2013 Christmas Cards from 54641

For those that received Christmas Cards from me, one of these may look familiar?  The real story here is where they were mailed from.  Wait, not just where they were mailed from, but where they were "postmarked".

Deep in the 54641 zip code lies Mather—a tiny, unincorporated speck of Wisconsin soul where the "rush hour" consists of a single tractor and the population (a mighty 52 souls) could comfortably fit in a high school cafeteria. Spread across 10 square miles of quiet countryside, this isn't just a town; it’s a masterclass in slow travel.

The Smallest Post Office in America?
The local Post Office operates on a schedule that would make a big-city CEO weep. It’s open for just two hours a day—dropping to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it 90 minutes on Saturdays. If you’re looking for the ultimate off-the-beaten-path experience, timing your arrival here is the ultimate traveler’s challenge.

A Christmas Miracle (and a Phone Call or Two)
I walked in with a stack of Christmas cards and a dream of an old-school "hand-cancel" postmark. The Postmistress, looking genuinely thrilled to see a fresh face, admitted it had been years since she’d hand-stamped a letter. After a few "mission control" phone calls to double-check the rules, she got the green light.

There’s something incredibly soulful about watching a piece of mail get personalized by hand in a place time forgot. I might have been her only entertainment for the day, but that small-town connection was the best souvenir I could have asked for.

---

Mather by the Numbers

• Population: 52
• Square Miles: 10
• The Golden Window: 2 hours/day (Weekdays) | 1.5 hours (Saturdays)
• Must-Do: Ask for a hand-cancel—it’s a rare piece of postal history!

BTW, the first two pictures used in my Christmas Cards were taken at my Mother's house located just outside Mather.  The fireplace (no explanation needed) and the second photo is of the Christmas tree with the a red Philippine Parol that I brought back several years ago from the Philippines.

Merry Christmas from 54641

Not quite Food Heaven but close .....

Many of you are aware of my interest in the food truck industry. After following one particular vendor’s journey via social media for the past four years, I finally had the opportunity to visit them this past weekend. The experience exceeded my high expectations, which had been building across more than 1,200 digital interactions and menu updates leading up to the event.

Señor Sisig

They describe their truck as "Señor Sisig is a Filipino Fusion Food Truck located in the San Francisco Bay Area".  It is nothing short of phenomenal.  I knew that their burrito was going to be great (because the 15 people in front of me ordered it) so I decided to try the pork sisig salad instead.  Those who know my eating habits know that I am NOT a salad person, but the "tweet" that lead me to this event included a picture (of THE salad) and it looked simply delicious.

(This was supposed to be where I inserted a picture of the salad)

That pork sisig salad was that good. Honestly, I had to physically restrain myself from licking the bowl clean—only my last shred of social dignity kept me from becoming a human vacuum. I’m fully aware there were a few stray morsels of smoky, crispy pork, cheese, and crunchy lettuce left behind, mocking me from the bottom of the dish, but believe me when I say I fought for every last crumb.

Every bite was a total flavor bomb that left me wishing for a second stomach. 

• appetizing
• delectable
• delightful
• exquisite
• heavenly
• luscious
• savory
• tasty
• tempting
• yummy
• divine
• lush
• ambrosial
• delish
• fit for king
• gratifying
• mouthwatering
• sapid
• scrumptious
• titillating
• toothsome
• masarap

So the next time you are in the Bay Area, DO go and check out Señor Sisig.  I promise you will enjoy it just as much as I did.  And don't forget that everything tastes better with a cold bottle of Sarsi.

A couple final thoughts.... Señor Sisig does everything right. They are very into Social Media (absolute must for 2013). You can find them on all of the popular Social Media outlets: Facebook, Twitter, Yelp, Instagram and Youtube. Their website is simple yet concise, very mobile friendly and you can always geo locate them (critical for a mobile food truck).  It is no wonder they have a cult-like following and were voted as SF Weekly's Best Food Truck 2013.  Besides, their food is just damn super sarap !

(OK, I couldn't leave you wanting and not post the photo)

The one... The only... The Panama Canal...

Looking for a way to cap off my June 2013 journey? There was only one legendary spot that could do the trick: the Miraflores Locks of the Panama Canal.

A quick 20-minute taxi ride away from the charm of Old Town, and the skyline shifted from colonial ruins to a feat of modern engineering. Before I knew it, I was standing at the gates of the Miraflores Visitor Center, ready to see the world’s greatest shortcut in action.

While I spent quite some time praising the Panama Canal Museum, my visit to the locks proved to be even more exhilarating. This is the operational heart of the canal—a place where the same remarkable feat of engineering has been performed daily for over a century. Remarkably, the system remains virtually unchanged since its inauguration, serving as a living testament to industrial history.

The site features an impressive "functional" museum, showcasing technical exhibits that detail the intricate workings of the locks and dams. I highly recommend catching the 15-minute 3D film in the onsite theater; it provides a fascinating immersive overview of the canal's legacy. For the best views, the facility offers multiple observation decks on the first, second, and fourth floors.

I arrived around 10:00 AM, and shortly after, an announcement signaled the approach of a vessel. I quickly made my way to the fourth-floor deck. Standing there, watching the massive ship glide into the locks, the sheer scale of the Panama Canal finally truly registered. It was a bucket-list moment realized.

Albeit not the largest ship that came through that day, it was still exciting.  OK, it was really exciting to see my first ship go through.

I watched about 6 or 8 ships go through that day, using both channels.  Decided I should take a break and had a fantastic lunch buffet (to the tune of $40, but worth it) at the Canal's 2nd floor restaurant.

Confession: I never actually cared about sailing through the Panama Canal. For me, it was always about the mechanics—seeing the gates swing, the water level shift, and the sheer audacity of the engineering. But standing there, watching the steel giants navigate the narrow cuts, my perspective shifted entirely. Seeing it isn't enough anymore; now, I need to feel the hull slip through the locks.

The Canal was the undisputed pinnacle of my 2013 journey. It’s a staggering man-made wonder, a testament to the grit that finished what others couldn't. It easily claims a spot in my all-time top five travel moments, rivaled only by the quiet magic of watching the sun crest over the Athenian Acropolis.

This was the largest ship to come through while I visited.  According to the Canal, this ship paid about 250K to go through the Canal.

Thanks for letting me share some stories and photos of my June 2013 travels.
Until the next time....

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.  

Explore.  Dream.  Discover.” 

– Mark Twain

Casco Viejo (Old Town) Panama City

I’m dying to dive straight into the Panama Canal Museum, but if you know me, you know I can’t just skip to the end. Some stories need a little breathing room. They need to build, layer by layer, until you’re right there standing in my boots.

But first, can we just take a second to talk about the absolute magic of 2013? Specifically: Google Maps.

It still feels surreal. You can pull a slim piece of glass out of your pocket and, with GPS precision, know exactly where you are on this spinning marble. No more wrestling with giant paper maps in the wind or looking like a lost target in a neighborhood that isn't exactly "tourist-friendly." For someone like me—who prides myself on blending in and moving like a local—being able to glance at a phone instead of waving a map around is a total game-changer.

My quest for connectivity started back in the Dominican Republic. Before I’d even cleared the airport doors, I was at an Orange mobile shop, dropping three bucks on a SIM card for my trusty, unlocked Android. Within minutes, I was surfing the web while waiting for my bags.

Panama, however, was a different beast—mostly because I touched down at the ungodly hour of 3:00 AM. But after a few hours of shut-eye, I hit the pavement by 9:00 AM. Ten minutes later? I was back online.

In Panama, you don’t go to a sleek tech boutique; you go to the pharmacist. I walked up to the counter, handed over $1.50, and asked for whichever carrier had the fastest "fuego" internet. By 9:10 AM, I was armed with a digital compass and ready to tackle a city I had done zero preparation for.

With the blue dot on my screen guiding me through the humid Panama heat, I didn't have to wander aimlessly or double back on my tracks. I just walked with purpose.

And that purpose finally led me here. Okay, now... let’s talk about that Canal Museum.

Walking through the cobblestone streets of Casco Viejo toward the Plaza de la Independencia, I felt a strange, dizzying sense of déjà vu. Most people head to Panama for the engineering marvel of the locks, but for me, the real pilgrimage began at the Interoceanic Canal Museum.

It’s surreal to think about, but this moment was 35 years in the making. My mind kept drifting back to my 10-year-old self, hunched over a school desk, carefully sketching a map of Central America while President Carter signed the Panama Canal Treaty on the news. Even then, as a fourth grader, I knew this strip of land changed the world.

Standing in front of the museum’s heavy doors, the weight of that childhood dream finally hit me. The building itself is a masterpiece of history—built in the late 1800s, it has worn many hats, serving as the French Canal Company headquarters, the U.S. Isthmian Canal Commission, and even a post office before the museum reclaimed it in 1997.

Inside the Museum
The first thing you should know? Put your camera away. They have a strict no-photo policy, which, honestly, forced me to truly see the history rather than just document it. The halls are packed with an unbelievable hoard of artifacts: original documents, vintage media, and relics from the "trials and tribulations" of both the French and American eras.

Because the displays are primarily in Spanish, the English audio tour was my absolute lifeline. Without it, I’d probably still be there today, squinting at captions and trying to piece together the narrative. It’s an emotional, "full circle" experience, especially for Americans, given our deep-rooted involvement in the canal’s birth.

If you find yourself in Panama City, don't just rush to the water. Stop here first. It turns the "Big Ditch" from a piece of concrete into a living, breathing human epic.

I spent years scrolling past photos of this place, but nothing prepared me for the moment I finally stood here. My only regret? Not booking the ticket sooner.

"Heaven" at Arts Park in Hollywood, FL

 

The best travel days are the ones where you trade your itinerary for a bit of aimless wandering.

I’d spent the afternoon in Hollywood Beach, FL, tucked away in a corner of a Starbucks with a cold brew in hand. I was leaning fully into that traveler’s daydream—pretending I was a local, watching the world go by, and half-convincing myself that if I just sat there long enough, the next "adventure" would find me.

Turns out, I was right.

The moment I stepped back out into the humid Florida air, I was hit with that unmistakable, mouth-watering scent of charcoal and spice. I rounded the corner and there it was: Food Truck Heaven.

I’ve always had a soft spot for these kitchens on wheels. There’s something so infectious about the grit and entrepreneurial spirit behind them. Every truck is a passion project, and you can taste that "hustle" in every bite. It’s not just about the food (which, let’s be honest, is usually incredible); it’s about the person behind the window sharing their craft with the sidewalk.

In a world of over-regulation, these mobile kitchens are a breath of fresh, delicious air. Finding this little oasis wasn't on my map, but it was exactly where I was meant to be.

 

Decisions, decisions, decisions !!

I can only be in one location and be forced to make this choice. Yes.. you guessed it.

The Everglades.

I know you want me (Calle Ocho)...

Little Havana

Whether you know it from the pulsing bass of a Pitbull track or the clink of dominoes on a humid afternoon, Calle Ocho is the kind of place that sticks to your ribs. I first mentioned this legendary stretch of Miami in a previous post, but looking back, I realized I’ve been walking these sidewalks for over 25 years.

My introduction to Little Havana wasn't through a guidebook; it was through the eyes of my Puerto Rican shipmates in the late 80s. We pulled into Fort Lauderdale for a quick liberty call, and my friends—driven by a homing beacon for anything that felt like the Caribbean—dragged me straight to the heart of the neighborhood.

Stepping off that bus was a total system shock. It was a kaleidoscope of sound and color I hadn't known existed in the States. As luck would have it, we had stumbled right into a massive street festival. Imagine the scent of roasting pork cutting through the salt air, the frantic rhythm of salsa spilling out of every doorway, and a sea of people that seemed to move as one. We spent that day doing exactly what sailors do: getting lost in the energy of it all.

Returning decades later, the neighborhood has shifted. It’s no longer the exclusive enclave of Cuban exiles; today, you’ll hear accents from every corner of Central America. But some things are stubborn enough to stay the same. At Domino Park (officially Máximo Gómez Park), you’ll still find the "old guard"—retired Cuban Americans leaning over tables with the same intensity as a high-stakes poker game, the click-clack of dominoes providing the neighborhood’s heartbeat.

Maybe Calle Ocho has changed, or maybe I’m just the one who’s "matured" over the last quarter-century. But one truth remains: there is no better way to wake up your soul than with a thimble-sized cup of Café Cubano from a walk-up window here. It’s thick, sweet, and carries enough caffeine to power a village—much like the street itself.

Until the next time.. A dios Calle Ocho!

Hasta la proxima vez SDQ....

So, how do you actually say goodbye to a city like Santo Domingo after ten days of chasing shadows and memories? I came back here looking for a "tipping point"—searching for a sign of which way the scales had tipped since I last walked these streets.

The truth? I still don’t have a clue.

Santo Domingo is a beautiful, confusing contradiction. It has changed, of course—some of it polished and new, some of it wearing the heavy toll of time. But maybe expecting a clear verdict from a city that has been reinventing itself for over 500 years was my own mistake. You don’t "solve" a place like this; you just experience it.

And yet, despite the uncertainty and the "not-so-great" bits that come with any real evolution, the pull is still there. I’m leaving with more questions than I started with, but also with a certainty I didn't expect: I will be back.

But for now, I’ll let the images do the rest of the talking. Here is one last look at the heart of the DR...

Columbus Alcazar

Monasterio de San Francisco

Hechos A Mano

For years, I’ve had a complicated relationship with cigars. My first and only attempt at smoking a "stogie" was a disaster—a dizzying, nauseating mess that left me swearing I’d never touch one again. And yet, every time I walked past that little shop in Santo Domingo, it called to me. There is an undeniable, sophisticated allure to the ritual that I couldn't quite shake.

Through a small window, I’d watch the same man rolling leaf after leaf by hand. He moved with such rhythmic instinct, never looking at his fingers, that I often wondered if he was blind. It wasn't just labor; it was a performance of muscle memory 500 years in the making.

When I found out my friends back home had started a Sunday cigar tradition, I finally had my "excuse" to step inside. I expected to feel out of place, but instead, I found Samuel. In a world where tourist pitches can feel scripted, Samuel was a breath of fresh air—direct, honest, and incredibly patient with my mountain of questions.

He pulled back the curtain on the craft, explaining that Caoba doesn’t just buy and resell; they are part of the earth. Everything is grown on their own plantations north of Santiago. He even walked me through the "Platinum" process, where the tobacco is aged and soaked in Cognac (a far cry from the harsh experience of my past!).

I walked out of that shop not just with a purchase, but with a genuine education. Watching a cigar being hecho a mano (made by hand) is a lesson in patience. I may have entered as a skeptic, but I left with a deep respect for a tradition that defines the spirit of this island.

(Yes, that's him.)

The Cathedral of America

(official name: Metropolitan Cathedral Basilica of St. Mary of the America's First Ecarnación)

Nothing more needs to be said.  But, it's the oldest cathedral in the Americas.  Consecrated by Pope Julius II in 1504 and head Archdiocese of Santo Domingo.  The construction began in 1512 and was finished in 1541.

And here's the front of the Cathedral..

 

I’ll be honest: churches are easy to photograph, but they can be a bit… well, boring. Unless you’re looking through a Catholic lens, one ornate altar starts to look a lot like the next. Every time I step inside, I can’t help but hear Bill Maher’s voice from Religulous echoing in the back of my mind.

But then I remember where I’m standing.

Whether you’re religious or not, there is something undeniably "damn impressive" about a wall that has stood for five centuries. This is the first church in the Americas. It’s the literal ground zero for an entire hemisphere’s history, and you can feel that weight in the cool, silent air of the stone.

For me, the cathedral serves as the ultimate backdrop for my favorite morning ritual. It looms over Columbus Park, providing the perfect view while I wake up my senses with a couple of cups of Café Americano. There’s just something cool about sipping coffee while staring at 500 years of history before the rest of the city fully stirs.

On that note, the caffeine is calling.

Hasta la próxima vez...

Hawaii FIVE-O ?

My day-long mission to track down the new Metro Line #2 took me all over the map, but it wasn't all back alleys and "worst of the worst" neighborhoods. Every now and then, the urban grit gave way to something grander.

Case in point: The National Palace.

I’ve driven or walked past the seat of the Executive Branch dozens of times, but I’ve always been in too much of a hurry to actually stop. This time, I finally paused to catch it on camera. It’s an imposing piece of architecture, but the history beneath the foundation is what really sticks with me.

There’s a bit of irony in these walls: the Palace actually stands on the grounds of the old Presidential Mansion—a building constructed by the U.S. Military during the 1916–1924 occupation (not to be confused with our later "visit" in the mid-sixties). Standing there, you realize that in Santo Domingo, even the most polished government buildings are built on layers of complicated, messy history.

It was a brief moment of symmetry in a day spent chasing the future of the city's transit, but a necessary stop. Now, back to the hunt for that Metro line...

I didn’t set out to write a thesis on Neoclassical architecture today, but in Santo Domingo, sometimes you just have to roll with where the streets lead you. If the National Palace is the city’s architectural heavyweight, the Palace of Fine Arts is a close second. It’s an objectively gorgeous building, but it carries that same complicated shadow: it’s another relic built under the brutal dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo.

It’s a strange contrast to live with. I’m currently staying just two blocks from the Museum of the Dominican Resistance, and while I’m not heading back inside on this trip, the memories of my last visit are still vivid. "Informative" doesn't quite cover it; "horrifically shocking" is closer to the truth. If you ever find yourself in this city, you have to go. It’s the only way to understand the scars beneath the beautiful facades. (Check them out here: museodelaresistencia.org)

I could go on all day, but it’s hard to compete with the extremes of the best architecture and the worst of history. So, I’ll leave it there for now.

Hasta mañana...

P.S. On a much lighter (and life-saving) note: the stray dog factor here is basically zero. After literally fearing for my life while being chased by a pack of wild dogs in Colombia, believe me—this is the kind of travel intel that actually matters!

Circa 1492, Christopher Columbus and his 3rd landfall

You know the classic tune—1492, three wooden ships chasing the horizon, and a sudden bump into a "New World." I haven’t stepped foot on the first two landing spots yet, but I’ve officially checked off the third. In fact, this isn't even our first date; I was last here two short years ago.

So, why the encore in the Dominican Republic? Truthfully, my last visit left me with a nagging itch. The capital felt like it was teetering on a high-wire, leaning precariously between "rising star" and "falling back." I just had to know which way it tipped. Curiosity, as they say, is a powerful travel agent.

After three days on the ground, I’m still squinting at the answer. Perhaps I was hunting for a cinematic, night-and-day transformation—the kind of lightning-fast evolution I saw in Vietnam back in the early 90s. Yesterday, I spent my afternoon playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek with the brand-new Metro Line #2. I wandered through some of Santo Domingo’s roughest barrios where the air feels heavy and the stares feel long. I made it out with my skin intact and a story to tell, which is a victory in itself. Maybe the "tipping point" is more of a slow drift, and I should stop looking for a neon sign and just call it a win. I’m fairly certain I wouldn't have survived that particular "walking tour" two years ago.

Oh, and for the record? The Metro Line #2 is still a ghost to me. I never did find it.

Key West. Key West.. Oh... Key West

For 25 years, the Southernmost Point buoy was my "someday." Every time I saw that iconic striped landmark in a photo or a film, I’d promise myself: I’m going to stand there one day.

That day finally came, and it left me with one massive regret: What on earth took me so long?

Stepping into Key West isn't just a drive down the coast; it’s a total departure from the American mainland. With its meticulously preserved architecture, historic churches, and a soul that feels more like the Virgin Islands than Florida, this city is a masterclass in Caribbean charm. It’s vibrant, it’s wealthy in culture, and it’s utterly gorgeous.

If Key West is on your radar, don't let decades slip by like I did. Drop everything and book the trip!

Of all the stops on my Florida itinerary, I knew this one was non-negotiable—and wow, am I glad I made it! 🌴 The Truman Little White House is truly the crown jewel of Key West. I was completely caught off guard by how powerful this place feels; it’s one of those rare spots that hits you with a 'good' kind of heavy.

The preservation is flawless, and the staff? Absolute pros who bring every detail to life. It’s mind-blowing to stand where Thomas Edison once lived, where President Truman ran the country for 175 days, and where JFK retreated after the Cuban Missile Crisis. This isn’t just a house; it’s where history actually happened. Key West, you were everything I imagined and so much more. Now, time to catch that legendary sunset!