St. Augustine, Florida

My first experience with St. Augustine could have killed me.
 
We were driving across the bridge over the Matanzas river when suddenly I saw a traffic light—which I thought was a ridiculous place to have it. I almost didn't stop. There wasn't even an intersection. Then it dawned on me. This could be a drawbridge!
 
We don't have drawbridges where I come from. I've never seen one in person, and frankly, I wasn't even sure they really existed. But within seconds, the road before us began to rise until it came to a ninety-degree angle. Within just a couple minutes a gap had been created in the bridge and soon a sail boat with a tall mast came gliding through the aperture. Boy, was I glad we had stopped!
 

Drawbridge at the Bridge of Lions in St. Augustine.

Little did I know that the river we had just crossed played a crucial role in the founding of St. Augustine. In the year 1564 the land that is now the United States was wild and unexplored by Europeans. This was also a period engulfed in the passions and conflicts of the Protestant Reformation. Would these new conquered lands become Catholic or Protestant nations?
 
In this year Fort Caroline, in the northern extremes of Florida along the Atlantic Coast, was established by Huguenots (French Protestants). This resulted in the ire of the Spanish who had already claimed the land. Fort Caroline also provided a strategic base where it could attack Spanish treasure fleets sailing along the coast back to Europe.
 

View of the Matanzas River from Fort Matanzas.

To counter this move, King Phillip II sent Admiral Pedro Menéndez de Avilés with over 800 people to remove the French. After a brief skirmish between the two armies, the Spanish retired to the newly founded post of St. Augustine, some 35 miles south of Fort Caroline. On September 10, 1565 Jean Ribault, the leader of the French, sailed to attack St. Augustine. Unfortunately for them, they encountered a hurricane that sent them further south and wrecked their boat. Menéndez took full advantage of the largely unoccupied settlement and easily captured Fort Caroline.
 
Upon his return to St. Augustine he learned from the Timucuan Indians of a group of white men on a beach a few miles to the south. He marched with 50 soldiers and found about 130 shipwrecked Frenchmen trying to make their way back to Fort Caroline, but who had been blocked in their journey by an inlet of the Matanzas River. They were hungry and worn, and Menéndez informed them that he had already captured the fort. He urged the men to surrender, with no promise of clemency. They did surrender, and upon bringing them across the river he slaughtered all of them but sixteen. Two weeks later a similar scene unfolded. In all nearly 250 were killed. Hence the name of the Matanzas River, which comes from the Spanish word for “slaughters.”
 

Streets of St. Augustine, Florida.

We continued onto Anastasia Island where we checked into our Airbnb and then connected with our friends, Wendy and Dirk, who live in St. Augustine. Originally we hadn't planned on coming this far north into Florida, but we were made a deal that if we spent a couple nights in St. Augustine, then Dirk and Wendy's grandson, Gavin, would come all the way from North Carolina to meet us . . . AND they would teach us to surf! Not a bad proposition. Of course, Gavin's mother, Vanessa, would have to drive him, and I believe the journey would be eight hours each way, so we appreciated their sacrifice. Gavin had been close friends with my daughter, Savanah, so they were anxious to meet up.
 
After meeting with them we all headed toward town. On the way there we stopped at a lighthouse, crossed another drawbridge at the Bridge of Lions, and rode a carousel for one dollar a person. Now we were parked and ready to explore the Colonial Quarter on foot.
 

Governor's House in the Colonial Quarter of St. Augustine.

St. Augustine is the longest continually inhabited city of European origin in the continuous forty-eight states. It is now 455 years old. Walking through the streets does not have the same feel as walking through the ancient Gothic Quarter of Barcelona, for example. No. Walking through the streets of St. Augustine is akin to walking through Disneyland. Everything is commercialized. Nothing looks old. All the buildings have a fresh coat of bright paint. And prices are sky-high.
 
But, having said that, it was pleasant to walk along these pedestrian roadways. We began on Spanish Street and ended on St. George Street. There are clothing stores, restaurants, gelato shops, souvenir stores and the occasional historical landmark. We also saw a street performer and horse-drawn carriage rides.
 
On Spanish Street we came across a beige-colored two-story home built in 1807, known as one of the original Minorcan homes. Minorca is part of the Balearic Islands in the Mediterranean Sea, and in 1767 a Scottish man named Andrew Turnbull led a group of 1,000 Minorcans to Florida as indentured servants to work on his indigo plantation. After a few years of disease and toil, many in the weary group fled their master and sought refuge in St. Augustine. At the time St. Augustine had come under British Rule, but in 1783 with the second Treaty of Paris, the territory was given back to Spain. Ironically, the island of Minorca was also given to Spain as part of that same treaty, as were the Bahama Islands. The Minorcans have since played a key role in the growth and culture of St. Augustine.
 

Triay-Hall House built in 1807 is an original Minorcal home.

We walked along St. George Street as far as the cathedral, but didn't go inside. We ate at a restaurant on the corner of King Street and Avenida Menéndez. A man in the lobby played Love Shack on his guitar as we climbed the stairs to eat upstairs. I deliberated between jambalaya and the lobster and shrimp tacos, but decided on shrimp and grits. On our way back through town I bought a watermelon and hibiscus popsicle.
 

Monument on the grounds of the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine.

We also stopped at the Huguenot Cemetery. It's interesting how each historical landmark helps fit together another piece of the puzzle. Following the second Spanish period mentioned above, Florida was ceded to the United States under the Adams-Onís Treaty of 1819, ratified in 1821. Now that the controlling culture had shifted once again from Catholic to Protestant, there was a new need for a Protestant cemetery. The nearby Tolomato Cemetery was barred to all non-Catholic residents.
 
The cemetery operated between 1821 and 1884. Despite the name, there are no known Huguenots buried in the cemetery. The burial ground came just in time for an epidemic of yellow fever.
 
I had about ten minutes to peruse the Huguenot Cemetery and found it very interesting with many old grave markers. Some of the burials were marked with rectangular cuboid stone markers the length of the grave. I found one from 1821 and two from 1823. In total, the graveyard is fairly small. I'm sure many of the burials are not marked.
 

Huguenot Cemetery of St. Augustine, founded in 1821.

Grave of Charles W. Bulow, a plantation owner from St. Augustine. Died in 1823 and buried in the Huguenot Cemetery.

We began our second day in St. Augustine on Butler Beach. Everyone in our family agreed that this was the funnest day of our vacation. As luck would have it we were in Florida for the final launch of the Delta IV Medium rocket. The only problem was that we were 94 miles away from the Kennedy Space Center. We woke up early enough to be on the beach at 8:45. Jordan watched the live stream on his phone and we all looked toward the south. Billowing clouds hung low in the horizon, but beyond that the skies were clear. We had heard you could see the rocket from this distance, but no one in our group had actually done it. The countdown came, the rocket lifted, and within seconds we could see an arching plume in the southern sky. A couple minutes later came a sonic boom.
 

Watching the launch of the Delta IV medium rocket from Butler Beach.

Now, it was time to get surfing. Dirk and Wendy remind me of the stereotypical beach bums—but in a good way! If they could, I think they would spend 365 days of the year at the beach. That's probably why they moved to St. Augustine. Dirk is the type that wears Bermuda shorts and a light Hawaiian shirt, but most often, no shirt at all. I believe they attend a Christian church for surfers.
 

Coming from the desert, no one in our family had ever surfed. Dirk taught us to lay belly-down on the board, paddle when the swell came in, and then at just the right moment stand up and ride the wave. It was much more difficult than it appeared. I don't know how many times I wiped out and got washing machined below the waves. I ended the session with bruised muscles, sand rashes on my skin and salt water up my nose. Jordan and Kaitlyn did relatively well.
 
In the end I used the surf board as a boogie board and just rode the waves while lying on my belly. It was enjoyable and I received far fewer bruises.
 

A few miles south of Butler Beach is Fort Matanzas National Monument. We pulled into the parking lot just in time to catch the ferry to Rattlesnake Island. Unlike the impressive Castle of San Marcos which is within the city limits of St. Augustine, the outpost of Fort Matanzas is a lesser-known fortress from the Spanish occupation.
 
The Spanish had good reason to fear an attack because they suffered many throughout the years including one in 1740 by the Governor of the British colony of Georgia, James Oglethorpe, who besieged the city for thirty-nine days. The major weakness for St. Augustine was the Matanzas inlet because it was out of range for the cannons at San Marcos Castle. For this reason it was decided to build a fort near the inlet of the river.
 
The building began in 1740 with the help of slaves, convicts and additional troops from Cuba. The fort is 50 feet on each side with a 30-foot tower. Although the fort fell into decay after the British acquired St. Augustine, it has since been restored and includes one of the original canons. The only way to get there is via a ferry run by the park service. Visitors are allowed to peruse the soldier's quarters, as well as enjoy the view from the observation deck.
 

Fort Matanzas.

From the observation deck at Fort Matanzas.

On the ferry to Rattlesnake Island.

Our trip to St. Augustine would not have been what it was without the hospitality of our friends. After visiting the fort we spent a couple hours at the house of Dirk and Wendy in Butler Beach. From what I understand they bought the house for a good price after the entire neighborhood had been devastated by a hurricane. They fixed it up and decorated it with surf boards and other memorabilia to always remind one that they are next to the ocean.
 
In their back yard is a canal that winds through the neighborhood and eventually connects with the Matanzas River. They have a boat that they sometimes use, but on this day we paddled a canoe. We lowered the vessel into the water and took turns stroking oars to explore the waterway through the area. [As an interesting side-note, Dirk and Wendy have recently posted pictures on Facebook of dolphins swimming through their canal, right in their backyard!]
 

Dirk and Wendy's backyard!

As dusk approached, we felt an itch to return to the beach one last time. We first stopped at the Sunset Grille to eat dinner, then we drove to a another beach. We didn't have a lot of time, but I could have stayed there for hours. The sky was now filled with pink and orange hues and the sun was about to disappear over the trees. The waves rolled in rhythmical motion, leaving a white foam as it returned to the sea.
 
The beach where we walked had a short, but photogenic pier. We walked beneath the deck boards and let the warm water run up and over our sandals while we admired the evening and took a few pictures.
 

St. Johns County Ocean Pier.

Like I stated, our time at the beach was far too short. We returned to the home of our friends and said our goodbyes. Living across the country we didn't know when we'd see them again. For Savanah and Gavin it was particularly hard and they shed many tears.
 
But there was one more item of business before we left. There is one item that uniquely belongs to St. Augustine. In fact, you could easily say that St. Augustine is the “capital of the world” in regard to this item. No one is exactly sure of it's origins, but some speculate it was brought by indentured servants from Minorca. Wendy had a plant in her home where she was lovingly growing this item. Then she graciously picked and gave me . . . a datil pepper. ♠

The Ultimate Chinatown—Bangkok!

We step off the boat at Ratchawong Pier and into a different world. Men push loaded carts down the road while ladies grill food at a stall. Buildings appear a generation older and the din on the street is pure chaos. I feel as if we've traveled back in time fifty years, but in reality we have just entered the Chinese district of Bangkok.
 
This area has been home to the Chinese community for over two hundred years when they were dislocated after King Rama I built a new palace. They moved downriver to the Sampeng area, occupying a large area roughly between the Chao Phraya River and Charoen Krung (New Road). This space is now densely packed with shophouses and street vendors, sprawling through a complex web of alleyways.
 

Sampeng Lane.

We turn right and enter Sampeng Lane, a very narrow alley congested with shops and merchandise spilling onto the walkway. There is so little room that we have to constantly turn side-ways as we pass the oncoming crowd. Ahead is an old blind lady with a contraption on her shoulders that holds a microphone, as well as a bucket for money. She sings a beautiful high-pitched song as she walks along the narrow passageway, but walks slowly and holds up the line.
 
Everything seems to be sold here: stuffed animals, toys, t-shirts, baby clothes, purses. Merchandise is stacked high and shade canopies hang over the doorways. Sometimes it is easy to forget that we are outside because the sky is but a fleeting suggestion above us.
 
We cross another bisecting street, this one a bit wider, but still packed with vendors. Many of these are selling street food. Skinny men with dark leather faces and gray hair push carts heaping with fresh vegetables. Ladies with aprons grill bananas over a charcoal flame or fry balls of dough in simmering oil.
 

Yaowarat Road.

A mess of wires over Yaowarat Road.

Not far away we arrive at Yaowarat Road, the main corridor through Chinatown. Here now we have vehicular traffic. Taxis and tuk-tuks vie for position. Perhaps there is enough space for two lanes of traffic, but it is a dog-fight to eek forward wherever you can. Tall signs in either Thai script or Chinese hang from the buildings. Electrical wires drape across the road.
 
Chinese influence on Thai culture has been immense. Since the fourteenth century the area of present-day Thailand has seen several waves of Chinese immigration and intermarriage to the point that there is Chinese blood in almost every Thai citizen, including the king. Chinese-Thai business interests play an enormous roll in the Thai economy. This is played out in Chinatown where real estate is some of the most expensive in the country.
 
It is interesting that Yaowarat Road is lined with over 130 gold shops. It is the world's largest market for hand-made gold ornaments, supplying demands in Dubai, Singapore, Hong Kong, Europe and the United States. As curious tourists, we decide to step inside a gold shop to see what they are all about (obviously not to buy). No sooner do we enter the doors than a gentleman whisks us out, stating that we have to be members to enter the premise.
 

Hidden alleyway.

Running perpendicular to Yaowarat Road is another narrow alleyway. Vendors line both sides of the passage, standing behind tables topped with exotic spices, fruits and salted fish. Most of the tags are in Thai or Chinese and I don't know the name of anything. One man sells a variety tea, the dried herbs piled in bins. Alongside are a selection of tea kettles.
 
Walking down this lane is almost like walking through a tunnel with numerous cave-houses built into the side. I say that because this street is a narrow gap between buildings and the canopies of the vendors are drawn out, blocking much of the light. When walking past you will notice that some of the openings are portals into dark shophouses. It's like you are visiting an ant colony with so many people, so many smells and noises, yet all you can do is walk past and hope you can take in at least a portion.
 

Leng Buai Ia Shrine.

At the far end of our dark alleyway, we see an opening with the bright noon-day sun shining down. We explore this new open-space and find a courtyard to a Chinese temple. My first observation is the difference between this temple and the more traditional temples in Thailand that have white walls and multi-tiered orange roofs with golden lamyongs flaring from the ends.
 
This temple is in the Chinese style. The roof is made of glazed colored tile and on top are two stuccoed dragons facing each other. The columns in front of the entrance are also decorated with stuccoed dragons. Inside is a shrine with a sculpture of a man and his wife, along with other deity and a couple dozen figurines. A plaque informs us that this is an ancient Tae Chew shrine that is possibly 300 years old and the oldest Chinese shrine in Thailand.
 
Bangkok is a crazy jungle of urban confusion. You can find any surprise around the next corner. How many unexpected shrines like this can you find in Chinatown? Who knows? Walking down the street is like living in a choose-your-own-adventure book and at every junction you are faced with the decision: do I turn right or left, or keep going straight? Whatever decision you make will bring a new experience.
 

Wat Mangkon Kamalawat.

The sage on the left holds a parasol, the sage on the right a snake's head. 

After wandering through the maze of streets for another twenty minutes we come to another Chinese temple, this one bigger and more well-known than the last. It is named Wat Mangkon Kamalawat.
 
There are several shrines within this temple and many devotees kneel and offer obeisance. Incense flows to the sky. Citrus is offered at the alters. This is a Mahayana Buddhist temple, which fuses several ancient beliefs, including Confucianism and Taoism. Chinese lanterns hang from the ceilings and golden sages watch forbiddingly. Elsewhere in the compound are medicine stalls, booths selling devotional paraphernalia and a fortune-teller.
 

On the fringe of Chinatown.

Heaps of used machinery in Talat Noi, a section of Chinatown.

For our final four days in Bangkok we stay at a hotel overlooking the Chao Phraya River on the fringe of Chinatown. Squeezed between other drab buildings, the hotel is very inconspicuous and would be nearly unrecognizable as a place of accommodation without the green awning draped at the front. Just below our hotel, pretty much at the side of a parking garage, is a Chinese Temple. Outside hang red Chinese globes and inside I can hear people singing or chanting. I don't dare go in. The temple is very simple, and if you aren't right there, you won't even notice it. Nearby a small shrine displays several Buddhist figurines, as well as flowers and incense sticks. A small sign is in both Chinese and Thai.
 
The neighborhood around our hotel smells like grease. This is because they sell second-hand car parts here. Walking down the street there are heaps of metal, including engines and mufflers that belong to anything from cars to mopeds. It's like having the junkyard as close and convenient as the grocery store. Sometimes a couple men will be tending the heap by sitting next to it on a chair, smoking cigarettes and talking. Any foreigner who walks past will get a look of suspicion. This area is known as Talat Noi and used to be the site of ice factories, saw mills, rice mills and shipyards. Scraps from these places were collected and sold. Nowadays it is a center for used machinery and motors.
 

The Golden Buddha.

Also located on the periphery of Chinatown is Wat Traimit, a Thai-styled Buddhist temple that is home to the Golden Buddha—the largest solid gold Buddha in the world.
 
It is an interesting story of how the Golden Buddha arrived at Wat Traimit. The image was cast in the thirteenth century. During the rein of Rama III (1824-1851) it was brought to Bangkok, but to conceal its value to would-be thieves it was encased in stucco. It wasn't until 1955 when being transported to its current location at Wat Traimit that a crack in the stucco revealed the true nature of what lied beneath. It was then restored to its original glory.
 
The lustrous Golden Buddha sits on a white marble lotus-pad surrounded with offerings of lotus flowers. The Buddha sits with the right leg folded over the left; his left hand lies in his lap with the palm upward while the right hand rests on his knee with fingertips facing the earth. The statue weighs 5.5 tons and from weight alone is valued over ten million dollars. It is very fitting that the Golden Buddha would reside in Chinatown, home to one of the world's largest gold markets.
 

Yaowarat Road at night.

It is now one of our final nights in Bangkok and after a wild tuk-tuk ride we are back on Yaowarat Road. Neon signs flash overhead and below all traffic is at a crawl. The gold shops have all closed their doors and rolled down the metal gates, but now in front of them are vendors selling food. Trays with mounds of green and red chili peppers are on a table in the middle of a sidewalk. Next to them are buckets of rice and a cauldron for cooking noodles. A sweaty lady labors to cook food for the waiting crowd. Men sit on plastic chairs and enjoy a savory dish.
 
Trying to maneuver through the streets and around the traffic and stalls are throngs of people, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. I look below and there is a man with no legs moving alongside us. He carries a money purse across his shoulders and uses wooden blocks to grip as he walks on stump and hand across the sidewalk.
 

We find a small noodle shop and go inside for a bite to eat. It is a refreshing reprieve from the chaos of outside and we look at a menu that offers pictures for some of the dishes. Jenelle isn't hungry, but I order a bowl of fish-ball soup. It comes in a simple form. Along with a handful of bisected balls of fish are a few slices of greens and a modest amount of noodles. The fishy broth is smooth and hits the spot.
 
Our night is winding down. On our way to our hotel we stop at Odeon Circle. This is considered the gateway to Chinatown. A large roundabout marks the intersection of Yaowarat Road and Charoen Krung. In the middle of the circle is a huge red Chinese gate. It is ornate as is everything in Thailand, with Chinese letters on one side and Thai on the other. It was built in 1999 as part of the celebrations for King Bhumibol's 72nd birthday. It is now an icon in Bangkok. Below the gate are two lion statues made of white jade.
 
On the other side of the roundabout is another shrine. It is a small but ornate building with red columns and two Chinese globes hanging from the top. In front are tables set out with offerings. I can see people over there, one lady is lighting a candle or incense. It amazes me because it is close to ten o'clock at night and the city seems as alive as ever. ♠ 

Chinese gate at Odeon Circle.

Chinatown—Las Vegas

The six of us sit around a table with a circular grill in the center. Kimchi, pickled vegetables, rice, dipping sauce and a bevy of other condiments spread across the table. When the Asian waitress comes she brings three plates heaped with meat: bulgogi, beef brisket, and pork belly. Some are sliced paper-thin while others remain thicker, each with streaks of fat. With silver tongs she transfers the mound of meat to the grill and soon the fillets begin to sizzle and curl and a sweet aroma fills the air. This is how we begin our first Korean barbeque.
 

Until a few years ago, I had no idea that Las Vegas had its own Asian District. Since that time, it has become a mandatory stop when we travel to Sin City.
 
Unlike the Chinatowns of New York or San Francisco, which have a long history with Chinese-Americans, this two-and-a-half-mile strip of Las Vegas is relatively modern—1995 to be exact. It began when Henry Hwang, K.C. Chen and James Chen built a seven-acre shopping district in the style of an emperor's palace, with ceramic-tiled roofs and a paifang entrance gate. Over the years it has grown and now the streets are lined with restaurants, supermarkets, massage parlors and signs in Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, Thai and more. Roughly speaking, the Asian District centers on Spring Mountain Road and runs all the way from I-15 to Rainbow Boulevard. 

Not only did I eat my first Korean barbeque at Chinatown in Las Vegas, but my first Vietnamese pho and Indonesian mie goreng. It was here I received my first foot massage. I think you can find almost any Asian item you are looking for in Chinatown. I come here to buy kaffir lime leaves and Thai eggplant.
 
Tucked behind a massage parlor and sushi house we found an authentic Japanese Ramen shop. This was recommend by a friend who assured me that they were just like the ramen shops in Tokyo. Once again it was on-the-job learning as I watched them bring a large bowl of noodles with black broth and an egg, corn and slab of butter to garnish. I learned to hold the chopsticks in my right hand while using a spoon to slurp up the broth in my left.
 

Probably my favorite place to visit in Chinatown is the supermarket. Along Spring Mountain Road there are at least two large Asian grocery stores, as well as a Korean supermarket. This last time I gave each of my kids a small allowance and let them choose their own instant noodles. We love ramen at our house, but at an Asian supermarket, you have an entire aisle full of noodles you would never find at home. They had a hey-day buying their own private stash of exotic noodles to bring home.
 
As for me, I scoured the store for anything I've never tried before. In the past I've bought duck eggs, fermented soy bean chili sauce, furikake, masaman curry, tom yum soup paste, fish balls, rice noodles and dried shrimp. I love the smell of fresh fish on ice or pungent aroma coming from the spice aisle. It truly feels like you're in another country. 

Back at the Korean barbeque our waitress teaches us how to eat. After grilling the meat, you wrap it in a leaf of lettuce, then dip it in a garlicky soy sauce. If you prefer, you may eat it with rice. In addition to our meat there are small plates with kimchi, glass noodles, pickled vegetables, spring rolls and other condiments we've never heard of. We begin practicing and start to get the hang of it. The most difficult part is using chopsticks, but that we overcome. The meat is extremely tender and each has its own unique flavor. When we are finished, the waitress brings more. We choose baby octopus, squid and another plate of bulgogi.

After an hour we all are stuffed! This Korean barbeque is all-you-can-eat, and a great deal from what I understand—only $20 per person. In my typical fashion, I pick the leftovers from my kids' plates and finish off the condiments. To top things off, we each get to choose a scoop of ice cream—strawberry, chocolate or green tea. I choose the chocolate and savor every last bite . . . and then I finish off the last of the kimchi. Money well spent! ♠ 

Chinatown—Los Angeles

Having been raised in a small town I am fascinated with many aspects of the large cities—but not enough to move there! I am still a country-boy at heart. In some of these large cities I have developed a fondness for the Asian district, otherwise known as Chinatown.

I recall the first time I stepped foot inside an Asian supermarket. I was blown away by aisle after aisle filled with cans and bottles in foreign script, exotic aroma wafting in the air, fresh fish on ice and produce I had never seen before. I didn't even know there existed such a grocery store anywhere in the United States!

Los Angeles Chinatown, main plaza.

Sometimes when I am in a big city I will seek out the Asian district if there happens to be one. A few years ago we ventured into Chinatown of Los Angeles. We only spent a few hours, but it was long enough to walk through the Chinese gate, see the Bruce Lee statue, peruse a few stores and eat a bowl of rice.

The “new” Chinatown of Los Angeles opened in 1938, replacing the older one that fell into decline and was replaced by Union Station. In addition to the many restaurants and shops, it is also a tourist attraction and has been the setting for numerous Hollywood films. Movie designers and directors such as Cecil B. Demille donated props to give Chinatown a more exotic atmosphere.

I've included a few pictures of our visit to Chinatown in Los Angeles. It's not much and the pictures aren't great, but perhaps it will showcase a portion of what this place has to offer. ♠

Sculpture of Sun Yat-sen.

Wishing well.

Entrance to Chinatown.

 

Finally Meeting Grandpa Ramon ( . . . maybe!)

Ramon Berenguer I. (courtesy of Wikipedia)

Inside the cathedral of Barcelona are two velvet and brass-bound wooden coffins. There is nothing unusual about this as there are many who are interred within the confines of these holy buildings. These tombs are of interest to me, however, because they contain the remains of my ancestors, Ramon Berenguer I and his wife, Almodis.
 
Upon preparing a trip to Barcelona, I thought it would be fun to investigate whether any of my royal bloodline ran through this part of Spain. To my pleasant surprise I found a father, son and grandson, all of whom held the title of Count of Barcelona.
 
I was very intrigued to learn of Grandpa Ramon. Of course, over the generations the strain has thinned and there is scarcely a drop of blood we share in common. But, just the thought that we are directly connected adds an extra element of intrigue.
 

The tombs of Ramon Berenguer I and his wife, Almodis, in the Cathedral of Saint Eulalia in Barcelona, Spain.

Ramon Berenguer I became Count of Barcelona and Girona in the year 1035 at the young age of twelve upon the death of his father. During these early years he fell under the tutelage of his grandmother, Ermesenda. As he grew older he acquired other lands and became the first Catalonian count to gain territories on the north side of the Pyrenees (Carcassonne and Razés). Ramon lived in an era when the Moors occupied most of Spain. He led many campaigns to keep them at bay and even push them back. He imposed heavy tributes on Moorish cities which helped create the first wave of prosperity in Catalan history.
 
Ramon was married three times. While still married to his second wife, he became involved with Almodis de La Marche, the wife of the Count of Toulouse. The two were married and subsequently excommunicated by the Pope.
 

Ramon Berenguer I with emblem of the cross. (courtesy of Wikipedia)

In the year 1046, Ramon and his wife began construction of a Romanesque cathedral on the site of a former Visigoth church that had been destroyed by the Moors in 985. The cathedral was completed in 1058. Two centuries later a newer and bigger cathedral was built. Subsequent additions were added in the following centuries and today the Cathedral of Saint Eulalia is an icon of Barcelona.
 
The cathedral is located in the heart of the Gothic Quarter. As a tribute to the royal couple, the coffins of the two founders hang on the wall. A plaque reads: “Sepulchers of the Counts of Barcelona, Ramon Berenguer I and his wife Almodis, founders of the second Romanesque Cathedral (1058).”
 

Cathedral of Saint Eulalia in Barcelona.

Just 65 miles northeast of Barcelona, nestled in the verdant hill-town of Girona, stands another majestic cathedral. This one overlooks the Onyar River. Inside this sacred building is interred another relative of mine, Ramon Berenguer II.
 
Like his father, he was also the count of Barcelona and Girona. He was co-ruler with his twin brother, Berenguer Ramon II (that's not going to confuse anyone!!!). Amid tension, jealousy and quarrels, the two siblings decided to divide their possessions against the will of their late father.
 

Sepulcher of Ramon Berenguer II in the Cathedral of Girona.

Tomb and sculpture of Ermesenda, grandmother to Ramon Berenguer I in the Cathedral of Girona.

Ramon Berenguer II was called “Cap de estopes,” or “Towhead.” This was due to the thickness and color of his hair. All the rulers seemed to have bynames back then. Ramon Berenguer I was given the title “the Old,” and his father was called “the Crooked.”
 
The death of Ramon Berenguer II comes with legend in Girona. On December 6, 1082, at the age of 27 or 28, the count was hunting in the area of Montnegre, where he disappeared. The next day they found his body, murdered by an unknown person. As the legend goes, the corpse was found by a farmer who heard the cry of the count's falcon. The bird was perched on the branch of a tree. When the body was placed in a wooden coffin and carried to Girona, the loyal falcon followed the procession the entire way. Upon arriving at the door of the cathedral, the falcon fell dead on his master's coffin. To commemorate this act, artisans created a replica of the falcon in wood. Centuries later it was replaced by a stone sculpture which is still located on an arch in the cathedral.
 

Skeleton of Ramon Berenguer II. (courtesy of Llegendes de Girona)

Funerary pillow of Ramon Berenguer II on display in Girona Cathedral.

As for the murderer, it was widely speculated that it was his own twin brother, who subsequently took control of the territory. For this reason, he was known as Berenguer Ramon II the Fratricide.
 
To this day, the stone sepulcher sits atop an archway in the nave of the Cathedral for all to see. A detailed carving of the count lies atop the sepulcher. For anyone who wonders if the royal bones still exist inside these ancient coffins, I attest to you they do. I watched a video where they removed a side-panel of the coffin and inside found the skeletal remains (see picture above).
 

Ramon Berenguer II with his trusty falcon. (drawing by Joaquim Pla i Dalmau)

For the third member of the Royal Family in my ancestry, we must return to Barcelona. On the edge of the Gothic Quarter, sandwiched between the old Roman walls and Via Laietana, is the bronze statue of a nobleman riding his horse. The life-sized monument was sculpted by Frederic Marès in 1950, and is a replica of an earlier statue created by Josep Llimona in 1888 for the Barcelona Universal Exposition. The statue is none other than Ramon Berenguer III the Great.
 

Statue of Ramon Berenguer III in Barcelona.

Like his father and grandfather, Ramon Berenguer III was Count of Barcelona. After the death of his father, he co-ruled with his uncle, Berenguer Ramon II until his uncle was forced into exile in 1097.
 
I suppose he was called “the Great” because of the territory he was able to claim for Catalunya. During his life he obtained land as far north as Provence in France from a strategic marriage and military campaigns. In response to threats of Muslim expansion he pushed them back in both Mallorca and Tarragona, the latter of which he captured and rebuilt.
 
During the latter years of his life he abdicated the throne to his son and became a Knights Templar, protecting pilgrims as they traveled to Jerusalem. He is not buried in Barcelona or Girona, but in a monastery in Ripoll, some 67 miles north of Barcelona. I wasn't able to see his grave on this trip, but my wife and I were in Ripoll twenty years ago and had no idea an ancestor was buried there.
 

Ramon Berenguer III posting the banner of Barcelona at the Castle of Fos. (courtesy of Wikipedia)

My Royal Lineage
 
Ramon Berenguer I the Old, Count of Barcelona, begat Ramon Berenguer II the Towhead, who begat Ramon Berenguer III the Great, who begat Alfonso II of Aragon, who begat Peter II the Catholic, King of Aragon and Count of Barcelona. He begat James I the Conqueror, who begat Isabella of Aragon, Queen of France, who begat Philip IV the Fair, King of France, who begat Isabella, who begat Edward III, King of England in 1312.
 
King Edward III begat John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who begat Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, who fathered an illegitimate daughter, Jane Beaufort. Jane begat Sir Henry Stradling, who begat Sir Thomas Stradling, who begat Jane Stradling, who begat John Griffith, who begat Eleanor Griffith, who begat Richard Bowen, the first immigrant from this line to come to America. He died in Rehoboth, Massachusetts in 1675.
 
Richard begat Ruth Bowen, who begat Thomas Kendrick, who begat Mehitable Kendrick, who begat Sebelia Jerusha Tucker, who begat Captain John Woodbury, who begat Jeremiah Woodbury, who, with all his family, joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in 1841.
 
Jeremiah begat Orin Nelson Woodbury, who begat Mary Margaret Woodbury, who begat Hyrum Nelson Leany, who begat Mary Erva Leany, who begat Toni Shumway, who begat John Lacy. ♠
 

[Postscript: There is a somber twist to this work. When I came to the end of my research, I learned of a controversy concerning the authenticity of our royal link. Some have argued that the connection between Eleanor Griffith (Bowen) and Richard Bowen is a fabrication created in the late 1800's and have listed the parents of Richard Bowen as “unknown.” If this were true it would throw out the entire notion that we are related to royalty through this line. 

My position on the issue is that it is nearly impossible to pass judgment on a “fraud” that happened 136 years ago, especially when it concerns the veracity of another event which occurred over 345 years ago! The truth is, we may never know for sure until we pass to the other side of the veil.]