On March 3, I returned  to the Fondation Brocher in Hermance, Switzerland for another 2-month stay, departing (I'm sure reluctantly) on April 25. There are 11 researchers in residence, primarily from Europe (France, Germany, Switzerland) and the UK, but also Tanzania and Turkey, as well as the US and Canada. My fellow researchers are lively and engaging,  and all are much younger than me. One way the age difference is manifest is that I'm the only resident who has bought a public transit pass; the others get around pretty much everywhere, including to supermarkets in France, via bike. Also, I have so far declined to accompany others to the seasonal sauna in Hermance, which involves jumping into the frigid lake afterwards, and I have not yet dared to use the institute's sit-on-top kayak.

The institute is beautifully located on the shores of Lake Geneva (Lac Léman) about a half-hour north of the city of Geneva and almost on the French border. It is a 5-minute walk to the tiny and very picturesque medieval village of Hermance, which also has a lovely beach.

Here are some photos  from the first three weeks, showing the Villa Brocher, the view from the balcony of my bedroom, the grounds, a raclette evening, and pics from our project presentations day and of our March group and the friendly Brocher Bengal cat, Noisette.

Added on March 23: It is only the 3rd week of March, and daffodils, forsythia, and Magnolia and various fruit trees are blooming, and some brave folks were even swimming (as well as diving) in Hermance! Later,  some of us met for drinks at the buvette (seasonal tavern). Distressingly, the server had no idea what I was saying when I tried to order a glass of white wine, so clearly efforts to improve my French have been a complete failure.

Chens-sur-Leman is the next village up the lake from Hermance. It is over the border in France, and thus (unlike the situation in Switzerland or most U.S. states), everyone has  the legal right to traverse private property at the shore. (Note sign on the tree). [Added on 03-29: It turns out that the public's "'droit de passage" to and along the shore is actually  limited by exceptions, including properties purchased before passage of the 1985 law].

Sadly, the stays for the March and Feb/March groups end on Thursday.  One researcher leaves today, and we had a send-off homemade pizza party for her yesterday evening.

In the first three weeks, I have only rarely ventured into the city of Geneva, which is about a half-hour south of Hermance on the bus.  However, I discovered soon after my arrival that most of the banknotes that I brought back with me from the stay in 2019 were no longer valid, although they could be exchanged for new notes at the central bank. It was quite an adventure finding the one central-bank desk (inside a different bank) where this could be accomplished, but on the way, I snapped photos of two famous local sites: the jet  d'eau , which reaches 140 meters high, and  the nearby flower clock, l'horloge fleurie.

Today (March 27), I visited the Parc la Grange and adjacent Parc des Eaux Vives near the center of Geneva. Both have historical buildings, lovely paths and plantings, and views of the lake. Hard to believe that I spent 3 months in Geneva (two in 2019) before discovering these parks.  Sadly, the members of the March group left this morning. They will be missed.

Yesterday (March 28), I met Luca Chiapperino, who was at the Brocher with me in 2019.  (Luca is at the University of Lausanne and he and family live near Neuchâtel). We had a lovely afternoon eating superb gelato by the lake. (The jet d'eau is in the background).

Looking closely, you may be able to see that my hair is much shorter. That's because I stopped at a haircutting school late last week for an intended trim. However, no one there spoke English, and I didn't actually know how to say "trim." I thought I'd gotten the point across with pantomime and near-synonyms but clearly not, and I am now nearly bald. (Back at the Brocher,  everyone claimed to like it, but I think they were just being polite).

In light of the constant drumbeat of depressing news, I thought I would share this story:

One of the March-group researchers, Joel Semme, is from Tanzania. The first leg of his return flight was scheduled to depart from Geneva airport in the early morning, so Joel planned to take the last bus of the day (at 2:47 am) from the Brocher to the city, where he would transfer to the bus to the airport. When no bus appeared after an anxiety-producing wait of a half-hour, Joel flagged down a passing car. One of the occupants accessed the public-transit website and saw that the night buses had been cancelled. The driver and friends then insisted on taking him directly to the airport, where he arrived early!

The episode reminded me of my first visit here, when I somehow managed to get off the bus at the wrong stop. (It's not that easy to make a mistake as the stops are both announced and displayed on a screen). I had no idea where I was and no way to make a call. Eventually, I spotted a young woman across the road. She said that she lived nearby, and that I should just wait by my luggage while she returned home and retrieved her car. Five minutes later, she pulled up and drove me to the door.

Yet another reason that I would love to stay where I am ....

Lake Geneva area is a major wine-producing area, and the hills across the road from the Brocher are rich with vineyards. One of the major wine trails in Switzerland, called Entre Arve et Lac, begins in Hermance village and ends 18 km (about 11 miles) later in the village of Choulex, where there is also a nature reserve. The trail can actually be accessed from the Brocher just by crossing the road and walking up a street running away from the lake. The walk itself is enchanting, with vineyards, orchards, and farms, picturesque villages, and views of the lake and Jura mountains on one side and the French Alps on the other.

Today (Saturday) it is 23C/73F degrees(!) and cloudless, so I decided to take off for the botanical garden, which is on the other side of the lake. A perfect day for such an outing.

The nearby French village of Veigy-Foncenex was the center of a major network that smuggled Jews and other refugees across the Hermance River into Switzerland from Nazi-occupied France. The village priest and three residents, who were organizers of the network, were eventually arrested and deported; only one survived. The Mémorial des Sauveteurs de l'Ombre in Veigy-Foncenex honors the memory of the French smugglers.

It was overcast yesterday when I set out for the memorial, but the sun suddenly appeared as I began the return trip (an almost 3-hour hike in total due  to my becoming hopelessly lost)! The ridge near the memorial afforded wonderful views of the Mont Blanc massif. And huge tracts of land are now covered with bright yellow flowering rapeseed (canola).

Well, you know until what. But until Covid-19 struck, it had been an extremely productive and enjoyable six weeks, including two cockle-gathering expeditions (were it not for the virus, there would have been a third), a visit to the stunningly beautiful and historically fascinating Quarantine Island at the mouth of Otago Harbour, many walks in the lovely Dunedin Botanic Garden (where within a few days of arrival, I managed to get locked in trying to cross to the other side just after the gates closed at 9 pm), and making new friends at Abbey College, the postgraduate college of the University of Otago (adjacent to the botanic garden), where I've now resided for the past three visits. On this visit, I was introduced to billiards. Alas, despite near-nightly practice and the students' valiant efforts to coach me, I remained the most inept player at Abbey. Below are some photos along with a slightly-edited version of a long email circulated to friends and family immediately after the rather harrowing return journey to the U.S.

The first expedition was with Hamish shortly after my arrival, the second with Fiona Stuart and her partner Don, who is also an avid fisherman. After the second, where we also collected edible (cat's eyes) snails, Hamish & Abby joined us for an incredible repast at Fiona and Don's place that included trout (caught and smoked by Don), cockles both smoked and turned into patties, the snails, and platters of raw tuna, of sliced pork, and of delicate lamb sweetbreads acquired from the abattoir the day before -- accompanied by a perfect Riesling. (Final photo is the amazing view from Fiona and Don's deck).

Quarantine Island is open to the public one Saturday a month, when volunteers are invited to help members of the Trust that manages the island (in conjunction with the Department of Conservation) with clean-up, planting, and other small tasks. My Iranian friend (from a previous stay at Abbey) Ellie Torbati invited me to join her, another Iranian friend Arezoo, and Ellie's PhD Biochemistry supervisor Chris (a member of the Trust) on one of these excursions to the island, where there are many trails, a cemetery, and kayaks that are free to use. The weather was perfect, and a few hardy souls even went swimming. For more information on this fascinating place: http://quarantineisland.org.nz/

Adjacent to iconic railway station. Hamish & Abby w strawberries & raspberries

Photo of passengers in Hazmat suits courtesy of Clio and Antoine

The Long Journey Home (an email sent to friends & family):

 I returned to Cambridge on Thursday evening and following the plea from Mass. Gov. Baker that all travelers to the state -- irrespective of where they traveled from -- self-quarantine for two weeks, I am hunkered down in my Cambridge apt. Given the amount of catching-up that I have to do, this is not a problem. (I only began to unpack and sort through my accumulated mail yesterday).

The last week has been an emotional roller-coaster -- of Coney Island Cyclone proportions. The trip home alternated highs and lows. It first seemed that I would be unable to leave the country. The NZ Prime Minister announced that NZ would move to risk level 4 (hence no international flights) in 48 hours, with the countdown apparently effective immediately. Had that stood, I would have missed the opportunity to leave by several hours. It was impossible to re-book on the Air New Zealand website or reach an agent. However, a later clarification indicated that the country would go to level 4 at midnight of the second day, which meant that my flight, scheduled to leave Auckland at 11 pm, would get in just under the wire. (Later, an exception was announced for visitors and tourists heading home, who would be given another 3 days to travel). But there was a second issue. On the way to NZ, my flight from Houston to Auckland had been delayed and, as a result, I missed my connection to Dunedin. Somehow, in the process of re-booking, my return Dunedin-Auckland flight was lost, or at least lost to view. I didn't realize this until the travel situation had already turned chaotic and I went to check my flights on the Air NZ app on my phone and then the airline website. My trans-Pacific flight was visible, but the flight from Dunedin had completely disappeared and could not be added manually. As passengers were asked not to call Air NZ (which was anyway near-impossible to reach), I emailed, only to receive a message saying that they would try to respond "within 15-20 days." Eventually, my Kiwi friend and collaborator Hamish Spencer was able to inquire on my behalf at the Wellington airport, and Jeremy Mikkelsen, a PhD student (and excellent billiards player) at Abbey College, took the initiative to message a friend at the airline; both were told that although the flight would not display for me, it was visible to agents. So I initially relaxed, but as the time approached and I still could not see the flight or add it to the itinerary, I again became anxious, so Hamish drove me to the airport in the morning. There, the situation took a major turn for the better, when a kind and competent Air NZ agent arranged for me to fly stand-by on an earlier flight to Auckland.

I then had a 7-hour layover in the eerily deserted Auckland Intl Airport, where the only two places open (take-out only) were a Kentucky Fried Chicken before security and a McDonald's after. I decided that I'd rather starve than eat American junk food in NZ so settled down to wait, a situation made much more pleasant by meeting a young French couple, Clio and Antoine, whose vacation in NZ had abruptly ended before it had really started. (We vowed to stay in touch and to get together again in Toulouse and/or Boston). But my new sense of calm was shattered soon before the call to board the flight to LA when I was messaged by Evelyn Keller's son Jeff, reporting that Evelyn (who had been staying with her sister Fran in Millerton, NY) had been taken by ambulance to a hospital in Connecticut with breathing difficulties and seizure, that she was septic, had pneumonia, and was in generally bad shape, and that the hospital needed end-of-life documents (which I was able to forward from my Dropbox). Ordinarily I sleep on the long trans-Pacific flights, but on this trip I found myself checking my phone every 10 minutes or so, unsure if Evelyn would survive the night. (The good news is that she did and indeed is nearly recovered although still in hospital with no visitors allowed). [Update on 1 April: The doctor's report turned out to be over-optimistic, and Evelyn was only discharged from hospital to a nearby rehab facility this evening]. Her advice to me when we were able to speak on the phone: "Try not to get sick during a pandemic."

The interlude in LA felt surreal. I was able to retrieve my luggage, clear immigration & customs, and leave the airport in perhaps ten minutes flat (despite all that I'd read about medical screenings causing huge back-ups at LAX and elsewhere). I had booked a room in the Embassy Suites hotel at the airport. The hotel had the same eerie quality as Auckland airport with only one clerk at the desk and hardly any guests. I hopefully said to the desk clerk: "I don't suppose that the pool is open," a question that he clearly thought so inane that it didn't merit a response. But he finally managed to say: "You can safely assume that none of the usual amenities are available." That included access to food of any kind. But here another bright spot, as my young friend Karen Guan who lives with her family in El Segundo (where LAX is located) came to the rescue with a delicious, home-cooked 3-course meal that she brought to the hotel.

I caught an early (and almost empty) flight to Boston in the morning. The passenger in the row behind me was a very large man dressed in shorts with a Hawaiian hat, who entered the plane dead drunk, refused to use a seat belt, cursed loudly ("fucking this and fucking that") throughout the flight, and stood up to remove his luggage from the overhead compartment before the plane had even begun to taxi to the terminal. That was the bad news about the flight. The good news is that I was upgraded -- on a flight costing $133(!) -- to first class and also got to watch "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood." It is a sign of the mental state that I was in by then that I sobbed uncontrollably through a chunk of the film (although I never cry at movies and this one's anyway not sad).

Ok, time to stop before the saga becomes as long as the trip. For those who might be interested, within the next 2-3 days, I will post some photos of happy times in NZ (of which there were many) to the Quahog Blog on my website. 

Thinking of you all -- even when I've not been able to communicate individually.

(Originally written/emailed on March 29 and posted with slight edits on April 1).

aster is huge here, with the holiday beginning on Good Friday (a bank holiday) and running through Monday (another bank holiday). With the institute closed for four days, the other researchers either scattered or had their partners visit here. I took advantage of the free period -- and brilliant, sunny weather, with temps in the 70s -- to make three excursions, meet up with close friends of my cousins Caryl and David (from David's UN days), and further explore the city. The excursions were to the small French medieval walled village of Yviore (in France, just north of Hermance), which I reached by boat, to the also medieval city of Montreux at the opposite end of the lake from the city of Geneva, where I met with a psychologist colleague, Henriette, who lives in a 16th-century farmhouse and has written a book on the local history of one of its villages (the photo to the right of the one with Henriette is the view through her front door, and the last Montreux photo is the Château de Chillon, made famous by Byron's "Prisoner of Chillon" poem), and to Sion, in the Southwestern canton of Valais, a city famous for its vineyards, irrigation canals, and impressive hilltop castles. Today (Monday), I finally made it to the spot in the city of Geneva where the Rhône and Arve rivers dramatically meet: https://www.spottedbylocals.com/geneva/pointe-de-la-jonction/. It was so warm that there were several swimmers as well as kayakers and paddle-boarders in the water and, along the riverbank, many sunbathers and families picnicking. (I'm  wearing a jacket only because I'd left the Brocher in the early morning when it was still cool and didn't want to carry it).

On Saturday, I took the train to Zurich to get together with Heidi Landry, who was spending a few days for work in nearby Zug. As this was a day trip, and Genève and Zurich are more or less at opposite sides of the country, this only gave us an afternoon -- but it was a magical, if slightly chilly, one. We had an excellent lunch, walked the old city, and visited the Fraumünster to see the Chagall windows -- and while there, did the interesting audio tour: https://www.fraumuenster.ch/en/

I was a busy weekend. Saturday was the trip to Zurich, and Sunday was a pot-luck (no meals are served on weekends here) followed by guitar-accompanied singing. The group that arrived at the beginning of April includes a Norwegian, Oddgeir Synnes, who brought his guitar, and several researchers with very fine voices. So we followed-up an impromptu song fest the week before with a more planned event, where we each chose a song in advance and also made a favorite dish (with our young French colleague Zöe making pasta from scratch).

I am spending March 4 - April 30 at the Fondation Brocher, a medical ethics and policy research institute in Hermance, a small, picturesque village (population ~1,000) on the left bank of Lake Geneva that dates back to the 13th century. (Ten researchers, who generally come for periods of one or two months, are in residence at any one time; members of the current group hail from Italy, Portugal, Germany, Australia, Eqypt, Israel, and the US).

[Update on April 7: Eight of the ten completed their one or two-month stays and departed on March 29. Michal Lavidor (from Israel) and I were the only researchers to stay on, and we were joined by a new group on April 3.  (In between, we had the whole estate to ourselves, the staff having also temporarily departed, and felt very much like the lords of the manor). The very lively new group is on average considerably older than the one it replaced and more European. Two researchers are from the Netherlands, one is from the US, and the others are from Germany, France, Ireland, and Norway, (The Norwegian brought a guitar and he played and we all sang for hours last night after dinner).]

Returning to the original narrative:
The travel here was challenging. Although the originating flight (on TAP Portugal) was fine, the transfer at Lisbon airport was a disaster. A 2-hour long line to clear immigration was followed by a lengthy security rescreening. Although it should not have been a tight connection, I only made the Lisbon-Geneva flight because the latter had been delayed. Then on arriving in Geneva, I had to take two local buses to the institute. I found the right bus from the airport, managed the transfer, and was feeling pretty self-congratulatory – until I got off at the wrong stop for my destination! There I was, in the middle of nowhere, with luggage sufficient for a 2-months’ stay that crossed seasons and no idea of far I was from the Brocher or with any way to find out or to contact someone. But I eventually spotted a young woman across the road, and when I told her my sad story, she said not to worry, that she lived nearby and would retrieve her car and return in a few minutes, which she did! So I was driven to the door and not just dropped off at the Brocher gate (as with the bus), and what would have been a memorably awful travel experience was transformed into a memorably lovely one.  ​

The Brocher estate, which consists of several structures and beautifully-landscaped grounds that slope down to the lake, is about a 5-minute walk along the road to the village. Here are some photos of the Brocher:buildings (Villa Brocher, Centre Brocher, and a belvedere on the lake) and the grounds. I have a sleeping room in the Villa Brocher, seen in the first photo, which is also where meals are served, and am very fortunate to have a separate office (sometimes shared with Maya the cat) overlooking the lake in the Centre Brocher, where the administrative offices and auditorium are located. The views from the office -- both daytime and at sunset -- are spectacular (and seriously distracting)!

Today (24 March) our group made a communal raclette dinner under the guidance of Luca Chiapperino (an Italian at the University of Lausanne, who is married to a French woman). Luca ordered a half-round of cheese from a shop where they also loan the machine for holding, melting, and scraping the raclette cheese, and during the week, we picked up the cheese and machine and then drove to a supermarket in France (where food prices are much, much lower) to buy the accompanying potatoes, cornichons, charcuterie, veggies, etc.

The city of Lausanne is on the other side of the lake from Hermance -- not too far as the crow flies but in practice, at least a two-hour trip as one needs first to take buses into Geneva and then to the train station and a train to Lausanne -- and in my case, the metro the university, which is on the outskirts of the city. (There is a boat crossing to Lausanne, but it's either to/from Geneva, which is no savings in time) or to/from Evian in France, requiring a taxi from Evian to Hermance). So a rather long trip for such a short distance. But it was the last of a string of gorgeous days, and after my talk, I was taken for an informal tour of the city center and lakeside Lausanne is known for its steep hills -- the city climbs straight upward -- its medieval streets, and its 12th century cathedral. 

The new group of researchers arrived yesterday, and then last night and continuing into this morning, it snowed -- finally providing an opportunity to wear the very smart galoshes that I bought with Alyssa Landry's help before leaving. Here's what it looked like from my bedroom and office windows.

​Galveston is a sand-barrier island in the Gulf of Mexico about 50 miles south of Houston. It's an offbeat kind of place, with a fascinating history (Indian, pirate, Jewish), lovely Victorian buildings, great seafood, gorgeous beaches with hard-packed sand that's excellent for walking, and unbelievably friendly residents. It's also a premier birding destination, especially during the migratory seasons. Galveston's population, at least in the highly-populated East End, is also unusually and interestingly mixed, with people of different races, ethnicities, and income levels living in the same neighborhoods. That's the good news.

But public transit, apart from the tourist-oriented trolleys, is something of a disaster, and many residents and enterprises are obviously struggling. In some respects, it seems that Galveston has never fully recovered from Hurricane Ike of Sept. 2008, when a massive storm surge that reached 20 feet in places swamped nearly the entire island (including UTMB, which was closed for a year). Many restaurants and shops have markers showing how high the flood waters rose. The photo below was taken at my favorite Galveston venue, the Mosquito Cafe. The flood marker reads "Hurricane Ike High Water" (above the blue arrow) and "September 13, 2008" (below it). Further damage accompanied Hurricane Harvey in Aug/Sept. 2017, though in respect to Harvey, Houston fared far worse.

Historically, the most famous storm was the Great Galveston Hurricane of September 1900, a category 4 hurricane with a 15-foot storm surge that flooded the city, which was then about 9 feet above sea level. Almost all existing structures were destroyed and about 8,000 lives lost -- it is still considered the worst natural disaster in U.S. history. (The deadliest industrial accident, a 1947 chain reaction of ship explosions resulting from the detonation of ammonium oxide, occurred in nearby Texas City and also affected Galveston). In the hurricane's aftermath, a massive seawall was constructed and the island also raised. Click here for online exhibits (from the Rosenberg Library's Galveston and Texas History Center) on Galveston's early hurricane history including the amazing grade raising and building of the Seawall following the 1900 storm.

Here are some images related to the Seawall, which is great for biking as well as walking and lined with mosaic benches on different themes, and of the adjacent beach, which stretches for 27 miles along the Gulf. The first photos are a melange of two late afternoon biking excursions with one of the UTMB graduate students, Rebecca Permar (shown in the first photo). We are resting in front of the "Pleasure Pier," one of the few structures that exist on the beach side of the Seawall. The second set of photos were taken in the evening from Benno's, a seafood shack overlooking the Seawall. The start of crawfish season coincided with a visit from my West Falmouth neighbor, Susan Garland, and for two nights running we we gorged on platters of the small, spicy, boiled crustaceans.

Here are some photos taken at/near Poretto Beach and its pier, an area close to the small house that I have rented. (It is about 4-5 blocks east of the house). The first set of photos were taken during a visit by Evelyn Keller early in my stay.

But don't be fooled by the blue skies; in Jan. and Feb., it was often rainy and foggy, with the fog sometimes lasting for several days at a stretch. 

This photo is of recent visitors Gerard Meehan and Clare Wynter (from Luxembourg), who are being given an informal lesson in kite-flying.

And here is my Cape neighbor and avid birder, Susan Garland.

On the other side of Galveston lies the bay -- a forest of oil rigs interspersed with cruise ships. Downtown, there are some nice seafood restaurants on the water. In the second photo, a neighbor (whom I met while admiring her Mardi Gras house-decorating) had generously invited me to dinner at the Olympia Grill at Pier 21. It was a lovely warm evening, and we were able to eat al fresco. Shirley Dannhaeuser is a 30-year combat-medic veteran, who also has a degree in cultural anthropology and is married to the retired former chair of the Anthropology Dept. at Texas A&M. She told me that she and her husband Norbert recently moved from College Station to Galveston (with two of their 10 grandchildren) because Galveston was the only place as quirky as they were. She also invited me to dinner again just before I left and presented me with the most wonderful book about Galveston's history.

I have had other lovely encounters with local folks here including a trolley driver who offered to drive me to a movie theatre (not on the route) if no one else were on the bus at that point and a city bus driver who stopped when she spotted me on the street one evening to yell out, "how is your friend?" (meaning Evelyn).

Below, pics of Shirley at the restaurant on Galveston Bay and nearby statue, and of a later visit to the same area with Gerard and Clare. 

​Other recent visitors include my old Chinese friend Ting Chen (now living in Richardson, Texas) and her daughter Karen and grandchildren Max and Fifi (a ka Vivian), who live just outside of LA. Karen rented a car at the Houston airport, and we took advantage of it to explore the Bolivar Peninsula (which had been completely destroyed by Ike; note how high the house sits on stilts) and Galveston's undeveloped far east end, with its lagoon, ponds, and estuaries. The first photo is of our trip on the free Galveston - Port Bolivar ferry, which runs continuously 7 days a week, 24 hours a day (in major contrast to the bus service, which has been reduced twice since I came and now stops at 7:30 pm).

Evelyn and I also took the Bolivar ferry (as foot passengers) one evening and lucked out with the weather. In the second photo, Seawolf Park is on the left.

Another impact of Ike was the death (either outright or as a later result of salt poisoning) of about 80% of the trees, including nearly all of the majestic oaks that once lined many streets. In an effort to make lemonade from lemons, local artists carved sculptures from some of the trunks. These sculptures are primarily located in the East End Historical District, a 50-block area that is bounded on the east by 10th Street, which is only two blocks from "The Dinghy," my rented beach house. Here are just a few of my favorites. 

Galveston has the third largest Mardi Gras celebration in the U.S., which this year ran from Feb. 2 through Feb. 13. On the first Saturday, my Airbnb host, who lives only a block and a half from the parade route, always throws a large party with homemade jambalaya. Unfortunately, it rained both Mardi Gras Saturdays -- as it does many days -- but spirits still ran high. It is traditional to throw bead necklaces, mostly in the Mardi Gras colors of aqua, purple, and gold, to those lining the streets. (Houses as well as people are often strung with beads).  

This last photo of the house that I've rented, "The Dinghy," which is just a few blocks from UTMB and Galveston Bay in one direction and the Gulf in the other.

The Strand Historic District ("downtown"), which borders Galveston Bay, is full of interesting buildings, restaurants, cafes,and other attractions such as the Tall Ship Elissa and oil rig museum, and is very lively on nice weekends. At one of edge of the district are the wharves, where one can always see lots of cormorants, pelicans, and other birds (and on one occasion, while Gerard and Clare visited, dolphins) and is the site of my favorite Galveston venue, Katie's Seafood (where one must literally shoo away the pelicans to view and purchase the fish). The busy cruise ship terminal is also located in the Strand.

Galveston is a fantastic place for bird-watching, I have been on several birding tours with a small company, "BirdingForFun" (above).

​The first trip was to Galveston's largely undeveloped West End (where there is no seawall, and the houses are on tall stilts), the second an all-day raptor tour to Matagorda, a town/bay/county about 100 miles down the coast from Galveston, and the third another all-day trip to the San Luis Pass, at the western tip of Galveston Island, and Surfside Beach in Brazoria County. The day after the San Luis Pass trip, and thanks to Kristine Rivers (owner of BirdingForFun and an excellent naturalist-guide) and her husband Bobby, Susan Garland and I were also able to join an outing of the Audubon Society group in Galveston.

After a few pathetic attempts with my cellphone camera, I left the bird photography on BirdingForFun trips to Kristine, who is also a talented photographer. Below are a few non-bird photos from the West End and Matagorda trips, and also links to Kristine's terrific photos of the birds we saw.

First, Galveston's West End on a rather grey day:

For Kristine's bird photos from the West End tour, click here. The next few photos were taken at Matagorda. For the Matagorda bird photos, click here.

Here are a few photos taken during the San Luis Pass/Surfside trip. In the first photo, taken at lunch, Susan is to my left and Kristine and Bobby to my right.

And from the Audubon Society outing in Galveston (taken at Moody Gardens)

The following photos of a few of the birds seen during the Audubon outing were taken by avid birder and excellent photographer Jackie Farrell, past secretary of the Galveston Country Audubon group (posted with her permission).