Of course you are obsessed with death.

Everyone alive is, we all know it’s out there, waiting for us.  The only thing that varies between people is the depth and degree of repression of this knowledge.

Travel, of course, is not about death.

Travelers don’t like to think about demise, as a topic — except for the legions who visit cemeteries, concentration camps battlefields, memorials, slums and sites of natural disasters. And anything to do with the Titanic.

A theory: travelers have a preference for death by war or natural disaster, which seem avoidable by dint of geography and luck, rather than by illness, which after all  may be lurking within those Bermuda shorts at that very moment. Which may be why, despite a penchant for “living like a local” when on vacation,  tours of hospitals, clinics and doctor’s offices have never really caught on.

Part of the reason why “authentic local” itineraries often avoid medical facilities is the problem of turning human struggle or suffering into spectacle. This was an issue of concern when I visited Kalaupapa National Historic Park on Molokai, the quarantine site for people with Hansen’s Disease.

In other words, a leper colony.

Yes, the setting is beautiful. But from 1866-1949, this was also a very effective prison — bounded by the Pacific Ocean on one side, and beneath highest sea cliffs in the world on the other. There was only one road to “topside” Molokai, an arduous three mile trail with 26 switchbacks, and a guard at the top.

Today, the trail remains the only way to visit the settlement and the park from the rest of Molokai, without an airplane. And although Hansen’s Disease is now very manageable as a chronic illness, there are still patients living there — they chose to stay after the quarantine was lifted.

For that reason, although it is a national park, visitors are only allowed access on a guided tour. Also for that reason, tour does not include the Post Office and the grocery story, and other places that a resident would be likely to go in their daily lives.  One exception is the Catholic church. And you can see the mixed feelings that tourism creates for its residents:

In case you can’t read it, it says: “Do not touch or steal anything from this church pew!! This means you…tourist!!”

These are thorny issues. Less complicated, although perhaps no less unsettling, is to visit a museum of medical history. Oh, do we have some good ones in this country. More on that next week.

If I could spend a day going all over the US, with instant transport from one place to another and an unlimited budget, here is where I’d go and what I’d do in 2012….some of these places I discovered in 2011, others I’ve known for a long time and one I’ve never visited….

Morning

Wake up at:

• The Down East perfection of the Pentagöet Inn, Castine, Maine or
• The homey Library Suite at the Prairie Moon Bed & Breakfast, Hutchinson, Kansas or
• A Southern grande dame, the King Edward Hotel, Jackson, Mississippi or
• A giant of literary history at the Algonquin Hotel, New York City

Breakfast at:

• Bah’s Bakehouse (muffins! scones!) near the Castine waterfront or
• Billy’s Downtown Diner (omelettes!) in downtown Bethlehem, Pennsylvania or
• The Homemade Cafe (pecan waffles! home fries!) in Berkeley, California

Spend the morning:

• Thinking and learning at the National World War I Museum, Kansas City, Missouri or
• Bodysurfing on the Na Pali Coast, Kauai or
• Marveling at musical craftsmanship at the American Banjo Museum, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma or
• Stepping back into the Revolution at Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia

Lunch

Feeling seafood-ish for my midday meal at:

• Paia Fish Market, Maui (or these other places to eat in Paia) or
• Pike Place Market, Seattle, Washington

Afternoon

Afternoon spent:

• Shopping in gracious Savannah, Georgia or
• Heating up in a mud bath at either Dr. Wilkinson’s in Calistoga, California or the Bath House in Jemez Springs, New Mexico or
• Taking a Chicago Architecture Foundation docent-led river cruise past incredible buildings in Chicago, Illinois or
• Going for a swim in Wekiwa Springs, Florida or Barton Springs in Austin, Texas or the spring-fed pool at Balmorhea State Park in western Texas (I’ve always wanted to see Balmorhea.)

Mid-afternoon snack:

• Garrett Popcorn in Chicago (The Chicago Mix flavor, of course) or
• A Ted Drewes frozen custard at the original stand on Route 66, St. Louis, Missouri

Evening

Sunset:

• Key West, Florida or
• Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, California

Dinner at:

• Brady Tavern, Tulsa, Oklahoma or
• The Old Lahaina Luau, Maui or
• Really, any BBQ joint in Memphis, Tennessee

Wrap it up with:

• WaterFire in Providence, Rhode Island or
• YOUR recommendation down in the comments! Give us some ideas, from anywhere in the US, for an evening activity.

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Last week, I paid a visit to Palm Springs, and its two and half mile long aerial tramway, upon which ride the world’s largest rotating tram cars.

The point isn’t just to combat vertigo and take in the the view, although I bet most people do that, but also to access Mount Saint Jacinto State Park and Wilderness, apparently the largest wilderness area in southern California.

It’s sure pretty up there.

But in reviewing my notes, I find two oddities.

First, every time I saw a poster listing the URL for the tramway, I thought of pastrami. (Do you see why?)

And second, after having pondered totally impractical footwear last week,  I felt very vindicated by the sound wardrobe advice in this sign, third line from the top:

I will immediately add this to my ever-growing file of evidence that travelers tend to find what they’re looking for.

It’s coming.

Not quite yet.

Now now now!

You just missed it.

I’ve just returned from the Adirondacks, which, I’m told, was close to peak foliage, but not quite there yet. (Photo here at the fabulous Adirondack Museum.)

The whole concept of “peak foliage” has always struck me as strange, in a wonderful way.

What we have is a natural process, that occurs at different rates at different elevations and for different tree species, so it is not possible for an entire area you might visit to be “peaking”, although a significant percentage of the trees in that area might be.  And does it really matter if the foliage is at its very best, if indeed such a thing is possible? Is it any less lovely if it’s not?

I’m asking, I don’t really know the answer. But the question should reveal my general skepticism about the value of ultimate superlatives.

The other common topic of conversation about the foliage, which I overheard while I warmed myself near one of the lobby fireplaces at the Mirror Lake Inn in Lake Placid, and which I participated in, over a breakfast blueberry pancakes and sausage at the Fern Lodge in Chestertown,  is how the weather of late affects leaf color.  No one can fathom all of the variables that produce the fuzzy concept of “peak” color with any sort of scientific accuracy, but apparently warmish days paired with warmish nights, which is a fair description of recent weather, tamps down the brilliance produced by the death of green chlorophyll, the unmasking of yellow carotenoids, and — the big crowd pleaser — the production of crimson anthocyanins.

Nevertheless, New York State’s I LOVE NEW YORK program, caps apparently obligatory, deploys foliage spotters in each county to report on how things are going as we progress towards peak and then rapidly away from it. These reports seem to be outside outside common language — they are informative, strange, marvelous.

I found this poem, hiding inside all the information, in the latest one:

Foliage

at the midpoint of change

some red leaves of average brilliance

near complete leaf transition.

Trees on some hills are still very green

while other hills have much more color.

Look for some pockets.

Muted hues of goldenrod, russet, and copper

amidst the ever diminishing green.

Muted shades of yellow and a little orange,

along with some beautiful rusts and pockets of red.

Muted shades of gold and bronze,

highlighted with apricot and orange.

some bittersweet oranges

and ruby reds.

When I look back on summer 2011, I will always remember the last few moments of this late August day, in Vancouver’s improbable urban park called Stanley.

At the moment I snapped these photos, it was very hard to remember that I was in the midst of Canada’s third largest metro. In fact, Stanley Park is apparently the among the largest urban parks on the continent. It’s visited by around eight million people a year, although its thousand or so acres didn’t feel at all crowded.  Read the Stanley’s history here, after you give this summer a last, lingering look.