Coastal Voyager

Swimming with whale sharks at the Georgia Aquarium

My mother, sister, nephew and I visited the Georgia Aquarium, the largest aquarium in the world, after it first opened in Atlanta several years ago. We all were impressed with its many colorful and educational marinelife displays. The aquarium has numerous unique exhibits such as Tropical Diver, a reef system chockful of neon bright fish and the occasional crashing wave.

But the big "Wow!" moment came as we rounded a wall in one of the exhibits and unexpectedly came upon the aquarium's 61-foot-wide-by 23-foot-tall Ocean Voyager viewing window. We gaped through the towering acrylic window and saw mighty whale sharks swimming in the rich blue water at the top of the 6.3-million-gallon tank.

Schools of tarpon, pompano and cownose rays as well as individual zebra sharks, sawfish, leopard whiprays, bowmouth guitarfish and humphead wrasses swam below. Time stood still as we stared and marveled at the sea creatures that swam and floated before us.

Afterwards I often thought back to the spectacle of that viewing window, which still is one of my most memorable experiences as an avid snorkeler and aquarium aficionado. When I learned several months ago that it was possible to snorkel or dive in the Ocean Voyager tank through the aquarium's Journey with Gentle Giants program, I jumped at the chance.

Was I worried about the sharks in the tank? Although whale sharks grow to be 25 to 35 feet long or longer they eat plankton. And the other sharks are fed daily so they aren't a threat I'd been told by aquarium officials. As I've seen a number of non-aggressive sharks in open water while snorkeling and diving, I didn't give it too much thought.

I arrived early at the aquarium before my session so I'd have several hours to be mesmerized by Pacific sea nettles, leafy sea dragons, lionfish and other freaky wonders of the water world. One of my favorite stops at the aquarium is the 100-foot-long underwater acrylic tunnel under the Ocean Voyager tank. There's something delightful about seeing hundreds of fish swimming above your head.

Before the swim my group was given an orientation, then we suited up in the locker room at the top of the tank. Although all swimmers are issued an airtank and regulator, they can opt just to use their snorkel, which was my preference as it's quieter. We entered the water one by one then our swim across the surface of the tank began.

Soon we were joined by four huge whale sharks and two large manta rays swimming alongside and just under us. I was soon entranced by the quiet of the deep, the sweeping tails and fins and undulating shapes of the creatures near us, and the cornucopia of fishes below. The wide expanse of one whale shark's spotted body slowly moved just beneath me and I became hypnotized by the multitude of white circular shapes that seemed to have been softly spray-painted on a gray ground.

Occasionally I glanced way down at the bottom of the tank just behind our group and would see a hammerhead shark cocking his head up and eyeing us. I felt he was particularly looking at me, and that made me a bit nervous. But then I would just reassure myself and turn my attention back to my bliss, the hauntingly quiet blue and the strange marvels inhabiting it.

Echos of the past: Exploring Boston's Public Garden and Freedom Trail

My exploration of Boston began a bit late in the day. After a therapeutic morning massage, I had napped for hours in my room at the Four Seasons trying to sleep off a bad cold. When I awoke that afternoon the overcast sky had cleared, as had my head, and the Public Garden was green and inviting outside my bay window.

The concierge gave me a map of the area and pointed out a few area attractions, including the Freedom Trail, and the street where I had dinner reservations that evening. I was a little on edge because of my lack of familarity with the city. A bit dazed and wondering what I might happen upon, I walked out and crossed Boylston Street to the garden. It was a start.

I instantly felt at ease in the charming Victorian-style park. Bands of colorful tulips lined the paths surrounding an elevated bronze statue of George Washington and his horse. Tall weeping willows lined a central pond traversed by a swan boat. The many cherry trees in the park were in bloom and their blossoms fell like snow. While the park was busy with visitors it wasn't crowded. After meandering awhile, I walked on across the garden and soon came to an exit that lead toward Boston Commons.

The commons, although just as vibrant green, was a larger, yet simpler park by far. The people in it who weren't resting on benches were walking decisively across the commons on their way somewhere. As the Freedom Trail began in the park, I decided to look for the beginning of the narrow red brick trail that's lead millions of visitors down sidewalks and across streets to 16 historic sites. Might as well follow the trail for a bit, I thought, since I had an hour or two before dinner. I couldn't help but marvel at the striking, gold-domed State House high on Beacon Hill.

As I continued on the way, I noted Park Street Church and then the Granary Burying Ground. School children were listening to their teacher tell them about Paul Revere, Samuel Adams and other historic figures buried there. It's something we all have in common growing up in this country and learning about these heroes of history as children. Being in the place where they were buried hit home with me. They no longer seemed like characters out of story, but real men who lived and died.

I paused for a bit at the Benjamin Franklin statue at the Boston Latin School he briefly attended, then smiled to see a Starbucks next door. The old and the new make for such an interesting contrast in the city. Skyscrapers tower above historic churches, meeting halls and other civic buildings.

Soon I came upon the Old South Meeting House, which was built in 1729 by a Puritan congregation. It was the largest building in colonial Boston, according to the history books. A placard noted Franklin had been baptized there and that African-American slave and poet Phillis Wheatley worshipped there. Something about the old church beckoned me to go in.

There in the main hall the high white walls seemed to echo with the words of Samuel Adams and others who fomented the American Revolution by protesting the Boston Massacre, impressment of Americans into the British Navy and tax on tea. Here the Boston Tea Party was set off as 5,000 colonists heard Adam's secret signal. Later the British used the hall as a riding stable for their calvary as they occupied the city in response to such civil unrest. Our country might be different if not for some of the words said here. But eventual independence seems to have been inevitable.

I had sometimes worried before that the politics of our time was more antagonistic than it had ever been, that liberals and conservatives have too often demonized each other and were polarizing the country. But any current conflicts are a lovefest compared to the rancor between Tories/Loyalists and Whigs/Patriots, I was learning.

The Loyalists, only 15 to 20 percent of the population, were frequently tarred and feathered or otherwise punished by mobs of "Patriots" if they voiced their loyalty to the crown or were suspected of it. It was a brutal time, but perhaps not quite as brutal as our beginnings with witch burnings and overrunning of Native Americans. We've come a long way, and if we do continue to falter, still we have made much progress by eventually opening our eyes to wrongdoing time after time, and correcting it.

I can't help but think it's because men and women continue to speak out against what they perceive be injustice and debate public issues, as they did and continue to do in the Old South Meeting House, that our country has become more civilized. These days we are less prone to tar and feather those whose opinions differ from our own. Our individual rights and freedoms are more often protected.

After the Old South congregation moved to a different location the old meeting house was to be torn down, and would have been if not through the efforts of early historic preservationists, including Ralph Waldo Emerson. Their efforts started a national wave of preservation. It's fitting that the Old South Meeting House, a museum and historic site since 1877, set off that revolution as well.

Walking our way back to Charleston, S.C.

If you ever visit Charleston it's sure to stay in your mind as a near-perfect place. "If only more cities could be as charming and gracious," I thought the first time I visited. And when I recently returned, more than 15 years later, I felt the same way, yet even more so. Although I've visited many more cities now, Charleston is still one of my favorites.

Like such destinations as New Orleans, Key West, St. Augustine and San Francisco, it's a U.S. city I will always want to get to know better. Charleston reminds me that we have more than a bit of the elegance of European capitals like London and Amsterdam here.

When you stay within the historic center of the South Carolina city, you feel as if you are more in a neighborhood than an urban area. It's neither too big nor too little, rather "just right" as Goldilocks would say. Plus it's beautifully set on peninsula between the Ashley and Cooper rivers coming together at Charleston Harbor.

Walking down Charleston's streets with lush landscaping, many parks, and carefully restored historic homes, churches, government buildings and businesses, you can't help but feel at home. Especially when one of the locals gives you a neighborly smile. There's something substantial and reassuring about all the wrought-iron gates and fences.

It's no wonder Charleston has served as an inspiration for the development of new walkable communities across the country where residential neighborhoods are footsteps from town centers and schools. Seaside, Florida, which was designed based on Charleston and other small historic cities, kicked off the New Urbanism movement in the early 1980s. The planning style, also known as Traditional Neighborhood Development, was later famously used for Disney's Celebration. One of my favorite of such new communities is Rosemary Beach, Florida.

Now the return to traditional city planning vs. separating suburban residential developments from business districts has become commonplace. Historic downtowns and their surrounding residential areas have been revived, restored and are highly sought after these days. While I'm definitely a fan of the original versions with their old-style craftsmanship, evolution over time and quirky character, I too respect how much easier it is to live in a brand new home built in a historic style vs. a charming money pit.

But you can never fully reproduce historic ambience. Charleston's past as a player in the Revolutionary War, a bastion of the plantation-focused, slave-driven South, and a reinvented modern Southern city, can not be replicated as if a movie set. There is no Charleston but Charleston. The angels and ghosts that protect and haunt it are part of what you feel when you walk its streets. While you and I may not be able to afford to live in Charleston, we can't afford not to saunter down its streets and listen to its stories.

As for myself I grew up in Homewood, Alabama, one of thousands of original traditional neighborhoods where you can easily walk to school, the library, church and town. As I adore to walk and look and think without crowds around to distract me, it was the perfect upbringing for me. Since then I have sought out such communities to live in where ever my work has taken me.

When I travel it's always a great pleasure to take a stroll anytime I'm in a walkable city like Charleston. It not only gives me a better feel for the place, I find that my experiences while walking remain memorable. I'm less apt to remember what I've only seen while zipping by in a car, van or bus. Probably that's because walking engages all the senses. While I'm walking I am smelling the fresh cut grass or the blossoming jasmine, sweating in the humidity or relishing a gentle breeze.

Perhaps that's why so many of us long for traditional communities and cherish those that come across our path. By luring us to walk rather than jump into a car, they wake us up to life.

Lighthouses of Cape Cod, Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard

Growing up in a landlocked southern city into my early adulthood, my knowledge of lighthouses was only based on photographs, movies and TV. From those sources it seemed almost all lighthouses were on the sea-sprayed rocky coast of Maine.

Even so, those representations stoked my early passion for the maritime icons, which continue to have a haunting attraction for me. I always search out lighthouses on my coastal travels. They are beautiful in their architectural simplicity as an obelisk or well-designed skyscraper. They are symbolic of the concept of a guiding light. And they have been lifesavers for mariners throughout much of recorded history.

History has it that before lighthouses a fire was set at the edge of the water or on a hill to guide fishermen and traders home. The first lighthouses are said to have been built by Egyptians, including the Seventh Wonder of the Ancient World, the Pharos Lighthouse of Alexandria. Erected around 270 B.C. and covered in marble that lighthouse is believed to have been somewhere between 450 to 600 feet tall. It stood for 1500 years until an earthquake brought it down.

Today many historic lighthouses are still used as navigational aids as a failsafe to high-tech navigational devices, including the country's first lighthouse, Boston Lighthouse on Little Brewster Island in Boston Harbor. Most of our lighthouses now are automated and managed by the U.S. Coastguard.

So I looked forward to seeing a plethora of lighthouses as I started my recent journey from Boston to Nantucket, Martha's Vineyard and Cape Cod. I thought, I've seen lighthouses all along the Florida coast, in the Keys, Great Lakes, Bermuda, the Caribbean, and even several on the Red Sea. But New England is the classic home of the lighthouse. Now I'll really see some lighthouses.

First I came across the tiny white-painted cedar shake Brant Point Lighthouse on Nantucket. To be honest, it looked cute but a bit dinky on its lonely beach as I approached the island on the high-speed ferry. Almost if it had been built by Disney. I thought of the towering 175-foot red brick Ponce Inlet Lighthouse near Daytona Beach, Fla., the first lighthouse I ever visited, and the second tallest in the the nation. I wondered if all lighthouses in this strange land of New England were small and quaint.

Fog rolled in that afternoon, and as I walked toward the 26-foot lighthouse feeling like Jessica Fletcher in Cabot Cove a la "Murder She Wrote," I saw the Brant Point Light flashing through the mist. This was no toy lighthouse, but a true navigational aid, I realized. I felt greater respect.

The next day, which was gloriously sunny, I returned to get a closer look and passed a friendly U.S. Coast Guard member polishing his station's brass bell. As I approached the lighthouse on the beach I was impressed by its stalwart character. I got the sense it perfectly suits its position guarding the charming town of Nantucket on the island of the same name.

A couple from Connecticut were also admiring the lighthouse. They assured me that each lighthouse in New England is delightfully different and worth visiting. Later I learned this Brant Point Light is on the site of the second lighthouse ever built in the United States. The first Brant Point Light was erected in 1746 and many other replacements were built after violent storms. The current sturdy version was constructed in 1901.

After the short flight to Martha's Vineyard, I visited the lighthouse on the dramatic clay cliffs of Gay Head. Now this grassy high point is a wonderfully romantic location for a lighthouse. The 51-foot red brick tower, built in 1856 as a replacement for the original Gay Head Light, reminded me a bit of Ponce Inlet. Although its flashing red light seems a little ominous, if I return I will bring a a picnic lunch and a blanket as I could easily spend hours there.

I also was fortunate while on the Vineyard to visit the Edgartown Harbor Light, which stands on a beach marking the entrance into Edgartown Harbor and Katama Bay. This white lighthouse with black trim has a classic shape.

The next stop on my journey was Chatham on Cape Cod, and there I was to come across several lighthouses. On the way out to Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge via Rip Ryder Monomoy Island Ferry, my group saw the charming Stage Harbor Lighthouse, which is now a residence. Not a one of us on the boat didn't wonder what it was like to live in a lighthouse station on the beach.

After we saw the amazing herds of grey seals on Monomoy Island, we caught sight of the brick tip of the Monomoy Light. The Monomoy Island Ferry gives tours of the lighthouse and the island in the summer, so if I ever get back that way ... Later I visited the Chatham Light high above a public beach, another classic lighthouse. In this part of the country, I was learning, you really don't have to go far out of your way to find a lighthouse.

On the way up to Provinceton, curiousity got the better of me and I pulled off the main road to check out the Cape Cod Light, also known as the Highland Light. One of the things that makes this lighthouse unusual is that there's a golf course surrounding it. Nice for golfers to play on the rolling hills with the majestic Atlantic Ocean such a deep blue beyond the high clay cliffs. So different from the days when many deaths along the treacherous coast necessitated the building of the lighthouse.

In Provincetown on my whale watching tour I caught sight of the squarish Wood End Light, now run by solar power. It's not too far from the classic round Race Point Light. There in Provincetown I also made up for not being able to climb any of the lighthouses I saw on my trip by trudging up the stairs of the 252-foot Pilgrim Monument. Like the Statue of Liberty, it easily could be used as a navigational beacon if need be.

After seeing so many Cape Cod and island lighthouses, I am even more interested in lighthouses than before. There is something reassuring about the solitary towers still standing through the generations. They make the seascapes more beautiful by their very being.

The price of tea in Chinatown, San Francisco, California

My friend and I took the cable car to Chinatown in San Franciso. She wanted to show me the wonderful sights, sounds and smells of the Chinese markets and apothecaries. Walking down into the heart of the area we were delighted by the festive atmosphere. There were colorful banners and signs and storefronts with Chinese architectural elements.

Along the way we came across a sign reading "free tea tasting." Hmmm. That sounded interesting. So we walked into the shop, which was empty except for a man and woman behind the counter.

The tea room looked brand new and had a vibrant red and gold decor, a long wooden bar and hundreds of containers of loose tea labeled in Chinese and English. Most of them seemed to be priced at $100 or more a pound. Yikes!

A young Chinese woman, who looked like a model, asked if she could help us as her male colleague, perhaps her husband or brother, was working with a loud drill near by. Because of the noise, the elegance of the surroundings and the price of the tea we said "we're just looking."

Just down the block we saw another tea shop, Vital Tea-Leaf Co. But this one had what looked to be a mixture of locals and tourists around the bar tasting tea. A man was pouring small cups of tea, and after he finished he motioned for us to sit.

The tea demonstrator was part stand up comic, part tea educator and part salesman. Soon he had us laughing and hanging on his every word as he brewed various teas for us to try. He got a little irritated when I kept snapping pictures of the tea demonstration. "What am I the Golden Gate Bridge?" he scolded. I got the message and put up my camera.

He prepared and served us various teas, including green, oolong, medicinal and floral. The rose tea was both pretty and tasty. One tea tasted buttery. The medicinal tea was bitter.

The tea demonstrator pointed out that more than 1,500 types of tea are produced across the world and so we shouldn't limit ourselves to Lipton tea bags.

I asked him if he was familiar with flowering teas, and he pointed to a shelf with multiple jars of them. Each tea ball turns into an artistic tea flower when soaked in water. They are delightfully exotic, yet are available in grocery stores back home.

I noticed the price of tea on the shelves of Vital Tea-Leaf seemed a little less expensive than the shop up the street, but still out of reach for my budget. Although my fortune cookie predicted wealth, I believe that may have meant a wealth of experience, at least so far.

Lipton's orange pekoe tea bags will have to do for me now as the source of my daily morning tea. Of course I'm going to be on the lookout for tea tastings as I venture out into the world. 

And don't be surprised if I occasionally treat myself to a cup of gourmet tea just as I sometimes invest in a glass of good red wine.

Mass transit, movies and mayhem in San Francisco, California

I only had a few hours to check out San Francisco via mass transit and walking, so I thought I'd be doing good to navigate from the airport in San Mateo to the Golden Gate Bridge. You can't have watched Albert Hitchcock's Vertigo without wanting to see the bridge in person. I had dutifully researched the route to get there, but was a little nervous. Although I have been a frequent traveler in recent years, I've rarely visited cities, and when I have it's been with a group via a shuttle bus. I hadn't used commuter rail, a bus or the subway in more than a decade.

All those movies and TV shows I've watched with crime-ridden city subway scenarios didn't help, not to mention Zodiac. Maybe I have seen too many movies. Still all the memorable movies and gorgeous photographs of San Francisco have made me long to see the city, and be willing to face some mass transit discomfort to do so. As the poet John Berryman said "We must travel in the direction of our fear."

Luckily I met a friendly lady from Israel on my San Mateo County hotel shuttle to catch the Bay Area Rapid Transit train. She soon was asking me if I wanted company on my foray into the city. Along the way we learned from the helpful BART attendant that we could see the Golden Gate Bridge from Fisherman's Wharf, and that Chinatown was not too far from the wharf on the way back to a BART station. That sounded good to us.

So we disembarked from the Embarcadero station and began the 20-minute walk down Embarcadero to Pier 39 and the wharf. Our route past the city's many neat-and-clean piers and warehouses gave us great vantage points to take in the San Francisco skyline, including the signature Transamerica Pyramid, and the rolling hills that give the city its unique character. I thought about how photographs, film and video capture such small parts of cities, landscapes, etc. You have to be surrounded by a place to really get some sense of it, even a real taste of it. Photographs and words are just invitations to the party.

After awhile we passed an Alcatraz tour boat, and then there it was rising serenely from the bay: the infamous Alcatraz. Talk about movie locations. The ironic contrast of the brutal history of the prison with its huge popularity with popcorn-chewing tourists today cannot be missed when you're there to witness it. Of course if I'd had the time I would have gone to get an eyeful myself.

We kept walking and watching, and then I saw something that shocked a forgotten image from my memory. It was a bank of trees in two parallel rows. Their almost leafless branches reached up in a contorted gnarly way that was both beautiful and alarming. I remembered seeing a line of such trees about 30 years before in the 1978 remake of the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The trees, which do look to be from an alien planet, figure prominently in the horrifying ending of the film. I was mesmorized looking at them again.

Could these be the same peculiar trees? I had never seen them before anywhere else. The background was different I vaguely remembered. Later I saw them again when touring the picturesque Filoli Gardens in San Mateo, and learned from our guide they were London plane hybrid sycamores. Their knobby branches are created by the ancient practice of "pollarding," a type of pruning which gives them a unique look for gardens and keeps them from outgrowing their urban environment. See, I told myself, they're not so spooky afterall.

Through googling I learned the film was indeed set in San Francisco and the background of the trees in question is the San Francisco City Hall.

After nosing around Pier 39 and the Wharf, seeing the ghostly outline of the Golden Gate through a light foggy haze, and being introduced to the delights of Dungeness Crab, my friend and I took a cable car to Chinatown. The ability of the cable car to easily climb and descend the many steep hills of San Francisco helped me get why it's still so popular a means of transportation there. Soon the cable car attendant was calling out the stop for Chinatown and we disembarked for our next adventure: tea tasting.

When it was time for me to get back to my hotel so I wouldn't miss my San Mateo tour reception I walked to the downtown shopping district with my new friend where we parted ways. And then in possession of a good mass-transit map and having the ability to ask strangers for directions, I found my way to the Civic Center BART station and was soon speeding back to my hotel with a big smile on my face.

The joy of seafood: Discovering Dungeness crab on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco

Part of what makes traveling to coastal regions so rewarding is having the opportunity to enjoy the fresh local seafood. Recently I had my first mouth-watering taste of Dungeness crab in San Francisco. Now I know why the species is called Cancer magister, "master crab."

I had a feeling the big red crabs I saw cooking outside of Nick's Lighthouse on Fisherman's Wharf were going to be something special. Folks were sitting on nearby benches with paper baskets heaped up with legs and claws or fried calamari, munching happily. My friend had spied them as we wandered along the wharf and suggested we check out Nick's.

We decided to go inside the cozy restaurant filled with well-worn burgandy vinyl booths and historic maritime memorabilia. Nick's opened in 1934, and it doesn't look like it's changed much in all those years. Fortunately we timed our visit right, as there was an empty booth for us.

While my friend ordered the fried calamari, I opted for an order of the crabs. The $27 price tag for a full crab and salad convinced me to go for half a crab at $13.99. After all, I had to save a few dollars to try the local beer, Anchor Steam.

We chomped on a basket of sour dough bread and waited, wondering if the seafood in this tourist-area restaurant we picked on the suggestion of nobody was any good. When the waiter brought in my glistening crab pieces with nutcracker and a tiny fork, I asked what I should dip it in. "Most people eat it plain," he said, so I took his advice.

After the first bite I knew I'd made a mistake opting for the half crab, because the crab was so fresh, sweet, tender and moist that it would have been worth every penny at twice the price. My friend also enjoyed her calamari, which I tasted. It was some of the freshest calamari with the best breading I've ever put in my mouth.

When I asked the waiter about the crab, he said it was Dungeness crab, which is found in the Bay Area. Later I learned the range of my new favorite crab is from Santa Cruz, Calif., just south of San Francisco, to the Aleutian Islands in Alaska. It's named for the town of Dungeness, Wash. Fortunately my visit fell within crab season, which runs from mid-November to May.

The 8- to 10-inch-wide Dungeness crab has a meat-to-shell ratio of about 25 percent, much higher than the typical 15 percent ratio of other crabs. Always before I had thought eating crab was a lot of work for little payoff, and had preferred crab dishes over eating the crab right out of its home.

The legs and claws of the Dungeness holds much of its meat. Sometimes it's good to have big legs!

The oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere

From the outside, the Mikve Israel - Emanuel Synagogue looks much like all the other 18th century Dutch colonial buildings in Willemstad, Curacao, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's a cheerful yellow with white trim and a red-tile roof. You wouldn't guess it's a place of worship, or suspect it's the oldest synagogue in the Western Hemisphere.

Mikve Isreal - Emanuel can claim that title because it's the oldest synagogue still standing that has has been continuously used for religious services. It was built in 1730 by a Sephardic Jewish community that had relocated to Curacao from Amsterdam.

As I always am intrigued by houses of worship whether they be Christian, Jewish, Moslem or whatever, I made a point to visit the synagogue and the adjacent Jewish Historical Museum.

After paying an admission fee I first visited the synagogue, which I had heard had a sand floor. The biggest surprise was the contrast of the simple sand with the regally appointed sanctuary. It features imposing white columns and rich mahogany pews, theba (reader's platform) and hekhal (holy ark where the Torah is kept),  accented with tall brass candlesticks and huge brass chandeliers.

Something about the humble sand and the glory of all above it brought tears to my eyes. I slipped off my clogs and put my feet in the cool sand, then drank in all the beauty around me.

Afterwards I visited the museum, first passing through a small courtyard with replicas of delicately carved tombstones from a historic Jewish cemetery. Within the museum I was surprised to see how ornate the historic religious objects and vestments of the rabbi were. It made me think of Catholicism and Orthodox Christian churches I've seen. Later I read the early community had been influenced by the Catholicism of its Portuguese homeland.

Again I was reminded of the similarities of religions back to the time before the pharohs. Having grown up in a ultra-plain Protestant church I will always be intrigued by other religion's rituals and artifacts. What's beautiful creates bliss and a spiritual state of mind.

Finding the world in Curacao

My recent return to Curacao, more specifically Willemstad, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, allowed me to understand a little better the Caribbean island I just got a taste of on my first trip two years ago.

Curacao, sister island of Aruba, is home to 45 different ethnic groups from across the world. Natives of the island typically speak at least four languages fluently (Papiaments, Dutch, English and Spanish). Even the waterfront business district of Curacao's capital, Willemstad, is a rainbow of colors.

I originally visited Curacao for Carnival, and had the opportunity to march in one of the festival's parades. There's something about dancing down the road with a group of people from milky-white to espresso-brown celebrating together. I had such a healing, inspiring "We are the World" feeling that even now brings back fond memories.

While in Willemstad on my first visit I had the opportunity to tour Museum Kura Hulanda, an anthropological museum that explores the several of the primary cultures of Curacao. The museum was created by Jacob Gelt Dekker, owner of the adjacent Kura Hulanda hotel. One of the most in-depth areas of the museum chronicles the African slave trade, showing how much of the world either participated in it or was affected by it, and still is.

Formerly the grounds of the museum and the hotel were the site of slave trading on the island. But instead of silently ringing with the cries of inhumane treatment Africans experienced there, the place resonates with a great peace. Perhaps that's because its past has not be forgotten and its present is filled with beauty and a giving spirit. Dekker, a global entrepreneur and traveler, has founded many organizations that assist the children of Curacao, Africa and many other countries across the world.

His hotel, Kura Hulanda Hotel, a series of restored Dutch colonial homes, cobblestone streets and lush, green courtyards is a place of such peace and beauty, that I yearned to stay there when I first visited the museum and grounds. I was thrilled when the opportunity to do so recently came my way.

The several days I recently spent there filled me with peace and reinvigorated my spirit. In addition to taking the shuttle out to the sister property, Kura Hulanda Resort, for some oceanside pleasures, including snorkeling, I primarily spent my time relaxing at the boutique hotel and walking in Willemstad.

There's something wonderful about cozying up with a biography of Charles Darwin in a reading chair in a room that was built around the same time Darwin lived. (The only thing more relaxing was the massage I received in the spa.) Times I wanted to connect with my present, I took my laptop out to one of the property's many courtyards or al fresco cafes and chatted with friends via Facebook.

One of the high points of my trip was meeting Dekker and talking to him about some of his projects, including the medical diagnostic facility he's planning for Kura Hulanda. That operation will complement the dialysis center he also operates adjacent to the hotel. After talking to him I felt like I'd met a true Highlander, an immortal who has lived and touched many lives.

When I was younger I felt little to nothing was being done to help the downtrodden of the world, but I have become more optimistic. As I have lived I have been fortunate to meet people like Dekker, with both resources and desire, who are making a huge difference. But all of us can make some difference. Even if it seems small to me or you, it's huge to the person who is helped.

Lyrics of We are the World
by Michael Jackson and Lionel Ritchie

There comes a time
When we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one
There are people dying
And it's time to lend a hand to life
The greatest gift of all
We can't go on pretending day by day
That someone, somewhere will soon make a change
We are all a part of God's great big family
And the truth, you know love is all we need

[Chorus] We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me

Send them your heart
So they'll know that someone cares
And their lives will be stronger and free
As God has shown us by turning stones to bread
So we all must lend a helping hand

[Chorus] We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day
Just you and me

When you're down and out
There seems no hope at all
But if you just believe
There's no way we can fall
Well, well, well, well, let us realize
That a change will only come
When we stand together as one

[Chorus] We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day
So let's start giving
There's a choice we're making
We're saving our own lives
It's true we'll make a better day