In my last two posts, I wrote about food and spirituality. But any great culture also needs, well, great culture.

That’s what we’ve enjoyed during two days in Cleveland, a city we had never visited before. We drove up yesterday from West Virginia, stopping en route to tour a candy-making factory in North Canton whose operation made Champa think of the famous Lucy episode where the assembly line runs wild.

After reaching Cleveland, we spent most of the afternoon at the Cleveland Museum of Art. The breath and quality of its collection was impressive, spanning a wide range of eras and styles. It was housed in a magnificent facility conceived by Rafael Viñoly, the same architect who designed the Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University.

Today we devoted the entire day to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, which exceeded my high expectations. I grew up with this music and was engrossed by the exhibits, videos and memorabilia, which ranged from Jerry Garcia’s guitars to Michael Jackson’s glove to gowns worn by Diana Ross and Beyonce. (Yes, that’s a custom motorcycle owned by Elvis.)

After leaving the museum, we drove to Edgewater Park to walk along Lake Erie. Then, we joined a large crowd of our new Cleveland friends at a free outdoor R&B concert at Wade Oval, a park in University Circle where Case Western Reserve University and other institutions are located. (That’s a video snippet below.) Finally, we ate a late dinner in Little Italy, eating pasta and listening to Dean Martin on an outdoor patio at a family-owned restaurant.

Fine art. Rock. R&B. Deano. Cleveland does rock.

Birds chirped. Frogs croaked. From our bench beside a lily pond filled with blooming flowers, we gazed on a golden temple. No one was around us as the sun began to set and a gentle breeze rustled the tall grass.

We were in New Vrindaban, a Hindu temple and retreat near Wheeling, West Virginia. We’d heard about it for years from Champa’s family and friends, so decided to finally visit.

I’m not a Hindu or Hare Krishna devotee, and I didn’t participate in the prayers, but the generosity and serenity of our hosts was undeniable. We ate a delicious vegetarian dinner — sorry about my previous post — and stayed overnight in their lodge.

At Duke, my life was always hurry, hurry. Here, I had no cell phone reception, no wireless connection, no worries. What a difference. Hare, hare.

[Vegetarians Should Consider Skipping This Post.]

We traveled today from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, where we drove around the city, rode the Monongahela Incline and marveled at the endless bridges.

The real highlight, though, was an outrageous lunch we ate at Fat Heads, a local saloon that features “headwiches” — sandwiches as big as a person’s head. We saw it recommended on both the Roadfood and Food Network sites.

Champa ordered the Bay of Pigs, made with pulled pork, ham, Swiss, pickles, honey mustard and “killer sauce.” The menu compared it to “an invasion of your stomach.” I ate the Mighty Fine Bovine, which featured brisket, pastrami, Swiss, hot pepper-kraut, onion, pickles and garlic-parm mayo. Providing nutritional balance were abundant house-made potato chips.

Each of us could only finish half of our sandwich, so we saved the rest for dinner. This reduced the overall caloric load, cost and guilt for the day. Now we feel virtuous.

Steelers, Pirates, Penguins … all good. Sandwiches as big as your head? Definitely worth a visit.

North Carolina friends, Maryland friends, let me ask you both a question. I’m going to describe a city. You need to guess which one it is. Readers in other states or countries are welcome to guess as well. Ready?

OK, this city is not large, but it’s not tiny, either. It’s well-known within its larger metropolitan area for its ethnic diversity, liberal politics and funky charm. It has a vibrant farmers market and a disproportionate number of people with Obama bumper stickers, not to mention people our age who still gather at the local gazebo to play drums on a drizzly Thursday evening, as seen below. There are great local restaurants and a lively music scene. Because of its many charms, it faces both the benefits and challenges of gentrification. Oh, and one more thing … Champa and I lived here for many years.

North Carolina readers: The answer is Durham, right? Well, in most respects, yes. But today I’m describing our former home, Takoma Park, Maryland, where we arrived yesterday on the first leg of our journey. Along the way, we stopped at the National Air and Space Museum center near Dulles Airport.

It’s fun to be back. Today we’ll be spending the day at the National Portrait Gallery and other sites in downtown Washington. Tonight we will probably go out to dinner, perhaps at Takoma Park’s latest hot spot, Republic. It takes its name ironically from “People’s Republic of Takoma Park.” As we might say in Durham: Power to the people, y’all.

Champa and I have had a wonderful life, filled with family, friends and colleagues we treasure. We wouldn’t trade any of it. But after more than 35 years of working 9 to 5 — actually, often more than that — we’ve decided to make a change. This past Tuesday, I stepped down from my position at Duke University, where I served as the head of news and communications for nearly 14 years. (The photo was taken at the farewell party they held for us. I don’t expect to be wearing a tie again anytime soon.)

In three days, we’re heading off on a two-month trip across the United States. We’ll be driving across the top of the country, to Seattle, then down the Pacific Coast to San Diego. From there, we’ll drive east across the bottom of the country, through Texas, eventually working our way back to Durham. After a brief break, we’ll depart for another two months, this time to Nepal, where we met back in 1977. And after that … well, who knows? We’re taking these trips to help us figure out the answer.

We invite you to make the journey with us. Are you ready? We are.

Continue reading Getting Ready →