Detour Worth Making: Virgina City’s Red Light Museum

by Willy Volk on

Gosh, nothing screams sexy like cowboy prostitutes from the 1860s. Named after the most famous prostitute of Virginia City, Nevada, the Julia C. Bulette Saloon now stands as a tribute to that city’s “favored soiled dove.” Open daily from 10am-9pm, a $1 admission gains you access to the so-called Red Light Museum, which displays a variety of vintage erotica — like a lipstick tube condom case and a, um, self-pleasuring device — as well as a gruesome, yet pleasantly chiffon’ed, diorama displaying Bulette’s death, a crime for which the French perpetrator was summarily hanged.

After the Museum tour, you’ll no doubt be parched. Fortunately, right down the street from the Museum is the gorgeous, if not creepily-named, Bucket of Blood Saloon. Mosey on down and grab you a sarsaparilla.

It sure looks like it’d be a fun stop, if the city weren’t haunted. Yup, The Silver Terrace Cemetery reportedly has a glowing headstone, and the Gold Hill Hotel has ghosts that greet guests.

Detour Worth Making: The Icelandic Phallological Museum

by Willy Volk on

In an otherwise unassuming building, in extreme northern Iceland, sits the only museum in the world to contain a collection of phallic specimens belonging to all the mammals found in a single country. That museum, The Icelandic Phallological Museum, dedicated to the science of phallology, contains more than 150 penises and penile parts of a variety of Icelandic creatures — including those from an Icelandic Christmas lad, a Merman, a Changeling, and an Elf. More unusually, the museum’s collection also includes penises from whales, polar bears, reindeer, and mice.

In addition to the biological section of the museum, visitors can view the collection of “artistic oddments and other practical utensils related to the museum’s chosen theme.” Umm…you got me.

Open noon to 6 p.m. from May through September, the museum’s curator, Sigurdur Hjartarson, is passionate about his subject and happy to show you around the place. Just be careful of some of the questions you ask him.

Detour Worth Making: Nieu Bethesda’s Owl House

by Willy Volk on

Of all the side trips I’ve taken, the most interesting was a visit to Helen Martins’ Owl House. Born in 1897, “Miss Helen” suffered through a failed marriage, the death of her parents, and then, in her 40s or 50s, found herself alone in the dry, dusty, desolate Klein Karoo of central South Africa. Surrounded entirely by brown, Miss Helen decided to transform her environment. She hired local workers to install large panes of glass in her modest home. She began casting concrete-and-glass figures — playful, haunting, flat, but passionate — that she assembled around her property…maybe to keep her company. All 300+ of the figures face east.

Simultaneously, Miss Helen began collecting colored glass, grinding it to a fine powder, covering the interior walls of her home with glue, and spraying them with the glass. The effect — brilliant, shiny, kaleidoscopic, and dreamy — was more striking than paint. Unfortunately, it was also more dangerous, as her eyes, damaged from fine bits of flying glass, soon failed. In 1976, she committed suicide by swallowing caustic soda. Athol Fugard wrote a play, The Road to Mecca, about her, and This Is My World is a photo-essay of her dreamscape-home.

Today, the Owl House stands as a tribute to this reclusive yet inspired woman. Smack in the middle of still-tiny Nieu Bethesda, this rural community has grown into a small but thriving artist’s colony. Though hours from the coast, it’s absolutely worth an overnight.

Detour Worth Making: New York’s Burp Castle

by Willy Volk on

Though I live in South Florida, I have friends in New York City. Next time I’m there, I’m going to insist we visit the inelegantly-named but beautifully-decorated Burp Castle. With its friendly vibe, cozy atmosphere, and soothing music, the self-ordained Temple of Beer Worship sports a fantastic beer selection (9 taps; 80 bottles). Despite its clunky moniker, the Burp Castle is is not a frat-boy bar where they belt out Creed. Rather, it’s a low-key destination for enjoying fine conversation — and even finer beers. There’s even a sign discouraging patrons from getting unruly.

Located at 41 East 7th Street, the Burp Castle features amazingly detailed murals of beer-brewing monks worshiping what they love most: finely-crafted beer. Surrounded by beautiful wenches, the monks enjoy the fruits of their labor while being bitten by sharks, hiding in barrels, teetering on ships at sea, doing their taxes, and other decidedly un-monk-ish activities. Nevertheless, it appears that the whole thing works well, as the reviews of the Burp Castle are as warm as the hues of the murals.

[Photo: Scott Beale / Laughing Squid]

Detour Worth Making: Florida’s No Name Pub

by Willy Volk on

Last summer, my wife and I treated ourselves to a long weekend and hit the Underwater Music Festival off Big Pine Key, Florida. While the Festival, itself, was pretty cool, the highlight of the trip was dinner at the No Name Pub. Claiming to serve the “greatest pizza in the known universe,” I was a bit skeptical, since it was so far out of the way. Nevertheless, we bellied up to the bar, and we ordered two draught beers and one Key Shrimp Pizza. The verdict? I haven’t been to the entire known universe, but I can pretty safely say that it was the greatest pizza in Florida.

Located at the end of North Watson Boulevard, 1.5 miles north of US1, and just before you cross the bridge to No Name Key, this off-the-beaten-path hideaway is the oldest bar on the island. Built in 1936, the brothel that existed during the early days was exchanged for a killer pizza recipe. Visitors to the Pub are encouraged to decorate a dollar to hang on the walls or ceiling; there are tens of thousands of doodled-on bills covering them today. Dimly-lit, built entirely of wood, and featuring a sturdy bar to sidle up to, No Name is the pub pirates would call their own – except they’d demand, “Arrr, Matey…can we get some music in here?”

In short, no road trip to the Lower Keys is complete without a side trip to the No Name. You just gotta go.

[Photo: WavArt]