhood was a strange mix between an old but depressed walkable suburb, and strip malls built for cars. The sidewalks were there, and it was clear based off historical signage that the neighborhood/city had tried to do some sort of historical walking trail, but the addition of the local story had little practical effect. The signs did teach me a lot of really interesting things about West End, how it was a middle class integrated neighborhood before the white flight out to the suburbs in the 1950s, and how it had a thriving black arts culture in the 70's and 80's.
A part of that thriving black arts culture was the establishment of Soul Vegetarian South. I couldn't figure out what religious faith the establishment was a part of, but based on what was on the TVs in the restaurant, it was a part of some faith that really believed in veganism and living out a moral life. I noticed that the programs on the TVs were religious programming, mostly educational, talking about the state of the world, how many people don't believe in love and peace, and how we must live our values through our actions in order to correct everything. Needless to say, I felt a little strange about it all. Also, if it isn't clear by now, I also was the only white person within an hour of my arrival, and I figured I'd be the only white person I'd see until I went back to the hotel. My internalized racism and prejudice is something I'm constantly working on combating, and this experience kind of served as a "Birmingham" experience for me, except in a more involved and interpersonal way. (You can read more about that here.) Needless to say, the search for the food was an extraordinary payoff, and it was probably some of the best soul food I've ever had in my life.
The plate of soul food I got from the serving line. The dish consisted of steamed kale, sweet potatoes, tofu cooked in a delicious sauce, rice and black eyed peas, and some peppers. I didn't realize that they charged based on dish, so I ended up paying like 30 bucks for the plate, but it was so good, I was glad I got to experience it all and give them the business.
After dinner I was looking around for other things to see or do, and I saw on the map that Goodwill was directly across the street. I walked over, and checked out what I could find. I eventually found a semi-intact records collection bin, but I didn't end up buying anything because most of them were missing their records and were just jackets. That was the case with The Allman Brothers Band's "Eat a Peach" vinyl jacket but just one of the two discs. While the album art is fun, I'd rather have the entire collection rather than pay for just the jacket and half the album.
Front cover of the Eat a Peach vinyl jacket. The artwork includes an old truck with a massive trailer on it, hauling a massive peach. The side of the truck says The Allman Brothers Band, and there is no title on the cover.
The inside spread of the jacket. There's so much going on in this image, some highlights include: lots of mushrooms throughout the entire image, mushroom people walking all over the place, a central river leading to a bay in the background with large mountains flanking the bay area, different creatures down at the river, and the track listing and credits in a stylized banner at the top. It's a stereotypical representation of late 60's, early 70's drug induced cartoon images.
Being in Goodwill, and walking around West End brought me back to the fact that while I may have been the only white person around for miles, that that was okay, and I was not in danger, and I was welcome in public spaces. Society and my upbringing in a white rural hegemony taught me that people of color are scary, and while they deserve to be treated with respect, equity, and equality on a macro scale, on a micro scale you can't really trust black folks, and that they hate all white people and are out to start a race war, specifically with you. Hopefully we all get how this translates to crime legislation and systemic racism, but for me I'm still working on getting rid of my own internalized racism. Going to West End really helped me confront that internalized racism. I don't have the lived experience of being black in America, my white privilege shields me from those experiences. Yet, I saw that a lot of people of color go to Goodwill, eat local food, and are a lot more personal, warm, and welcoming than I would have thought. That's a lot closer to my upbringing and lifestyle than I would have thought, and it helps me see that people of color are just people, who have the same lifestyles, needs, and wants that I've had in my life.
MARTA Train Leaving the Station
A streetscape of Downtown Atlanta at night. I was waiting on a non-existent Atlanta Streetcar to come by and take me back to the hotel, but found the different points of light to be kind of interesting. There is a building with large arches and windows on the first floor in the background, with different points of light emanating from the streetlights. The streetcar tracks stretch from the center of the image off to the left as it turns around and continues on the loop.
Coming back to Peachtree Center and going back to the hotel, I wandered around and waited for the Atlanta Streetcar that would not be coming that evening. (I had learned it was under maintenance and stopped running at 7 PM.) The next day for work we went to the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson Air Traffic Control Tower (ATCT) to talk to the Air Traffic Controllers (ATC). It was pretty cool to be able to go up the third tallest air traffic control tower in the world, handling the traffic for the world's busiest airport. There was something about the colors of the tower, and the shade of blue reflected in the panes of glass 398 ft above the ground.
The bottom offices and support facilities for the Atlanta ATCT. There is something so clean and orderly about the architectural design of the building, with it's flat panels, small windows, and the text which says "Federal Aviation Administration". It's all very orderly and clean.
A vertical shot of the Air Traffic Control Tower. The same motif from the ground offices is kept, with the simple single column in a rounded cube shape, with the top fanning out in a cylindrical shape to reveal the round cab on top with the same tint of sky blue as the bottom windows.
After the visit to the Air Traffic Control tower, we went back to the hotel a little early, so I had plenty of time to go visit the Martin Luther King Jr. Historical Site, including his childhood home, and the church where he started his preaching career. I like to read and use King's teachings in my own life, so when I learned about the historical site, I felt a little shame at the fact that I did not know or remember that King was born and grew up in Atlanta. It is also the place where Martin Luther King Jr. is buried, alongside his wife, Coretta Scott King. To get there though I needed to take the Atlanta Streetcar, and I was going to go get some empanadas first on my way over.
A picture of the inside of the Streetcar. It's modern, clean, and best of all, air conditioned. Georgia in the heat of August was not the best idea for us to travel, but thankfully all modes of transportation had the air conditioning cranked.
The Sweet Auburn Curb Market, a public food market established in 1923 with lots of local food vendors. A lot more white people here, but the prices and space were extremely accessible, with a streetcar stop right outside.
Outside of the Sweet Auburn Curb Market. The sign is original, and I learned that while people of color were allowed to vend, they were relegated to the curb outside, where the awnings were. Now, while the market is integrated, the owners choose to rename the market in the 1990's from the Sweet Auburn Market to include the word "Curb" to pay homage to the vendors of color who were forced to setup shop outside.
The Venezuelan food stand was directly inside the market, and I did not need to venture too far to find food. The marketplace was a strange integrated mix of people. It was obvious that this market was thriving because of the influx of middle-class white folks into the neighborhood, but its prices and attitude did not reflect that. The atmosphere included folks from all stretches of life. Latinx immigrants, black folks, seniors & babies strolled around the marketplace floor. The food was decently priced for a local market, and seemed to serve in place of the lack of grocery stores in the area. Sweet Auburn Curb Market not only had the history, but a continuing community legacy. You can read more about it here: https://thecurbmarket.com/
The outside of the Atlanta Streetcar. The streetcar runs from East to West across downtown Atlanta, and provides links from Centennial Park to the Peachtree Center MARTA station, and over to the King Historical Site, with stops in between.
The next stop after the Sweet Auburn Curb Market was the Martin Luther King Jr. Historical Site. Disembarking the streetcar, I found a neighborhood that... looked exactly like any neighborhood right outside the city center. The regular regional style houses that are typical of old city development.
The King family home. Dr. King lived here until he was 12, but remained in Atlanta until he graduated from Morehouse College. The house is constructed in a typical southern style with a wrap-around porch, and sandwiched between two other houses. The house to the right is the gift shop.
The visit included seeing the outside of Dr. King's childhood home, and the buildings around it, which included the Ebenezer Baptist Church, the new one, and the old one. The original church outgrew its building, and ended up building a newer, grand chapel across the road. The new church is surrounded by paths and plazas, trees, and has a wide and welcoming entrance. It is obvious that it was created and integrated into the historical site.
The new Ebenezer Baptist Church. It integrates nicely with the historical site, with it's light red brick, tan highlights, and large sanctuary towering over the site. Big open stained glass windows let light in through the front.
The old Ebenezer Baptist Church is under the purview of the National Parks Service now, and they keep it in the state that Dr. King preached in it. The sanctuary is on the second floor, and there was a recording of Dr. King's last speech looping through the speakers. The docent working greeted me at the door, and I believe that she slipped out of her official capacity as she rambled off a conspiracy of how Dr. King knew when he would be assassinated and his "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speech was deliberate and references this. The speech was also delivered in Memphis the day before he was assassinated.
The old Ebenezer Baptist Church preserved as it was back when Dr. King started preaching. The outside is made of brick, and the stain glass windows opening to the sanctuary are one level up (equal to the third floor) because the sanctuary is actually on the second floor. This seems to be a trend with Baptist churches I've been too, Calvary Baptist Church in Chinatown in DC also has a second story sanctuary.
The sanctuary of the old Ebenezer Baptist Church. There are triangular cutouts in the ceiling for skylights, and the ceiling itself has a unique circular molding, and tons of weird geometric angles because of the skylights. But everything is still symmetrical, and balanced! The rise for the preacher is small, something you could easily climb up.
I went into the sanctuary and sat for a bit and listened to the entirety of the "I've Been to the Mountaintop" speech, and took in what it might have felt like to hear Dr. King preach.
The final Atlanta location I was headed to was Piedmont Park. I had heard from friends that this was Atlanta's version of Central Park, and that its designs were started by the same architect: Frederick Law Olmsted Jr. I took the Streetcar back to Peachtree Center, and then MARTA up to the Midtown Station. I took a bus that runs the west side length of the park northward to the main entrance, where I got to see the Peace Monument, which was created in 1911 by the Old Guard of the Gate City Guard.
The Peace Monument in Piedmont Park. The sculpture depicts an angel staying the hand of a Confederate soldier as he holds a rifle. In her other hand, the angel holds an olive branch. (Description Courtesy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Link) I happened upon it after it had been vandalized by anti-white supremacist protesters after the events in Charlottesville, VA.
The Peace Monument was originally dreamed as a reconciliation gesture as a (late) response to the Civil War, or at least that's what the history books (and websites) say. I don't know nearly enough about Atlanta's history to talk more about this, and writing about it reminds me that we as a country still have a long way to go to right the wrongs we've committed in the past, as well as those we still push in the present.
The view from the terrace of a building with a view of the Clara Meer Dock and Lake Clara Meer. It's a beautiful day, and I absolutely loved walking around the lake and the park as the sun was setting.
Lake Clara Meer. The sky is it's definitive blue, with puffy white clouds drifting across. All of this is reflected in the lake, the clouds in the lake with slight ripple lines because of the wind stirring the water.
Yup. The famous Muscovy Duck, with it's hamburger face, and calls that sound like it's having trouble breathing. Lake Clara Meer had a decent population of these guys, and as I was sitting on one of the docks some came up to say hi... And beg for food.
Skyline View- A patio that extends off the edge of Lake Clara Meer, with a view of Midtown Atlanta in the distance. The unique Gothic architecture of the skyscrapers. (Mixed with some Modern ones too). The image is a little hazy because it was a warm summer day.
Another view of Midtown Atlanta from the trail surrounding Lake Clara Meer. The Clara Meer Gazebo can bee seen across the lake. The same reflection stays with the lake, and the image is surrounded by green plants, trees, and overall nature.
I hiked across Piedmont Park to the other side to maybe hike, but at least to see, the famous East Beltline Trail. This is a trail system that Atlanta is working on to surround the entire commercial district, and has been a driver for economic growth in and around the trail itself. The system is not complete, but it has been featured in many planning circles.
Of course, no account of Atlanta would be complete with more MARTA pictures. This is the Midtown MARTA station. I went for a cup of coffee and pastries after I caught the bus back from Piedmont Park, and then took the Gold Line back down to Peachtree Center, and walked back to my hotel in Centennial Park. The station features local artwork that includes a sun shape, lots of brightly colored shapes to the right of the sun. Of course there's the famous middle divider between the two tracks. It's very narrow, on two poles, and has the name of the station on it.
All in all, I really enjoyed my travels to and around Atlanta. I made the most, and tried to see parts of the city I've heard of, and those I have never heard of. I feel as though people don't give MARTA a chance, and that white flight hit Atlanta very hard, and shaped people's perceptions of it to this day. The city is large enough that I feel like if I lived along a MARTA line, I'd enjoy the city, climate, and culture. The next day we drove back to the Airport, and flew back to DC, and I passed through National Airport, and was glad to be home.
The main terminal of National Airport, with its signature exposed domes, gold coloring, and wide windows on the tarmac.
