This past weekend, Earth experienced perhaps the most intense solar flares of my lifetime, which resulted in spectacular auroras for much of the northern hemisphere. Usually, the aurora borealis is only visible near the Arctic Circle: in fact, my best view of this phenomenon occurred during a wintertime flight to China, when the ice sheet off the northern tip of Alaska was illuminated by a shifting green glow. But on Friday and Saturday, a storm of solar emissions lit up the ionosphere as far south as Alabama and Oklahoma, providing radiant displays of pinks, purples, and bright greens across the skies of points north. There are many other resources if you’d like to know more about the science behind auroras, but I will briefly touch on aurora prediction, which is handled by the Space Weather Prediction Center within NOAA. They release helpful 30-minute and 90-minute forecasts based on current coronal activity observed from the L1 sun satellite location (an average of 43 minutes away from Earth). Their observations also aggregate into various solar intensity metrics, the most simple being a geomagnetic impact level which reached Level 5 (out of 5) for the first time since 2003.
After lucking out with a clear view of the last celestial wonder, April’s total solar eclipse, I was feeling antsy that I would completely miss out on this once-in-a-decade light show. Friday night was mostly cloudy in Massachusetts, and I saw nothing but urban light pollution when I stepped outside around 11pm. Likewise, Saturday night brought waves of light rain to my location in Connecticut, obscuring any northern lights that were photographed even a few miles away. Finally, during my drive home on Sunday evening, I was able to see a green glow on the underside of some high clouds, a semi-satisfying consolation prize as solar activity wanes. I will step outside again before bed tonight, finally blessed with a clear sky, but my hopes aren’t too high as the visibility line is projected to be a few hundred miles north of me in Quebec or Maine. I hope to see the full rainbow of auroral colors someday, though the unpredictability that adds to an aurora’s mystique also makes them challenging to view with any kind of intention or foresight. Maybe I’ll have better luck during the next solar maximum in 11 years, or maybe a future trip to the Arctic will have to be in the cards!
Spectacular sky show in Poland (as seen by my cousin Monika)More subdued glows reflected in Connecticut
In 2017, I had a special opportunity to view the last total solar eclipse that passed over North America, dubbed the ‘Great American Eclipse’ for its sweeping cross-country path of totality from Oregon to South Carolina and unprecedented (at least for eclipses) social media virality. Now, another total solar eclipse will trace a path from Texas to Maine on Monday, with several million people expected to flock into the shadow of totality to catch a minutes-long glimpse of this rare celestial phenomenon. For weeks, I’ve seen article after article about the eclipse, how best to view it, how much economic benefit and traffic are expected; perhaps it’s just my algorithm, but I sense substantially more hype than last time. And I believe the hype is justified, since laying eyes on a solar eclipse is one of the few truly indescribable and soul-moving experiences I have had, however fleeting.
I’ve been asked several times where would be the best place to maximize one’s eclipse-viewing experience – in all honesty, getting a clear view of the sun at any given moment is largely up to chance. We can count on cloud cover predictions a few days in advance, which indicate that Texas will have a cloudy day but the rest of the path varies from sunny to partly cloudy. I will be spending the weekend in Lebanon, NH (all lodging was filled in the northern half of Vermont) and plan to drive to Waterbury, VT to view totality: by some strange luck, northern New England has the highest chances for a clear sky despite only ~30% of days being even partly sunny at this time of year. The region received about a foot of snow this week, which should help ensure a clear sky by suppressing surface-based absorption and convection (the most difficult clouds to predict)…I am keeping my fingers crossed that this will be enough to keep the clouds away from our view.
3-day cloud cover forecast (in % coverage, where white counterintuitively represents the clearest sky). Source: Pivotal Weather
While the rest of us gawk at the eclipse’s visual incredibleness, the brief minutes of totality present a unique opportunity for scientists to conduct meaningful research. In the past, solar eclipses have provided a window for the first observation of coronal mass ejections, the discovery of helium, and the first proof of light bending around a massive object like our sun. But several interesting studies came out of the last eclipse, presenting new questions that could be answered during this one. For example, NASA will be taking broad-spectrum imagery of coronal behavior, which should be especially interesting near the 11-year max of this solar cycle. Another study aims the instruments at the ionosphere, trying to measure its interaction with light in order to identify disruptions that could affect global communications. I will be particularly interested in the boundary layer observations that come from the eclipse path, since atmospheric soundings and remote sensing can reveal hidden airflows that can assist with turbulence and cloud formation models. As the next cross-country total eclipse is not until 2045, I hope we can make the most of this opportunity at all levels of observation!
At 10:23 EDT this morning, a 4.8-magnitude earthquake rattled the Northeast. The epicenter was located about 3 miles beneath Lebanon, NJ, about 40 miles outside of New York City. I actually felt the shockwaves 200 miles away in the Boston area, where all the furniture in the office of my upstairs apartment wobbled back and forth for a few seconds. Nothing fell off the shelves, no new cracks appeared in my historic house or neighborhood. I had lived through many of these low-magnitude, shallow earthquakes before, when Oklahoma had a slew of 4.9-and-under magnitude quakes due to unregulated fracking-related activities between 2010 and 2015. But I still find the sensation unnerving and was glad not to feel the 4.0-magnitude aftershock at 18:30 EDT tonight.
Fortunately, the most powerful earthquake to strike the eastern seaboard since 2011 left minimal damage. The region has no major fault lines, which keeps the magnitude of any quakes down, but the dense, hard, ancient rocks of the Appalachian uplift transmit the vibrations farther than in younger geologic areas. Earthquakes can be absolutely terrifying and tragic elsewhere, though, striking suddenly without warning and demolishing cities in mere seconds. Just this week, a much stronger 7.4-magnitude quake left 9 dead and 1000 injured in Taiwan, whose rigorous engineering standards and civic preparedness were successful in limiting structural and economic damage. However, many countries along fault lines are not so well-equipped, as we’ve seen the horrible destruction in Morocco, Türkiye, Haiti, Mexico, Indonesia, New Zealand, and more. As far as natural disasters go, I find earthquakes at least an order of magnitude more worrying than tornadoes or hurricanes, and I am quite grateful to live in the relative safety of New England.
In the ten years since I became interested in this question, there have been several significant advances in understanding the influence of topography on tornado development. The Midwest, a region known for flat and boring terrain, serves as an ideal testbed to observe these influences, offering the ability to isolate topographical variables against a flat control domain. This post seeks to identify topographical drivers and assess the physical mechanisms within a recent tornado outbreak that spawned over a dozen tornadoes across Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois on March 14th.
Zooming out to assess all possible terrain variables, Kellner (2012) first employs GIS methodologies to establish statistical correlations between tornado touchdown points and several spatial features: elevation, land use, surface roughness, antecedent rainfall, and more. Using a high-resolution buffer analysis, the study highlighted that 64% of all tornado touchdowns occurred near urban land use and 42% near forests, a moderate-to-strong correlation given the overwhelming presence of flat farmland and range. The consensus explanation for this correlation is that increased surface roughness causes more horizontal vorticity that can contribute rotational energy when advected into a tornadic storm via the streamwise vorticity current, though I would also posit that urban heat island effects can add significant energy (localized SBCAPE) as well. A strong example of this formation mechanism occurred when a tornado coalesced downwind of Muncie, IN as an EF2, briefly lifted off the ground over Farmland (that’s a town name, though the terrain type is implied), then churned at up to EF3 strength for another 40 miles into Ohio.
Selma, IN (EF2) and Winchester, IN (EF3) tornado damage paths from the evening of 3/14/24 (NWS)
To dive deeper into the physics of tornado-ground interactions, Satrio (2020) experiments with a well-established LES model to simulate how a tornado-like vortex moves over various hill configurations. Near-ground flows have been a popular research topic for their damage potential and effects on vortex stability, inspiring numerous observational studies using radar, photogrammetry, and debris impact analysis. Satrio’s simulation results paint a particularly cogent picture of tornado dynamics, how uphill slopes can cause a low-level vortex disruption, how downhill slopes cause an intensification of swirl, and how vortices can bend to remain perpendicular to sloped terrain. All three of these effects can be clearly observed in the tornado that touched down near Hanover, IN: after crossing the Ohio River, the tornado weakened to an EF0 at the top of the first ridge, intensified to an EF2 as the track turned to follow the southern edge of the valley, weakened back to an EF0 over the second ridge, and reintensified to an EF2 upon crossing the valley again. Variations of this tornado evolution behavior have been corroborated numerous times in recent literature, most clearly by Lyza and Knupp (2018) on the periodic ridges of northeast Alabama, Bosart (2006) in the Hudson Valley, and Wagner (2018) near the Kansas River.
Hanover, IN tornado (3/14/24) damage path strongly influenced by Ohio River valley terrain (NWS)
However, tornado damage paths do not always show such visible signatures of terrain influence. Sometimes, as in the brief EF2 tornado near Plymouth, OH, there are absolutely no interesting topographical features in sight (though I would argue that the absence of terrain heterogeneities likely prevented further intensification within this supercell). In other instances, inferences about the nature of storm inflow would be needed to consider any terrain interactions. For example, the long-track tornado that struck Lakeville, OH as an EF3 does not have any significant hills, cities, forests, or geographic boundaries along its path. But, when the initial EF0-EF1 tornado crossed Grand Lake, the vortex was turned northward to favor the inflow side. Several miles later, likely due to the increased humid inflow, the tornado reformed as an EF3 near Wapakoneta and rumbled for almost an hour toward the northern suburbs of Columbus. The presence of the urban/suburban roughness on the inflow side, along with the Scioto and Olentangy River valleys, likely gave this tornado the extra push to reform as a long-track EF1 near Delaware, OH. These terrain influences are more subtle and speculative, of course, but the potential for these types of observations sparked my interest in tornado simulation and prediction in the first place. I firmly believe that localized surface conditions play a major role in the formation of not just tornadoes but many weather phenomena, and it’s always gratifying to find physical evidence in support.
Grand Lake, OH EF1 tornado that preceded the Lakeville, OH EF3 on the evening of 3/14/24 (NWS)Delaware, OH long-track EF1 tornado formed from the remains of Lakeville, OH tornado (NWS)Bunch of nothing around Plymouth, OH EF2 tornado path, 3/14/24 (NWS)
Today marks two years since I underwent lower back surgery for a herniated L5-S1 disk. A common injury for manual laborers and desk-bound professionals (at the time, I was both), the odds for a successful operation hovered around 70%, according to my surgeon. Fortunately, my surgery was a success in that it immediately eliminated the intense sciatic pain that had become unbearable over the previous 4 months. However, I faced all kinds of challenges during my recovery – physical, mental, professional, social – this post seeks to chronicle the lengthy process of regaining my mojo, and exactly what it will take to continue on an upward trajectory into the future.
My microdiscectomy was a comparatively easy procedure: I was under anesthesia for about 2 hours and able to leave the hospital the same day with an incision the size of a thumbprint. I rested for a week or two, walking around every hour per the surgeon’s instructions and limiting my workload when I couldn’t stay home entirely. My spine felt uncomfortably compressed for several weeks, a persistent dull ache that my surgeon assured me was perfectly normal as the location of the excised hernia was healing with healthy tissue. I began physical therapy in April, first regaining basic movements in my lower trunk and right leg then slowly adding balance and strength. It took nearly 3 months of daily ‘nerve glide’ exercises to straighten my sciatic nerve from where the disk once impinged, a continuous cycle of patience to progress to pain again. I was cleared for gentle activity like hiking and kayaking by summer, though every so often I would feel the compression in my spine while doing simple movements like washing dishes or picking my shoes up off the floor. Once again I would end up on my back for a day, avoiding painkillers but returning to square one in my physical therapy regimen.
At times, I felt frustrated. My surgeon had nonchalantly spoken about a healing period of 6-8 weeks, but that’s just the time it took for the wound to close. I could feel that my lower spine was usually misaligned, that there were little knots that would flare up in localized pain, that my tight hamstrings were preventing my sciatic nerve from permanently returning to its proper position. After my physical therapy ended in July, I began regular Pilates exercises; gradually, these workouts built up essential deep core strength that helped stabilize my spine. I now swear by Move with Nicole on YouTube, following her core-focused Pilates workouts at least 5 times per week. To improve my hamstring flexibility and alignment, I gradually peppered in some trail-running, which seemed to be helping greatly until I developed some Achilles tendinitis last summer. Only recently do I feel like I’ve regained my full range of motion, that both legs are balanced and that my spine can withstand normal activities. I have learned to diligently prepare for any strenuous physical activities with stretching and core stabilization exercises; as I result, I can still lift at least 50 pounds and do high-adventure sports like skiing, surfing, mountain climbing, ziplining, and whitewater rafting. Gone are the days when I could take my good physical fitness for granted, but I can feel the benefits of mindfully maintaining this fitness program and intend to continue for many years to come.
Perhaps more challenging than the physical recovery, it has taken a long time for my mentality to bounce back. To make light of my physical limitations, I would introduce myself as the “guy who needed back surgery upon turning 30”… fun, right? However, this was problematic for a number of reasons, foremost that a victim mentality, even when justified, can adversely affect a wide range of social interactions and relationships. In a time when we were collectively sweeping the pandemic under the rug, I was breaking under the cumulative weight of everything that had happened since 2020. I sought therapy for the first time in my life, which helped me unpack then compartmentalize the painful experiences of working for negligent criminals in west Texas, losing my car in a jarring accident, entrapping myself within a different backward company, tabling my passion project indefinitely, and straining several close relationships in the process. Time helped to heal these wounds, as did spending a year close to my grandmother and taking a few truly awesome trips. Now I am motivated to wake up every morning, take a walk, and get to work, a major step forward from where I was even a year ago.
The last piece of my recovery, taking even longer than the physical and mental components, is putting my career back together. Complicating matters was a fractured relationship with my last employer: after my initial injury occurred when a 300-pound impeller assembly fell on my back as I was inspecting a blend tank, my supervisors refused to acknowledge my incident report and exacerbated my hernia by giving me physical labor assignments on the packaging line. When I needed to seek treatment for sciatic pain and wanted to report this as a workplace injury, they threatened to fire me and fought my time-off requests. After my final physical therapy session, I resigned and immediately consulted a personal injury attorney, who helped alleviate the burden of belated bills. But despite pouring my soul into that job for 2 years, I have no professional reference from that period – how would I explain this situation to a future employer? After 120 applications and 30 interviews, I was surprised to find myself still without full-time work to begin 2024. Not to say I stagnated in 2023, because I learned from several code consulting assignments, earned my FE Certification, and practiced my Spanish intensively, striving to improve my skills but also understanding that my self-worth is not contingent upon career success. At long last, I have a job offer in hand – to be a patent examiner and subject-matter expert in chemical engineering for USPTO. With no more reasons to scrutinize the past, I am looking forward to the next steps of this journey!
In one of my more spontaneous moves, I booked last-minute flights to Madrid on February 1st. The roundtrip fare was $1, which with an additional $440 in taxes and fees was still a terrific deal. Less than a week later, I boarded the plane, flew seamlessly across the Atlantic, and found myself in Spain’s iconic capital city on the morning of February 8th. The only thing I booked ahead of time was a weeklong language course in Madrid and an accompanying homestay – everything else would be cobbled together on the fly once I arrived. I would end up seeing several cities in central and southern Spain, exploring Spain’s rich gastronomy, learning over 2000 years of Spanish history (at least the CliffsNotes edition), and forging friendships that I expect will last a lifetime…all in all, an incredibly rewarding trip! Now, the only way to defeat jetlag is to dive immediately into sightseeing, so let’s get right to it.
Toledo
I went straight from Spain’s capital airport onto a tour bus to Spain’s former capital on the hill, the medieval city of Toledo. The approach built up anticipation, ascending from the dry plains of Madrid’s exurbs into a rocky landscape dotted with battlements and manors and monasteries. Obligatory photos were taken at the 9th century Alcantara bridge and the city overlook above the Tajo River gorge. We stopped in the metalworks factory, where artisans and their students fashioned intricate designs from gold and silver wire to be fused into fine jewelry and tableware. When we were finally ready to tour the city, we rode the underground tourist escalator from the bottom of the hill to where it deposited us in Zocodover Square. There, the grandeur of 16th century Spanish ambience was visible immediately with the painted buildings and iron balconies, all hovering over a touristy streetscape of trendy cafes and gift shops displaying full-size steel swords by the thousand. In that regard, Toledo felt like a tourist zoo, shuffling visitors between notable architectures while encouraging a sort of medieval or conquistador roleplay.
But once I wandered off onto the side streets, I found the city’s bucolic character that the 10,000 residents of the old town experience daily. Stone alleys, often accessed through massive wooden doors, lined with 2-3 stories of window balconies. Dog walkers casually smoking cigarettes and chatting with neighbors, while their dogs engaged in a wordless drama with the neighborhood cats. Quiet plazas where Christians, Arabs, and Jews once congregated, living side-by-side for centuries before the Inquisition. It was here that I ducked into a small museum dedicated to Manchego cheese, where a warm host introduced the history, traditional techniques, and cultural importance of sheep’s cheese before leading a decadent tasting: a spread that ranged from young cheese (aged three months to soft, sweet perfection) to old cheese (aged over a year to rich sharpness and a tree-bark aftertaste), accompanied by a nice glass of tempranillo. I finished my visit in the cathedral, marveling at the elegant painted stone building blocks of the cavernous gothic-style nave. My favorite part was the sacristy chamber, lined twice around with gilded portraits of every bishop of Toledo going back to the 4th century. The place displayed a grandeur indicative of an illustrious religious history, earning the comment from my tour guide that “for Spanish people, this is our Rome.” Holy Toledo, what a powerful first-day introduction to Spain!
Alcantara Bridge and AlcázarToledo Cathedral altarpieceSwords from the university workshop
Sevilla
The next morning, I would catch a bullet train from Madrid to Sevilla, hurtling through various states of California-like scenery at nearly 200 mph to arrive in Spain’s 4th-largest city less than 3 hours later. Sevilla’s first glimpses were modern, with a typical cavernous train station and the iconic wooden Parasol (affectionately called Las Setas for its giant mushroom appearance). But the city dates back to at least Roman times, as the Setas were unwittingly sited atop a Roman-era ruin, prompting an extensive archaeological dig that is still ongoing beneath the pavilion. I would learn about these complicated layers of history during a food tour, where our guide Alejandro shared numerous facts like how Sevilla was an Atlantic port 2000 years ago before the ocean receded, how the common practice of hanging whole hams originated from undercover Jews and Arabs during the Inquisition, and why the city has 60,000 Sevillian orange trees lining public ways. Alejandro also was a great gastronomic guide to Sevillian cuisine, which was notably rich and delicious! Despite not ordinarily leaning toward seafood, my favorite dish was shark adobo – a tender, melt-in-your-mouth nugget with a savory explosion of Moorish seasonings. The mojama (fine tuna jerky) and fried cuttlefish were also pretty excellent. Rich flavors abounded in the solomillo al whisky (beef tenderloin slow-simmered in…brandy), Iberian pork cheek stew, ham croquettes, and payoyo cheese (a unique tangy goat cheese from the mountains near Ronda). Plenty of beverages would accompany this tapas feast, as I would try manzanilla (the driest white wine in existence), amontillado (a somehow drier wine that tasted like old wood), orange wine (an ancient recipe for tried-and-true deliciousness), the local Cruzcampo beer, and my go-to Spanish vermut cocktail before walking a meandering route back to my hotel for the night.
The next day, I set out to explore the historic city in reverse chronological order. A morning run along the Guadalquivir River revealed a modern manufacturing area near the port and a now-dilapidated park complex from the 1992 World Expo. The ‘new’ Plaza de España, built in the 1920s, was in top form, however, as hundreds of people gathered outside by the quaint semicircular canal on that beautiful Saturday: I spent at least an hour there taking photos, listening to street musicians, and watching a flamenco school performance under the arcade. I roamed through the Baroque- and Renaissance era streetscapes, stopping in an adorable stationery store that has been open since the 1850s among other quaint craft and souvenir stores. I toured the cathedral, gawking at its treasure collection and climbing the Giralda (square minaret) for a panoramic vista of the old city. In one of the wings of the cathedral, I was surprised to encounter the massive marble tomb of Christopher Columbus; then again, it was here in Sevilla where Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand commissioned his New World Expedition, which in turn built the city into the Spanish Empire’s economic powerhouse. I proceeded to the Archives of the Indies, a Renaissance-era building that displays a small fraction of its millions of colonial documents including maps, land grants, treaties, and even Columbus’s voyage diaries – fascinating information from an unvarnished colonialist perspective. Unfortunately, by the time I reached the medieval battlements protecting the Royal Alcázar, all the tickets were sold out and I was unable to enter what looks to be an astounding palace of centuries of Muslim and Christian royals (and later the backdrop for Lawrence of Arabia and Game of Thrones), a real downer after such a good day of touring.
Plaza de España with riverboatsSeville cathedral with orange treesAlcazar ramparts at night
Seeing red after that load of bull, I headed to the Círculo de Toros, where a small museum to bullfighting is housed inside the fortified anterooms beneath the iconic stadium. A collection of art and memorabilia gave a vivid illustration of the wild part-sport, part-art spectacle that is Spanish bullfighting, such that when I stood out on the hard-packed dirt of the ring I could easily visualize the ecstasy and anguish present in a full arena. Moving from one passionate pastime to another, I took in a flamenco show at Casa de la Guitarra. First, a professional guitarist named Javier showcased his dexterity with a modern twist on flamenco, weaving slaps, twangs, and hammer-pull trills into a melodic story of suspense and intrigue. Then they layered in the singing, an Arabian-influenced chant shouted from the depths of despair to convey lyrics of dire circumstances and gritty perseverance, accompanied by crescendos of syncopated clapping. With the musical stage set, an elegantly-costumed dancer performed a couple of mesmerizing routines that rattled the room with flawless tap steps and dazzled the audience with expressive movements, somehow achieving intimacy and chasmic separation simultaneously, a beautiful and passionate display of Andalusian culture. Wandering the narrow streets and hopping between tapas bars after the show, I was never too far from the sounds of street accordion, classical guitar, or spontaneous dancing – this is the contagious energy that I will forever associate with Sevilla, a city with a rich history, richer food, and a billowing cornucopia of culture.
An ominously quiet Plaza de TorosPassionate flamenco dancer and guitarist
Madrid
To this point, I had only shuttled myself around on Madrid’s highly-efficient Metro and slept off my jetlag in a futuristic capsule hostel, essentially spending the better part of my first day here underground. But I would soon get to know Spain’s capital and largest city intimately, aided by the best homestay experience I could possibly imagine! I spent the week living in the lovely, even museum-like apartment of Mrs. Amparo Ruiz de Ayllón, a prodigious sculptor, artist, poet, and stellar human being. I immediately felt a part of the family, sharing a rich Sunday dinner of octopus and roasted potatoes with her and her youngest son Pablo, who is around my age and works as an English-to-Spanish translator on movies and television. No translator was needed for the rest of the week, however, as we became fast friends talking about everything from art to family to culture to current events. She generously shared her world with me, not only preparing traditional breakfasts and dinners but also helping me navigate the city, understand Madrid’s world-class art scene, and introduce me to Spanish television mainstays such as Pasa Palabra, El Hormiguero, and El Desafío. It was a particular honor to see highlights of her art career, which includes being featured alongside Picasso in a periodical and publishing a truly moving poem within a poetry anthology. I had such a wonderful time at this home-away-from-home, and I can’t thank Amparo enough for inviting me into her life and family.
Portrait of AmparoApartment art gallery
I settled into a routine for the week: I would attend Spanish language classes in the morning then spend each afternoon sightseeing. It was a pleasant 15-minute walk through the trendy Salamanca neighborhood to get to my school, Expanish, which offers full-immersion courses of various levels to foreigners from all over the world. Despite nearly 10 years since my last formal Spanish lessons, I tested into the highest intermediate level, which meant that my class consisted of more complicated and/or specific conversation topics accompanied by occasional grammar reviews that focused on special cases. This ended up being the ideal class for me, with a conversational method of instruction that quickly shook the rust off my spoken Spanish and expanded my descriptive capabilities with useful vocabulary. With a diverse class representing several countries (Japan, Austria, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, Palestine, Brazil, and the United States), we discussed the similarities and differences between our countries in terms of the significance of various gestures, norms that could surprise international travelers, cultural openness, healthcare systems, poverty and welfare, and legal conflict resolution – a truly interesting series of discussions that left me with a broader perspective and respect for my new peers. I would highly recommend this school/homestay experience to anyone interested in honing their Spanish skills: while one week is certainly not enough to learn a language, I made significant strides in my Spanish while also making meaningful friendships in my short time there.
Some afternoons, the school would host extracurricular activities – I hopped on a group outing to the Museum of Archaeology, and I was astounded by the collection! For an admission of just 3 euros, I was walked through the entire human history of the Iberian Peninsula, from neanderthals and stone age foragers to Phoenicians, Romans, Visigoths, Arabs, Jews, Christians, conquistadors – the tools and artforms from every era were presented in a way that brought these bygone cultures to life. Other days, my classmates and I would meet for lunch or dinner; this is how I got a taste of the various neighborhoods in Madrid. The elegant city center, with towering opera house and grand Plaza Mayor dating from the peak of the Spanish Empire. Along the Gran Via, touristy shops, restaurants, and attractions like the Museum of Ham. Lavapiés, with its narrow cobblestone streets and trendy restaurant scene. Malasaña and Moncloa with bustling crowds of students and families among modern monuments, like the brand-new Plaza de España and the out-of-place Egyptian Temple of Debod. Retiro with its splendid green park, lake full of rowboats, and crystal palace conservatory. I wandered into the San Francisco Basilica one evening right as Ash Wednesday mass was about to start; of course I had to stay, and I understood every word of the priest’s enunciated Spanish while admiring the astounding 400-year-old sanctuary.
Temple of Debod, shipped over from Egypt in 1968Retiro Park’s Crystal Palace
Given that I had an inside view of Madrid’s art scene from Amparo, my time in Madrid was highlighted by visits to its world-class art museums. The extensive collection at the Prado Museum guided me through centuries of Spanish artists, giving me some context for works I had seen earlier like the El Greco paintings in the Toledo cathedral and the medieval triptychs in Sevilla. Of the many works by Velazquez, Pacheco, El Greco, Zurbarán, Goya, and even Picasso, I was most impressed by the expressive capture of poignant colonial scenes by Juan Bautista MaÍno and the emotional evolution within the masterful retrospective of Francisco Goya. An evening visit to the Reina Sofia introduced me to more recent Spanish art and its connection to political and social upheavals, highlighted by Picasso’s Guernica (1937), a room-sized painting that instantly strikes the viewer with powerful anti-Fascist sentiment. There are numerous other art museums in Madrid – the Sorolla, Cerralbo, Galdiano, Thyssen-Bornemisza, Romanticism, Contemporary Art, and Matadero to name a few – but those will be reserved for future visits when I gain an even deeper knowledge and appreciation of Spanish art.
Inside the Palacio RealSan Francisco Basilica
To culminate my stay in Madrid, I waited in the long line to tour the Royal Palace, built in the mid-18th century to house powerful Spanish monarchs and still used for ceremonial state functions. Once inside, my new friend Micaela from Argentina and I gawked at the magnificence of the painted dome ceilings, ornate furnishings, fine china and precious metal dinnerware, commissioned wall portraits by Goya, and tons of gold everywhere. The truth that Madrid was the center of gold, silver, and imperial prosperity was never lost on me – in fact, there’s a sophistication in the way that Madrileños carry themselves today, practically floating as they walk. They’re polite, welcoming, and effortlessly classy, socializing over glasses of wine while dressed to the level of “business casual” even when no business is being conducted, wearing stylish jackets in the winter despite it being a warm 60 degrees every day. Even the counterculture kids are mannered, donning shiny black combat boots and dark wool coats. It’s not strictly buttoned up all the time, though: for my last night in Madrid, I joined a few friends from school and went to an EDM concert. To get there, we got off the Metro in a massive, dark, deserted train station, where eventually lasers and strobes beckoned us to a spacious warehouse. There, Madrileños and foreigners alike let loose (but not too loose) for a night of dancing, and by the time I left after 4am, I was one of many people riding the bus and strolling the streets for the least sketchy late-night schlepp home ever. It was a fun way to celebrate what was a wonderful week in a welcoming city with some hopefully-lifelong friends!
Córdoba
After just 2 hours of sleep, I bid goodbye to Amparo and caught a high-speed train to Córdoba, a historical Andalusian city that I previously passed on the way to Sevilla. Once I left the train station, I immediately found myself in the midst of some kind of street party, with people in costume, music playing from several directions, and police clearing out the boulevard. Delirious from the night before, I stood there with my luggage as a parade began in front of me – but one thing I know is when a city throws a parade upon your arrival, you stay for it! I thoroughly enjoyed watching as act after choreographed act passed right in front of me: dancers with billowy uniforms and hula hoops, Spanish guitarists accompanying musical or dance groups, an ancient Egyptian drumline, costumed men singing about the postal service, several hundred high schoolers dressed in full Avatar costumes, lots of furry mascots, and more. While I had no idea that my visit to Córdoba would coincide with the grand finale of Carnaval, I consider myself lucky to have witnessed such a fun display of culture!
Snapshots of Carnaval in Córdoba
The real reason I was in Córdoba was to see the famed Mezquita-Catedral, a UNESCO-listed landmark that lived up to its billing and more! Entering from a bright courtyard of orange trees, it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting of the old mosque, but once I could see the vast field of red and gray brick arches, it took my breath away. A closer look at the detail adorning parts of the mosque was stunning, like the mihrab with fine Arabic script leading upwards into an ornate gilded dome. Interspersed around the perimeter were Christian chapels like in any other cathedral, but with a preserved backdrop of Arab stonework or multifoil arches. In the center, a section of the mosque had been replaced with a high-ceilinged, neoclassical cathedral built in the Episcopal style, a beautiful structure in its own right but with really jarring transitions to the older brickwork. The only other church I’ve visited that compares in terms of architectural variety and religious importance is the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, this place was that special! After my visit, I retreated across the street to the ‘modest’ Hotel Mezquita, a bit of a landmark in itself located in a 16th century villa and decorated floor-to-ceiling with Baroque and Romantic period art.
Walking the narrow stone streets of old Córdoba was a truly lovely experience too, tying up my action-packed day in the city with a neat bow. I crossed the Roman-era footbridge at night, enjoying the incredible view of the Mezquita and the Calahorra watchtower with the soundtrack of a talented accordionist. I enjoyed two classic Cordobese meals: for lunch, stewed oxtail in a fragrant yellow rice, and for dinner, the most stereotypically Spanish dish I could ever imagine, flamenquín (ham rolled in pork loin then deep-fried like a croquette) with salmorejo (cold tomato soup with chunks of ham). I stopped in a few artisan shops, captivated by one store in particular where an older man named José María was fashioning a traditional three-stringed instrument from a gourd while chain-smoking cigarettes. We talked at length about these ancient instruments, called rabels and inspired by Arab lutes and ouds. When I decided to buy one but told him I didn’t have the cash, he insisted upon walking with me back to my hotel. I’m glad we shared this extra 15-minute stroll together, as he was able to tell me about his life experiences in Córdoba past and about the springtime festival that brings Córdoba to life (even more, somehow). Exhilarated but exhausted, I finished the day sitting against the outside wall of the Mezquita, listening to Spanish guitar music while trying to process what was an absolutely wild day in Córdoba.
Roman bridge at duskJosé María’s rabel wall
Granada
After a good night’s sleep, I boarded the high-speed train once again, this time bound for Granada, a diverse and historical city located at the base of the snowcapped Sierra Nevada mountains. I felt a college town vibe immediately upon entering the Christian quarter of the city, as students crossed between 18th century Spanish government buildings that are now part of the University of Granada. I visited the San Jeronimo monastery, where decorated chapels surrounded a peaceful courtyard to provide a solitary environment for the monks. I continued to the Capilla Real, or grand chapel where Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand are interred (Spain’s favorite royals, there’s a reverence for Queen Isabella in particular that far surpasses the lukewarm regard for Columbus). As has become a theme, Granada’s cathedral is also astoundingly beautiful, with a central nave covered in ornate gold plating that tells stories from the life of Jesus. Particularly interesting to me were the 15th century choir books, massive tomes painted with calligraphic flourishes that only barely resembled sheet music. I began to recognize features that distinguish this from other cathedrals, like the golden capillate with paintings from my new friends El Greco and Pacheco and the 8-foot tall golden sacristy decorated with pelican imagery (because a pelican will spill its own blood to feed its young, allegorically to Jesus…a gross but fascinating observation).
Granada cathedral’s gilded domeAlbaicín street performance at sunset
After two guys in suits checked me into the luxurious Hotel Inglaterra (another ‘modest’ hotel booked last-minute on a budget), I found myself on the main street of Albaicín, an old Arab neighborhood characterized by boxy white houses that extend up the hill opposite the Alhambra. I couldn’t get enough Moroccan food here, feasting on a rich lamb tagine with bread and olives, an ideally balanced couscous with stewed beef and spicy vegetables, mint tea, cardamom coffee, and perfectly flaky baklava. I would walk off these hefty meals on the stone ‘streets’, some of which were stairways that wound between white homes and walls on the steep hillside. The streetscape was bucolic, with ivy dangling from wilted windowboxes (these will undoubtedly spring to life in a few weeks when winter ends) and cats slinking along mostly out of sight. Every so often, when I’d least expect it, a car would rumble down the tight cobblestone alley, forcing me to jump into a doorway or duck down a secret passage. I would come back to watch the sunset from San Nicolas Square, where a spontaneous flamenco gathering entertained me in front of a glorious backdrop of the red-gold Alhambra palace complex beneath snowy peaks and purple sky.
Further up the hill beyond the ancient city wall is the more rural neighborhood of Sacramonte, known for its cave dwellings and Roma culture. I went to the Sacramonte Caves museum, which featured a cave compound set up how residents lived as recently as 1950 along with very informative historical exhibits. There were caves set up as a bedroom, kitchen, stable, pantry, blacksmith shop, and crafting room, all neatly arranged and painted white with lime, an abundant natural disinfectant. I found the whole place very interesting, from the caves’ aesthetic to the traditional way of life, and I’m not alone: evidently, Germans are buying up a lot of the cave home properties to make into their retirement homes, attracted by the ‘underground glamping’ vibe of Sacramonte. In another move of questionable authenticity, I would attend a flamenco show here at Cueva la Rocio, a restaurant with multiple ‘caves’ for intimate dance performances. Quite different from my first show in Sevilla, this show was structured more like a dance-off, featuring four dancers who demonstrated different styles, or palos, of flamenco dance from tap-heavy buleria to scarf-waving fandango. While this may not have been the original zambra where flamenco was born a few centuries ago, it was an impressive and holistic show nonetheless!
Sacramonte cave homeQuaint and traditional inside Flamenco zambra, or cave venue
The next morning, I went trail running in the large Generalife preserve across the Darro valley from Sacramonte. As I ascended into the hills, I came across several homeless encampments occluded by sheet metal barriers and homemade canebrush fences. Upon closer examination, these people were actually living in caves too, just not the quaint, lime-coated and hermetically sealed caves shown to the tourists in Sacramonte proper, the shelters were dirty and primitive. I became unsettled after passing a few of these, especially when I lost my trail and had to bushwhack my way back toward town, trying just as hard to keep out of sight of these vagrants as they were from me. After uncovering Granada’s secret, the vibes just felt off – I began to notice a brashness in the way locals spoke to each other and to me. As I was walking up a backstreet in Albaicín, a guy with a North American accent told me not to watch the sunset there, that tourists should be watching from lower viewpoints in the guidebooks. I also had a heated argument with a waitress over the price of berenjenas con miel (a delicious tapa of eggplant fries with a honey-sesame drizzle!…just not worth 18€ instead of the listed 10€). This was probably an honest mistake, but I had enough interactions to sense a tension in Granada that didn’t exist in any of the other cities I visited in Spain.
No visit to Granada is complete without a tour of the Alhambra – though tickets were sold out for the next 2 weeks, I managed to jump on a group tour that got me inside those famous gates. We hiked up the steep hill, through the pomegranate arch, up the sloped stone path that soldiers would pour olive oil down to thwart attackers on horseback, through the Justice Gate into the walled city. The ramparts of the Alcazaba were very impressive, with spectacular views of the city of Granada and the Sierra Nevada. I learned how sultans lived through the different eras, from humble abodes among the soldiers in the early days to the luxurious Nasrid palaces later, always paranoid that their sons would murder them (apparently, this happened often enough that there was a special prison built specifically for the son of the sultan). After Granada finally fell to the Catholics in 1492, Queen Isabella put Christian art and iconography over the major Muslim symbols – and I understand why, it’s a magnificent complex in a one-of-a-kind location. King Charles V built a large square palace in the Alhambra, which I found starkly out of place with its Renaissance ostentatiousness plopped amidst the peaceful curated gardens. Before leaving Granada, I stopped at Casa Ferrer where I talked with Ana Ferrer, a 4th generation luthier who handled her guitars with such care as though they were made of paper-thin glass. She summed up my thoughts on Granada perfectly – it’s such a one-of-a-kind place where everyone has been doing what their families have done for generations, that there’s a pride in their past that prevents people from being too warm or open to outsiders for fear of losing or destroying a bit of it. I understand the sentiment, Granada is a beautiful city with a unique and fascinating cultural blend that absolutely needs to be preserved.
Awe-inspiring angles of the Alhambra
Málaga
Upon getting off the bus in Málaga, I was immediately welcomed back to the 21st century by wide boulevards, high-rise condos, and a shiny new shopping mall with brightly lit signs for Burger King, Starbucks, and KFC. I was staying in a pensión, a modern walkup of efficiency apartments that reminded me of my time in China. This lodging was actually right in Malaga’s Chinatown, where I enjoyed a late-night dinner of stir-fried noodles and mixed local seafood. Málaga is a departure point for numerous exciting daytrip options – you can board a bus for the mountain-top city of Ronda or for Gibraltar, or you can hop on a ferry to Melilla or even spend the day in Tangier, Morocco. But after the hectic pace of the previous few days, I was content to spend my final day relaxing in the brown sand and wading into the cool, clear waters of the Mediterranean.
Now, even my more low-key days end up being full of memorable happenings. I wandered over to the central market and finally found a place that served paella for one, a delicious victory for me! I paid my tribute to Spain’s favorite son at Picasso’s birthplace, where a small museum showed me an illustrated narrative of Picasso’s life in the spacious apartment where he spent his earliest childhood years. I enjoyed an afternoon merienda at the famous tapería El Pimpí, trying chivo malagueño (tender goat stewed in garlic), local Victoria beer, and Pimpillo vermut. I walked through the Alcazaba, which was a worthy little brother to the Alhambra with more accessible Moorish architecture and great city views. Higher up the hill, I toured the Gibralfaro Castle, a massive walled fortress built by the Arabs and refortified by the Christians that had even better views of the city and sea. At the end of the day, I descended to the trendy beach neighborhood of Malagueta to catch a catamaran cruise around the harbor.
Modern streetscape of MálagaResolute towers of GibralfaroMediterranean sunset to cap off an amazing trip
As I watched the sun go down through a glowing halo of Sahara dust, I reflected on what was a wild and massively rewarding two weeks in Spain. I felt grateful, that I had the means to drop everything and travel to Spain on a whim. I felt lucky, that my homestay and classroom experience exceeded any expectations I had by a long shot. I felt fulfilled, that I had learned a whole lot about Spanish history and culture. I felt vindicated, that I overcame the anxieties and challenges surrounding solo travel to nail this trip. Because the truth is, you’re never really alone out there…I met many good people through my school, on group tours, in stores and restaurants, even elderly people I encountered on the street would strike up inquisitive conversation when they found out I could speak Spanish. This is the warmth that I carry with me home from Spain, Amparo’s warmth, that makes me certain I will one day return to check out other regions of this fascinating country.
Since my first one last year was a dud, I write from amid a true Nor’easter – this time I’m riding it out in Norwich, Connecticut. As of Sunday evening, it’s basically over: roads plowed, driveways shoveled, snowmen built. It’s been nearly 2 years since this caliber of storm impacted the Northeast, which probably led to some of the added hype that I felt from watching the Weather Channel. But as far as I could tell from my position, this was handled as a routine winter storm by emergency managers and the general public, which makes sense because it was a fairly typical snow event for the region. The first wave of snow started at 7pm yesterday, dropping 3 inches over a few hours to cover everything in a thick, wet, white blanket. Warmer temperatures overnight changed snow to rain, and I woke up to a scene where the snow blanket was even wetter and had slumped in spots. The winds shifted back to the north and northeast by mid-morning, then another 3 inches of lighter, dryer snow fell throughout the afternoon as the “Nor’easter” pattern took shape. By this evening, the flurries have dwindled as the low pressure center moves away over the ocean.
What surprised me most, in a storm with few surprises, was how accurate the forecasts were, even several days in advance. Meteorologists were in agreement that the freezing line would likely follow Interstate 95 (not because the highway affects the weather, of course, but because it happens to follow the boundary between the coastal plain and Appalachian foothills), where areas south and east of the I-95 corridor would primarily experience rain and areas merely 30 miles inland could see 8-12 inches of snow. The second phase of the storm had slightly more uncertainty, dependent on the rotation of winds to advect moisture from the colder Gulf of Maine back down to southern New England: despite some wavering about the timing of the storm, forecasts accurately captured the sharp difference between areas north and west of Boston that received upwards of a foot versus all points south that received only a couple of inches. All told, the snow totals, type of precipitation, windspeed and direction, and timing of the storm were well-forecasted and communicated in an operable way.
Edit, a week later on January 13th: It turns out that the effects of a Nor’easter can be felt for several days after the fact. When the next low pressure system came on Tuesday night, bringing 2-3 inches of rain and 40+ mph winds with warm temperatures, all the snow melted and caused extensive flooding of low-lying areas across the region, including just a couple miles down the hill where the Yantic River burst through a 19th century dam and flooded Norwichtown. Coastal flooding inundated Portland, ME from the confluence of high tides, snow melt runoff, and storm surge. Even today, our walk around Minuteman NHP in Concord, MA was disrupted by a Concord River flowing several feet over its banks near the Battle Road bridge, the product of a foot of snowmelt plus 4-6 inches of rain from successive storms. These two lows followed similar tracks from SW to NE, but with the jet stream positioned a couple hundred miles farther north, the humid air pulled from over the Gulf Stream carried with it only unseasonable warmth and torrential rain. The fact that the last two winters have brought more moisture in the form of rain and almost no snow is certainly noteworthy, as New England is the fastest-warming area of the United States statistically. Perhaps this is what Nor’easters will look like in the future: with rain in warmer coastal areas and snow only inland or at elevation?
I’ve lived in Massachusetts for a year now, watching the seasons change from week to week, month to month. My favorite place to observe this passage of time is Blue Hills, a large preserve a few miles south of Boston that serves as my natural retreat from the hustle and bustle. Whether I am hiking, jogging, or mountain biking on the 100+ miles of trails, I watch for the subtle shifts in color, the steady evolution of life through the seasons. From a largely brown forest in January, when pops of green came from tuffets of moss and stands of pine and hemlock. To February, when snow blanketed the forest floor and fell in clumps from slumping conifers. Then came the floods and the buds in March and April, as trees and grasses tried to break through the cold dampness. May brought warmth and an explosion of life, filling the forest with young green leaves, chirping birds, and bell-shaped blueberry blossoms. In June, the laurel blooms transformed my favorite trail into a lacy wonderland of white petals. July brought wild blueberries by the bushload, sweet from the sweltering sun. The heat carried through August, and the park would be the perfect shady refuge if not for swarms of gnats and mosquitoes. Leaves began to turn with cooler weather in September, leading to a beautiful patchwork of yellow and orange by October. Wind, rain, and the first frost kicked off November, erasing the trails with an ankle-deep pile of colorful leaves. As December approached, the leaves faded to brown and flattened into the forest floor, my feet instead crunching on ice now as winter impends.
Now, I’m not the first person inclined to watch the seasons here – in fact, this very park is the cradle of American meteorology, historically speaking. In 1885, MIT scientist Abbott Lawrence Rotch founded a weather observatory on Great Blue Hill, a high point with panoramic views of the greater Boston area and Massachusetts Bay. From the stone tower, Rotch began what is now the oldest continuous meteorological record in North America, over 138 years of daily temperature and pressure readings, wind data, and other notes. In the 1890s, Rotch’s team pioneered the use of kitesondes for atmospheric profiling, using these results along with geometric techniques to develop an early understanding of cloud heights and movement. Some of the earliest weather balloons were released here in the 1930s, probing the upper atmosphere for the first time under a range of weather conditions. The highest hurricane windspeed over land was recorded here in 1938, a powerful 186 mph gust during the infamous Long Island Express. Today, the tower is home to a large array of (mostly duplicative) instruments, automatically recording but manually analyzed by a team of volunteers for the best possible continuation of the record. Beneath the tower is a small museum, which is an interesting window into the history of meteorological observation for children and weather buffs alike. The view from the observatory is unmatched, an aerial view of Boston that can extend to Cape Cod, Narragansett Bay, and Mount Monadnock on clear days but usually just gives you an up-close-and-personal view of the clouds as they move and evolve overhead. In any weather, this is a very cool site to have close to home, and I am honored to participate as another data point in a rich observational tradition.
Blue Hill ObservatorySkyline view in winterPonkapoag swamp pre-springLaurel path in full bloomLily pond in summerGolden autumn
A perk of living in New England is its proximity to many cool vacation destinations… and where better to go for a 4-day weekend in May than Quebec City?! We simply hopped on I-93 north, wound through the beautiful White Mountains of New Hampshire, sped through the pastoral Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, and soon arrived at the Canadian border. After a hassle-free set of questions from a bilingual blonde bombshell of a customs agent, then a couple more hours of gentle highway driving (with extra caution owing to some indecipherable French roadsigns), Veronica and I found ourselves crossing the grand suspension bridge over the massive Saint Lawrence River. Over the next 3 nights and 2 full days, we would enjoy a perfect sampling of the city’s iconic viewpoints, interesting colonial history, and hearty Quebecois cuisine.
Upon checking into our vacation rental, we were immediately transported to the Old World, or so it felt. The upstairs apartment was rustically furnished with antique wooden chairs and chests, complete with a plank floor and compact washroom. We could open up French-style windows to a view of the towering Ste. Jean-Baptiste church over the quiet one-way street in front, or to a communal courtyard in back. The French influence was felt throughout our walking tour of the Old City: two glorious cathedrals both named Notre Dame, cobblestone streets, open-air cafes, even a street performer playing an accordion. Beneath the famous Dufferin Terrace, we saw the origins of French influence at the ruins of the old Chateaux, an archaeological site turned museum chronicling the growth of the colonial seat of government from remote outpost in 1608 to a grandiose manoir by the mid-1700s.
The British colonial signature was all over Quebec City, too, mainly in the form of battlements and other remnants of war. The Plains of Abraham, now a sprawling hilltop park, was the site of two major skirmishes in the French-and-Indian War and remains flanked by stout stone lookout towers. We toured the Citadelle, a massive walled fort that the British built on the highest point overlooking the city. The protective wall around the Old City has a Tower-of-London feel, with narrow graystone gates and cannons galore. The historical animus against Anglophones has mostly disappeared from Quebec City, but these stone fortifications still stand out as an immovable reminder of a tumultuous past.
Perhaps the most prominent influence – and the one that makes Quebec City so unique – is distinctly Canadian. It was Canadian urban planners who, in the late 1800s, transformed Quebec City from a military bastion into a world-class destination, adding the incredibly-photogenic Fairmont hotel above the Chateau de Frontenac. The view of this landmark from all directions is simply stunning, and it is understandable why this is the world’s “most photographed hotel.” It was easy to imagine being a well-to-do visitor in Victorian times, walking past the kiosks on the Dufferin Terrace, if not for tourists from all over the world wearing shorts and taking selfies. Weaving through the throngs, we ducked into folksy art galleries and souvenir stores filled with maple products and accents of red flannel – exactly like Vermont except urban and French. We tried the poutine in several traditional Quebecois establishments, the very best served under a rich venison tartare at La Buche, a restaurant with the ambience of a Northwoods trapping lodge right in the heart of the Old City.
Rental apartment was L’VibeCathedral Notre-DameTownhouses at Vieux-PortBoeuf-eater uniformCannons on the hillPlains of AbrahamChateau from belowChateau from aboveMajestic Dufferin TerracePicturesque street sceneParliament center in bloomMisty Montmorency Falls
The atmosphere of Quebec City is unmatched, at least in 21st century North America: a European-style walkable city with incredible views and interesting history to boot. We had the perfect first-warm-weekend-of-summer weather to roam the streets, window shopping and photo hopping. Tulips of all colors were in full bloom, brightening up the Parliament Plaza to its fullest French-revivalist splendor. We mingled with locals in the neighborhood of Rue Saint-Jean, where locals young and old congregate for beer, tea, or dessert. Despite knowing nary a French phrase upon arrival, I was positively stoked to nail my ice cream order in broken French, enjoying a sweet victory of raspberry sorbet in a decadent dark chocolate cone. The Quebecois people who we interacted with were universally lovely people, glowingly cheerful and exceedingly helpful as we communicated in some mixture of English, French, and pointing – in other words, they’re Canadian above all, dispelling any preconceived worries I had about tensions between Francophones and Anglophones here.
There’s so much more to explore in Quebec, our weekend was barely enough to scratch the surface. We spent a sunny Sunday just outside the city at Montmorency Falls, enjoying the roaring 270-foot cascade from the viewing platform, high-arching footbridge, and cable car (though the more daring way to experience the falls would be via zipline or cliff climb) – spectacular! We had a nice outdoor lunch on Ile d’Orleans, where pastoral farms and seaway views recalled deep memories of Prince Edward Island. I’d love to come back to experience the great outdoors in Jacques Cartier NP, the Saguenay Fjord, the Laurentians or the Eastern Townships. Or to return in winter to slide down the Dufferin toboggan slope, enjoy the Old City decked out in Christmas decor, ice skate through the forest at Domaine Enchanteur, and more. Not to mention revisit the world-class city of Montreal, where I haven’t been since I was a 8-year-old picky eater. Anyway, this weekend in Quebec was so satisfyingly perfect that I’m sure I’ll be back to explore more!
My Experience Bringing a Pine Box Back From the Dead
A few weeks ago, on the rainiest day of autumn, my neighbors left an intriguing item out on the curb. Upon closer examination under umbrella and flashlight, it was an old trunk marked with the initials E.F.T. (apart from a minor typo on the middle initial, it basically had my name on it). Whether it was a rusted-out rot box or a piece of priceless Americana, I couldn’t tell, but the trunk called out to me all the same. I left it there in the rain for the rest of the evening, checking every hour to see if it had moved, incredulous that someone would choose to throw away this timeworn piece of history. Just before bedtime, I heaved the trunk up to my outdoor balcony, giving the previous owner one more chance to reclaim their lost antique before I transformed it into my own.
However, there was one problem: I may be pretty handy but I’ve never restored anything, historic or just old, furniture or otherwise. The exterior was in pretty bad shape, with extensive rust and some water damage to the wood. But the interior and structural elements looked pretty good! There are a few resources online specifically dedicated to restoring Victorian-era steamer trunks, most from the great state of Maine: I found Brettuns Village to be most informative (and very humorous), and Connie from Connie’s Trunks helped me identify and date my piece as a 1880s steamer trunk from a manufacturer in either Massachusetts or Connecticut. These were an instructive starting point (mostly telling me what not to do), and after several trips to hardware store I was ready to get to work.
The defining challenge of preparing this trunk: how would I remove the thick rust layer without further wearing the historic hardware? First, I drizzled a citric acid mixture over a few square inches of old metal at a time, polishing vigorously with a ball of coarse steel wool. Eventually, I caved and bought a wire brush for my rotary tool, which sped up the process but required hours of focus and precision to remove the rust without scratching the wood. I also bought a rotary sanding kit to clean up the wood, smoothing out the water damage spots and rubbing off most of the blemishes. A little wood filler made the pine boards look uniform and new again. After carefully masking the decorative cast elements, I painted the bare metal stripping with a gloss black enamel, applied with a sponge brush one side at a time. I recolored the wood to a darker, more modern color, applying an oil-based stain with a bristle brush. I sealed the whole thing with a thin coat of polyurethane, finally taking a step back to look at my work:
BeforeAfter
For my first restoration project, I’m pleased with the results! And I think I might be done…I considered adding legs to make a table, or even replacing the wooden lid with a glass top. I ordered a trunk lock from eBay, but this aftermarket hardware appears cheap and flimsy compared to the original parts. The trunk experts instilled in me that less is more when it comes to refurbishment, so no new hardware or flashy metallic paint will be used after all. I may not be on their level, but this was a fun learning experience that I can proudly display in my living room. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as taking on a challenge, putting in time and elbow grease, then seeing the product of your own handiwork. I’ll add any updates here if I do any further work on the chest, or maybe a part 2 if another abandoned antique falls into my lap!
Worldly Observations 