The alleys turn to dust

Posted on February 2, 2012 by admin

By Jeffrey the Barak.

When a city or a state runs out of money, it takes longer for potholes to be fixed in the roadway. It takes even longer for sidewalks to be repaired, despite their upheaval due to short-sighted tree planting decades ago.

But far behind on the priorities, are the service alleys. Behind the houses and the apartment buildings of Los Angeles, service alleys are slowly but surely turning back into the dust that lay there before humans arrived here.

There is no money to repair them, so every time a car drives over the remaining pieces of asphalt, the once smooth blacktop becomes smaller and smaller fragments, rubbing together to form finer and finer gravel, and finally dust. On a windy day, the average alley can shed a hundred pounds in weight, and that dust goes somewhere else.

There is enough gravel, that was formerly asphalt, in the storm drains to pave a small town. Assuming the city and state budgets never recover, we can also assume that our service alleys will one day become country dirt roads, dotted in mud puddles of various depths on a rainy day, and making their way slowly but surely into the Pacific ocean, as if this great flood plain never had a Los Angeles built on top of it.

Lahaina Noon in Hawai’i

Posted on May 21, 2011 by admin

By Jeffrey the Barak

The State of Hawai’i is the only place in the United States in which you can lose your shadow, outside, in the middle of the day. when there are no clouds. In Hawai’i this is known as Lahaina Noon and it happens twice a year, but on different dates, depending where you are within the State.

At the equator, which is far South of Hawai’i, the Sun is also overhead twice a year, at the spring and autumn equinoxes, which are usually around March 21st and September the 21st. The twice yearly equinox gives every place on Earth a day as long as the night, but since the twilight before dawn and after dusk is a kind of daylight, the days seem longer than the nights, even at the equinox, and the further you are from the equator, the longer the period of twilight.

On each Tropic, right on the imaginary line on the globe or map at 23.5 degrees North or South, the sun is overhead once a year. For the Northern Tropic of Cancer it’s on or near June 21st and for the Southern Tropic of Capricorn it’s on or near January 21st. These dates are Midsummer’s day in the corresponding hemisphere.

For any place in the tropics, that is between 23.5 degrees North and South, you can lose your shadow on two certain dates each year. North or South of the tropical zone, the sun is never overhead.

Lahaina Noon is named for the old Hawaiian capital Lahaina, on the Island of Maui. Because Hawai’i is spread over a large area, the dates for Lahaina noon vary greatly from the last piece of dry black lava rock at South Point on the Big Island to a small rock off the Northern tip of the island of Kauai near the Kilauea Lighthouse.

In Honolulu, O’ahu, Lahaina Noon is on May 26th or 27th and June 15th or 16th as the sun approaches and recedes from it’s rendezvous with the Tropic of Cancer on June 21st. The dates may vary each year because while our solar system is fairly consistent, our calendars are flawed by their strange political history.

In Hilo, Hawai’i, it’s usually May 18th and July 24th, because its further South.

In it’s namesake town of Lahaina, Maui, the dates are usually May 24th and July 18th.

Author Jeffrey the Barak thinks too much about stuff like this when he could be doing something useful.

2010 Columbus Day Rant

Posted on October 11, 2010 by admin

By Jeffrey the Barak

I hope that our post office and banking employees have a very nice day off today, for Columbus Day, but let’s not forget, he did not discover America, He did not come to America, and he was by today’s standards an all round horrible guy.

We can thank him for murdering natives, enslaving random peoples he encountered, delivering disease, and all manner of other great achievements, but to celebrate him with a holiday or to enshrine him as a discoverer is not appropriate.

There is still much discussion about exactly how and exactly when the Native Americans arrived and spread over the continent, and then of course there is further discussion regarding possibly more recent Polynesian and Chinese naval visitations that are pre-Columbian, and we have solid evidence of Leif Ericsson’s pre-Columbian settlement on the East coast. (Yes I know his name can be spelled several ways).

But the failure of Columbus to discover the American continent was the nicest thing he ever did. And yet in the United States we honor him with a holiday, we call a region, the District of Columbia and we have named many cities and towns Columbus. In South America, an entire country is named Columbia, and then there is CBS, and there are hundreds of other other businesses flaunting his dirty name. Perhaps one day we’ll do something about it, but for now, lets start by telling the kids the truth about this scoundrel.

There are many articles and books describing the real Columbus. Rather than go further here, I will offer a web link to a page by Roy Cook, published on AmericanIndianSource.com: http://www.americanindiansource.com/columbusday.html

This splendid introduction to the dark truth of the history of Columbus is a good starting point for further reading and contains external references.

Mauna Kea in Hawaii – Driving to the Summit of this Grand Volcano

Posted on May 15, 2010 by admin

By Steven Anderson

The summit of Mauna Kea is called Puu Wekiu and it is at an elevation of 13,796 feet. This is the highest point of land in the Pacific Basin. An interesting fact about Mauna Kea is that if measured from the bottom of the ocean floor, it reaches nearly 30,000 feet which would make it the tallest peak on earth.

Visitors flock to Mauna Kea for a variety of reasons. There are 11 domes and 13 telescopes at the peak of Mauna Kea which attracts professional and amateur astronomers alike. Others come for the amazing viewpoints, unique bird watching and rugged hiking. Others come to Mauna Kea just to say they did so.

The drive up Mauna Kea takes about an hour. At the start, the driver will see typical Hawaiian tropical vegetation. As you pass sea level, the landscape changes to grass pastures and then into raggedy looking forests of koa and ohia trees. These thin out at 6,000 feet and the landscape becomes dominated by barren lava flows. The sub alpine regions found after the 6,500 foot level still support a few koa and ohia trees and even the rare mamane tree. All vegetation beyond 8,500 feet becomes very scarce.

The mountain is home to some excellent bird watching. The rare, yellow-crowned palila bird can be seen here. The endangered Hawaiian honey-creeper can be seen here as well. This bird only feeds on the seed pods from the scarce mamane tree. Less rare, but still interesting birds such as the uau (Hawaiian petrels), nene (Hawaiian geese), io (Hawaiian hawks) can also be seen on Mauna Kea.

The first step to reaching Mauna Kea is to drive Saddle Road (Route 200). This road is listed as off-limits by many of the car rental agencies. Thrifty will allow its rental cars on saddle road but advises against this practice. The roads are narrow with little or no shoulders and there are no emergency phones on this route should you encounter a problem.

You take the turn off from Saddle Road to Hale Pohaku and the Onizuka Center for International Astronomy Visitor Information Station. This leg lasts 7 miles and takes the traveler to 9,300 feet. This section can be driven by a normal car but it does feature very steep and windy roads. If you are driving a Thrifty rental car, the Visitor Center is as far as you are allowed to go. Harper’s Car and Truck Rental does rent vehicles for the exact purpose of getting from the Visitor Center to the observatory.

Please remember to bring warm clothing on this journey. Even in the summer temperatures can reach the low 40s. Also make sure to fill up the gas tank before you go. The steep grade and thin air pushes the car into very poor gas mileage and there is nowhere to fill up at the top.

(2006 – February) Steven Anderson is the Reservations Director for Hawaiian Discount Car Rentals, specialists in Maui car rentals. He has personally driven to the top of Mauna Kea and rates it as one of the most panoramic views in his travels to Hawaii. Please visit http://www.hawaiidrive-o.com.

How Art Almost Killed An Entire People

Posted on October 1, 2009 by admin

By Jeffrey the Barak

At times, we wander the galleries and see pieces of art that look as if they could hurt someone, or kill someone, but in a way this has actually happened.

I refer to a place commonly known as Easter Island. This is its modern name, given to the place by Christian explorers from Holland in 1722 when they happened to come across this land on their Easter Sunday.

For most of history, This place had no name, and no inhabitants, but at sometime between 400 and 600 C.E. a human civilisation, the Polynesians, found it, and it became known as Rapa Nui.

We know from the surviving Polynesian people here and across Oceana that for at least two thousand years, their relatively advanced society was capable of trans-oceanic explorations by canoe that no modern sailor in their right mind would dare attempt. By contrast, the people of the nations that would later become the worlds explorers, the Britons, the French, The Spanish, The Portuguese, The Dutch were by comparison, quite behind in terms of long-distance seafaring.

Even the Mediterranean traders of the day would have been amazed at the voyages back and forth that the ancient Polynesians embarked upon.

So art came to Rapa Nui with its first people. It is generally accepted that they came from either the Marquesas Islands or Mangareva, which like everywhere else, are very far indeed from Rapa Nui.

The oral history tells us they brought plants, food animals and tools and their mission was colonization. The climate on Rapa Nui was certainly not the tropical paradise they were used to so they had a lot of adaptation to do in order to survive and thrive.

Rapa Nui was covered in trees, palms and other types, and drinking water was naturally gathered in volcanic craters, despite the islands absence of rivers or streams. The island also had obsidian, great for making cutting tools and weapons, and it had lot of special rock which we call lapilli tuff.

Some say the islanders employed slash and burn techniques to clear land for farming, and others say, they used up all the wood in order to make and transport the huge stone statues that Rapa Nui is now famous for.

With the forest cover gone, the rain and weather eroded the topsoil and famine ensued. But lets take a step back and focus on the art.

The art of Rapa Nui is divided between two periods. The Moai period and the Birdman period. On other islands in Polynesia, there were statues, (Moai), atop shrines, (Ahu). which were representations of chiefs (living and dead) and the gods in which they believed.

Dead chiefs were sacred, and after their life passed, their representative Moa remained. Rapa Nui has around 900 such moai, either standing, toppled or partially completed, still in the quarry or partway to their final site. There are about 360 ahu. The moai did not look out to sea, as commonly assumed, but they faced away from the sea, towards the villages. Some completed and erected statues had white coral eyes and wore stone hats or top knots called pukao, carved from a rock that was more red (scoria).

There is much debate as to exactly how the heavy statues were moved, assembled, erected etc. They are so heavy, that engineering on a grand scale was definitely needed, but the methods used have passed from memory.

It seems clear that at some point, the statues were worshiped as gods, and were a means of control for the ruling society, called the “Long Ears”. Everyone else, lived as subjects of the ruling Long Ears. However they were not slaves, but simply lowly subjects of the rulers, who would eventually rebel aginst the Long Ears and topple the very statues that generations suffered to construct.

It is said that so much wood was expended on the statue making that the islanders could no longer build canoes, so they became unable to travel to and from other parts of Polynesia. However, it is possible that the forests were burned to clear land, without any understanding of the long term environmental consequences. Without canoes, there was little opportunity to fish offshore, and without the lush vegetation, farming was all that was left.

So in isolation, with the natural resources of the island being eroded, burned and used for making statues, the people sealed their fate. Numbering as high as seven thousand in its heyday, the society on Rapa Nui became unsustainable with the resources at hand, and they were unable to leave or go for help.

Eventually, out of this declining situation, a powerful warrior class emerged, called Matatoa. And a change of power and leadership ensued. This also heralded the second art movement. All of the statues were toppled, some face up, some face down, and a new, even sillier religion began to dominate.

This was the birdman cult, (Tangatamenu). Once a year on a small island off the coast of Rapa Nui, migrating birds laid eggs. It was a bountiful annual harvest. The young warriors would hold a swimming race across the rough, shark-infested straits between the main island and bird island. The first man back holding an intact egg became absolute ruler for exactly one year, until this was repeated.

In the time after the upright moai, the art consisted of carvings and drawings on rock, depicting a bird-man character. Again the sheer quantity of this art in the virtual absence of all other, shows us that life at the time was all about the birdman. And a new monotheism emerged, coincidentally featuring a single, creator god, not the Jewish-Christian-Moslem one, but one with the name Makemake.

If the Western sailing ships had never found Easter Island, the natives may or may not have survived to this day, but considering what the sailors did to them, it is amazing that any have survived. The so-called advanced civilizations from Europe murdered, enslaved, kidnapped and infected the people with diseases such as smallpox and syphilis, and those few who survived these horrors were later subjected to forced Christianization.

As a result of the missionary subjugation, at this point there was no more art for a long time. The island was culturally dead until relatively recently when inhabitants of Polynesian decent began to nurture their cultural heritage, which amazingly still has much in common with other far way parts of Polynesia. And so through dance, costume, cuisine and the tatoo, the art of the island survives, but this time it wont kill them, it may save them, from us.

Scooterer Stories, Part Sixteen – Around the Sea of Galilee

Posted on March 26, 2009 by admin

“Round and around the Sea of Galilee we go”!

Good morning all. Don’t leave anything behind. We ain’t comin’ back to Kare Deshe.

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Route decided… lets go.. early start..have packed breakfast..lets go watch sunrise from Syrian plateau ?? On the way I will let you walk for a few minutes on the newly made pavement, passed the pink Greek Church

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and I’ll pick you up at Capernaum gate

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Gamla will not be open so early but from a high view we watch the sunrise in the east.. and in the west we see the colors sunrays on the cliffs inside . Gamla, and if we are lucky we may see some eagles flying..

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We will make a quick visit to a special friend at his home on a moshav..I’ll tell you a little about that.

Way back on one of my first trips staying at KD I heard about a “mountain-bike event”, and tried to get some info.. I didn’t manage to get any start-times, routes, finish line and places the bikes would be at. By chance the next morning, on my very early morning scoot, looking for sunrise I saw a small bright green cardboard sign on a pole with a sketch of a bicycle ..that sign slightly reopened my interest in the event.

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I learned the event begins and ends at a venue ON one of many beaches on west side at Kinerret..so I followed the sign and soon found a man with a van with a trailer-full of mountain bikes that he rents on the beaches…he was not connected to any event, but did point me to where he thought the cyclists would be.

After some time n scootin’ around and asking several people I still could not get proper information, so I decided I will simply ride around and maybe by fluke I would get to see some of the bikes.

WHAT a weird coincidence ..as I scooted slowly, on the main road, I noticed on my right, several bikes heading down the track and close to me at the side of the road ..behind a fence, they were waiting permission to “cross the road”…

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and I noticed a man had stopped the traffic to let the cyclists get to the other side. Not a busy road at that time, so I pulled up next to this fellow and asked him “is this the mountainbike event”? ..he looked at me on my scooter, and his reply was “I know you” !…

what ! you know me ? huh !

We spoke a while and he told me where the event ends with a ride on the water edge

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to a beach..some kms. down the road..there was no problem, and I was allowed to follow the cycles, exept there were some big water pipes and concrete drains that I could not cross..easy for the cyclists

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..they simply lifted their bike and walked across the pipe. My scooter couldnt get across these pipes so I began the ride back to the road (about 15 minutes) then back to find the end of the event ??..but there are several beaches, and at each beach there were some mountain-bike happenings with barbeques and picnics, and many people, and I could not find him.

A relative of Albert’s, (known to me) had told him casually some years earlier that “one day” Lou will relocate to Israel..and who knows..maybe we will meet.

Another mutual friend visited Albert once and I would say everyone forgot about ..until he stopped me to allow the cycles to cross the road. A couple of his teenage sons were riding bikes and Albert’s job was to see they cross the road safely.

Albert had also seen a picture of me on my scooter in an insert magazine (more than a year earlier).. that is in every Friday Jerusalem Post..and he kept the article which included my fone number.

Eventually we connected and I visited at his home on Givat Yoav..a lovely moshav dealing mainly in dairy, and also has entertainment for visitors

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and his taking me around to every interesting spot on the moshav with full explanations.. and nearby places as well.

I have visited several times with scooter, and in rain season in rented car..and when Albert has reason to be in Netanya..we meet..and always talk about that incredible meeting.

So now we have to leave after our quickvisit and head on beautiful scenic road towards the Kinerret, where many places on the beach entice us. Some are simple beaches with trees and benches and tables where people will always be picnicking..and also luxury Kibbutz Hotels that draw visitors from everywhere in the world.

We will take a short walk along the waters edge a while at

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and take a cold drink from the kiosk. We will also drink a coffee in luxury, at HA’ON Kibbuts and walk about in the gardens..maybe we will be able to see their ostrich farm.

Then make a quick visit to the date factory/shop at Kinerret kibbuts..to buy dates and honey and other delicacies..(you remember we visited the baptism site the other day?)..this factory shop is just up the road.)

We will take a ride into Tiberias and see some ancient sites at the waterfront and see the movie about “Galilee Experience”, and take a bite at one of the restaurants in the center of Tiberias.

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Then another quick visit, this time to Dona Gracia Hotel but only a quick walk-about coz you aleady know all about that place…(earlier chapter). We will drive past Mayouhas Youth Hostel where I have stayed a few times…no easy parking so we wont visit.

I”ll show you 3 hotel buildings that were abandoned

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and other sites as well.. and stop a while at ADI viewpoint to take pics

We then head to Tiberias Illit (upper Tiberias) and find our way into to Switzerland Forest,

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a beautiful drive with breathtaking views

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and many lovely spots to sit around and picnic..

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( no kiosks or stalls here).. and then at south end of this drive, we will find our hostel at Poriya…for a one night stay.

Please feel free to email me louisdrinkingt@013.net

Renaming MyPop to POSSS, and recalling Banias

Posted on March 10, 2009 by admin

By Louis the Scooterer

Oh well.. I love being a quitter (like when I quit smoking !) but I hate being a “loser” as I am NOW with smokers all around.. and them winning, and by choice I need to leave a place.

Today.. this beautiful beginning-of-summer-morning..first cup of coffee at the square where the smokers were in the millions..even though there was a pleasant breeze.. I left when it became unbearable. I then scooted to coffee at Mypop which I now call POSSS (place of smelly stinking smokers)..as the other millions of smokers come there.

I get the impression that the owners / partners supply free cigarettes ? coz the place has become very popular, and remains a beautiful place. but, when many people are there, they have lost ME.. (who cares..no one gives a damn?)

Anyway this morn I even saw the owners smoking inside the restaurant !!.. thats bad news (for me), and my decision is to reduce my visits at mypop and go ONLY when they open in the morning, and when I can be the first one there.

Surely I will miss seeing the bikini beauties, and other people that I previously exchanged chats with.. but as I watched 3 newcomers sit at the next table 1 meter from me..all 3 began smoking.. then 2 others arrived and sat at another table 3 meters from me and both began smoking.. (and I refuse to take pics of smokers, any more.).. that means that the 5 newcomers were all smoking.. that means 100% newcomers were smoking ?? and while I breathed-in and swollowed their stinky smelly smells..I wondered at which place will I be happy.

I thought about my visit to such a place ..BANIAS.. and I relate here about that visit to that most beautiful place…

There are 2 main roads to the only Ski Site in Israel way up north, on top of Mount Hermon. The more popular route, takes you past the foot of Mt. Hermon where the source of Hermon Stream flows, at a mysterious place called BANIAS. I had visited Banias several times by scooter and in a rented car, and because I knew I couldn’t walk much, I usually stood at the entrance gate to this awesome place, received brochures and maps with walking routes.. and stared in wonderment what was directly in front of me.

The gigantic arched entrances into the mountain caves, waterfalls, running water, ancient workings and remnants of buildings, and knowing that much walking is required. But my old knee wouldnt allow..so I sat on the saddle or in the rentcar for a few minutes, took a picture or two, and then moved along to elsewhere. Well..this is my story about a proper visit, a couple of years later, after receiving a TKR (Total Knee Replacement). Now at this time, I am able to walk some distances, painfree (perhaps with some stiffness), and started doing what I hadn’t done for so many years.

I climbed up steps and walked on broken rocks and on beautiful grass lawns and next to the flowing waters in many areas in this incredible place, walking along the fast flowing very narrow streams and up and down rock steps and on muddy sand over little bridges through narrow tunnels. This was a new experience for a more than 70 year old scooterer..this trip was on my scooter. One of the excellent sites on internet is http://www.jafi.org.il/education/noar/sites/banias.htm. It was marvellous seeing many groups of children visiting this place, as well as many tour buses arriving with tourists from all around the world. There are also places with many tables and benches under trees for picnicking, or taking a rest.

There are several different routes to follow, and I chose what looked like the “easiest and shortest” (purple route). (Not to kid myself)..this was a long and most interesting winding route which comes upon a longtime-disused hydro-electric plant, and cellars and ancient flour mills and other buildings that need time to explore, and I walked crossed a Roman Bridge… and need to know where to make the left-turn at the correct spot…(to follow the purple arrows). I even came across a tiny kiosk run by an old Druze man, and I jumped back in time at least 100 years seeing this spot..and “chatting” with this “picturesque chap”.. and eating what he makes..a thin bread filled with goat cheese, with a cool drink, or his special blend of tea.

The streams flow non stop, and in wonderment I stand at many spots and take my hat off to those who designed these places for hikers and children and even older ones like me. I passed through underground tunnels to archaeological diggings, found plaques with English translations about what stands at a particular spot…and always found a place to sit in the shade.

Later I met with tourists from USA and another group from Nigeria. Many groups of Christians travel in buses with their church leaders and guides..and my take on that is, unfortunately the time they spent at this magic place, is far too short to really explore. I casually joined one of these groups and listened to a well informed guide telling about some of the spots where they stop..take pics..listen to a quick story..and move along.

After taking a coffee at the kiosk, and being very satisfied with my (new knee) achievement..and pleasantly tired..I chatted with tourists and staff, and listened to their stories. I then scooted along a couple of kms..down the road.. to the BANIAS FALLS.. and stood at the viewsite, and with my binoculars I could see many hikers of all ages, climbing up the pathways to eventually arrive at the Roman Bridge (where I was earlier).

I learned that at the spot where I was standing, there are 100 steps to the bottom to see the falls… and my decision was “those 100 steps down and up again” ??.will be for another time…and I waved goodbye to the couple who began the climb down.

Did I mention not to forget camera and wear comfortable walking shoes.. SO..dear reader spend a few minutes (google to Banias) and start planning your visit. Feel free to email me louisdrinkingt@013.net

Los Angeles, what are we standing on?

Posted on March 5, 2009 by admin

By Jeffrey the Barak

Geologists would say that the Los Angeles Basin is like a huge bowl of sand

The geologic center for the Los Angeles Basin is the place where the Los Angeles River and the river known as Rio Hondo merge in South Gate. At this central point, sand, silt, clay and other river sediments are the deepest. Actually in excess of 30,000 feet of sediment separate the surface here from the bedrock below. This is the height of the highest mountains in the Himalayas!

Surrounding this enormous bowl of sand are mountains, namely the San Gabriel Mountains, the Santa Monica Mountains, the Santa Ana Mountains and the Palos Verdes Peninsula. Just like today’s Santa Catalina Island, the P.V. peninsula was once an island offshore.

Geology can only be studied on vast time scales. Today’s Los Angeles Basin was once underwater. Fifteen million years ago a shallow sea covered today’s L.A. The mountains surrounding it, which are still here, were slowly spiraling around the sea as the Pacific tectonic plate ground it’s way Northward past the North American plate.

As the mountains slowly circled the sea, the Earth’s crust below twisted, stretched and cracked enough to allow molten lava to reach the surface. This newer crust began collapsing as it stretched thin, and eventually it formed a deep bowl of rock, above which sediments from not only the local rivers of the time, but also the sea itself, began to gradually give us our giant bowl of sand.

Small microorganisms also poured in and as they lived, died and settled in vast numbers, they slowly began to change under pressure to become today’s oil and gas deposits.

About 5 million years ago, the stretching of the crust stopped. As the bowl shrank, it continued to be filled with sediment and at the same same time, seismic activity started raising the level of the ground. The former ocean floor became the future backyards of the San Fernando Valley and Beverly Hills etc. As the sea floor became dry land, rivers such as today’s Los Angeles, Rio Honda, Ballona Creek, and countless others which are no longer visible from the city’s surface, meandered and flooded and cut and diverted and merged and separated over and over again.

It is this sediment that we call our ground today. There are fossils of sea creatures in the soil of our backyards. There are winding boulevards built over old rivers and streams, and when the earthquakes come, the sandy bowl always throws us surprises, with one block shaking itself to pieces right beside another block that barely moves.

It is this giant wobbly sandpit that contains our skyscraper foundations, our subways, and our utilities infrastructure. It is upon this sediment that we build our million dollar wood framed houses. In geologic time, it is but a moment since the first human set foot in the basin, and it will be just another moment before all traces of our stay here will have been buried or washed away.

And eventually, the continental plate upon which we rest, will be subducted and recycled in the magma. And as if that wasn’t enough, the Sun will one day swell to take back the Earth, then long after that, will die itself and our atoms will potentially spark a new life somewhere else in the unimaginably long distant future.

Jeffrey the Barak has lived in L.A. for more than twenty years. It has hardly moved during this time.

The hazards of imagining countries

Posted on March 3, 2009 by admin

By Jeffrey the Barak

Nomadic tribes move independently of each other and occasionally come together to interact through trade, war, sport, cultural exchange, intermarriage, murder etc.

In the dense jungles of South America and Africa and Asia, the boundaries formed by geographical features such as ridges and valleys are all it takes to keep two nomadic cultures apart in language and traditions, until they either form non-nomadic civilizations or continue to roam independently of their neighbors. Then there is fate. One tribe may come into contact with, and survive contact with, outsiders and end up with new lifestyles and technology such as outboard motors and clothing, whereas their immediate neighbors may escape detection for decades afterwards.

Tribes evolve into societies and eventually countries. We have seen it in today’s Israel, Lebanon, Jordan, Syria and surrounding areas and due to the fact that so many people have been exposed to the Old Testament of the Bible, and therefore have some awareness of nations and ethnic groups of the last two or three thousand years, it is easy to see how more modern politics and assumed differences can evolve into borders drawn on the map.

If just one or two things had happened differently in history, the map of the Middle-East might be totally different, because in all that famous history, recorded in the world’s best selling loosely-historical book, there were only a few hundred or a couple of thousand people involved in most of those old conflicts.

If you have a chance to find a map of the region that is now Afghanistan and Pakistan, a map made in the early or mid 19th century, you will see numerous regions defined by the make-up of the nomadic and semi-nomadic tribes and their leaders of those days.

Today in the United Nations, you will never see little signs naming Tribes of the Turkmens, Buhara, Pamir, Darwaz, Roshan, Shignan, Badakhshan, Kunduz, Khulm. Chitral, Maimana, Herat, Kafiristan, Dir, Kohistan, Svat, Buner, Shinaki, Punjab and more.

But these were names of regions, if not countries, on the maps of the day. Most are now either part of Pakistan or Afghanistan. The people of these regions are not necessarily Afghanis or Pakistanis, but the modern map tells them that’s what they are.

There are seven main ethnic groups in Afghanistan and Pakistan, and many more obscure groups, some extremely small and hardly known to this day.

And a failure to understand who these people are, who they were, where they came from and where they live now, means that occupying armies really do not have any clear idea who they are defending or who they are trying to kill.

Add the complication of different religions, most of which are opposing or slightly differing views from within the Islamic umbrella, and the complications deepen.

Shift West a few miles and look at Iraq. Like Pakistan, it is a modern country created not very long ago by outsiders. (The British, if you want to name names). Until the start of the current war, it held it’s violence and hate simmering below the surface, united by the common fear of their evil national dictator. But how many of those who voted to approve the invasion of Iraq had even a glimmer of understanding about the basic differences between the various peoples in the region? How many even knew anything about Sunni’s Shi’ites and Kurds, as they stood on the floor of the House and painted a picture of Iraqis cheering for parading American liberators marching triumphantly into Baghdad a few weeks after the Air Force blew it to bits for the good of the people.

Perhaps it is too late to swap the Iraq on the map for numerous ethnic regions, and too late to swap the Pakistan and Afghanistan of today into the little countries and regions that existed before. But on the other hand, perhaps these people can never be unified into countries. The very model of a country may not be applicable to people such as these. They remain tribal and separate, in culture and language.

Israel, Lebanon, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, all examples of relatively new countries, each with their own set of problems. Without ever understanding much about the people within, outside military forces jump in to help, and end up killing or displacing thousands and thousands of people either directly or indirectly

Surely a little research would be advisable?

Scooterer Stories, Part Fifteen – Bridges over the Jordan

Posted on February 23, 2009 by admin

By Louis the Scooterer

Okay early up, sunrise seen, breakfast eaten.. lets go find some bridges that River Jordan flows under…in this area.

Remember we stopped at Arik bridge which is on the main road, where the Jordan flows into the north end of Kinerret (Sea of Galilee).. where many people stop and walk across to the other side..often seeing kayaks and canoes on the water? Now we go the same place and a couple of hundred meters from that Arik bridge is another old wooden bridge across the Jordan.. I have never seen people here altho’ its a beautiful spot..and definitely warrants a few minutes drive on the back road to get there.

We get into Jordan Park http://www.weekend.co.il/maslulim/ramatg/p_yarden/indexE.htm where many bridges cross the Jordan and also many walkers bridges have been built.

In the summertime this is a hive ..thousands of campers and holidaymakers and the place is packed, and hot and muggy and everyone just love what they are doing.

I was lucky to drive there on a cold wintry day and the places were deserted, and I met a man in charge of kyak rentals camping complex, who invited me to sit and drink coffee with him, and chat, as he is alone for many days. He took me around and explained a few things about the place, and led me to a notice board which showed the height of the Jordan River when in flood a few years earlier.

Many small “walkers bridges” have been built and in some places the Jordan River has been diverted into narrow streams and is less than 15 inches wide..yes 15″…nevertheless it IS the River Jordan and the Ole-Man river..just goes flowing along.

I’ve previously told about the bridges at Naharayiim and the story about Aunties bridge. Now we will take a short drive to the ruined Aunties bridge, but there is really nothing to see other than broken concrete.

Anyway its worth a short climb over the the rocks to see the Jordan flowing peacefully like a little stream.
Note..the Aunties Bridge may have looked similar to the one in the picture below when seen from high up as it was a simple concrete bridge through the water.

A few of the other bridges are very imposing and well built as is the Green Bridge,

and the twin (one-way) wooden bridges seen below

which are known as Jacobs Daughters Bridges..one of which had been (recently) totally rebuilt for two-way traffic, and now looks like any regular bridge.. with metal handrails and a very narrow sidewalk..
and the other has been closed,

and will remain as a tourist sightseeing attraction.

While on my “finding Jordan river bridges” mission..

there was always “another one” to find and cross..and the last one I found and crossed is an ordinary concrete bridge..leading to a moshav Khulata.

On one trip with scooter I arrived at a point from where I could see a long straight gravelroad with the river on left, and I wondered if that will take me to a “Jordan River bridge” as it was not marked on my maps..then I had a flat tyre and luckily had a tin of foam that inflated the tyre to allow riding for several kilometers to a pump.

I took the long gravel road and found the final bridge, a simple concrete bridge without any name or descriptions… which I crossed and have since returned several times. That first time, I then crossed a very small bridge at a gate and carried on riding on another straight road on the other side of the river… and to my surprise I took a turning that took me via the back road.. and I scootered into the Khula Nature Reserve.
On that occasion I was made welcome by the security and other people who worked at the visitors center…many making a fuss about the scooterman coming in the wrong route.

On another occasion in a rentcar I took the same roads and on entering the reserve I was followed by security who told me I should not be on that road, as the small gate should have been locked..?? and I was escorted to the main entrance gate, to leave the car in the main car-park.

There are no entrance fees into the Khula Reserve but no private vehicles are allowed inside the reserve, as many visitors hire tricycles and walk on all the tar roads as well as all the side roads to the bird fields.

So I believe I found every bridge that crosses the river… and with exception to the 3 border crossings, I have crossed and walked over every bridge..even all the walking bridges inside the Jordan Park.

Unfortunately, not everyone respects the ole’ man River Jordan, and some places are full of garbage..even a supermarket trolley, and very often there are build-ups of branches and small bushes that are washed away in storms or big winds.

One of these bridges is so nondescript.. a simple sort of concrete wall fence..covered with overgrown shrubbery,

and I actually couldnt recognise it as a bridge..I was lucky to see a tiny sign about 12 inches square nailed to a tree, faded word reading…”Shalma” (name of that bridge).

Okay, lets break away from bridges and take a drive to HULA RESERVE. Lots to see and do, and after watching a movie about the place, we will not hurry. http://www.parks.org.il/ParksENG/company_card.php3?CNumber=422020

There are many activities and pedalcars and golfcarts can be hired to ride only on paved roads, and I suggest we go on tractor ride into the bird areas..tractor pulls a closed trailer with seats and gets us close to almost touch the various birds.

Dont forget your binoculars and cameras.

By the way..there are also several unimpressive bridges that cross the man made canals, when the Jordan River was diverted..to become the nature reserve that we see today.

During certain seasons there are hundreds of thousands of birds on the ground..everyone pecking at something on the earth..and surely every bird has enough to eat. Occasionally a few thousand will take off and fly around in a big circle above us..then land and carry on pecking.

I have also spent time in a birdwatching “building” where expert birdwatching guides and rangers will answer questions about what can be seen through the openings. Saturday is always busy and I was “clever” to return another day when I was given VIP treatment without large crowds..and every facility will be open and available. I was the only passenger on the bus that takes you around the complex and the driver answered all my questions and gave much advice, and suggestions.

After a tiring but very satisfying few hours we have a snack n coffee at cafetaria, and head back in the dark to spend our final night at Kare Deshe.
Please leave a comment, or email louisdrinkingt@013.net

Christmas in Las Vegas and Why I Don’t Gamble

Posted on December 27, 2008 by admin

By Jack Hunter Cohen

Spent the last couple of days in Vegas. I don’t gamble and it’s not my favorite place. And whatever happens in Vegas follows you everywhere. Sorry if that’s a buzz kill for anyone, but there it is. The lights are amazing. And there are so many of them. The sounds of distraction are as blatant as anywhere on the planet and everyone at the gambling tables has either got way too much money for their own good or are chasing the idea that if they win the next game they’re going to suddenly reach some sort of nirvana that’s been evading them elsewhere. That MAY be an oversimplification, but only slight, I think. And this isn’t to criticize anyone who DOES gamble. We all have our distractions as we all have our forms of self-medication. It isn’t that I want to rain on anyone’s parade either. The friend I was there to meet looked like he was having a genuinely good time. I even had a good time watching him at the craps table. It was late Wednesday and nobody seemed to be throwing anything that was going to make anyone any richer and since, as I said, I don’t gamble and I was there and I felt like I was in a scene from Las Vegas – The Movie! I offered to throw the dice for him. He agreed and after a couple of pretty good throws – or so I was told; I had no idea what any of this meant just that no one seemed particularly impressed with my skills – I rolled the dice for the third or fourth time and watched as one of them hit the other end of the table and flew off. This is not an unusual occurrence as it turns out, just one you don’t see in films. Why, I don’t know. It was pretty funny. But I digress.

As I looked around the casino I had one of my not infrequent experiences of feeling like an anthropologist on a foreign planet observing the funny little natives engaging in a strange ritual. Some of the very pretty dealers, dressed up in Santa suits designed by Hugh Hefner whose tables were empty, looked like if someone didn’t walk up and start playing soon they were going to start taking it personally. But far and away the best feature of this particular hotel – The Hard Rock – is the acoustics. Imagine this: You’re sitting at the bar and suddenly out of nowhere comes the voice of, not the person you’re speaking with but, someone from some other location. Only it sounds like they’re right next to you. They actually designed the place so that you could listen in on other peoples’ conversations from the other side of the bar. I suppose, you can never have too many distractions in a casino in Vegas on Christmas.

I do hope none of this sounds judgmental. As I said, we’re all in this thing together – whatever you want to call this thing. And so long as no one’s stepping on anyone else’s joy, as my friend James says, have at it. But after spending a few hours at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino and contemplating spending the night I decided my time would be better spent leaving.

Jack Hunter Cohen is a filmmaker and writer in Los Angeles

Dodging Rocks in the Holy Land

Posted on October 1, 2007 by admin

By Patrick Mascoe

I am not a Jew, nor am I a Palestinian. But for one month this summer, Jerusalem was my home. During my time there, I had the opportunity to travel through Jerusalems Jewish and Arab neighborhoods and into the West Bank. Reading about the Israeli-Palestinian struggle from the other side of the world is really no match for observing it from within. When I read a journalists rendition of the Middle-East conflict I notice how in vogue it seems to criticize mighty Israel and defend the oppressed Palestinians. Other journalists inevitably stay on the politically correct neutral path claiming both sides are to blame for the on-going dispute. The trouble I have with these views is that this is not what I saw.

As I stepped off the bus in front of my hotel, the first thing that caught my attention were the two soldiers on the corner decked out in full military gear. Both were carrying Uzis and looked ready to use them if necessary. I noticed that they werent the only ones carrying weapons. The hotel security guards all carried side arms. Within five minutes of my arrival into Jerusalem I realized that guns are a way of life here. For Israelis, guns are merely accessories, much like cell phones. Later that evening I also saw how security had permeated the Israeli mindset. Going to a grocery store required a search of my knapsack by armed guards, before passing through metal detectors. Outside on the street, soldiers were sweeping for bombs under parked cars. My immediate thought was who lives like this? My next thought, is this really necessary?

Israelis live everyday under the threat of violence. Hamas in the West Bank openly and vocally support the destruction of Israel. They believe that the land was consecrated to Muslims by God and is not negotiable. Israel fights with Hezbollah in Lebanon and Syria and battles daily with countless militant groups in Gaza. Insert into the mix Iranian president Mahmoud (the Holocaust never happened) Ahmadinejad and his continual threats aimed towards Israel. Include the fact that the entire Muslim World seems to be siding with the Palestinians, and that a number of them are willing to fight on their behalf. Add it altogether and you see why Israelis seldom smile.

The sad reality of life in Israel is that yes, you always need to be on high alert. I almost learned this the hard way one day while sightseeing. After visiting the Mount of Olives, three colleagues and I decided to walk back to the Old City. Along the way we stopped and watched a group of Hassidic Jews immersed in prayers. Suddenly, a rock, the size of my fist, landed a few feet to my left. There was no traffic at the time and no instant answer as to where this rock had come from. Someone yelled out, Take cover, theyre throwing them from up there. Sure enough, from the Temple Mount, people were throwing rocks at the Hassidic Jews below. The fact that I wasnt Jewish didnt seem to matter. The fact that Hassidic Jews are a non-violent sect of Jews who refuse military service didnt seem to matter. The fact that the Temple Mount is considered a holy sight to Muslims didnt seem to matter to those throwing the rocks. The rocks finally stopped, the Jews kept praying, and life simply carried on. Welcome to the Holy Land.

The internal administration of the Temple Mount was handed over to the Muslim council by the Israelis as a gesture of good will. They did so under the agreement that both Jews and Christians would have access to visit the sight. I tried three times and every time I was turned back with the same message, Muslims only. So much for good will; at least no one threw a rock at me this time. Coincidently, I was never turned away by Israeli Security from entering the Western Wall. Judaisms most holy site is open to all. Unlike the Temple Mount, which is considered the third most holy site in the Islamic world, after Mecca, and Medina. It is also considered sacred to Jews as it is the site where Abraham bound and almost sacrificed his son Isaac. Unfortunately, the Temple Mount is also the site of a great deal of controversy between Muslims and Jews.

Regrettably, this was a trend that often repeated itself during my time in Israel. I had read in my guide book and had been told by local Israelis that it was not safe to travel into any of the areas that were under the Palestinian Authority, such as Jericho and the City of David. Another area that was considered out of bounds was entering the West Bank and visiting Bethlehem. However, being a Christian and coming all the way to Israel, I simply had to see the birthplace of Jesus. Much to the dismay of my Israeli friends, off I went.

Crossing from Jerusalem into Bethlehem requires going through the eight meter high separation wall that is today at the heart of much public debate. For Israelis the wall is in place for their protection. According to David Horovitz, Editor in Chief of the Jerusalem Post, before the wall was erected and during the second intifata, Israeli citizens never knew if they would make it home from work each day. Bombs were going off every second day. The security wall has been the reason for the radical reduction in suicide bombings in Israel.

Those opposed to the wall feel it disrupts the movement and lives of thousands of Palestinians trying to get to work or school and that it stifles the West Banks economy and drives more Palestinians to extremism. One of my colleagues saw the wall as an oppressive barrier that demeans the Palestinians and referred to the West Bank as an Apartheid State. When I asked him if he would like to travel into Bethlehem with me his answer was a quick No I dont think it would be safe to go there. So, is it the wall that oppresses the Palestinians or is it their actions behind the wall that restricts their development as a people? The answer is probably a bit of both.

While going through the checkpoint into Bethlehem, I was surprised by the large number of Palestinians that possessed Israeli work permits. One gentleman told me they were easy to get and that there is always work to be had. As you leave Israel the last thing you see on the separation wall is a giant sign wishing, Peace Be With You. Once on the other side of the wall, now under Palestinian Authority, you are met with various messages of graffiti, none of which make you feel very welcome or secure. I saw the Star of David with a swastika through it, which might explain why there are no Jewish tourists. Slogans such as, Death to America, apparently $100 million in economic aid buys you little love in the West Bank, and Globalize the Intifata, advertising suicide bombers, may prove to be a poor way of attracting tourism. To be fair in Jerusalem I did see a painting on a wall of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad with bunny ears. However, within two days it had been painted over. The graffiti in Bethlehem has been there for a while and I would be willing to bet it wont be painted over any time soon.

Once inside, and traveling around Bethlehem, the Palestinians that I met seemed very nice. I ate at one restaurant and spoke openly with the owner who told me he had no problems with Jews and at one time they had all lived side by side. He felt the wall was responsible for hurting his business and stifling the Palestinian economy. He seemed like a pleasant, open-minded fellow. We just want to live in peace and have our independence. If only his fellow countrymen felt the same way. The problem again is that what I heard wasnt what I saw. Outside the restaurant, plastered along the walls of the buildings, were posters commemorating the deaths of the Palestinian suicide bombers. Looking back into Israel you could see where smaller walls have been built around Jewish neighborhoods to help defend them against the small arms fire that occasionally gets aimed their way from Bethlehem. One cannot claim to want peace and independence while supporting suicide bombers and a political ideology that calls for the destruction of your neighbor.

Israel is not without fault with regards to their conflict with the Palestinians. Israelis themselves will tell you this. But from what I saw and experienced in my short time there, was that the tolerance I witnessed by the Israelis was far greater than any I saw on display from the Palestinians. Most Israelis accept that the Palestinians should have their independence. Most Palestinians reject the idea that Jews have a right to a national existence in the Middle East. Palestinians claim that the Israelis are stopping them from gaining independence, yet, three times it was offered to them and three times they turned it down. Israelis feel the Palestinian Authority needs to guarantee and provide Israeli security. According to a 2007 Pew Global Attitudes survey, 70% of Palestinians support suicide attacks.

The real irony here for Palestinians is that their independence is within reach. In all honesty, why would Israel even want the West Bank? The assimilation of millions of Arabs would be a complete nightmare for the Jewish State. The demographic landscape would surely change with their arrival. Palestinians want independence, but along with that right comes responsibilities. The Palestinians need to recognize Israels right to exist.

The fact is Israel does exist and has existed for close to sixty years. In 1949, after Chiang Kai-Shek lost the Chinese civil war to Mao Zedong, he moved his government to Taipei. Mao Zedong declared that government an illegitimate entity, yet today Taiwan is universally recognized as a legitimate country. Pakistan was formed in 1947 as a result of Muslim separation from India. These countries, even those established by violence once established become part of the international community and are not forever denounced. Present Palestinian leader Mahmoud Abbas, must do what Yasser Arafat never wanted to do and that is accept the U.N. offer of a two-state solution.

The Palestinians must come to an agreement of peace with the Israelis and keep their word. The desire to reach a peaceful settlement would be done not due to any change of heart that they have erred in their disdain for Israel, but instead out of need for the development and well-being for the people of Palestine. As long as Israel feels the need to have to defend itself, walls, road blocks, and security checks will all remain. Both sides claim to want peace but until the Palestinians start showing that the love of their children and their future is greater than their hatred of Israel, there will be no peace in the Middle East.

Patrick Mascoe is a well published freelance writer who has in the past shared travel articles with the readers of the-vu. He has just returned from Jerusalem where he was one of ten Canadians to receive an academic scholarship to study this summer at Yad Vashem. While in Jerusalem he had the unique opportunity to travel into the West Bank. This is a first hand account of actual events.

Out of Sight, Out of Luck

Posted on July 1, 2007 by admin

Airport security is watching you but who is watching them?

By Booth Vance

When television producer David Gardner recently proposed to his girlfriend during a Christmas vacation at his parents house the moment was perfect except for one key element. The ring was too big, said Gardner.

Preparing to fly back to Los Angeles, Gardner hid the ring in a pair of rolled-up socks and buried it in the bottom of his suitcase. I knew Id be going in and out of my carry-on and felt it would be safer in my checked luggage, he explained. Handing his suitcase to a Southwest Airline sky cab outside of Tucson International Airport, he entered the airport with his new fiancée for the trip home.

Upon unpacking, Gardner was shocked to find the ring missing. His disbelief gave way to anger as he told his fiancée what had happened. The look on her face was one of devastation, he said.

Gardner found a card in his suitcase stating that his belongings had been searched by the Transportation Security Administration (TSA), the division of the Homeland Security Agency responsible for airport security. Noticing that there wasnt an I.D. number for the security personnel who opened his bag, Gardner called Tucson International to ask to have the video records checked during the time his baggage was in their care. He was amazed to learn that there were no video cameras operating in the secured baggage areas of the airport.

I was surprised there wasnt an identification number for the baggage handler who searched my bag, but I still thought it would be easy to determine who had taken the ring. With so many new airport security measures, I just assumed there would be cameras everywhere, Gardner said. Everyone in a casino is being watched or for that matter, a 7-Eleven. Shouldnt the people who handle our property in an airport be under surveillance too?

Like most airline passengers, Gardner didnt realize that only a small handful of the 459 federalized commercial airports under the TSA jurisdiction utilize any type of video surveillance systems in secured baggage areas, leaving screeners and handlers free to open any piece of luggage, largely undetected. And with the requirement that all checked luggage remain unlocked-that is, except with an approved TSA lock that still allows Transportation Security Officers access to baggage-airport theft is on the rise.

With more people checking luggage after the new restrictions for carry-on luggage went into effect last August there has been a dramatic increase in mishandled bags, the term used by the Department of Transportation to define lost, damaged, delayed or pilfered items. More than 435,000 passengers filed reports of mishandled baggage during the first month of the new carry on restrictions, a 28% increase during the same month in the previous year.

Once luggage is checked, it passes through many hands, often traveling for miles on conveyor belts. Both TSA screeners and airline baggage handlers have access to all personal property which is oftentimes left unattended for hours if a passenger checks in early for a flight. With the TSA and airlines acting as separate entities, it is the norm for neither to take full responsibility for pilfered items. Theft victims are then forced to file numerous claims and hope for the best. To make matters more complex, the TSA doesnt share theft claims with local police departments and only rarely with airlines.

On January 4th of this year, a seventh baggage handler was arrested for his role in a theft ring at Torontos Pearson International Airport that police uncovered after a four month sting operation. On January 5th, a sixth subject was arrested by police in connection with the theft of 158 pieces of luggage by employees of Menzies Aviation which oversees connecting baggage at George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston.

While there are more than 36,000 airline passengers a year filing claims of personal item theft, the TSA responds by saying the actual percentage of theft is small considering the estimated 1.5 billion pieces of luggage that are screened each year. Also, the airlines themselves provide handlers that are not under the authority of the TSA.

The actuality, says TSA spokesman Nico Melendez is that baggage is in the hands of airline personnel 95% of the time. However, we understand the public perception as to our responsibility given that we are the ones interfacing with travelers. We frequently execute undercover sting operations and anyone found guilty of theft is terminated immediately. According to the TSA, in the five-year existence of the organization they have fired roughly 90 employees found responsible for stealing passengers personal items.

Melendez says that despite his organizations best efforts to reduce theft, passengers still need to take the appropriate precautions to safeguard their valuables. We tell everyone that if something is of value to either carry it on or ship it.

When told of the TSAs recommendation, Gardner replied, I know they have a tough job, but its hard to understand that a government organization would tell me to incur the cost of shipping my valuables because their own employees cant be trusted.

Melendez believes the implementation of video cameras in secured areas would serve a two-fold purpose. Our goal is to protect the passengers safety as well as their belongings, he says. Melendez is a supporter of video surveillance yet says that there isnt enough funding available to outfit the many U.S. airports under the TSAs jurisdiction. Video cameras would also be a tool in protecting our employees from false accusations. We constantly review claims of theft only to learn that an item was misplaced.

The Office of Management and Budget estimates that the TSA will spend $6.2 billion in 2007 for aviation security. Approximately $3.3 billion of that budget will come from passengers who are now required to pay a $5 flat security fee for each one-way trip. This new regulation stands to increase collections by approximately $1.3 billion over 2006 although more than half of the overall budget will be spent on just one security initiativeairline passenger screening.

Robert Cudmore, a Paris-based neuroscientist had his $1,000 camera go missing during a recent trip to Tucson and became exasperated by the bureaucratic maze he encountered. The airline representative told me in essence that it wasnt their problem he said. And the TSA was uncooperative other than providing me with a mountain of paperwork to file a claim. I didnt know where to turn.

Cudmore was relegated to filing claims with the TSA, the airline, the Tucson Police Department and his own insurance provider. His claims are still pending.

With everything they are making us go through at airports under the guise of security, my first thought was how long before a baggage handler, who is presumably stealing for monetary gain, will accept a bribe and put something into a bag, said Cudmore.

To date, there have been no reported cases of baggage handlers being held responsible for an act of terrorism. However, with a lack of video surveillance in secured airport areas; many feel its only a matter of time. In October of last year, 43 baggage handlers at Frances Charles de Gaulle airport were forbid entry into secure locations after an investigation claimed they had visited terrorists’ training camps in Pakistan and Afghanistan.

The TSA has certainly come under fire for their hiring practices although they have taken strides to overcome the initial setbacks. In 2004, Homeland Security Department’s Inspector General Clark Kent Ervin announced that more than 18,000 of the originally hired employees had not undergone required fingerprint or thorough background checks. 1,200 screeners were then fired after it was discovered they had criminal records or had lied on their applications. Ervin was unceremoniously released from his duties after making these and other claims of mismanagement and breaches of security by the TSA.

In 2004, the TSA offered airlines the opportunity to opt out of their contract via the Screening Partnership Program, which allows the hiring of private security contractors. To date, only a handful of small airports have taken advantage of this option–which is still under the hiring guidance of the TSA. Prior to the creation of the TSA, airlines would shoulder the burden of lost items. Now, claims are passed on to the government and with the added safety net of having the TSA assume responsibility for any type of a crisis, it is easy to understand why airports have chosen to maintain the current relationship. According to the TSA website (www.tsa.gov) the organization has a zero-tolerance policy for theft in the workplaceand when infractions are discovered, offenders are swiftly removed from the agencys employment.

Ron Libengood is the founder and principal consultant of SecuraComm, a leading security planning, consulting and engineering firm based in Pittsburgh, PA. With over 40 years in the security industry, he is familiar with the necessity and pitfalls of comprehensive security measures.

Implementing security camera systems can be very expensive when you consider the massive size of some secured airport areas, says Libengood. Lighting and camera angles also come into play and even if there is complete coverage, anyone motivated to steal can find a way to block the camera.

While agreeing that video surveillance is an important tool that should be more fully explored by the TSA and airports, he feels there are other cost-effective measures that can be incorporated into airline security. First, the public needs to be educated as to the dangers of flying with their valuables, he says. I have logged millions of miles in the air and have learned the hard way that there is always a risk in checking luggage. Also, the airlines and TSA can do a better job of executing more complete and thorough background checks.

Despite a career that depends on his ability to stay one step ahead of potential criminals, Libengood is reluctant to categorize all airline handlers and screeners as potential thieves. Most of the stealing from luggage depends on collusion between workers. Tip lines where employees can remain anonymous when reporting thefts would go a long way in curtailing the activity. I still feel that the vast majority of airline workers are honest and take their jobs and responsibilities very seriously.

After submitting the various claim forms provided for passengers, Gardner stands to receive approximately 1/5 the value of the ring through the TSA, Southwest Airlines and his own insurance. If his luggage had gone missing he could have been compensated up to $2,800 by the TSA; but their average claim payout for pilfered items is $150, with an average of $450, offered by the airlines. I always felt that my luggage was protected when it left my hands, added Gardner. Now I feel its like the fox guarding the hen house.

Author: Booth Vance

Taking the “A” Train

Posted on February 1, 2006 by admin

By Cherie Magnus

What is it about trains?

We all love them–the waiting, the leaving, the whistles. Who can hear the distant “woo-woo” of a train without feeling something’s longing, nostalgia, the urge to hop on and leave your old life behind? Literature abounds with romantic train symbols: The Polar Express, Streetcar Named Desire, Train to Nowhere, The Last Train Home.

The same for tunnels, which can be passages to somewhere mysterious and unknown. Aren’t the words, “secret tunnel” exciting? Tunnels are a metaphor of life and death? Mystery and secrets? The birth experience, with light and life at the end?

And when there are trains in tunnels, well, in the old movies Hollywood movies during the moral censorship days of the Hayes Code, when a train went into a tunnel, the audience knew the stars were having sex.

Most people don’t find the subway so romantic. But taking the A line of the Buenos Aires subway is usually an opportunity for me to be transported to realms other than the stations of Peru, Piedras and Pasco.

The “A” line is the oldest in the Buenos Aires subway system, or Supte. Construction began in 1911 and opened to the public in 1913. It’s a short line of only 13 stations, beginning from the Plaza de Mayo. There the President’s Pink House and the Cathedral sit at right angles around a plaza full of history, monuments, protests, and souvenir stands hawking blue and white Argentine flags.

A couple of cars have been replaced, but generally when I ride to my Castellano class or to church, I take one of the original wooden cars. At times it’s almost a mystical ride, especially early in the morning or late at night. As I sit on the wooden slat benches, the train rocks me from side to side, the rings hanging from the ceiling swing hypnotically. The original incandescent lighting is still in use in old-fashioned glass shades, and the light glows on the wood, brass and beveled mirrors. These original cars have windows at both ends so you can see right through to the next car or to the black tunnel you have just left or into the one you are entering. The world up top seems so far away.

During the day, cars passing over the grills on the street above, make daylight come and go as the train rumbles along in the dark tunnel.
Light in tunnels is a strong metaphor. During a series of site-specific dance performances in Los Angeles by Collage Dance Theater in the year 2000, abandoned subway tunnels from the 20′s were used in the work, SubVersions. A brilliant idea full of symbolism, dancers dug through rubble for lost hope, and waltzed as phantoms through the elegant art deco Terminal building. Finally they built a makeshift boat full of happy passengers waving goodbye, which was borne on shoulders, down the dark tunnel until its light disappeared.

Because tunnels are so appealing, wise businessmen around the world put the lure of exploring history underground to good use. In Seattle, Washington, a popular tourist attraction is a walking tour of the subterranean tunnels under Pioneer Square, once the main roadways and ground-floor storefronts of old downtown.

The abandoned silver mine shaft in Zacatecas, Mexico, was turned into an amusement park-type of attraction with an underground disco. Patrons take the old mine train from the entrance and pass the centuries old chapel with flowers and burning candles still honoring the miners who lost there lives there underground.

In Paris, tourists line up to explore the Catacombs, and not too long ago they also went on underground sewer tours. Here in Buenos Aires are forgotten old tunnels as well. El Zanjón de Granados, on Defensa in San Telmo, is 150 meters of tunnels, 4 meters wide, dating from the beginning of the 19th century. And under the Manzana de las Luces are Jesuit tunnels even older.

I’m not a spelunker, or cave explorer. I don’t belong to any narrow gauge or steam train club. I don’t search out the roller coasters of the world. I’m not about to climb into an old well or abandoned mineshaft.

I’m just going to keep on taking the A Train. It’s not hard to imagine, as the train appears from nowhere in the station, that the next stop is somewhere ethereal and strange. I take my seat and vanish into history.

Cherie Magnus (left, back to camera) now lives in Buenos Aires. She has written many articles and has contributed to the-vu for many years, from California, from Cuba, from Europe, from Mexico and now from Argentina. Follow her blog at http://tangocherie.blogspot.com/

Botswana Emerges as an Up Market Safari Destination

Posted on February 1, 2005 by admin

By Andrew Muigai

Botswana is a country of seemingly endless open spaces. Though it occupies an area the size of France, the human population is only 1.6 million. This is one country where wildlife does not face stiff competition for land resources from man. As a result the animals have multiplied with a flourish. Botswana can justifiably claim to host some of the finest game sanctuaries in Africa. The worlds largest exporter of diamonds by value, the country is not under pressure to get in more tourists. And the government has adopted a deliberate policy of keeping visitor numbers low. The hidden hand of the market has responded by adjusting the price to reflect this reality. Botswana has therefore emerged as an exclusive up market safari destination.

Bill Clinton, together with his wife went on safari in Botswana in 1998. The power couple was greatly fascinated by the wildlife, and the serious games of life and death they play. Affirming his position on top of the food chain, the president ate for dinner some of the animal species he had watched earlier. His evening buffet included zebra, crocodile, impala in monkey sauce, and giraffe. “I tried it all”, he declared with satisfaction. But the former American president is only one in a long line of heavy hitters to enjoy the wildlife havens of Botswana. Hollywood legends, Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor chose to remarry here, for example.

Botswana is dominated by the Kalahari Desert. It occupies 84% of the land area, mostly in the west, central and north of the country. But the Kalahari is not a desert in the Sahara sense. You find the occasional sand dune, but also substantial vegetation in the form of short thorn and scrub bush, trees and grasslands. Very little water though, and hence the desert tag. To the northwest, you find Okavango, the world’s largest inland delta. The northeast is a land of gently rolling tablelands interrupted by granite hills and rock formations. The east and southeast, where 80% of the people live has more varied relief. And the rain clouds linger more and unburden themselves more freely, relative to the rest of the country.

Today Botswana is a peaceful, well-managed and relatively prosperous country. The country wealth per man indicator places among middle-income nations alongside Mexico and Russia and ahead of Brazil. But it has not always been so and the country has come along way. The San people (otherwise known bushmen) are believed to be the original inhabitants of Botswana. Their descendants survive to this day, some living as their forefathers did for most of the 30,000 years historians guess they have been around. Later much later, Bantu groups, prominent of which were the Tswana, became the masters of these realms.

The modern Botswana nation has been shaped by the alliances made in response to historical currents swirling in southern Africa in the eighteenth century. The rulers at the time aligned their interests with those of the British against the Boers who were approaching from the south and the Germans from the west. For the British, the value of the alliance was strategic and not much was expected in terms of economic advantage. And that is how the relationship resulted in the Bechuanaland Protectorate – the precursor of modern Botswana. The British remained in charge until independence in 1966.

The visitor to Botswana is drawn by the credible intelligence that abounds about the quality of its pristine wildlife sanctuaries. Chobe National Park, one of the finest game parks in Africa is located to the north east of the country. The park has the greatest variety of game anywhere in the country. That is why the busy Bill Clinton found himself at Chobe for his short safari. Wildlife thrives among the swamps and grasslands that stretch along the flood plains of the Chobe River. Occupying 10,560 square kilometers, it is particularly renowned for the great concentration and sheer abundance of its elephants, estimated to number 80,000.

The Chobe elephants are migratory and move along the Chobe River, their reliable redoubt in the dry season. African elephants are the largest among elephant species and those at Chobe are the largest of them all. The population has gradually built up since the 1930s when wildlife in the area began to enjoy some sort of protection. The infamous trade in ivory, particularly in the 1970s and 80s encouraged the decimation of elephant populations in other parts of Africa. But the elephants of Chobe – thank God – were spared contact with the dirty hands of poachers. Other animals to see here include some of the usual suspects on an African safari – lion, cheetah, hippo buffalo, giraffe, antelope, jackal, warthog, hyena, crocodile, zebra. The birdlife is also diverse. Cruising or driving along the Chobe River, you get the best view of the animals.

The Savuti Marshes of Chobe are reputed to have the largest predator population density in southern Africa. The marshes have the textbook features that draw predators. In a flat and hostile environment, they provide a place where wildebeest, buffalo, zebra and many species of antelope congregate for a drink. The predators cheetahs, leopards, lions, wild dogs, hyenas, wild dogs, and jackals – naturally follow. Some predators such as lion tend to be rather lazy and the setting here is a gift. The usual entry point for Chobe is Kasane, which is located about 800km north of Gaborone. You get here by flying from Gaborone, Maun or Victoria Falls in neighboring Zimbabwe. Camps and lodges can be found throughout the park.

The Okavango Delta, in the north west of Botswana is the largest inland delta in the world. Spreading over 15,000 square kilometers, it is formed as the flow of the Okavango River slows down and soaks into the sands. That is why it is referred to as ‘the river which never finds the sea’. The network of channels, ox bow lakes, lagoons, swamps and islands that arise is very pleasing to the eye. But that is not all of Okavangos bounty. The delta is filled with wildlife – wildebeest, giraffe, hippo, elephant, zebra and buffalo have all found a home here. The birds too are plenty, more than 550 types, some of which live on the trees and others on the water.

The best place to see wildlife in Okavango is within the spectacular Moremi Wildlife Reserve. The reserve lies in the center of the delta and occupies 3,000 square kilometers. In Moremi you view game aboard a vehicle or by gliding on a makoro (dugout canoe) or other type of canoe. Accommodation is available in camps and lodges within the delta area. In Moremi itself, you can stay in tented campsites but no permanent camps or lodges are allowed.

If you are interested culture, take a break at Chiefs Island, the largest in the delta, and see ancient rock paintings. The painting were presumably executed by the artistically inclined fore bearers on the San people. The Okavango Delta should be avoided in summer, especially December to March, when most of the camps are closed down. At that time, it is very hot and humid- temperatures rise above 38°C, and thunderstorms unleash daily. You enter Okavango through Maun – the deltas principal town, by flying or taking a bus from Gaborone, 600 km away.

Visitors to either Chobe or Okavango may wish to add on a visit to Victoria Falls. Victoria Falls is actually in Zimbabwe but is easily accessible from the northern part of Botswana. Victoria Falls is one of the most spectacular waterfalls in the world and one of Africas prime attractions. Situated on the border of Zimbabwe and Zambia, the falls occur where the steadily flowing Zambezi River, unwarned, casually approaches and then suddenly plunges down a series of basalt gorges in a breathtaking display of several waterfalls. Mist and thunder emanating from the falls can be witnessed from far off.

The spray from the falls sustains the rain forest on the opposite wall of basalt and creates an almost constant rainbow visible even by the light of the moon. The falls are best seen from the air, thus activities such as helicopter flights, balloon rides and micro-lighting over the falls are a must do. Other exciting activities available are bungee jumping off the bridge – which also gives a spectacular view down the gorge, canoeing, white water rafting, river safaris, elephant back safaris and many more.

Adventure seekers, who travel not merely to convenient places, may wish to check out the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans. The shallow saltpans cover about 6,500 square kilometers and rank among the largest in the world. The atmosphere here is admittedly surreal, with shimmering mirages in a vast open terrain broken only by a few baobab trees. Bird watchers in particular will be intrigued at the unusual environment as they watch numerous flamingos and pelicans. The pans occupy the area between Francistown (410 km north east of Gaborone) and the Okavango Delta. There is plenty of wildlife, in the Makgadikgadi National Park, but not as much as Chobe- so this will not be your only reason for coming here.

Botswana is the site of a unique wildlife conservation initiative in Southern Africa- the concept of cross border parks. The initiative is anchored on the common sense observation that wildlife does not recognize international borders. Successful conservation efforts in an area bordering another country can be reduced to naught if the neighboring countries do not collaborate. The Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park is a combination of two parks -the former Gemsbok National Park in Botswana and Kalahari Gemsbok National Park in South Africa.

Covering over 36,000 sq. km, Kgalagadi is one of the biggest wildlife conservation areas anywhere in the world. Botswana contributes about 75% of the park in the southern Kalahari Desert. The park is a unique conservation area for it allows the large-scale wildlife migratory movements that were once common in the savanna grasslands of Africa, but are sadly not possible any more. The appeal of the harsh beauty of the Kalahari aside, scientists are extremely curious to find out the secret story of the flora and fauna that has adapted to what appears to be a very difficult environment.

For ordinary folks, the park is host to the famous black-maned Kalahari lions. You will also see gemsbok, springbok, eland, blue wildebeest, cheetahs, wild dogs, jackals, bat-eared foxes and leopards. Birding is also excellent and of 297 species recorded, 96 are resident. It is difficult to get to Kgalagadi. From Gaborone, you drive for 860 km, of which 550 km is tarred and the rest gravel. Being a cross border park, you can also access it through South Africa. The park has no permanent tented campsites and on safari you must bring in everything you need.

The dry season, especially between April and October, is the best time to visit Botswana on safari. It is then easy to spot wildlife gathered near water sources. The rains come over the southern summer months of November to March. The roads are then difficult to use and with the abundance of water and pasture, the animals tend to scatter. Early morning and night temperatures in winter (May to August) can drop below freezing, especially in the southwest. But the days are then cool to warm. The summer experiences high daytime temperatures of up to 38°C. The cloud cover, though, and the rains tend to cool things a little bit. Beware that August is very dry and dust and sand storms tends to rise from the west.

Remember to pack a pair of binoculars- they bring the animals closer without the usual risks. A pair of decent sunglasses is a good idea, especially if you travel to the Kalahari, where the glare can be somewhat unsettling. Also pack photographic and video equipment to record your safari for the sake of those of your unlucky friends who may not have been to Botswana. On safari, you are advised not to wear white or bright clothing to avoid exciting the animals. Light cottons and linens are adequate for summer. To survive winter mornings and evenings, you need warmer wraps and sweaters. Women should avoid wearing scanty beachwear in rural areas away from hotels and campsites to avoid offending locals.

About this author: Andrew Muigai is editor of AfricaPoint Insider online newsletter. It is part of AfricaPoint.com- the Africa travel website that has helped thousands of travelers discover Africa. You can view more info on Namibia safari and tours at the website.

Namibia A Bountiful Harvest Awaits the Adventure Traveler

Posted on December 1, 2004 by admin

By Andrew Muigai

Namibia is a largely arid country of stark rough-hewn beauty. The most vivid images are those of a haunting Technicolor landscape of swirling orange dunes, shimmering mirages and treacherous dust devils. The apparent desolation is deceptive and plant and animal life and even man has adapted to this environment. The country is designed almost specially with the active and adventure seeker in mind. Timeless deserts, thorn bush savanna, desolate wind ravaged coastlines, majestic canyons, and sun-baked saltpans are the bounty that awaits the traveler.

Namibias top draw is the Etosha National Park, rated as one of Africas finest game sanctuaries. The birding experience in the country is truly superior. On a Namibia safari, the range of activities you can indulge in the unsurpassable physical environment is truly impressive. Ballooning over the desert, skydiving over land and sea, paragliding, whitewater rafting and sand skiing along coastal dunes are good activities for starters. More fun games to pick from include abseiling that most spectacular of rock sports, coastal and fresh water angling, desert camel riding, scuba diving, 4×4 desert runs, hiking and mountaineering.

Namibia has four distinct geographical regions. In the north is Etosha Pan, a great area for wildlife and heart of Etosha National Park. The slender Caprivi Strip is nested between Zambia and Botswana and is a wet area of woodland blessed with a few rivers. Along the coast is the Namib Desert, which at the age of 80 million years old, is said to be the worlds oldest desert. At the coast, the icy cold Atlantic meets the blazing African desert, resulting in dense fogs. The well-watered central plateau runs north to south, and carries rugged mountains, magnificent canyons, rocky outcrops and expansive plains.

Namibia, one and half times the size of France, is very sparsely inhabited and carries only 1.8 million souls. The people are as unique as the land they live on. The most intriguing are the San, otherwise known as Bushmen. These most hardy of people have a highly advanced knowledge of their environment. It is a marvelous thing how well they are adapted to their difficult habitat. Just pause and think that these are the only people in the world who live with no permanent access to water. In the Kalahari Desert, one of their domiciles, surface water is not to be found. Tubers, melons, and other water bearing plants as well as underground sip wells supply their water requirements.

In Namibia today, Bushmen number about 50,000. Historians estimate that they have lived, mostly as hunters and gatherers, for at least 25,000 years in these parts of the world. Bushmen speak in a peculiar click language and are very gifted in the arts of storytelling, mimicry, and dance. Namibias other people, who are indigenous to the continent, are mostly of Bantu origin. They are thought to have arrived from western Africa from about 2,400 years ago. The African groups include the Owambo, Kavango, Caprivians, Herero, Himba, Damara, Nama and Tswana.

The Africans aside, other groups comprise about 15% of the population and have played an important role in the emergence of the modern nation. White Namibians amount to about 120,00 and are mainly of German and Afrikaner heritage. Germans arrived in significant numbers after 1884 when Bismarck declared the country a German Protectorate. Afrikaners, white farmers of Dutch origin, moved north from their Cape settlements, especially after the Dutch Cape Colony was ceded to the British in 1806. This strongly independent people, whose ancestors had lived in the Cape from 1652 resented British control.

Two other distinct groups complete the spectrum of Namibias people – Basters and Coloureds. Coloured in Namibia and southern Africa refers to people of mixed racial heritage, black- white for example. They have a separate identity and culture. This makes sense considering that Namibia was run by South Africa after the First World War. Even in pre-Apartheid South Africa, racial classification was a fine art. The Afrikaans-speaking Basters, descended from Hottentot women and Dutch settlers of the Cape. Alienated from both white and black communities, they trekked northwards, finally founding their own town Rehoboth, in 1871. Baster is actually derived from bastard, but it is not derogatory, and the Basters are indeed proud of it.

Namibias barren and unwelcoming coastlines served as a natural deterrent to the ambitions of European explorers. That was until 1884 when the German merchant Adolf Luderitz established a permanent settlement between the Namib Desert and the Atlantic seaboard that afterwards took his name. Bismarck subsequently declared the territory covered by Namibia a German colony and named it Südwestafrika or South West Africa. As German settlers moved into the interior, conflict was inevitable with the inheritors of the land.

The German occupation was a particularly unhappy experience for the Herero. The Herero resented the Germans harsh and racist rule and the effect of the encroachment on their lands on their livelihood and way of life. On the first day of the year 1904, the Herero led by Chief Samuel Maharero, rose suddenly and unexpectedly in arms against their colonial overlords. The Nama joined the insurrection and the authorities did not regain control even after six months of trying. Over 100 German settlers and soldiers died in the uprising. Historians now consider events that followed to constitute the first genocide of the twentieth century.

Lieutenant General Lothar von Trotha was furnished with a contingent of 14,000 soldiers and tasked to put down the rebellion. The governor general of the territory was then Rudolph Goering -the father of Herman Goering, Hitler’s right hand man. Lothar von Trotha was a generation ahead of his time and his kind of thinking was to become government policy under the Third Reich. He argued that the Herero must be destroyed as a people and he did not wince at the murder of women or children. At the end of it all, 100,000 Nama and Herero were killed. The survivors were herded in concentration camps where unspeakable things happened. The Herero fared very badly and 80% of her people perished. The population of the Nama diminished by 35-50%.

Windhoek, the capital of 165,000 people is the only true city in the country. For those traveling to more remote regions, this is where you settle practical matters. The positive aspects of the German period can be seen in the charming style of older buildings in the city. Places of interest in the city include the State Museum, State Archives, and the Namibia Crafts Centre. The Dan Viljoen Game Park lies 24 Km west of Windhoek on the gentle hills of Khoma Hochland. In this resort you find ostriches, baboons, zebras and over 200 species of birds. The Waterburg Plateau Park, located 230 km from Windhoek is popular with weekenders. This extensive mountain wilderness is home to cheetah, leopard, kudu, giraffe, and white rhino.

Etosha National Park is what brings wildlife lovers to Namibia. The park is comparable in size and diversity of species with the best in Africa. The unusual terrain of Etosha holds savanna grassland, dense brush and woodland. But it is the Etosha Pan, a depression that sometimes holds water and covers 5,000 sq km, that is the heart of park. The perennial springs around the pan, attract many birds and land animals in the dry winter months. The effect of this background is magical and some of the best wildlife photographs have been taken here.

There are 144 mammal species in the park and elephants are particularly abundant. Some other interesting wildlife here includes giraffe, leopard, cheetah, jackal, blue wildebeest, gemsbok and black rhino. The birding is great at Etosha and over 300 bird species have been recorded. You will get best value by spending at least three days here. There are excellent accommodation facilities at the three rest camps of Namutoni, Halali and Okaukuejo. The best time to see animals is between May and September, when water draws them in huge numbers to the edge of the pan. Etosha is 400 km to the north of Windhoek by road.

The Fish River Canyon is unrivalled in Africa and only the Grand Canyon in the U.S in larger. The Canyon runs for 160 km and reaches a width of 27 km and depth of 550 m. But size alone does not explain the appeal of the canyon. You experience incredible views at various points along the rim. Adventure lovers do not merely come for the views. Hiking through the canyon is the ultimate endurance adventure for hikers. There is an established 90 km hiking trail that will take you 4-5 days to cover.

The trail ends at Ai-Ais hot spring resort where you can unwind. You are allowed to hike between early May and end of September. The hike is quite strenuous and needless to say, you must be physically fit. The authorities disbelieve the capacity of most people to undertake the hike and will actually insist on seeing a medical certificate of fitness before allowing you to start off. Fish River Canyon is 580 km to the south of Windhoek.

The Skeleton Coast has been the graveyard of seafarers and whales and deserves that morbid name. The problem is the dense fogs. And woe to the ship wreck survivor who expects respite onshore! Ahead is the Namib Desert, one of the driest and most unwelcoming places. Adventure travelers love trekking along the coastline as they enjoy the stark beauty of the area. To the south at Cape Cross, you find a seal colony carrying tens of thousands of seals. The Skeleton Coast Park covers 16,400 sq km and begins at 355 km northwest of Windhoek.

The Portuguese explorer Diego Cao reached this part of the world in the year 1486. He is probably one of the people whose experiences discouraged Europeans from venturing ashore until the arrival of the Germans 400 years later. Further south is the Namib-Naukluft National Park, a vast wilderness covering 50,000 sq km. The landscape is very diverse and covers mountain outcrops, majestic sand dunes, and deep cut gorges. For really spectacular dunes, the Sossusvlei area is unsurpassed. Here you have dunes rising to 300 m! The orange tint giants extend as far as the horizon and the area has an unreal, unforgettable atmosphere.

To the northeast of the country, the well-watered Kavango and Caprivi Strip region offers an unspoilt wilderness suitable for rugged game viewing and camping. The area also promises a feast for bird lovers. Game reserves in the area include: Kaudom, Caprivi, Mahango, Mudumu and Mamili. Poachers did great damage to wildlife during the years of the civil war in neighbouring Angola. Animal numbers are however building up rapidly. Some of the wildlife in the region includes leopard, elephant, buffalo, cheetah, lion and various antelope species. The Caprivi Reserve falls in an area of swamps and flood plains. Here you have an opportunity to partake fishing, hiking, game viewing safaris and river trips in traditional mokoro boats.

In Namibia you can enjoy up to 300 days of sunshine. The coast is temperate and thermometers run between 5C-25C. Inland, daytime temperatures range from 20C-34C, but can rise to 40C in the north and south of the country. Winter nights can be quite cold and frost occurs over large parts of the country. The rains inland fall in summer (November-April) and are heaviest in the Caprivi region. Rains do not much affect travel, but beware of flash floods in the vicinity of riverbeds. The best time to travel is over the dry months of March to October, when it is easier to see animals at waterholes. It is best to avoid the Namib Desert and Etosha between December and March when it can get unbearably hot.
You can get by wearing light cottons and linens in summer. Over winter nights and mornings, you need heavier cottons, warmer wraps and sweaters. Comfortable walking shoes are essential, as the ground gets very hot. Some useful stuff to pack includes: camera, binoculars, sunglasses, sun hats, sunscreen and mosquito repellant. Be ready for dusty conditions and carry your clothing, equipment and supplies in dust proof bags. Do not be tempted to buy items made of ivory. You may not be allowed to carry them through customs at home. And it also good that you do not encourage the trade in ivory products that keeps poachers busy.

Colorado – Rocky Mountain High Anxiety Tour

Posted on October 1, 2004 by admin

By Mike (Roadie) Marino

Colorado has a schizophrenic schism that is more pronounced than the Continental Divide! This Rocky Mountain duality manifests itself in it’s approach to the arts, history and tourism. It is also this very same lets split-the-atom personality that has also been responsible for the Frankensteinian creation of a corral full of colorful Colorado characters whose mythic size and legend loom bigger than antlers on a bull elk in rut!

The true dichotomy of the state lies in fact with the existence of the Continental Divide. Water runs to the Atlantic on the east, and makes a beeline for the Pacific on the west, go west, young river. A paranormal convergence of the planets can’t be blamed, just plain old fashioned gravity. The same force that holds us terra firmly and keeps us grounded. A fact of nature, and a fact of life is all. The duality continues with the fact that yoga and vegetarianism stand shoulder to shoulder with pyramid power and the magic of crystals, yet carnivoria is celebrated and the state is damned proud that it was home to America’s Cannibal, Alferd Packard, a meat eater if ever one lived. Hell, the medical college even has a bronze bust of the eater of human happy meals in the university cafeteria!

If it’s a Mile High Art Attack your after, they have a high brow plethora of Picasso’s and museums of Monet’s. Yet, in the parks around Denver they have scads of sculptures and at the Swetsville Zoo north of the Mile High City, a field of dreams exists where everything from Jurassic giants and offbeat oddities abound made completely of auto, truck and tractor parts. It’s not highbrow to raise your eyebrows, but simply enough a lovable collection of pedestrian art and decadent heavy metal deco. Art, nonetheless, pedestrian, to be sure.

Fine wine, and delicious dine are hallmarks of life in the Rockies. French nouvelle, prepared by pampered chef’s send signals to the brain that pleasure awaits them with every plateful and every palateful of souffled and flambeaued passion, attractively adorned on the platter. Yet, in Severence, Colorado, you can wolf down an intimidating plateful of Rocky Mountain Oysters and wash it all down with an inexpensive beer or ale. No Bull!

Life is love and love is life in Colorado, yet there is a morbid, yet lighthearted fascination and celebration of death. Doc Holliday, for example, is buried somewhere in Glenwood Springs, no one is exactly sure where for certain, and no one is absolutetly certain where in fact he died. Sanitarium or Hotel Room. After the “troubles” in Tombstone and the sixgun cacophony of the Ok Corral, he ventured to the Springs for his health. Unfortunately the healing gasses were not compatible with his tuberculosis, and in time the fumes snuffed him out like a candle. Similar thing happend to Bela Lugosi. After years of heroin abuse, he quit jamming needles into his arm and died soon thereafter while filming an Ed Wood movie and in effect drove a virtual stake through his own heart. Doc Holliday now not only has a bar and grill named after him in Glenwood Springs, complete with two story neon sixshooter outside, but has death has become the stuff of legend and mystery, and certainly qualifies him as the Jimmy Hoffa of the old west. To borrow phrase from Doc, “Isn’t it funny”..

Buffalo Bill Cody, showman and frontiersman, is buried under concrete on top of Lookout Mountain in Golden, Colorado. Cody was a premier showman who brought the Wild West, complete with “plains savages”, warpaint and guns ablazin’ to the genteel cities of the east and the European world stages in the waning years of the West. When he died, he was buried six feet under good, firm Colorado soil. However, Nebraska decided to not let one of their sons rest in peace in a foriegn land. Once he was buried in the state, nefarious Nebraskans stole his body and re-buried him in the farm rich soils of the rectangle state. Corn mostly. Coloradan’s not wanting to be outdone by Cornhuskers, unearthed the Nebraska soils, carried Cody back to Colorado and today he rests in peace under concrete, safe from Nebraska shovels, dreaming of the Old West and Coor’s beer.

If your looking to be dazed and bedazzled, then Nederland, Colorado outdoes them all, and their celebration of the dead would rival the most robust of New Orleans funerals as they roll out a dead Norweigian for the annual Dead Guy Days every year. Bredo Morstoel was born in Norway in 1901, died in Norway in 1989, cryo-ed in LA and somehow ended up in a frozen bombproof bunker in Colorado. In Spring, Nederlands only “dead” resident alien Grandpa, as Bredo is lovingly referred to, is rolled out of his bombshelter for a whopping hoot of a festival, complete with food vendors, music, races and souvenirs. If the same festival were held in Chicago, Grandpa Bredo would probably be given a voting ballot. Vote early, Vote often. Now, that is a Rocky Mountain Cryofest that pushes the envelope.

No amount of prozac or other prescribed meds will ever cure Colorado of it’s peculiar schizoid personality. On the one hand, logical, self sufficient beings go about their daily lives, much as they do in Indiana or anywhere else as bland as mashed potato’s, but then you have one gent near Colorado City who has been building a rock castle complete with metal dragons heads in the mountains since 1969.

Not only will you get to enjoy the mortar maze of the mountains at Bishop Castle, but will also, if he’s in the mood, the owner will regale you, with the evils of the World Bank and life under the communist dictatorship of FDR. Strangely enough, or maybe not, the castle is being built on a grassy knoll!

John Denver sang the virtues of America’s spinal column for years, before his wings gave out, and he is not the only celebrity to race to the Rockie’s to get high. Gonzo-god and journalist, Hunter S. Thompson maintains a compound sanctuary just outside of Aspen, and the rags make way for the riches every year during winter, as the Celebrity Nation descends to the area to ascend the ski slopes and enjoy the powder.

As the Zeusians enjoy the mountains with mountains of money, the Plebians can enjoy Colorado’s natural bounty as well, for free, or at least on the cheap. Garden of the Gods and Pike’s Peak in Colorado Springs are a couple of environmentally correct choices and the outdoor activity can’t be beat. The Arkansas River turns white water into gold with activities ranging from rafting and kayaking and the Royal Gorge of Canon City, and the Black Canyon of the Gunnison run deep with tranquil beauty.

Mountain bikes share the road with the prodigy of Henry Ford. Cheap beer can be found in the center of Colorado’s wine country, yes, there actually is such a place, and while the general population is as normal as mom and apple pie, across the valley, it’s not unusual to have a lost soul, fed up with local government, take a bulldozer and mow down city hall, and then relocate to Idaho! So don’t be surprised some day to wander into a restuarant in downtown Denver and see a Cannibal and a vegetarian from Vincennes enjoying a glass of chablis together. The Colorado Schizophrenia is what gives the region is color and it’s character, and as long as it keeps taking it’s meds, you shouldn’t have to bring along a straight jacket on your next vacation.

Mike also writes a monthly feature column under the banner THE ROADHEAD for the award winning Offbeat Travel zine. His column deals with bizzare ashpalt and roadside oddities and locales from mechanical museums to Cadillac Ranch. Mike is also a freelance writer of travel and history pieces that have been published in magazines and ezines in the US and Europe.

Most current project includes toiling endlessly on his first book about Pop and Car Culture in America of the 50′s, 60′s and 70′s. Although born in the rustbelt of industrial Detroit, he’s also been the definitive son-of-a-beach and has lived in a treehouse in Honolulu, the tie dyed spare change neighborhood of Haight Ashbury in San Francisco, as well as the North Beach district..where the Beat Goes On!!

Today Mike (Roadie) Marino lives in Missouri near the banks of the Missouri River with his word processor. In addition, to writing and backpacking, Mike has a penchant for Hawaiian shirts, Jimmy Buffett albums and Corona Beer. If you would like to use any of Mike’s articles some of which are included here, contact him at the email address below or at dharmabumroadie@yahoo.com He also accepts contract work and what the hell, a good agent wouldn’t hurt either. So contact him for rates and information. Now…Have Fun Reading…Grab A Cold Corona..And Kick Asphalt!!!

Lenin Park

Posted on June 1, 2004 by admin

By Poldy Bloom

The following article is an excerpt from a future publication called Lenin Park which will be a journal of an American’s life in Hanoi, Vietnam.

The story I want to tell you is not about Lenin Park. It is about Vietnam and Hanoi and the people of this city and of an old man who came to this world to have one more adventure before going to the check-out counter. But first I should take you on the walk through the park near my home, a walk that I make every morning to cheat the Devil and Death

So I ask you to follow my nose on this jaunt around the Lenin Park Lake. As I half-trot along, I tell myself that by raising my blood pressure, the increased flow will nudge some little flecks of plaque out of the vascular bottlenecks.

Incidentally, there is no statue of Lenin in this park. There used to be one, I am told, but for some reason the city fathers decided he needed better exposure, so they moved him to a little grassy spot next to a very busy street. Maybe people pass by and look at him and recall his romantic social philosophy. Probably not many, though.
I live a half block from the entrance. Almost every morning, at about 6 AM I come out onto the street, wipe the sleep from my eyes, and start my stride. I walk down Tue Tinh Street past a dozen or so street merchants on the sidewalks. The first group sells fish. Some of them lie in basins and are still gasping for air and I feel my own mortality.

In the next short block are the greens peddlers. They have most of the kinds of vegetables we Westerners see in the supermarket. There are little heads of lettuce, and I wonder if they have been disinfected. When I lived in Mexico I had to soak the heads of lettuce in buckets with iodine drops in the water. Next there is meat for sale in wicker panniers. It looks fresh and tempting And the sellers make some effort to discourage the flies in summer. I cross the street and there are only a few motorbikes at that time of the morning so I have no trepidation.

And, here is the entrance to Lenin Park. In front of the big iron gate, is a parking lot for motorbikes. It holds about 50 bikes of people who are visiting the park. There is a guy in charge who shows people where to put their bikes and he gives them a number slip and marks the number on the seat with chalk. I guess he must know many of the people who regularly visit. He charges 1,000 Dong. That’s one-fifteenth of a dollar about 6 cents.

Through the gate. Then onto a pedestrian boulevard with two lanes and grassy divider and concrete benches on both sides, On nice mornings, these are mostly filled with people just sitting and chatting before going to work for the day. I find a bench and I do an exercise someone once told me was important. I put my foot on the seat and my hands on the back of the bench and I lean forward and tug on the muscle that betrayed Achilles. I don’t know if it helps much. But it makes me feel like I am health savvy.

Off the path to the left, is a small concrete square where a couple dozen people are learning tai chi. Sometimes they wave big red fans-very pretty. Once I saw them brandishing swords!

Now, I start my stride. I always smile when I think of what this pace is called. It is a Scandinavian word: fartlek. Americans call it “race walking.” . I stride along as fast as I can, pumping my arms like steam-engine pistons. I don’t know if that does anything positive for the exercise, but I think it makes me look like I am serious about walking. And I don’t want the people I meet on the walkways to think I am a Big Nose tourist.

(We westerners are called that, because most Viets have little noses. But mine is not really big in the world context. Mine is rather nice. It may be the only positive aspect of the face I present to the world.)

I come first to a concrete square that houses three badminton courts. Badminton is big in Hanoi. All over the park there are couples batting the birds back and forth and pedestrians trying to escape being bonked by paddles. The players are no-nonsense athletes. They keep the little plumed ball volleying back and forth across the net for as much as twenty returns. When someone misses he shouts. Oi Doi Oi pronounced “Oy Zoy Oy” it sounds Jewish.It means “Ohmigod!” This court has a beverage counter and plastic chairs for spectators.. They are child-sized. They are used at sidewalk restaurants. Fat Ass Westerners (and most are) can’t get into them. I can barely.

Once past the courts I make a dogleg turn to the left to go to the lake. This is a short stretch. And on the grass next to the walk is a small concrete square with a post. To that post is now chained a handsome shepherd dog. He has a muzzle on.

This is no ordinary dog! I have seen him in action. He plays soccer! I have seen him dribble a ball with his nose avoiding human players and bring the ball to his master, who stands at one side. He should be in a movie! But now he is asleep. His owner is probably playing badminton somewhere close by.

Now is the first of series of “kiddies’ rides.” It’s a merry-go-round with four plastic jet planes on the end of poles radiating out from a center pylon. I have never seen it in action. I don’t think kids have to pay to ride on it. I have never seen any tot on one! They are too modernized. This is dumb kid-stuff!

Next is the big, pay-to-ride elevated railroad track. The rails are about 10 feet in the air. There is a booth which would sell tickets if the ride were open, It never is. And no wonder! It is the dorkiest structure I have ever seen! If there were riders, they would go up a staircase to a small elevated station;. There, the patron would find a train with about ten gaudy cars and an engine with.you are going to think I am kidding.a dragon’s head with a rooster’s comb. It’s a “dragon-chicken” train! The last car has a big rooster tail!

The train, if it ever ran, would travel in an elliptical track that rises and falls woweee!as much a four feet. The ticket kiosk says the price for children is 1,000D (6 cents) and parents would pay 4,000D.(a quarter) The most mystifying thing about this offering is: last summer the whole worthless structure was given a new coat of paint and gussied up! There is a sign that says NHA GA! (Chicken Train) Is there such a thing as a Park Board in Hanoi City Government? Has some group of people actually approved this gaudy debacle?

But there’s more, this is only one of two, yes two, useless trains in the park. The second train has an engine and six cars and a track that goes all around the lake, about 2 kilometers. I once saw it running. There was a guy at the controls of the little imitation pufferbelly engine, no passengers, and it was slowly proceeding down the track. On one other occasion, I saw it in operation. There were about 25 people riding solemnly.

Now, we are at the lake. There is a walkway around its perimeter. I go counter clockwise. I can’ tell you why. I did that the first time and so I always go that direction. At the lakeside there is a beverage stand for coconut milk, and a pile of husks. The path now has two men who have appropriated concrete benches a few meters apart. . They are masseurs. I often see a lady sitting on one bench and the man is behind her squeezing her collar bones. The second bench sometimes has people lying face down on it and the man hovering over them, kneading their backs. Once I saw a man, naked from the waist up, lying there with acupuncture needles in his upper torso and little wires leading to a small box. I have no idea what it costs for their services. Every time I see them plying their trade I am reminded of the signs along the streets which advertise “Thai Massage” I often wonder what kid of treatment that is. Being a man, I wonder the same thing any man would wonder.

Next, along the shore of the lake is a kind of open-air concrete courtyard with six Doric columns on the two sides. Once, a few weeks ago, the place was a beehive of activity. Stands and stages were constructed. Hundreds of chairs were stacked. It was the scene of a Victory Celebration. I missed. it. Now it is the site of a group of women who exercise to rock music blaring from two big speakers. There are about 50 women and girls who do aerobic exercises to “Stayin’ Alive!” by the BeeGees, and other rock songs.

When we pass them we come to a statue of a woman reading a book. She is half- again life size. She has a big pony tail. She is rather pretty. Beyond her, if I wanted to turn left, I could cross a bridge and cut my walk about a quarter kilometer and cross a bridge to the other shore. Or I can make a short jog to the right and head for the Northeastern lobe of the lake, a place I call the Stench Lagoon. This is a pond about of about a half hectare, and it is one of the shameful places of this great city. It is partly covered with floating scum. It has an odor that nauseates the passers-by. It smells like a mixture of hot motor oil and sour milk. A lot of people who walk by hold handkerchiefs to their noses. Why something has not been done about it, I can’t understand.

A month ago, I was elated to find a small floating barge in this area. It had a backhoe on it and some big pumps. I said to myself, well about time! Finally they are going to do something about this atrocity! Several days later, the pond was the same, but the dredge was gone. Once past the malodors, I can breathe again and my walk becomes pleasant.

At this point, we are about half way around. Maybe we have gone a little less than a kilometer. This is a airy, delightful place. A few yards back from the shoreline there is a strange little structure. It is a small, two storey observation post of some kind. A circular brick staircase leads up to the top floor. I have never seen anyone in it. Some day I am going to break my stride and go over and climb up into it.

We are now along the northern edge of the lake. A busy street is just beyond the green iron fency.. On the other side of the street, is the big railroad track. In the mornings, about 6 a.m., the train rattles and whistles on its way to Ho Chih Minh City.

Fishermen like this area. Usually there are several men with long slender fishpoles lacing the water with their lines and hooks. They throw the weight in a long arc out into the water and bring it back in They don’t use reels. They have an oven mitt on their left hands and they wind the fishing line on it as they bring it in. It’s much faster than the little spinning handle on a reel. The fish they catch are seldom more than about 8 inches long some kind of lake trout. Some mornings I see a pile of about a dozen three-inch fish which they didn’t throw back in. A big tree thrusts out over the lake, all bent in that direction. Kids climb on it out over the water. Couples sit on it.
Ahh-h-hh! The Main Entrance to the park! We are now half way around. Here a bridge leads to an island and we can hear loudspeakers with salsa music for aerobic types. There is a high curb here. During summer vacation a lot of teenaged boys sit there and watch the people pass. At first, they all looked at me curiously. But after a few weeks they ignored me. That made me feel at home.

I should point out that not many people pay attention to this Big Nose in their midst. I think most of them now accept that I am a regular. I do have a couple of men who have made eye contact with me and exchanged nods and smiles. One is a short slender fellow of middle age. He once extended his hand and we shook briefly. Now, he greets me with some salutation in fairly decent English. Once I gave him my card which says I am an English Editor and that I have a Masers’ Degree. One day, he held out his arms to be hugged. We do that now whenever we meet. Today, he said, brightly, “A master!” I realized he was referring to my card. He really brightens my morning. I have tried to guess what he does for a living. I have come to the conclusion that he works in a hotel somewhere and is used to seeing Westerners. Frankly, I am a little uncomfortable that he is so affectionate but I hug him anyway. Passers-by look on curiously.

Now, the homeward bound leg of our trip. On this walk there are two ladies who have bathroom scales and a kit-bag with a blood pressure unit. I have no idea what the fee is for the weight and cardio=vascular diagnosis. On this strip of pavement, the Squid Man used to lie, right in the center of the walk so people had to go around him. The reason I call him that (to myself) is that he is a rather young guy, maybe in his 40′s. And the lower part of his body seems quite normal. But something terrible has happened to his arms! They stretch out above his head as if they are reaching for something on the sidewalk. They are long and slender and white and seem to have no bones in them.. He lies on his stomach and his face is pressed into his upper arms, which look like tentacles somehow joined to his head. I wonder if he was a thalidomide baby.

He stopped being here in July. I hope he is all right. I hope he garnered enough money so he can stay home and lie, reaching out, on a comfortable bed somewhere and live his way of life.. Now there is an autistic man in that stretch who sits on the curb and mumbles at people. I always drop off a couple thousand Dong bill. When I look in his hat, I see a lot of Buddha-money bills. Buddha money is small bits, 200 and 500 Dongs. You slip them, folded, into crevices on the altar where he sits.

This morning there are only a few merchants with their wares for sale on the walks. A young man had a tarp down in this stretch and is peddling running suits.
Couples. Elderly men walking hand in hand. Elderly women arm in arm. Young boys with their arms around each others’ waists. Some male-females couples come by. They do not touch. That would be bad taste.

Ahead is Uncle Ho’s tree. I think that’s what it is. There is a sign reading Cay doc bac ho. Ho Chih Minh was called “Uncle (bac) Ho.” It’s a giant tree, not giant as in the American Redwoods, but giant for Asia, several trunks siamesed together and burgeoning out all overhead It’s in a little circle to itself. Two more statues ahead. One, to the left, is two life-size children reading a book. The statue on the right is a studious looking young man holding a strange crosslike structure. Tiger says once told me it represents the bearing of a drawbridge. Probably a salute to Civil Engineering. She only made the trip one time, many months ago.

We are three quarters of the way around. My legs still feel all right. We pass another “ride” This is a little merry-go-round train on a circular track about a half block in diameter. There are cars with horses and carts. Never saw that one working. Kids would find it enormously boring. On the lake shore is a large building with a dock and a pier and dozens of aluminum rowboats. I have never seen one of them in the lake. I wonder if there is still anybody around to rent them out.

The forlorn train ride depot is next. This has the brightly painted locomotive, and. I suspect, a small auto engine. Attached to it is a train of about ten cars, each holding about four people. The track to this line runs all the way around the park near the outside fence. I only saw it in operation once, about a year ago. It was slowly moving on the track with a man sitting in the engine and all the cars empty. The depot is a miniature Asiatic train station, pagoda roof and all. Everything with a new coat of bright paint. Nobody around it.

This is halfway on the home stretch. Off to the right another Tai Chi group. These are young men. They don’t have swords. A small circular park area is next. It has a nice gazebo. No place to sit down. Another small island. This one has no bridge to it. It has some pleasant spots of grass and some trees. Ideal place to picnic, if one used a boat. Nobody ever goes there, as far as I can tell.

We pass now under the shadow of a giant TV tower. This is the city’s TV complex. The tower has some kind of doughnut shaped enclosure about a hundred feet off the ground. I wonder if it is, or was, a restaurant. We are almost home. There is a big plant garden to the right. It is fenced in. It has a lot of plants and a greenhouse. Groundskeepers must work there.

The shoreline flares out into the water. There is a circle off to the right. In the center is a giant palm tree. There is a bench facing the walkway. Last summer, on this bench, every morning, a young man “sat the Lotus.” I haven’t seen him lately. He may come back this summer to sit and contemplate the passersby. Do his knees get locked up? Statue. Young man and girl reading a big book together. The book is the size that is used by astrologers to find auspicious days for marriages. Maybe they are trying to figure out the date for their wedding.

There’s the sleeping soccer dog. He is still there. Looks comfortable. Hope his master hasn’t forgotten him. We’re back to the badminton courts at the entrance. Every once in a while I will find a discarded badminton bird. Apparently, if even one of the feathers gets misplaced it spoils its flight characteristics. I always pick up the discards lying on the grass next to the walkway. I have ten of them now. I tell myself that some day I will get an artistic surge and I will make a diorama of them?maybe sitting on a line. I will entitle the presentation. “Wounded Birds”

Okay, out through the gate.

Author Poldy Bloom writes: I was a kid in Chicago. Most of my adult life was spent in Seattle. I was a morning deejay for almost 25 years, back in the days when radio people were considered somewhat glamorous. I bowed of broadcasting when the “rock jocks” came in and shucked and jived. I bought an old tugboat and converted it into a passenger yacht. I was a skipper in the Puget Sound Region. I wrote some books about how to cruise the inland waters. Then I got bored with life in the San Juans and decided to see the world by teaching the most crotchety language on earth to people of other continents. I taught in China, The Philippines, Hong Kong, Poland, Portugal, Yucatan and finally settled down in San Miguel de Allende for about 8 years. Then my feet got itchy. I now live and teach in this city, Hanoi. I specialize in American English Pronunciation and conversation. I’ll probably be buried at the edge of some rice paddy one of these days.

For more by Poldy Bloom, please visit www.livingthegoodlife.org and click on “Hello, Hanoi.”

Great Wall and Great Zoo

Posted on November 1, 2003 by admin

By Nick Dao

The frigid bite in the September morning air in Beijing, China made me glad I had brought along a jacket. With the help of the hotel clerk who had acted as my interpreter, I had hired a taxi to drive me to The Great Wall. I thought that my request was simple enough to avoid any confusion with the taxi driver, but I thought wrong.

Because of the demands of the 50th Anniversary celebration under the communist rule that Beijing was carrying out that day, a lot of the streets had been barricaded and the normal traffic flow had to take alternate routing. Instead of driving me right up to the entrance of The Great Wall, the taxi driver had to drop me off about half a mile down the road from the wall. In that universal sign language that taxi drivers use to talk to us tourists, he told me to walk to a nearby ticket office where I could buy my ticket to go see The Great Wall. I promptly followed his directions without even contemplating that I might have misunderstood his directions.

Off in the far distance, I could see some winding sections of The Great Wall that was miles from where I was. Now, all I had to do was buy a ticket and step through the official entrance to The Great Wall. Excited that I was finally going to see one of The Seven Wonders of the World, I crossed a parking lot, bought a ticket at the ticket booth, and got on a bus filled with the local Chinese tourists who were enjoying their government-endorsed day off.

The bus didn’t start up right away. We sat there for at least thirty minutes. While we were sitting there in the parking lot, a bunch of monkeys kept running up to the bus to be fed by the tourists inside the bus. Just about everyone in the bus was throwing peanuts, slices of bread, and pieces of bananas out the window to the monkeys who were jumping on each other and shrieking at one another as they competed for the bits of food. After about half an hour of this monkey business, the bus finally started up, and we started driving down the road.

Our bus stopped in front of a large, solid, iron gate that was twice as tall as the bus. I saw that there was a fence that stretched out on either side of the gate and couldn’t figure out the reason for that fence. Maybe, I thought, that was just their way of keeping out the people who didn’t want to pay the entrance fee to see The Great Wall.

The iron gate opened up, we drove through it, and came to a stop in front of a second set of solid, iron gates. This second gate also had a fence that stretched out on either side of it. I automatically surmised that the second fence was an additional measure to keep out the people who didn’t want to pay the entrance fee to see The Great Wall. The bus sat idling by while the first gate behind us closed up. After that gate had closed, the second gate in front of us then opened up. We drove through the second gate, stopped, waited for the second gate to close up behind us, then proceeded to drive along a winding road.

I thought it was odd that they had taken such extreme measures to keep out the people who didn’t want to pay for the tickets to see The Great Wall. Two solid iron gates and two sets of fences? Wasn’t that a bit extreme? I was stuck on those erroneous assumptions until I saw the sights right outside my bus window.

I saw lions and tigers running loose around the bus, and that was when I realized I had gotten on the bus for an outdoor zoo! I can’t believe this, I said to myself. How could this have happened? How did I end up on a bus to an outdoor zoo?

In a not-too-graceful scamper, I scooted out of my seat and walked up to the bus driver. “Excuse me,” I said, “but I got on the wrong bus. I was trying to go see The Great Wall.” The bus driver stopped the bus and turned to look at me. He gave me a quizzical smile and shook his head to tell me he didn’t understand what I was saying.

I’m Vietnamese, and since the moment I had arrived in Beijing, everyone I came across in China assumed I was Chinese. When I spoke to them in English, they looked at me as if I might have been an expatriate Chinese who had to resort to speaking English because he had forgotten how to speak his native Mandarin.

“The Great Wall,” I peeped out to the bus driver one more time. He maintained a quizzical smile that told me I wasn’t getting anywhere in my communication with him. I looked back at the crowd on the bus to see if anyone might have understood what I’d just said so they could give me a hand with what I was trying to say. The crowd on the full bus looked back at me with a collective, confused expression. I thought about peeping out, “The Great Wall,” one more time to anyone on the bus in a last ditch effort to get some help, but I saw my effort would have been futile. Nobody had any idea what I was saying, and I had no idea how to tell them I had boarded the wrong bus. Furthermore, it was all too obvious that I was holding up the zoo tour. The only option available to me was to sit down, shut up, and enjoy the zoo tour, so I sat down, shut up, and enjoyed the zoo tour.

Almost two hours after I had seen more lions and tigers than I had planned on seeing, I finally found the entrance to The Great Wall. It was about half a mile up the road from the zoo. After I had bought the correct ticket and had walked through the correct entrance, I walked for a mile on top of The Great Wall that I had only read about in books.

I returned to my hotel that afternoon thinking about how much my visit to The Great Wall had been well worth the effort. Not only had I seen and walked on the centuries-old slabs of stones that make up The Great Wall, but I had also seen and ridden through a zoo tour that will always remain in my memory as The Great Zoo.

I left China two days later thinking how fortunate I was to have a job that would allow me to fly to Beijing for the weekend to see The Great Wall. I also left China thinking about a side note of curiosity about my image in America and in China. In America, people keep mistaking me for Chinese, and in China, they also keep mistaking me for Chinese.

Writer Nick Dao is based in Southern California. An American originally from Vietnam, he is able to offer a unique perspective on travel to Asia and elsewhere.

A Communist Parade

Posted on October 1, 2003 by admin

By Nick Dao

My trip to China to see The Great Wall was going to be in August of 1999, but then I caught a news clip on CNN broadcasting how China was getting ready to throw a birthday bash in September to commemorate its 50th Anniversary under the communist rule. The news clip said there would be parades and other joyous festivities! While I certainly would never be one to celebrate the joys of communist living, I was curious as to what the celebrations would be like. I postponed my trip for one month and flew to Beijing in September.

There were a lot of celebrations all right. There was a grand parade down one of the main boulevards, and there was a flowery and elaborate show of pageantry inside The Forbidden City. The celebrations would have been a sight to behold, if only I could have seen those sights for myself.

When I was walking down one of the crowded, main boulevards to see one of those grand parades, I ran smack into a wall of soldiers blocking my path. At first, I thought they were a part of the parade that hadn’t yet joined in with the procession. I thought they would soon be marching and moving, so I waited for them to move, but they stubbornly just stood there. My impatience was getting the better of me. I tried to go around them, but they had blocked the road so that there was no getting around them. Those uniformed soldiers with their rifles in hand had separated the parade from the crowd.

What was going on, I wondered? I wanted to ask someone about the soldiers, but I don’t speak Mandarin. I looked around and saw a Caucasian guy who was standing idly by at the side of the road. He didn’t look nearly as perplexed as I was and seemed to have a grasp on the situation. I walked over to him and said a slow, “Hello,” while hoping he was an English speaker.

“Hi,” he said with a smile.

His vernacular greeting instantly told me he was American, and I felt relieved we wouldn’t have to talk in broken English. “What’s going on here,” I asked him. “I’m trying to see the parade, but those soldiers are blocking the way.”

“They’re keeping out the public,” the guy informed me. “You have to be some sort of a VIP to get past the soldiers and see the parade.”

I wrinkled my brow and spouted out, “You’re kidding me! You have to be a special somebody to see a parade?”

The guy smiled ruefully then sighed out loud, “Believe it or not.”

I thanked him for the explanation and walked away shaking my head. When I saw that news clip on CNN about the festivities to commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Communist Party, I had automatically assumed the parade would be for anyone and everyone, just like it was in the USA. Little did I know that in a communist country, you would have to be special somebody in the government or the army to stand by the side of the road and watch a parade.

I meandered away from the parade that I didn’t get to see and headed over to The Forbidden City. If I couldn’t see a parade, I thought, then I could at least see the historical site of The Forbidden City, and that assumption turned out to be my next mistake.

On my way over to The Forbidden City, I’d questioned if I would be able to get in there since the powers-that-be might have been having a pageantry in The Forbidden City. I dismissed that concern when I concluded that if the VIPs were back there busily watching a parade, then they couldn’t also be inside The Forbidden City simultaneously watching a pageantry.

After I had arrived at the gates of The Forbidden City, I began to wish I had stuck with my original plan to visit Beijing a month earlier in August. There wasn’t any display of pageantry in The Forbidden City at that moment, but the people working under the VIPs were busily setting up The Forbidden City for the pageantry. Therefore, The Forbidden City was closed and off-limits to everyone who wasn’t of the VIP status.

I chalked up the day as another learning experience that taught me something about sightseeing in a foreign country and about the inclusion of democracy versus the exclusion of communism. The next time I would see a parade on Main Street, USA, I would appreciate how anyone and everyone would be invited to watch the parade regardless of whether or not they were a VIP.

Writer Nick Dao is based in Southern California. An American originally from Vietnam, he is able to offer a unique perspective on travel to Asia and elsewhere.

Drawn Into Sedona

Posted on August 1, 2003 by admin

Drawn Into Sedona – Excerpts from a Travel Diary
By Leticia Andreas

Barely four days I spent in Sedona last December, but I must say that I had a fun and kind of wacky time there. It did not look like that in the beginning, as it was holiday season and the town packed with visitors. As much as I could, I went off the beaten path, and strove to fulfill my own dream of Sedona.

On Thursday, December 26, 2002, I made my way to Sedona in my Beetle. From Los Angeles, I reached Blythe in three hours, where I crossed the border to Arizona. This area of the 10 Freeway in Arizona is incredibly boring, a completely barren strip of land. I had decided earlier on to not go through the Phoenix area, but rather to take highway 60 going north, right after the town of Quartzsite. The 60 is a two-lane highway, one lane each direction, but was not heavily traveled. Once in a while there are “towns” on the way, but it was almost impossible to determine if they were still live-able, or lived-in. Mostly they looked like they had just within recent years become ghost towns. From the 60 I continued on the 71 for a short stretch, until it became the 89.

The scenery changed and became more acceptable just before I drove through the town of Yarnell – now on highway 89 north, it turned from a long, straight road into a mountain road. And it was really pretty there, as all of a sudden patches of snow were around, and the gray roadside bushes had turned into pine trees. Yarnell was a small mountain town, and looked well taken care of with its wood and log houses, neat little stores and such. Once out of Yarnell, the road was curving down again and the surroundings were almost back to boring. The town of Wilhoit was next, and it was again one of these tiny, barely-there towns.

Finally, around 1:30 p.m. PST (2:30 p.m. Arizona time) I arrived in Prescott, and stopped at the Visitor Center for some brochures. Prescott looked to me like a perfect “movie”-mountain town, with the main street and all its shops, the courthouse and plaza. A lot of people strolled around, and for the first time since I left L.A. I encountered “heavy” traffic. However, I hopped on the 69 south, then the 169 going east. That brought me to the 17 Freeway, and I headed north towards Flagstaff. The sign for the 179 showed up two miles before the actual exit to Sedona. And from there, it was only fifteen more miles.

After just a few minutes on the 179, the Red Rocks came into sight – and what a sight that was!

All of a sudden I knew the trip had been worth it. The first place I arrived at was Oak Creek, where I stopped at the Chamber of Commerce, and got a hiking book, a map of Sedona, and some trail maps. Afterwards I went into town to look for the Hostel Sedona I was going to stay at. Turned out that the town was jammed packed with tourists and tourist busses, and it seemed like everyone was out shopping like mad. I found the turnoff to the hostel, and soon after entered the “lobby” of the main building where two guys were hanging out in the community kitchen. The hostel keeper came out, and I was led to my private room in the women’s dormitory.

First, I unloaded the Beetle as it was dark already, then looked at all the reading material about Sedona. I drove into town on the 89 going west, to look for the New Frontiers store & restaurant. I found it successfully just about five minutes away from the hostel, and went in to drink a tea and plug in the laptop. Just as I was writing, a man interrupted me, and we engaged in conversation. His name was June*, and we talked about L.A., Sedona, etc. It was fun talking to him, and the funniest thing was that he also played the Native American Flutes like me! Of course we did some flute talk. June also told me about many local hangouts, and I planned on going to some of them during my stay.

On Friday morning, December 27, 2002, I went west on the 89 and looked for the Coffee Roasters place June had told me about. It was just passed a street called Coffeepot Drive. June sat inside, talking to a young girl, Vanessa*, who was also visiting Sedona for a few days. June invited Vanessa and me for a ride in his wacky van to show us some favorite spots. First he took us to Airport Vortex, one of the famous Vortexes in Sedona, up on Airport Road. We climbed on top of the rocks, and stood directly on the Vortex. It was very cold and windy at the time, and June told us quickly that the Airport Vortex had special energy due to the magnetic fields underneath it.

Back on the 89 going east, June showed us a place past the “Y” of Sedona (the intersection of the alternate route 89 and the 179). It was a historical landmark, built in the late 1800′s by a man called J.J. Thompson for the purpose of protecting a natural spring, which was still alive and bubbling. After that we went to Indian Garden’s across the street, a grocery store & bistro where locals like to hang out in the summer, sitting under big trees in the back. A trading post called Garland’s was next to it, with a “talking” metal deer out in front, and we inspected the fantastic Native American jewelry. June drove further up the road a bit, where Native American vendors sold jewelry and crafts at much lower prices.

June took us back to the Coffee Roasters from where I drove off to Cathedral Rock. First, however, I had to get the Red Rock Parking Pass, which has to be displayed everywhere one wants to park in Red Rock country. For the best deal, I bought one for an entire week for $15, as a one-day pass was $5 just by itself. The entrance fee to the park was another $5. I began to walk, and without even knowing it at first, I encountered another Vortex right by the creek and marked by a rock garden. Wanting to get closer to Cathedral Rock though, I walked back, crossed a small footbridge to the other side of the creek, and was finally on Cathedral Rock trail, heading up the rock on one of its sides. The trail went uphill, and I looked forward to a moderate hike, but was rudely awoken by a few mountain bikers going up and down the already narrow trail. After another ten minutes on the trail I was so annoyed that I hiked back down, walking along the creek, looking for a quiet spot anywhere, but too many people were about. I sat down on a rock by the creek for a while, then drove back into town to visit Tlaquepaque Village. The traffic was heavy, and when I arrived at the shopping village, I did not spark with great enthusiasm. What I feared was true: Tlaquepaque was a shopping village with many galleries, handcrafts, and other exclusive shops, and extremely expensive. I walked through it in about ten minutes, and had had enough of it.

Around 5 p.m. I parked at the New Frontiers store to eat. A couple of doors down is the Ravenheart Coffeeshop, where I sat down afterwards with the laptop to drink a hot cider, and write. I also opted to buy fifteen minutes on the Internet, which cost $2.75. After Ravenheart I quickly went window-shopping in Uptown Sedona, and decided to go back early the next day. When I got back to the hostel, I went to the office/kitchen space and joined the guys, mostly low-budget travelers passing through.

On the morning of Saturday, December 28, 2002, I was at the Coffee Roasters at 8 a.m. June was there, so was Greg* from the day before, and others who are frequenting the place. I engaged in conversation with Greg about aliens, cloning, and some news about all that in the Arizona newspaper, and also about L.A. Never mind the nice conversation, I left at 9:10 a.m. and drove quickly into Uptown to beat the crowds and buy a few things. Then I went back on the 89 west to Dry Creek Road, where I made a right to get to Boynton Pass Road, then a right on Boynton Canyon Road and Trail #47. The trail started very nicely, walking on brown dirt with manzanita bushes on the side and occasional pine trees. Patches of snow were on the trail, and at times it was a bit muddy. Supposedly there would be a right turnoff for the trail to some small ruins after about 1.5 miles, but I did not find it, no matter how closely I examined the huge rocks to my right. The further I hiked, the more snow appeared: at some points now it became very icy and slippery, and the trail was fully covered with snow. There was barely any sun coming through, because the rock formations on either side of the trail were too tall, as were the pine trees. It was cold, and only very few people were still hiking that far. After an hour I knew that I probably missed the ruins. I decided to turn around and make my way back. It was no use going on hiking in the snow with my regular hiking shoes.

After I had walked back for about half an hour, I saw a small trail on my left, barely discernable at all, but I wanted to venture off the beaten path and went up that trail. Even though very narrow and at times overgrown, it was clearly a trail that had been hiked on many times before. The trail became a bit steeper, with patches of big, slanted rock areas. I looked up to study the rock walls ahead, and saw an opening with what looked like a man-made rock wall, with the rocks lighter in color than the surrounding red ones. My heart beat faster, because I was almost certain? Further up I went, almost exclusively over rock debris now and barely a visible trail, but something was up there. After a few more minutes I looked up again, and I knew that I had found the trail to the small ruins! I came to a sign saying to “Honor Your American Heritage”, and I took a picture of it as it was very rare that Native American ruins or artifacts were called “American Heritage”. Then I scrambled up the last part to the ruin, put my backpack and flutebag on a big stone, and looked around the two rooms, which had been partially reconstructed.

The sun shone brightly into the overhang in which the ruins were, and it must have been over 80 degrees, but still the main part of the two rooms was in the shade. I took out my flutes, got the Woodpecker and Eagle flutes ready to play, and sat down on a rock slab on the edge, overlooking the terrain. A couple of million dollar homes were right across, and what a difference that was to the about 800 year old ruins. The first flute I played was the Woodpecker, and the acoustics were just amazing. The next flute was the Eagle, and this one especially resonated beautifully today, with its deep, dark tone, and seemed to fit this environment even better. It was just amazing, and I played for about forty-five minutes. With the exception of just one couple coming up to the ruin for ten minutes, I had been completely alone. I took out the Eagle flute again, played one last song, or maybe it was two, then packed up and started to hike back down. I was on a total high, and forgave Sedona for being so crowded and traffic-y. This experience alone made it all worthwhile to me.

Some other ruins were close by, down an unpaved road. But within fifteen seconds of driving on that road I realized that it would be a bit much for the Beetle, as it’s not a high-clearance vehicle. So I went back into Sedona, drove through Uptown, going further east to the Native American vendors, and also stopped at Garland’s. The jewelry was too expensive for me, but I roamed through the sandpaintings, and I purchased three of those. Heading back into Sedona, there was the usual afternoon traffic jam in Uptown, and a long car line on the 89 had formed all the way up to the 179.

At the New Frontiers counter I met June, who joined me for dinner. After that, I had a hot chocolate at Ravenheart, chatted with June some more, and turned on the laptop. June told me that when he met me first, I was all alert and cautious, but now very relaxed and open. Well, you gotta give it a day or two to leave the L.A. city-craziness behind you, and acclimate. It’s not so easy for us city-folk!

I sat down at a big table at Ravenheart, across from a Psychic Reader, and next to a couple of older guys talking about the Apocalypse, the powerful and ruling rich families of America, spiritual leaders, alien landings, world citizenship and I began writing. Everything was perfect.

On Sunday, December 29, 2002, I left the hostel at 8 a.m. The usual guys were at the Coffee Roasters this early Sunday morning, and we chatted for a while, but just before 9 a.m. I said my goodbyes, and headed for Cottonwood. My plans for this morning were to visit the Indian ruin Tuzigoot in Clarkdale, about nineteen miles west of Sedona. I arrived at 9:15 a.m., and found that the ruins actually open at 8 a.m. and not at 9 a.m., the latter was the time printed in every brochure I had read. Only a few people were there, and I went up the hill, checked out the ruins, and then played the Trail flute for a little bit on its roof. The surrounding area was called Verde Valley, with a meandering stream running through it for which the ruin had been named after the excavation: Tuzigoot meant “crooked stream”, and an Apache elder had given it its name. Before I left I made sure to ask one of the rangers if Montezuma Castle was open, because every brochure and info booklet I had read said it was open only Memorial Day through Labor Day. He kind of rolled his eyes in annoyance about that fact, and said, no, Montezuma was definitely open. First I went off to the small town of Jerome, as it was nearby. The road to Jerome was very curvy and narrow, and I kind of was not in the mood to visit the town center. I just stopped at the side of the road and took a couple of pictures of Jerome as it clung to the mountainside. I went back through Clarkdale again, to 17 Freeway north. There, I got off at the Montezuma Castle exit, and headed towards the park and its famous ruins, where cars already lined the side of the road.

By now it was late morning and, just like myself, all the other tourists were out and about. Sure enough: one could barely get through the store and display room, and the walkways to the ruin were jammed. I took a few pictures of the Montezuma ruins, which could only be looked at from way down, stood there for a while to take it all in, and left.

Down the 17 Freeway I went, where a huge dark cloud hung overhead, maybe the storm that was supposed to come in to Sedona was finally here. High winds pounded on the car on the 17. After an hour or so I turned onto loop 101, which turned into the 10 Freeway west. With that, I had circumvented the entire Phoenix downtown area, and probably saved half an hour or so. Except for a stop in Blythe, I drove through to L.A., and I was finally back home at 8:20 p.m. PST. In total, I had driven 1,076 miles in these four days.

Reprise

Sedona is definitely a place to visit, but better in spring or fall, so I’ve heard. However, it seems that Sedona would always be full with visitors at any time, because it is only an hour north of Phoenix, and the locals call it, with a slightly bitter undertone, the “playground of Phoenix”. There is basically no off-season in Sedona, as it has a great rear-round climate, even though a bit colder in the winter.

Hotels are quite expensive, and it is impossible to get anything under $50/night, unless you are willing to stay further out of town, like in Cottonwood or Clarkdale, or at a hostel like I did – of which there is only one and that is more for the tough-minded who are fine with cheap quarters, shared bathrooms, and absolutely no luxury or comfort.

The restaurants and coffee shops in Sedona are excellent: there are plenty of them and worth checking out. For these, it is best to stay away from Uptown Sedona, and venture west from highway 179 onto highway 89, as the best and least crowded ones seem to be in that area.

Uptown Sedona is a nightmare with traffic and parking, and so is the area around Tlaquepaque Village. Locals told me that Sedona just wasn’t build for all the visitors and tourists, as no one had expected how popular the town would become.

Hiking and other outdoors activities are fantastic, but always count on herds of people. The Red Rocks are just amazing, and there is nothing like them in the greater surroundings. The ancient ruins around the Sedona area are always worth a visit, and I would also recommend others up in the Flagstaff area. If one needs good books about Sedona and its environs, I found the very best ones actually at the Montezuma Castle National Monument store, even better than any books I had found in Sedona itself.

To come to a close: Sedona is pretty wonderful. And even though I can’t say much about the “spiritual” side of Sedona, I guess that thousands of people a year are attracted to that specific phenomenon. I feel “spirituality” or “energies” only on such days when I sat at that small ruin, playing my flutes, and that is what I call my spirituality. Everyone else can do their own thing in Sedona!

(*All names of persons have been changed by author)

Los Angeles based writer Leticia Andreas plays flute and saxophone in addition to her many other talents.

The High Plains Roadhead

Posted on July 1, 2003 by admin

By Mike (Roadie) Marino

Lawdogs and outlaws fill the American dreamscape with visions of the Wild West. Barroom brawls and honky tonk women, good guys and bad guys, white hats versus black hats in a battle of good and evil played out in a backdrop of the High Plains cowtowns that dotted the landscape of the Old West. Dusty trails and the heat of the sun, building a thirst for whiskey and a hunger for companionship, forming a deadly combination that could erupt in a Vesuvian gun battle..resulting in a one way ticket to Boot Hill.

That is the American picture most associated with the Old West. In reality it was a hard, dusty, lowpaying and bathless drama that was played out on the stage of cowtowns and mining towns that were indeed wild and wooly. Law was a thinly veiled disguise for localized corruption and justice was dispensed with a six gun or the end of a rope. Just as Egypt has the pyramids to extoll her past, America has the Wild West that will forever define us as a people. In this Roadhead Tour-du-Jour we’ll visit Dodge City, Tombstone and Deadwood with guns a’blazin! So saddle up, it’s time to hit the dusty trail, and don’t be surprised at anything you might see along the way.

Dodge City

The longest running TV western in vast wasteland history was “Gunsmoke”. Every week Marshall Dillon, Miss Kitty, Doc and the rest of the townspeople would hang out at the Longbranch Saloon and no matter what evil befell the town, by the end of sixty minutes, right had replaced wrong and good once again, with only a few commercial interruptions, triumphed over evil. Although “Gunsmoke” was TV fiction it was based in reality on the roughest cowtown of them all, Dodge City, Kansas.

To understand Dodge City you have to go back to 1821 when the Sante Fe Trail opened up from Franklin, Missouri all the way to Sante Fe, New Mexico. The trail of trade was direct as could be in those days, but danger lurked behind every coyote bush on the lone prairie. Buffalo filled the grassland ocean with the sound of thunder from their hooves and America was expanding faster than a Chia pet.

Fort Dodge was built in 1865 to protect the trail and it’s caravans, and by 1871 the first settler built a sod hut and trading post for the exchange of buffalo furs, not more than 5 miles from the fort. Like prolific rabbits, the settlers soon multiplied and by 1872 had the makings of a “town” and in honor of their military benefactors, named the town, Dodge City.

Although the boom and bust longhorn cattle drives only lasted from 1875 to 1886, Dodge City has given the world it’s share of legend. The lawless nature of Dodge was caused by a large influx of “cowboys” ready for a good time and a town only to eager to capitalize on that readiness, but the fact remained, there were no lawdog peace officers at the time on the payroll and the military had no jurisdiction. The town simply divided itself using the railroad tracks as a “dividing line”. To the north..no guns, no sin. To the south..anything goes. If you went to the south side of town to Front Street you were literally heading for the “wrong side of the tracks”

Gunfights were common and many a person was shot down in the street or in a saloon and buried with “their boots on” in makeshift graves in what became known as “Boothill”. The railroad eventually entered Dodge and when the conductors and brakemen had layovers would visit the local brothels that were prevalent in the area. In order to be found by their compatriots when the trains were ready to leave and required their assistance, they simply hung their red lanterns outside the door so they could signal their whereabouts. Hence the term, “red-light district”.

In time, the imaginary line of virtue disappeared and things were out of control and it was decided that peace officers needed to be hired, and in the course of that hiring process Dodge City hired some of the soon to be most legendary lawdogs in history. William Barclay Masterson, nicknamed “Bat”, was born in Canada in 1856 and by 1876 was serving as sheriff of Ford County which included the town of Dodge. Another legend was serving as the town Marshall at the time. A gentlemen born in 1848 in Illinois and destined to explode in lore and legend, becoming larger than life, Wyatt Earp. Eventually Bat and Wyatt moved on, the cattle drives slowed down and were all but gone by 1886 and Fort Dodge had already closed by 1882.

Today the cowboys don’t race into town hell-bent on debauchery, the gamblers don’t prey on the unsuspecting and the brothels have all closed their doors. The tourist in search of the “wild west” experience is the new “cowboy” that makes tracks for the infamous cowtown. Dodge City plays host to over 100,000 visitors a year from around the globe who pack the town and visit the Boothill Museum and the historic recreation of Front Street, with it’s saloon’s, mercantiles and blacksmith shop. Watch your step though, gunplay in the form of reenactments are liable to break out at any moment. (Note: This is not the original Front Street and is only a re-creation) Also it’s north of the tracks these days for tourist convenience, considering it was originally on the “wrong side of the tracks”, to the south in it’s high plains heyday. When you mosey down Front Street, and the swinging doors of The Longbranch Saloon swing open go inside and soak up history and pop culture itself. Yes, the original Longbranch was the model for the TV version on “GUNSMOKE” that starred James Arness, who’s character, Marshall Matt Dillion was a romanticized character that was a fictional composite of the real life Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp. Miss Kitty? Well, anybody’s guess.

In addition to Dodge City itself, you can also take side trips to visit Fort Dodge and if you go west of town on Highway 50 towards the town of Cimarron, you’ll find a pull off on the north side of the highway where you can park and walk out into the hills and see the original ruts and remains of the famed Santa Fe Trail. Go south from Cimarron on Highway 23 and you’ll hit the town of Meade and the Dalton Gang Hideout and Museum, an interesting side trip to your Dodge City adventure.

Dodge City also celebrates it’s gun blazin’ past with Dodge City Days, in late July. The town fills up for days of country music, barbecues, rodeo’s, carnivals and crafts, dancing, a western parade and a western art show. Other Dodge diversions include a tour by trolley or stagecoach, cowboy poetry reading festivals and you can wax poetically at the passing of the old west at the Gunfighters Wax Museum!! Dodge also has mighty modified Roadhead action, and you can rev it up at the Dodge City Raceway.

The dusty chaps are replaced by Bermuda shorts and the Colt revolver is long gone, but Nikon camera’s are loaded and ready to fire away. Dodge has over 700 rooms to accommodate the visitor and 40 some eating establishments to appeal to every taste. One of the quirkier things about Dodge City, is that there are two interestingly named liquour stores in town and within sight of each other. One is the Wyatt Earp Liquor Store and within a block or two is the Doc Holiday Liquor Store!! Two old friends still looking after each other. Overall, Doc’s has my vote, as you can sit in a late 19th Century dental chair in the back of the store and have your picture taken!!

Tombstone, Arizona

Tombstone was a rough and rowdy ride by anyone’s standards. Sitting high on a mesa at 4,500 feet above sea level, and the Huachuca Mountains standing guard over it’s buried natural treasures, it was mining, not the lure of the longhorn that brought notoriety to this part of Arizona. It was such a lawless region that the newspaper was named The Epitaph, and Tombstone itself, earned the sobriquet, The Town Too Tough To Die!! Now that’s tough!!

The lure of silver and ore opened the floodgates and the rush of humanity raced to the region in search of wealth, faster than water running in a sluice. As more miners and dreamers moved to the region, the need for products and goods increased, and eventually the first house and business establishment to cater to the mercantile needs of the growing boomtown was erected in April of 1879. The population swelled like water in a sponge and by 1881 could boast a citizenry in excess of 6,500. Along with the boom came the obligatory battalions of bad guys, barrooms and brothels. The bad guys were certainly a colorful lot of card cheats and charlatons, but by far the most dangerous group were the “cowboys”, comprised of some of the meaner spirits of the old west with Mafia like nicknames. The rambunctious Johnny Ringo, the barroom brawling Curly Bill Brocious and and the somewhat scared like a chicken Ike Clanton. Not abiders of law, west or east of the Pecos, the “cowboys” generally had carte blanche of the town to themselves until a gentleman by the name of Virgil Earp put on a badge and became Tombstone’s Chief of Police.

The wheels were now set in motion and the inevitable non-harmonic convergence and lead filled clash between two legendary factions of the wild and crazy west was about to come to a death dealing head. The Clantons and McLowery’s were used to bullying the populous around..until Virgil Earp and his deputized brothers Morgan and Wyatt had decided that it was time for an old fashioned showdown. They had additional and most deadly assistance from a close friend of Wyatt Earp. He was a hell bent on self destruction “lunger”, gambler and dentist from Georgia, named Doc Holiday. Dying anyway, Doc was only too happy to shoot it out with anyone who might offer the opportunity. Magnificently portrayed in the film “TOMBSTONE” by Val Kilmer, Doc proclaimed to all challengers…”I’m your huckleberry”.

On October 26th, 1881, The Earp Faction walked determinedly to face the Clantons and soon the most famous of all shoot-outs of the old west took place…and was over in just 30 seconds. Although the shoot out actually took place near the OK Corral and not actually in it, the battle left some men dead in the dust and the others wounded or grazed, except for Wyatt Earp. He emerged unscathed and destined for immortality in the annals of the wild west. Dime novels, magazine articles, movies and of course, the Nifty Fifties television series starring Hugh O’Brien.

The dust has settled, and today, Tombstone relishes it’s historic past and recreates it on an almost daily basis with the fervor of a Tasmanian devil on diet pills. Today you can pose with life-size cutouts of the famed participants of the shoot-out and take your stand and your place next to Doc, as you bring down the bad guys, restore law and order and tip your white hat to the ladies. Re-enacters reenact to the delight of greenhorns, city slickers and tourists from around the world. Shoot-outs and hangin’ around the saloon is a great way to enjoy Tombstone, but you might get lucky and see some double dealing, hoss thieving, cattle rustling, no good son-of-a-gun varmint hung from the highest tree around, great fun for the entire family!! Gunfights, hangings, shoot-outs..oh my!!

You won’t have to rough it in some sweaty upstairs room over the saloon either. There’s plenty of lodging in Tombstone so you can rest comfortably, and wake up refreshed with the energy for a full day of souvenir shopping and touring. When you get hungry for a visit to the old chuckwagon, there are numerous choices of eateries for a great steak and a tall cold one to wash down the dust of the cattle trail. To prove that this town of 1,500 is truly civilized, you can even get a gourmet bagel and designer brew of cappuccino while webbing away at an Internet ready digital delight of a deli!! Now that’s civilized. Guided tours aplenty here to help you journey through Tombstones past and to visit highlighted attractions with experienced guides that will regale you with tales, truth’s and a myth or two with a wink of the eye. Enjoy the tour from a great choice of transportation modes including your choice of carriage, covered wagon or one of the stage coach tours that prowl the town.

Museums and displays of artifacts from those highly romanticized days, are also alive and kicking and a visit to the infamous Bird Cage Saloon is a must see stop on your visit to town. It opened as an “opera” house in 1881, the designation being a euphemism for a bawdy house. Brothel upstairs…booze and bawdy downstairs. Now that’s entertainment. The Bird Cage is allegedly where the famous verbal sparring in the learned language of Latin occurred between Doc Holiday and Johnny Ringo. Upstairs in one of those hot, humid rooms is where Wyatt Earp and his eventual lifemate, Josephine, held their secret liaisons. It was common in those days that the “the soiled doves” had to be licensed in order to practice their craft, very similar to having a drivers license, and on display at The Birdcage is Josephine’s permit that allowed her to work in the Bird Cage brothel and her magic on Wyatt.

Don’t forget to visit Boothill and enjoy the ghostly jaunt through a true gunslinging past. In addition to Tombstone, there are ghost towns to visit, drives into the mystical Huachuca’s, and for an extra treat, spend a night in a retro Airstream in the town of Bisbee just to the south of Tombstone at the Shady Dell Trailer Motel with an awesome Cold War motif mixing with the wild and woolie west.

Tombstone lies in tranquil repose not far from the Mexican border. The town and its past luring tourists in search of excitement and a glimpse of our unique American Western heritage. To experience Tombstone is to experience a bonifide legendary locale with a murky past chock full of wranglers, wrong doers and Wyatt Earp.

Deadwood, South Dakota

Doing Deadwood is an absolute Wild West delight! It’s up to it’s gunbelt in Wild Bill Hickok lore and legend, and packs a fully loaded six shooter of sights and attractions guaranteed to appeal to the whole family. Water parks, go carts and casino’s sharing the tourist dollar going with history and Western art. Although the boom town heyday of mining is long gone, there’s certainly plenty of tourist gold in them thar Black Hills.

Deadwood got it’s start during the Gold Rush of 1875, and it’s name from all the “deadwood” that accumulated in the gulch just outside of what would eventually become the pile of debris’ namesake. Gold brought miners, and in turn, the miners attracted all the elements of a bonafide frontier town..scam artists, ladies of the night, merchants, gamblers, gunfighters, and preachers. Deadwood exploded in size with it’s fair share of churches, stores, saloons and opium dens. The boom didn’t last long, however, when it was full tilt boogie, it attracted the infamous and the famous like a giant historic magnet of destiny. The most colorful character drawn to Deadwood, and the one person whose life is celebrated on a yearly basis, is the Prince of the Pistoleers, James Butler (Wild Bill) Hickok.

Born in 1837, the well coifed Wild Bill rode into the dime novel west from his prairie. roots in Illinois and created a persona and legend that invited the young guns of the west to dream of taking him on and taking him down at high noon, all in hopes of making a name for themselves and leaving their own footprints in the sands of Wild West legend.

His lawdog career was primarily in the cowtowns of Hays and Abilene, Kansas and brought his peculiar no frills, no compromise, and unconditional surrender brand of law n’order to a lawless frontier. His background also included working as a spy for the Union Army during the Civil War, a scout for fellow blonde, General George Armstrong Custer and a stint as a sideshow attraction with Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show.

Getting on in years and eyesight failing, Bill decided to slow it down and go the gold fields and strike it rich in the Dakota’s. Rumor has it that along the way he married a lady who owned a circus, and was also a lion tamer and tightrope walker, an interesting combination to say the least, and hence his reason to raise money in order to raise a family. Wild Bill lit out for Deadwood in 1876 and so did someone else who would figure prominently in the annals of the Old West, Martha (Calamity) Jane Cannary-Burke. More man then most men of the old west, she would be linked forever with the six gun hero, not only in life, but in death as well.

Wild Bill was playing poker in the Number 10 Saloon one day, with his customary seat-with-back-to-the-wall taken he sat with his back to the door instead. In walks Jack McCall to make his mark in the history books. Some say he was hired as part of a conspiracy to assassinate Wild Bill on behalf of the towns criminal elements just to make sure that he had no plans of putting on a badge again and cleaning up the town. In effect, Jack McCall would become the object of Wild West conspiracy theorists worldwide and would be the first Lee Harvey Oswald..The Lone Gunman! When Bill fell lifeless to the floor on August 2, 1876, he held a pair of 8′s and pair of Aces, which to this day is referred to as the “Dead Mans Hand”. What suit they were and what the fifth card was, is still up for debate.

Wild Bill was originally laid to rest in Ingleside Cemetery, but the towns growth eventually called for re-internment in Mt. Moriah Cemetery, where he lies peacefully today. Calamity Jane lived on throughout the west until 1903 when she died penniless in South Dakota. Her final wish, to be buried next to Wild Bill. She is. Today that Deadmans Hand is celebrated along with other events in the yearly Days of ’76 Days and Wild Bill Days.

The true Gold Rush of Tourism began with the first “Days of 76 Celebration” in 1924. Silent Cal Coolidge visited the area in 1929 and in addition to donning a war bonnet, he attracted a half million visitors at the same time, and the new rush was off and running. Today over 2,000,000 visitors descend on the area to visit not just Deadwood, but also the Black Hills, the Badlands and of course, the great granite monolith of Mt. Rushmore and the work in progress of Chief Crazy Horse.

History and gaming go hand in hand in Deadwood, and you won’t have any trouble trying your luck at any one of numerous casino’s that run like a string of pearls throughout the town. The Number 10 Saloon is ready to open those swinging doors wide pardner, so be careful if someone deals you a pair of eights and a pair of Aces with your beer.

To get the real flavor of the era, visit the Days of 76 Museum and try your luck at one of the gold mines that still hold just enough treasure for the tourist to be amazed and delighted, and of course, the obligatory visit to the “Boothill Museum” (every town had a Boothill. They were at the time, the equivalent of a Levittown for the dead!). Reenactments relive those exciting days and you don’t want to miss the Chinese Tunnel Tour. A visit to the Wax Museum is a must on any itinerary, but the jewel of the crown is a visit to pay your respects to the Lucy and Desi of the frontier west, Wild Bill and Calamity Jane. Graves are protected these days because some tourist come to mine and pilfer souvenirs from the tombstones. (Footnote: Wild Bills original tombstone completely destroyed by souvenir hunters way back in the 1880′s. In 1891, a ten foot bronze statue was put in it’s place and within ten years, it was destroyed too!! Ah, what price fame, eh?)

History stands proudly shoulder to shoulder in Deadwood alongside miniature golf, gold panning for the kids, paintball, go carts and water slides. Outdoor enthusiasts will find enough hiking and camping areas that will make your head spin. Souvenir shopping here is overwhelming and can create a hunger, so make sure you please your palate at any of the large variety of eateries that won’t require a suit and tie. Lodging runs the gamut from downtown motels, to bed and breakfasts, to cabins nestled in the pines with fishing opportunities, as well as a plethora of RV campgrounds and rustic tent sites too, for the more Muir-like tourist.

Deadwood is alive and well with activity from The Days of 76 to Kool Deadwood Nights in August, and the heavenly hog Harley meet in neighboring Sturgis every year. The Black Hills region is indeed alive with the sounds of tourism music.

Dodge City…Tombstone and Deadwood. Legendary locations that define the High Plains Drifter past of America. The growing pains of a nation hungry for expansion and growth and feeding that hunger not with a knife and fork, but with six gun justice. Today, you can journey back in time and walk in the footsteps of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly and pretend your Wyatt Earp. On the other hand I think I’d make a better Doc Holiday. See you in the saloon Pard!

Discovering Phnom Penh

Posted on May 1, 2003 by admin

By Patrick Mascoe.

In 1991, Cambodia reopened its doors to tourism for the first time in years. But after almost a decade, the tourism industry still finds itself developing at a rather cautious pace. Cambodia today, remains shaky both politically and economically. With over a million unexploded land mines and sporadic unrest, it’s not surprising that it’s not everyone’s first choice in holiday destinations.

Although the notorious Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge no longer exist, armed gangs still roam certain regions of the country; making traveling dangerous and inadvisable. Presently, the only real safe travel destinations within the country are Phnom Penh, Siam Reap and the ancient ruins of Angkor Wat.

The majority of visitors to Cambodia tend to fly straight into Siam Reap in order to experience the mystical beauty of Angkor Wat. Without a doubt, it is the jewel of Cambodia’s tourism industry and should not be missed. It has been deemed by historians as one of the greatest architectural wonders of the world

The temples of Angkor were built from 879 to 1191 AD, when the Khmer empire was at the height of its power. In 1431, the Thais invaded and drove the Khmers out of Angkor. Angkor Wat became virtually deserted for centuries, and was thought to be nothing more than a myth. However, in 1860, French explorer Henri Mouhot, rediscovered the ruins. Angkor Wat remains an area of untouched beauty. Today over 100 temples still exist, covering an area of 400 sq. km. Most of these temples are still in very good condition.

The sheer size and intricacies of these magnificent ruins are something you will never forget. However, visiting only Angkor Wat is not enough. To truly see and understand Cambodia’s past, a visit to Phnom Penh is a must. In 1863, the French took over Phnom Penh, and converted it into one of the most beautiful cities in Indochina; a city where the contrast between beauty, and brutality are overwhelming.

Its beauty is not hard to find within its palaces, temples and museums. The Grand Palace, (Royal Palace) in Phnom Penh was built in 1866 by the French and is located in the heart of the city. Its architecture resembles in many ways the Royal Palace in Bangkok, except it is much less extravagant. Within the Palace is the Coronation Hall, as well as an open-air theatre in which the Royal Dance Troupe performs. The King’s private residence is also located within the palace compound, however, it is closed to the public.

Also located within the Royal Palace is the Silver Pagoda, (which is also known as Wat Preah Kaeo). It is made up of 5,000 individual silver tiles. Much of the Khmer artwork that was housed within the pagoda was destroyed during Pol Pot’s reign of terror. However, some interesting pieces still remain, including a 90 kg. solid gold Buddha decorated with 9,584 diamonds and a 17th century Buddha made of crystal. There are numerous other gold Buddha’s as well as beautifully carved Khmer masks on display.

Within the same vicinity of the Grand Palace, is the National Museum which displays many of Angkor Wat’s original carvings. Many of the carvings at Angkor Wat were destroyed or stolen, but fortunately some have been returned to where they belong and can now be viewed by the public. The museum also has displays of pottery and bronzes dating from the pre-Angkor periods, as well as more recent works.

Although there is beauty to be seen in Phnom Penh, the obvious links to its cruel past remain ever present. Visits to Tuol Sleng Museum of Genocide, and to the Killing Fields, presents a visual history of the atrocities committed by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. It has been estimated that they were responsible for the death of between one and three million Cambodians between 1975 and 1979.

The Tuol Sleng Museum is located about ten minutes from downtown Phnom Penh. It is unlike any museum you will ever see. Although it gives an accurate testament to Cambodia’s past, it is incredibly horrifying. The building that now houses the museum, was originally Tuol Svay Prey High School; but in 1975, Pol Pot’s security forces converted it into Cambodia’s largest detention centre. It became know as Security Prison 21 (S-21).

It is almost impossible to comprehend what went on here. From outside its barbed wire fence, it looks like any other high school in Cambodia. The grounds are full of palm trees, and the sounds of laughing children are everywhere. The school’s volleyball court is still used by neighbourhood teenagers, and yet this is where 20,000 men, women, and children were interrogated and tortured by the Khmer Rouge.

Many died while being interrogated, and as testimony to this, there are fourteen graves set within the courtyard. The graves are those of the last people killed at S-21. Ironically their deaths occurred on the very day the Vietnamese liberated the city in 1979.

The present Cambodian government has left the prison just as they found it in 1979. Classrooms were converted into torture centres. Desks were replaced by metal beds with leg shackles, and prisoners were beaten to death with shovels. Even today, the bloodstains still remain on the floors and walls of each classroom; while pictures of prisoners dying cruelly at the hands of the Khmer Rouge adorn the walls.

The rules of S-21 are still on display today, “You are strictly prohibited to contest me. If you disobey any point of my regulations, you will get ten lashes or five electric discharges”. If it hadn’t been for the meticulous records kept by the Khmer Rouge, it would have been hard to believe that such atrocities had taken place here.

The Khmer Rouge photographed every prisoner before being tortured. Such pictures cover the walls of a half dozen rooms inside the museum. Many had no idea of what was about to happen to them. As for others, the fear in their eyes was obvious. All these people were later killed.

The rest of the classrooms were used as prison cells. VIP prisoners were chained to the floors in tiny cinder block cells, not even large enough to lie down in. The less important prisoners, usually those with any form of education, were kept in mass detention behind wire mesh on the second and third floors. In the last room in the museum is a map of Cambodia made up of hundreds of human skulls from the victims of S-21. Across from it, stands a bust of the smiling face of Pol Pot.

Located 15 km outside of central Phnom Penh, is the infamous Killing Fields of Choeung Ek. The one-time orchard was converted by the Khmer Rouge into an extermination camp. Between 1975 and 1978 the prisoners of S-21 were forced to march to Choeung Ek where they were executed upon arrival. In order to avoid wasting bullets, the prisoners were simply beaten to death and then thrown into mass graves.

In 1980, the remains of 8,985 bodies were discovered in mass graves in Choeung Ek. Forty-three of the one hundred and twenty-nine graves have been left untouched. In 1988, a Memorial Stupa was erected to honour those who died here at the hands of the Khmer Rouge. Inside the Stupa, behind glass are the remains of over 8,000 human skulls. It is a very sobering reminder of what happened on this land, less than twenty-five years ago.

Yet to look around at the luscious green fields, to listen to the birds chirping, and to see the people smiling, is all too surreal. However, therein lies the secret of Cambodia’s resilience. They don’t forget their past, but they also don’t allow it to consume and destroy them.

The damage inflicted by the Pol Pot regime will be felt by generations to come. The country’s literacy rate is incredibly low, largely as a result of the number of teachers that had been killed. The destructions caused by landmines has given Cambodia the highest per-capita rate of amputees in the world, while poverty and disease gives it one of the highest infant mortality rates.

Every single Cambodian has been affected by their violent past and all have a sad story to tell. One night while eating dinner in a restaurant, the owner told us of how his parents had been taken away when he was just a child, and how they had never been seen again. I asked him how he deals with the anger of what happened to him. To my surprise he smiled and said, “I feel no anger. To carry the anger from the past will only ruin my future.” This may very well be a philosophy that is followed by all the people of Cambodia. Although their history is dark and sad the people of Cambodia refuse to live in darkness. Instead, they are trying to move beyond their past in hopes of a brighter future.

FAST FACTS

Getting There

Bangkok Airways provides a direct link with Siem Reap via Bangkok twice a day. The flying time is one hour. From Singapore, you can fly direct to Siem Reap via Koh Samui and Bangkok. Direct flights link Phnom Penh to most major Southeast Asian cities. Overland entry points are possible from Thailand and Vietnam.

Where to Stay

Goldiana Hotel, Phnom Penh, is located in the center of the city at No. 10-12, Road 282, Sangkat Bengkengkang 1, Khan Chamkarmon, Phnom Penh, Kingdom of Cambodia, (Tel. (855-23) 218490 or e-mail GOLDIANA.HT@bigpond.com.kh). It has 157 guest rooms with shower, mini bar, colour television and in-house movies. Superior rooms start at US$ 40.
Sofitel Cambodiana Hotel, Phnom Penh, is located near the Grand Palace (Tel. (855-23) 426288). Currently the Sofitel Cambodiana is the top hotel in Phnom Penh. Its facilities include restaurants, bars, swimming pool, health center and tennis courts. Singles start at US$170 doubles at US$ 200 and executive suites are priced at US$400.
The Cathay Hotel, Phnom Penh, is located just north of the corner of 19th St. and 110th St., (Tel. (855-23) 427178). This is a very popular budget hotel, where air-con rooms go for US$ 20 and even cheaper if you don’t mind staying up on the 4th floor.
Angkor Village Resort, Siem-Reap, Cambodia, (Tel. (855) 63963563) angkor.village@worldmail.com.kh. The hotel was designed by a French architect, who seems to have used Jim Thompson’s house in Bangkok as a model. The hotel is aesthetically beautiful, and its facilities include a swimming pool, restaurant and dance theatre. Rooms start at US$ 50 per night.

Currency

There is really no need to change your money into the local currency (the riel), as the US dollar is used everywhere.

Visas

Tourist visas are given upon arrival into Cambodia. Your visa will be valid for up to 30 days. Visitors entering Cambodia by land must arrange their visa and specify their entry and exit point through the Cambodian Embassy or consultant.

Travel Writer Patrick Mascoe has published in the past a number of travel related articles such as,
“Mount Ophir” (Singapore-American Magazine – March 2001), “Missing Saigon”
(Brave Magazine – Sept/Oct. 1999), “Be Careful Singapore” (Singapore Strait
Times – Feb. 23, 1999), “Japanese Students Learn By Rote” (Ottawa Citizen -
Feb. 24, 1990).

Malacca, Malaysia’s Most Historic City

Posted on May 1, 2003 by admin

By Patrick Mascoe.

Malacca has often been dubbed Malaysia’s most historically intriguing city. It is a city that at one time possessed the richest and busiest port in Southeast Asia; a city that controlled the spice trade and was home to thousands of transplanted Malays, Sumatrans, Javanese, Chinese and Indians; a city that suffered a complete series of European invasions at the hands of the Portuguese, Dutch and English; and a city that today, offers a unique interracial and multi cultural history as seen through its people and architecture.

Only three and a half-hours by bus from Singapore, Malacca today no longer possesses a busy port and has now transformed into a mystical, peaceful, sleepy, little town. However, when walking through Malacca’s narrow streets, its history literally comes to life. Ancient ruins, Chinese temples, as well as the many architectural traces of its opulent colonial past, flood the city. Today, Malacca only faces the friendly invasion of tourist, the majority of which are school students from Singapore who come to see for themselves what Singapore was like a hundred years ago.

In 1405, the Ming Emperor sent Admiral Cheng Ho to Malacca with the promise that China would protect the city from its archenemies the Siamese. The Chinese then began to settle there in the mid 1400′s. The relations between the two countries was officially sealed when the Sultan of Malacca married the Ming Emperor’s daughter.

She brought with her to Malacca literally hundreds of servants, who established their residence on the side of a hill that was later named Bukit China (“China Hill”). The hill has remained a Chinese domain ever since, and now stands as the largest Chinese graveyard outside of China. Covering over 60 hectares, some of its elaborate graves date back as far as the Ming dynasty.

Another must see and piece of the Chinese historical puzzle in Malacca is the beautiful Cheng Hoon Teng Temple, also known as the “Temple of the Evergreen Clouds” built in 1645. It is exquisitely decorated with intricate woodcarvings, porcelain, and colored glass all imported from China.

European influence in Malacca arrived harshly in 1511 when the Portuguese attacked and took over the city. Although their reign of power lasted less than 150 years, the Portuguese left behind their piece of history. In the early 16th Century, A Formosa was built and became one of the greatest fortresses in the East. Unfortunately, thanks to the British who demolished the fortress in 1807, all that remains today is the Santiago Gate. However, the gate is in good condition and gives one an insight into what A Formosa must have been like under Portuguese rule

From the Santiago gate at the base of Residency Hill, a path leads up behind it to “Our Lady on the Hill” chapel built in 1571. The famous missionary Francis Xavier was a regular visitor of the chapel and after his death, he was buried there for nine months.

In 1641, the Dutch attacked Malacca and immediately changed the name of the chapel to St. Paul’s Church. The Dutch, like the Portuguese before them, only stayed in power for about 150 years. During that period, they added to the Portuguese chapel and today the massive, imposing walls of the church still stand firm overlooking the Straits of Malacca. Scattered around the church are a number of old Dutch tombstones, as well as a statue of St. Francis Xavier that was left surprisingly untouched by the Dutch
Of all the European presence in the city of Malacca, the Dutch must be credited most for their incredibly durable construction of public buildings. The buildings at the center of Dutch Square were definitely built to last forever. The Stadthuys (town hall) was built between 1641 and 1660, is still in use today as government offices. This massive pink building, constructed from bricks imported from Zecland, Holland is considered by many historians as the oldest remaining Dutch building in the East. It is a perfectly preserved example of classic Dutch colonial architecture.

Beside the Stadthuys, at one end of Dutch Square, sits the brilliant, red, Christ Church. The church, which was later converted by the British for Anglican use, is also still used today. Thanks to the insight of Singapore’s founder, Sir Stamford Raffles, the church was spared and left undamaged. The Dutch tombstones buried in the floor of the church are still visible and its enormous 15-metre-long ceiling beams remain as solid and strong as when it was first built.

In 1824, the Dutch handed over Malacca to the British in exchange for the Sumatran port of Bencoolen. For a short time, under British rule, Malacca once again continued to prosper as a trading center. However, although Stamford Raffles saved the city’s colonial past from the destruction of his own troops, he single handedly killed off its trade industry when he developed Singapore as a commercial interest.

With a city so deep in history, it is hard to imagine anyone not being fascinated by beautiful Malacca. It is a city where two days can easily stretch to four and still leave you wondering if you have seen enough.

FAST FACTS

Visas:

Visas are not required for citizens of Commonwealth countries (except India and Sri Lanka), most European countries, the United States, Japan and South Korea, provided your stay does not exceed three months. Citizens of Asian countries do not require visas for visits of less than a month. Make sure your passport has at least 6 months validity from the date of your arrival.

Language:

In Malaysia the official language is Bahasa Malaysia. However, both English and Chinese are widely-spoken and understood.

Where to Stay:

The Renaissance, Melaka Hotel (Tel. (60) 6 2848888) is located on Jalan Bendahara, 75100 Melaka. It has 300 spacious guestrooms and suites, luxuriously furnished with large beds, IDD telephones, remote control TV sets with in-house video programs. Superior rooms start at US$ 100, Deluxe rooms US$ 150, Jr. Suites US$ 200, and the Presidential Suite will cost you around US$ 1200.

The Emperor Hotel, (Tel. 06-2840777) is located at 123 Jalan Munshi Abdullah, 75100 Melaka. It has 233 guest rooms, a Chinese restaurant, coffee house, and swimming pool. Superior rooms start at US$ 60, Deluxe US$ 80, Jr. Suites US$ 150, Executive Suites US$ 175, and a Luxury Suite will cost you around US$200.
The Puri Hotel, (Tel. 65-368-8190) is located at 118 Jalan Tun Tan Cheng Lock, 75100 Melaka. Originally a private home, the building, has been carefully restored to a 44-room and six suite hotel. The rooms are all air-conditioned and breakfast is included. Standard rooms start at US$35 to US$100 for a family suite.

Things to Buy:

Batik, although originally an Indonesian craft, is extremely popular in Malaysia.

Wine Country Uncorked

Posted on March 1, 2003 by admin

By Mike (Roadie) Marino

This Roadhead has done a bit of traveling and asphalt kicking in his time, but when it comes to the sheer galactic gravitational pull of tourism few regions can top the G-force of Northern California. It’s a dazzling display of towering redwoods and sequoias, every bit as impressive as the Statue of Liberty or the Washington Monument. Magnificent coastlines that get washed by large, roaring Pacific waves that crest, crash and roll onto shore with the speed and fury of a Neptunian NASCAR race, then gently and quietly recede to the same ocean that just gave it birth, leaving in it’s wake a pristine beach awash with curious flotsom and jetsom that will include sandollars, seaweed and seashells.

It’s also a region of quaint seaside communities like Steinbeck’s beloved Monterey and bustling burgs like Jack Kerouac’s San Francisco and Jack London’s Oakland. One region, neslted in a valley approximately 50 miles north of Ess Eff has been enticing a breed of tourist known as The Vino Visitor to this land of the vintner’s art from around the globe in droves. A veritable Garden of Eden of varietal’s and vino…The Napa Valley or Wine Country USA!!

The Corkscrew Tour and History

The Napa Valley is a paradise for lovers of the vine and those who wish to worship the grape gods. The valley has wineries aplenty from the large established names like Mondavi and Sutter Home to the smaller unique boutique operations. Wine tours and tastings are plentiful and guaranteed to please the palate and to insure that your visit is truly memorable, nothing goes better with fine wining than a good bout of fine dining, and you have plenty of award winning choices in that category. Shopping, of course, is an offbeat treat with merchants offering up for sale everything from wicker picnic baskets, complete with fine china and stemware, to an assortment of Hawaiian Shirts and custom Jerry Garcia neckware. Touring the valley is varied and exciting no matter which mode you choose. You can drive yourself, or luxuriate in a limo or you can even pretend your Steve Fossett trying to circumnavigate the globe and enjoy the sunrise with a spectacular view of the rolling valley below while sipping on a glass of early morning champagne. To top off your day, you can ride the rails in luxury with haute cuisine and fine wines on The Wine Train as you roll gently through the valley with a backdrop of mountains kissed by a sunset. So grab your corkscrew and get ready to Uncork The Wine Country!!

The Napa Valley wasn’t always a vintners enclave. The Wappo Indians inhabited the region 4,000 years before the Spaniards arrived. Mexico eventually gained it’s independance from this European power and assumed control of the whole of California. In 1831, George Yount, the first American settler in the Napa Valley arrived and it was he who planted the first grapevines. These original plantings were from Mexico and it wasn’t until 1860 that the higher grade European grapes were introduced. The Gold Rush came and went and in it’s wake it left a demand for the Valley’s wine. The demand was greater than a Pacific tsunami and by 1891 there were over 600 vineyards in the valley serving the needs of a thirsty population. Today, there are more than 200 wineries in the area, turning out marvelous Merlot’s, Zinfandel’s and Riesling’s and other faves of the wine crowd. All this has also produced a harvest of tourist green with over 5 million Vino Visitors a year!

Uncorking the Valley

Highway 29 is the main vino vein that passes through wine country like an asphalt artery. Napa, Yountville, Oakville, Rutherford, St. Helena and Calistoga each have something different and unique to offer the visitor. NAPA at the southern terminus of wine country is the Gateway to the Grape!! One of the highlights of the town are hand painted murals that adorn the downtown buildings depicting the regions history and the growth of the wine industry. More than just informative they are truly a visual folk art feast for the eyes. Traveling north on 29, you’ll come to the community of YOUNTVILLE, and yes, it is named after George Yount, the Johnny Appleseed of Viticulture. After paying your respects at his grave in Pioneer Cemetary, you may want to visit Vintage 1870, a three story brick building with over 40 eclectic emporiums that will cater to every shopping whimsy. Quaint, best describes OAKVILLE, the next stop on your journey of wine discovery. Famed for it’s historic grocery it is a definite must stop and see. Continue north and you come to the town of Rutherford, home of the Niebaum-Coppola Winery and is a wine country stop you can’t refuse!! Sure, it’s a winery, and yes, you can get a tour and a glass of wine, but the main feature is showing in the upstairs Francis Ford Coppola Movie Museum. Props and artifacts from many of this famed directors films are here on display, but for my money, the hands on fave rave is the chair and desk from The Godfather where Brando and Pacino, as the Corleone’s, ruled their celluloid criminal empire. St. HELENA is your next stop and it’s a stylish boutique boomtown with enouch cappucino to float the Queen Mary. It’s Bar Harbor without the harbor and design and flair ooze from every shop, so don’t expect any Blue Light Specials in Aisle #5!! As you journey ever northward on Highway 29, just north of St. Helena, on your left you’ll see the Culinary Institute of America at Greystone, serving up some the finest cuisine in America west of NYC!! Prepare now to enter the spa and mudbath kingdom of CALISTOGA. Rumour has it that the original name was to be Saratoga of California, after the fabled resort in New York State, howevery, alcohol got the better of town founder Sam Brannon’s tongue and he proclaimed loudly to all…This will be the Calistoga of Sarafornia!! Calistoga it is then. Bubbling mineral waters, massage and mud baths create a mellow air in this reknowned realm of relaxation. Pampering has been elevated to a high art form and smiling faces are the rule…all that’s missing is a group hug!!

The Alterna Tour

The wineries of course are the main attraction in Napa Valley, and along with unique shopping and dining experiences it is a true adventure for palate and wallet. If, however, fine wines and tastings aren’t your brown paper bag idea of a vacation and you could care less if your wine requires a corkscrew or has a screw top there are a host of other activities and attractions. MOUNT ST. HELENA stands guard at the north end of the valley, stately and Sphinx-like, she guards the geyser realm that bubbles below her in Calistoga, spawning spa’s like a fertile rabbit on overdrive. The mountain was also home to fabled Silverado silvermine made popular in Robert Louis Stevenson’s THE SILVERADO SQUATTERS. Robert Louis also spent his honeymoon on Mount St. Helena in 1880 and you can hike the five miles to Consumation Summit to view the marker that indicates the cabin’s location. Robert Louis Stevenson State Park is named in honor of the author of TREASURE ISLAND and is located 7 miles north of Calistoga on Highway 29.

Many hot springs and geysers dot the valley but one ranks as the Ethel Merman of heat and steam…California’s version of OLD FAITHFUL. The old girl belts out a plume of steam 60 feet into the air every 30 minutes or so and is every bit as stirring as a full chorus singing a Broadway showtune. If it’s a touch of natural history and Humphrey Bogart your looking for, look no further than California’s PETRIFIED FOREST, also located near Calistoga. Before Walt Disney figured out that tourista’s would shell out cold hard cash to see pirates and Mad Hatters, Petrified Forest Charlie beat him to it in the mid 1800′s by charging folks to look at a petrified tree he had dug up!! In 1910, Ollie Bocker and her husband began serious development of the area and today is a primo attraction for the petro-curious from around the world.

The Roadhead chrome-magnon love of Detroits’s metal and muscle auto industry will do well to visit LITTO’s HUBCAP RANCH on Pope Valley Road just 2 miles northwest of Pope Valley. No Cabernets here, but you will find over 2,000 hubcaps collected by Emanuele LITTO Damonte. Born in 1892, Litto created arrangements and art forms over a 30 year period comprised of hubcaps, bottles and pulltops. Litto passed away to that Great Auto Scrap Yard in the sky in 1985, but left behind one of California’s pre-emminent 20th Century folk art environments and is California Registered Landmark #939. Litto’s Hubcap Ranch Kicks Asphalt!!

Planes, Trains and Automobiles…

Touring the green, rolling hills of Napa Valley is one of life’s indescrible journeys. Lush fields seem to undulate suggestively with row after row of well manicured fruit of the vine. Majestic mountains frame this verdant panorama straight out of Monet or Gaugin, and travel options are as plentiful as the award winning varieties of wines produced in the region. The do-it-yourselfer will find the absolute joy of asphalt discovery by renting a car to explore this Wine Wonderland, or for the more luxury minded, you can book a Limo Tour from any number of companies that specialize in Wine Country so you can luxuriate with an informed designated driver while you imbibe and sample the finished product of the the harvest.

If you have some Boxcar Willie lurking in your genetic code, you can ride the rails on The Napa Valley Wine Train, enjoying champagne brunches or dinners in a restored Pullman car as you sniff and sip your favorite varietal concoctions. The Pullman’s harken back to a time of railroad style and grace and are completely refinished in rich, imported Mahogany’s, brass fixtures and grape motif etched glass to surround you with quiet elegance as your Wine and Dine Magical Mystery Tour rolls gently up valley for a culinary experience you’ll not soon forget. The Wine Train station is located in downtown Napa, and while your waiting to board the Vino Version of the Orient Express, you can avail yourself of the many gift stores to shop for that perfect Wine Country gift or souvienir. Don’t forget to stop at the Wine Emporium that is filled to the cork with over 200 varieties of wine and wine related items. All Aboard!!

The Wright Brothers and Charles Lindberg certainly made aviation histoire, and you take advantage of their innovations in flight and take to the skies for a Birds Eye Tour of Wine Country by booking a flight on a Wine Plane!! Charter a wine tasting flight over the Valley and enjoy the view while sampling Mother Grape. In addition to flights over Napa Valley, many of the charter companies offer combo tours of the Valley and San Francisco. All in all, this tour gives new meaning to the term FLYING HIGH!

…and Balloons!

Ever since the Montgolfier Brothers soared the big blue in their big balloon, the race was on! Everyone from Jules Verne to Steve Fossett had been bitten by the gas bag bug. In Napa Valley, champagne balloon flights of fancy are not only a reality, but plentiful, and you have your choice of flight specialists to take you soaring into the early dew laden morning sunrise. The balloons themselves are works of aeronatical art, stretched like an artist’s canvas as they expand and fill to reveal brilliant, colorful designs that float above the valley floor as though on display at some private flying museum of modern art…and is one of the definitive Wine Country to do’s that is not to be missed.
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The Napa Valley is a wine lover’s paradiso…to be enjoyed by the corkscrew and the screwtop crowd alike. It doesn’t matter if you enjoy your vino in a glass of crystal or a paper cup, Wine Country only gets better with age, like the fine wines this award winning region produces year and after year. Once you visit Wine Country, you’ll come back time and time again..if for no other reason than to keep the grapes happy, after all, nobody wants to feel..The Grapes of Wrath!!

San Francisco – The Birkenstock Tour!

Posted on March 1, 2003 by admin

By Mike (Roadie) Marino

San Francisco has been a magnet for the curious and restless since The Bay Area was first spotted by Spanish explorers. In their wake came pirates intent on plunder and The ’49er’s came to sift and pan financial nirvana from the regions riverbeds. In the semi-faboulous Fifites, “the beats” came to be “down”, and the youth culture of the ’60′s came to get “high”. The City by the Bay has attracted the cool and the uncool, the sinner and the saint, as well as the gentle and the downright scary!!

Today, the new adventurer’s come from around the planet, armed not with musket and gold pan, but video recorder and travellers checks. They speak a multitude of dialects from Mandarin to Minnesotan and from Bavarian to Bronxian, as they scour the city for palate pleasing restuarants…credit-card-to-the-max shop until you drop sprees in Union Square and of course, to hit the high tourist spots of Fishermans Wharf and the multitude of culturally rich neighborhoods. On this Roadhead Tour du Jour, we’ll leave the trolley car’s and souvenir shops far behind and discover the “green” riches of The Bay Area from The Golden Golden Gate Bridge to Golden Gate Park. Your Birkenstock’s will walk quietly on silent paths in Muir Woods, and you’ll stand in stoney silence as you gaze down through the fog at the City by the Bay from the awe inspiring heights of Mt. Tamalpais. Now, grab that cheap bottle of port and let’s hit the road!

The Gold and the Gray

The undisputed signature structure of San Francisco is the Golden Gate Bridge. It labors day in and day out, handling the chaotic volumn of commuter traffic that pours into the city on a daily basis, but on a more serene note, you can also walk the expanse and marvel at the sights and sounds that surround the senses. As structures go, The Golden Gate Bridge is stately, sophisticated and shrouded in a mysterious fog elegance..it is truly the Katherine Hepburn of bridges. That being the perception, The Bay Bridge, by contrast, is the undisputed heavy metal monster of machismo!! Grey and steely, it not only spans the gap between Oakland and San Francisco, but has an interesting side journey if you exit about midway to Treasure Island!!

Named for Robert Louis Stevenson’s famed novel, the island was part of the San Francisco Exposition in the 1930′s, and ultimately a port for Yankee Clipper’s plying the Pacific in the spirit of Bogartian mystery and suspense. Today there is a museum on the grounds, and is the site of the yearly Polynesian Festival, complete with flowered drinks and Hula dancers. It also offers one of the most spectacular dead-on, head-on sea otter views of San Francisco from sea level, and by driving around the back of the former naval base, you’ll find Nash Bridge’s floating office made famous by Don Johnson and Cheech Marin..sorry..couldn’t find the ‘Cuda!!!

Golden Gate Park

In “the City” itself you’ll want to take in the “green space” of all “green spaces” on the West Coast by making trackstracks to Golden Gate Park. As America’s pastoral past gave way to industrialization, a zombie like mechanization gained a strangle hold on urban society and a need for “green” was realized. San Francisco was in the forefront of this movement and a thrifty green thumbed Scotsman, named John McClaren, had by 1890 transformed enough of the area’s sand dunes into a West Coast Garden of Eden, minus the serpent and the apple, and it was the birth of Golden Gate Park.

Today Golden Gate Park is home to a plethora of activities and attractions from bocce, baseball and basketball to arboreteums, art and aquatic wonders.THE CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES is home to THE MORRISON PLANETARIUM with it’s one of a kind projector system that brings the heaven’s up close and personal, to it’s Ozzy Osbourne super sized, mindblowing 12 speaker sound system. THE MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY is pure Jurassic complete with dino displays, bones, and a giant bang-a-gong T-Rex! THE AFRICAN HALL will transport you to the savannah’s a continent away, and WILD CALIFORNIA is a flora and fauna romp through California’s natural history past. If your in your Capn’ Ahab mode, leave your harpoon at the door, because you won’t find the Great White Whale at the STEINHART AQUARIUM, but you can mix and mingle with 165 tanks containing an aquatically astounding array of 600 species of fish, reptiles and amphibians…alligators, pythons and sharks…oh my!

If your taste runs to the artsy versus the aquatic, then get in with the art crowd at the M. H. de YOUNG MUSEUM. Built in 1919, it’s a repository of Tiffany glass, El Greco and the famed Laurence Rockefeller Collection. If your aesthetic engine starts redlining on all this art and culture, and the need to touch base with your innner self is overwhelming, take a kharmic cappacino break at The Pool of Enchantment…it’s mocha, meditation and mantra, Starbucks style!

Gardens not only bloom, but abound throughout the park. Irony can be found in the Japanese Tea Garden, downright Asian, it was designed by a Down Under Aussie in 1894. Paths, ponds and a teahouse accent this foral palette of Asian plants. In 1895 a Japanese gardner, named Makato Hagiwara and family took over the gardens, and somewhere between bonsai’s and haiku’s invented the fortune cookie!! Thespians with a floral bent will marvel at the roar of the crowd and the smell of the greasepaint at the Lair of the Bard….THE GARDEN OF SHAKESPEARE. It is here that Bill’s fans try to “name the work” by identifying 150 plus species of plants and flowers mentioned in his works. If you have trouble identifying them, alas, Poor Yorick knows them well!

The Eco-Junkie will get their eco-ecstacy fix by visiting THE CONSERVATORY OF FLOWERS and STRYBING ARBORETEUM. The Conservatory is the architectural twin of London’s Kew Gardens and one of the primo examples of pure Victorian architecture in all of Ess Eff. It’s soaring dome is a hot house home to palm trees, orchids and an assortment of micro-climates from around the world. Strybing Arboreteum began in 1937 as a WPA project and today is 70 acres of 6,000 plant species including cacti and succulents. You can also treat your sense of smell at The Garden of Fragrance where great smelling plants just make good scents!

Wanna feel like Ernie Hemmingway? STOW LAKE in the park is a fly fisherman’s paradiso sharing it’s pristine water’s with the placid paddle boat and row boat enthusiasts, and you can enjoy an eco-friendly hike 428 feet up to the summit of STRAWBERRY HILL located on an island in the lake that affords a panoramic view of the park, lake and foliage surrounding the area. You’ll also treat the senses to the natural sounds of water cascading from a quite un-natural artificial waterfall on the Hill.
Flashback to the Sixties when you enter THE PANHANDLE. Located at the eastern end of Golden Gate Park and forming somewhat of a northern border to the Haight Ashbury district, this green ribbon was the tie-dyed hangout for free feeds of beans and rice during the Summer of Love. Flatbed trucks would act as portable stages and you could wolf down your styrofoam feast while listening to the music of such notables as the Quicksilver Messenger Service.

After you’ve been “peaced” and “loved” to a grateful death by the locals, head on over to THE POLO GROUNDS site of the 1967 spaced out Human Be-In. This cosmic gathering of the spaceship earth featured a high decibel vortex of music, supplied and amplified by The Grateful Dead and The Jefferson Airplane, all punctuated by readings by literate luminaries and other icon’s such as Jerry Rubin, Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and the Captain Kirk of the altered states spaceship, Timothy Leary. Beam us up, Scottie!!!

Peaceful calm in San Francisco was shattered in 1906 when a high scale Richter rock and roller of an earthquake shattered buildings, lives and dreams. The terror, noise and screams of the living drowned out by the overwhelming silence of the dead. The city lay in ruins, but not her soul or her spirit. Today, the only official memorial to that historic day of “When Faultlines Attack” is in Golden Gate Park at Lloyd Lake between JFK Drive and Crossover Drive. It’s called THE PORTALS OF THE PAST, but don’t expect too much…it’s a front porch standing alone without a house attached to it!!

The park also has a Buffalo Paddock, that is the lone survivor of what was a turn of the century free ranging zoo and there’s also a Don Quioxte like windmill if you feel like doing “the Impossible”!!

The San Francisco Zoo

According to Simon and Garfunkle, “it’s all happening at the zoo”, and in San Francisco that’s certainly the case. Zoo’s began as an offshoot of the traveling circus that amazed and delighted Victorian and Edwardian audiences alike. The parasol and carriage crowd “ooohed” and “aahhed” at the sight of elephants and the roar of not so cowardly lions. Soon the big top would pack it up and move on to, say, Peoria and it would be a year until they returned once again. Eventually someone came up the idea of a permanent setting in the urban environs where these exotic creature’s could be on display year round and be viewed in a somewhat natural setting. San Francisco, opened it’s zoo’s gates with it’s star resident named “Monarch”, a rather imposing grizzly bear. Today, it is one of the most “animal friendly” examples of zoo’s in the world with over 250 species roaming in simulated wild environments and is also Northern California’s largest zoological park and conservation center
Along with the usual zoo “in crowd” of lions, giraffe’s, elephant’s and chimp’s, you can be dumbstruck with awe at the antics at the new Lipman Lemur Forest and the newly expanded childrens zoo. Scheduled to open in 2004 is the African Savannah Exhibit where animals indigineous to that region will mix, mingle and network like a group of stockbrokers at happy hour at the local pub. The zoo also has an elephantine sized souvenir shop to load up on zoological oriented goodies.

Eco-mania and animalia can be pretty heady stuff, so when you want a break, you can contemplate the chimpanzee’s with a cup of cappacino at The Leaping Lemur Cafe. San Francisco, being as culturally aware as few other places on earth, has found a way to combine monkey’s and Monet with a full fledged art display at the zoo as well as the beautifully restored Dentzel Carousel, a work of art in it’s own right. The zoo itself and it’s close proximity to the magnificent views of the Pacific Ocean make this one of the definite “must see” place in Ess Eff..and to think it all started with a grizzly bear named Monarch!!

Muir Woods

Muir Woods stands as the undisputed coniferous crown jewel of the Redwood Empire. Magnificent and majestic, these towering giants dwarf miniscule mankind in their mystical shadow. Their leafy crowns and canopies seem to penetrate the heavens as they stand erect and proud as rulers of their particular realm. The Miwok Indians who originally dwelled in these forests must have marveled much as we do today at the sheer size of these botanical creations.

Miwoks, Spanish explorers and 49′s….there goes the neighborhood!! Combine all that growth with the advent of the automobile and by 1908, an already crowded region would be visited by the first mortorized tourista!! The forest itself was not restricted in those days and the auto’s raced through the tree’s with abandon resembling a miniature go kart track. Much damage was being done and finally in 1924 the infernal internal combustion engine was banned from the forest free for all, along with picnicing, rock and plant collecting.

Today Muir Woods has ample parking for the throngs of tree-curious who visit from around the globe. The cacaphony of accents blending melodiously with the symphony of the stellar jays and warblers that inhabit this serene setting straight from “Lord of the Rings”. Asphalt pathways meander through the forest cathedral of giants, crossing streams, cool and clear, where at any moment you could stand face to face with one of the many black tail deer that inhabit the woodland. The redwood eco-system also gives nourishment and shelter to a variety of owls, bats and reptilia and amphibia.

Bootjack Trail is off the beaten path and is an opportunity to leave the tourist far behind as you ascend the pathway along crystaline waterfalls and make your way on foot towards Mt. Tamalpais. Muir Woods is more than a golden grove of giant growth…it’s a fitting monument and tribute to the father of modern conservation, John Muir.

In Marin County, eco-tourism is a true double feature. After looking up to the lofty crowns of giant redwoods, you can look down for a spectacular view of Ess Eff from the 2,571 foot summit of Mt. Tamalpais. On a clear day even the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada’s can be seen from this ring side seat to the heavens. San Francisco grew in size following the Gold Rush. As overcrowding became unbearable residents of the Bay Area sought escape by getting away from it all on Mt. Tam. Wagons breaking down on the way up was the norm and it was not a pleasant journey on the whole. Eventually, a small scale railway was built to carry the locals to the top of Tam, and in time became known as the “crookedest railroad in the world”. It earned the name from the twisting, serpentine route it took to reach the summit and not from any underhanded financial dealings of it’s Chief Operating Officer! The railway was abondoned after a devastating fire in 1930.

Today it’s a low gear cruise to the top and Mt. Tam is a fave of the multi-gear mountain bike crowd, as they ascend and descend the mountain with the fervor and excitement of sailors rounding Cape Horn for the first time. Hikers will find a 6,300 acre walkers paradise with over 50 miles of trails..each with a view!! Hang gliders soar silently enjoying their eagles view of the Bay Area .. urban architecture and Pacific fog covering the the canvas to create a one of a kind work of art. The park also has a picnic area for the less rustically minded and you’ll find the Visitor Center at the East Summit.

The Birkenstock Kingdom has it’s fair share of hiking and hangliding opportunities as well as mountain biking and rollerblading. Vista’s and views dot the landscape from Coit Tower to Twin Peaks and nothing can match the ambiance of sitting silently on the wind kissed cliffs and watching the sun set and the fog roll in like soft silk. Birkenstock warriors will find that the Golden Gate is pretty green after all.

Editor’s note: This article is not sponsored by Birkenstock. The author is merely suggesting that the famously unsexy but extremely comfortable footwear would be the perfect choice for such a tour.

This Dharmabum Roadhead writer’s work has been described as DELIGHTFULLY WIERD and WICKEDLY WONDERFUL!! Mike (Roadie) Marino is a publisher of an on line magazine called ROAD TRIPPIN’ USA. It’s an asphalt kickin’ journey of Roadside Nostalgia and American Pop/Car Culture for the Chrome-Magnon in all of us. The style is lock n load and deals with the realm of where Pop Culture and Chrome meet Asphalt and Art!!

Mike also writes a monthly feature column under the banner THE ROADHEAD for the award winning Offbeat Travel zine. His column deals with bizzare ashpalt and roadside oddities and locales from mechanical museums to Cadillac Ranch. Mike is also a freelance writer of travel and history pieces that have been published in magazines and ezines in the US and Europe.

Most current project includes toiling endlessly on his first book about Pop and Car Culture in America of the 50′s, 60′s and 70′s. Although born in the rustbelt of industrial Detroit, he’s also been the definitive son-of-a-beach and has lived in a treehouse in Honolulu, the tie dyed spare change neighborhood of Haight Ashbury in San Francisco, as well as the North Beach district..where the Beat Goes On!!

Today Mike (Roadie) Marino lives in Missouri near the banks of the Missouri River with his word processor. In addition, to writing and backpacking, Mike has a penchant for Hawaiian shirts, Jimmy Buffett albums and Corona Beer. If you would like to use any of Mike’s articles some of which are included here, contact him at the email address below or at dharmabumroadie@yahoo.com He also accepts contract work and what the hell, a good agent wouldn’t hurt either. So contact him for rates and information. Now…Have Fun Reading…Grab A Cold Corona..And Kick Asphalt!

How Not To Be Understood

Posted on July 1, 2002 by admin

By Shawn Lomax

Speaking Spanish has its disadvantages, as well as its dangers. Having a grip on the language, you get too confident. You lose your wariness and your ability to insist through gestures. You tend to think that people understand you, and, worse still, they come to the conclusion that you understand them. And you end up with a mop and bucket, looking like a half-shaved hearthrug. Or at least I did. You see this week my humble adequacy with the language has left me washing the entrance and between floors of my building, and with the worst haircut of my life.

Recently paid, I found myself deep in the conviction that a haircut was to be had before it was too late and the money got spent on other, sweeter things. Having decided, and properly launched into the act, I was frustrated to find the stairs blocked by two wizened neighbors in full flood. Not even seeming to notice, they simply absorbed me into the tide of their complaint.

With pinched suspicion spilling over into suspicious hostility, my elderly distressed housecoat of a downstairs neighbor directed her crumpled stocking complexion at me in a burst of “Were not gypsies, you know. We all have to clean the stairs.” Taken aback several meters, I flailed for an adequate response. Something superior but sharp, along the lines of “Well you can mention it at the next meeting of the Comunidad, which would incidentally be my first, thank you ladies. Goodbye and pleased to meet you,” would have been good. Something subtle in defense of gypsies would have been better. But instead I was an immediately sullen seven year old, angry to be told that he hadnt cleaned his room properly, when he had cleaned it. He had. He had. But really he hadnt, and hated to be told it, so he just jammed his fists in his pockets and sulked his way through the harangue without looking at them.

The fact that the stairway of the building is, strictly speaking, unclean able, doesnt really come into it. The decrepit seediness of the place was one of the things that first attracted me to it, with its banisters a fragile wrought iron memory of better, nineteenth century times, walls bulging south and flaking paint like a shabby but distinguished bachelor whose dandruff is somehow an acceptable part of his condition.

Were this not enough, next door is a building site and the windows of the stairwell lack glass, so keeping the cracked raw meat colored floor tiles clean would be a permanent occupation, as well as a waste of time. But try explaining that to two old marujas who have dedicated their lives to the extinction of the stain, whose human pride consists in the inhuman perfection of an interior living space X meters squared, who not only scrub and polish every imaginable surface daily, but consider it an aberration from the norm and a disgusting slippage into decadence should others fail to follow suit. You think Im exaggerating? Try living here. Cleaning is more than a profession for those without employment; its a passion that suffers no competition, except perhaps complaining. Particularly complaining about how filthy their neighbors are. Particularly me, because Im here and I give signs of understanding them. They cant complain to my landlord because hes never there. And my blond, eight foot, unfortunately male Dutch flat mate would just shrug in that blond good natured Dutch way, effectively explaining that he didnt understand a word. Which left muggins, who understood without being able to retaliate, blushing his way down the stairs, furiously exercising his esprit descalier all the way to the hairdressers.

My state of frustration-enhanced ineptitude may have made me forget the one thing Ive learnt about getting your hair cut: If you dont like the hairstyle of the person proposing to adjust yours, better go somewhere else. In this case it was so obvious as to be laughable in retrospect. And, given the rate my hair grows, that will be in a month or two.

There was a thunderstorm going on at the time, and that might have distracted or excited him. Come to think of it, there was something of the Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein about him, and more of the Igor. His hair rose up in tufts around his head like dust thrown up by the impact of an explosion. His eyes followed me remotely through glasses unfashionable before there were fashions in such things. But he nodded at the end of my explanation so I thought he understood.

Even in English I never feel like Im asking for something normal in a hairdressers. And this sense of insecurity, compounded by the uncertainty of the translation “just give it shape”, and together with what little I know of Spanish grooming tendencies “not classical” , “more modern”, conspired to leave me somewhere between Hitler youth and the chorus from Grease.

I should have known better. I should have left when I could. But I was suffering that strange inertia of the barbers chair, when youve already surrendered to stronger opinions about how you are going to look. Anyway, he had seemed to accept that I didnt want to look very different. And then he took a razor and shaved the hair off the back of my head. Then he did the same to the sides. And, after fussing merrily at the top with a scissors for some minutes, he slapped down the rough edges with gel, smiled, and handed me a clothes brush. And that was it.

Back on the street the rain washed a sticky itchy mixture of gel and hair ends down the back of my neck. Shop windows reflected a derangement of ominous spiky bits. Once home the brutal honesty of the bathroom mirror confirmed that my head was now host to an irregular and inexpert wigwam. All of which made washing dust off the stairs seem like not such a bad idea, or at least a release for an accumulation of frustrations that may have brought me closer to my neighbors without persuading me that its a good place to be. I doubt theyve noticed the stairs have been cleaned, but at least my new look gives them something else to criticize.

Shawn Lomax is a writer of sketch pieces and reviews. He lives and works in Barcelona, Spain.

Spielberg’s Mom and The Milky Way

Posted on May 1, 2002 by admin

By Nicola Pittam

He’s the biggest director in the world and the mastermind such box office hits as ET, Jurassic Park, Jaws and Indiana Jones. But while Steven Spielberg makes movies that pull in hundreds of millions of dollars, his mum still runs the tiny restaurant she began 25 years ago.

Petite Leah Adler, who has just turned 82, could easily have retired years ago and been looked after by her famous son, who is reportedly worth more than $2 billion. But instead she chooses to work up to eight hours a day, seven days a week, greeting customers at her Los Angeles eatery The Milky Way.

The diner has proved such a success that even Spielberg has to put in his daily order for a Tuna Stuffer, which is pita bread stuffed with tuna salad, early to make sure he’s not left out!

Leah said: “Steven loves the food we serve here – whenever he is in town shooting a film I always have to send him over a tuna sandwich to the set. That’s his favorite dish off the menu and he always gets his order in early. But when he’s not shooting, he comes into the restaurant and then he order the cabbage rolls which he also loves. I’m so proud of him, I never dreamed he would be where he is today. I’m still toiling away here and he’s the most famous director in the world.”

“Seriously, I love doing this. I don’t think I could ever give it up – it keeps me young! I’ve just turned 82 but I feel 30 years younger and I know that running this place is what keeps me on my toes.”

Customers entering The Milky Way are immediately struck by the homeliness of the restaurant as Leah is on hand to meet and greet them. But soon their eyes turn the walls which are adorned with mementos of her famous son.

There are movie posters from most of his films, a clapperboard from Jaws and, of course, photos of Spielberg himself, including one with him and Leah at the Academy Awards when he won for Schindler’s List.

And on one counter there are even photos of Leah with Kirk Douglas and even Bill Clinton. Former concert pianist Leah proudly shows diners the pictures and says: “That’s my son, isn’t he wonderful? I don’t know where he got his creativity from! Well maybe he gets a little of it from me!”

“He was always making movies when he was a kid. I think he did his first one when he was eight. Of course then we never had any idea that he would go on to become where he is today. Then he would just spend all day filming the family and making up these wonderful little tales. He has a wonderful imagination and I love all his movies, they are so whimsical and extraordinary. But my favorite must be Schindler’s List. It is such a powerful film and close to all our hearts.”

With Spielberg on his way to success after paving the way for summer blockbusters with his hit movie Jaws in 1975, Leah decided it was time for her own: ‘Action.’

Leah, who has split from Spielberg’s dad and remarried Bernie Adler, decided she wanted to start her own business because she couldn’t find anywhere decent to eat. She wanted somewhere she could get fabulous home style food but without any meat included.

So after searching through Los Angeles and hitting a dead end she decided to open the Milky Way in 1979, the same year that Spielberg hit cinema screens with Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Leah came up with the name Milky Way, not after one of her son’s fantasy sci-fi movies like Close Encounters or ET but because the menu is kosher and made up of dairy-based dishes.

Leah explained: “The reason I called the restaurant The Milky Way has nothing to do with Steven’s science fiction type movies like Close Encounters or ET! The reason is that we only serve dairy products – there is no meat on the menu at all. We have some fish like salmon or snapper but that’s it. However, there is a lot of cheese and egg based dishes as well as vegetarian dishes like eggplant parmesan and spinach crepes.”

Leah has three full time chefs that prepare the meals, which include seven appetizers, six entrees, five specials, five pizzas, five different sandwiches, six light dishes, salads, soups and five deserts.

The petite owner admits she is not allowed in her own kitchen to cook after being barred by the chefs. But does decide what dishes go on the menu which has hardly changed over the years.

She added: “”I have three chefs and they do all the cooking – I’m not allowed in the kitchen! Besides I have far more fun meeting and greeting people as they arrive for lunch of dinner. I love talking to everyone and getting to know them, no matter if they’re famous or just ordinary people.”

“We have people coming in who have been coming here for 20-odd years and often they want to chat as much as they want to eat! I do put the menu together but again I also have people who advise me – this is a business not just a place where I can hang out. I think the reason it has lasted so long is that I don’t put my favorite dishes on the menu or do the cooking!”

“I’m there’s lots of things that I and Steven like but no-one else would, so early on I realized I had to make the menu varied and not just thing I wanted to eat. Also the menu has not changed that much over the years, I’m a big believer in that once you find something you like, you should stick with it.”

“Occasionally I’ll update the menu and I listen to my customers about what they like but why change a winning formula? But even so I love all the dishes – my favorite is the dreamy cheesecake which is so light I could eat it day after day!”

Leah’s daughter and Spielberg’s sister Sue added: “Mum just loves running this place – we can’t tear her away from it. She doesn’t have to be in here every day but she really enjoys it and the customers all love her. She spends most of her time going from table to table chatting to everyone and making sure they’re having a good time.”

“If the customers are happy then so is she. No-one would ever guess that she is 82, the way she runs around here.”

And Leah says she has no plans to retire any time soon, adding: “I couldn’t ever imagine retiring, I love this too much. Besides what would Steven do without his daily sandwich to keep him going?”

Some examples of the dishes available on the Milky Way menu:

“APPETEASERS”

Freshest Norwegian Smoked Salmon with the fixins

Steamed Veggie Platter with a creamette dressing

Tangy Guacamole Dip with fresh tortilla chips

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

Marinated Fish & Advocado: Tender fish filled with capers, Chinese peas, artichoke hearts and avocado in a tangy dressing

Spinach Seafood Fettuccine: Pasta sautéed in olive oil with smoked salmon, spinach and plum tomatoes

Oriental Stir Fry: Snowpeas and fresh veggies sauteed in a savoury Oriental dressing on a bed of rice or angel hair pasta

LUNCHEON ENTREES

Salmon Roulades: Baked slices of fresh Norwegian salmon layered with cream cheese and spinach pate. Served with toasted pine nuts and sauce béarnaise.

Cabbage Rolls: A classic. Poached cabbage leaves filled with our secret blend of fresh vegetables, rice and walnut pate. Baked with sauerkraut in tomato and served with potato pancakes and sour cream

Eggplant Parmesan: Delicately sautéed eggplant smothered in a zesty marinara sauce and baked with layers of mozzarella. Accompanied by a fresh green salad and garlic bread.

MILKY WAY SPECIALTIES

Spinach Crepes: A tasty combination of cream spinach accented by friend onions and wrapped in two golden crepes. Topped with melted cheese and served with garlic.

Cajun Blackened Snapper: Red snapper rolled in lively Cajun spices and blackened in a cast iron skillet. Served with rice.

Cheese Blintzes: What would a dairy restaurant be without blintzes? Ours are yummy. Served with sour cream and strawberry preserve.

BETWEEN THE SLICES

Tuna Stuffer: Pita bread stuffed with tasty tuna salad, lettuce and tomatoes.

Seafood Tacos: Two corn tortillas filled with succulent blackened fish, shredded cabbage, lettuce and tomatoes. Topped with tangy salsa and sour cream.

Hot Mushroom Sandwich: Delicate mushroom pate topped with melted Swiss cheese, avocado and sliced tomato. Served on toast.

DELIGHTFUL DESSERTS

* Dreamy Cheesecake
* Fresh Fruit Stir Fry
* Luscious Carrot Cake
* Devilishly Rich Chocolate Mousse Pie
* Tangy Lemon Tart

Nicola Pittam is a British journalist who has worked for Splash News in Los Angeles for four years. She reports daily on the latest from Tinsel Town for the British newspapers

Hotel Home

Posted on May 1, 2002 by admin

Hotel Home – Peter Greenberg’s Unique Odyssey
By Nicola Pittam

Traveler Peter Greenberg has transformed his house into a real holiday home. Peter was so impressed with his stay in hotels around the world, that he immediately turned to them when he wanted to decorate his home.

Now the travel writer has decked out his Los Angeles house with furnishings from 47 different hotels. From the wooden floor and kitchen appliances through to his bed and toilet, all the items can be found in a number of famous hotels. He has even gone as far as modeling his swimming pool on one at a tropical paradise hotel.

Peter, who lives in Sherman Oaks, Los Angeles, said: “My home really is decorated from 47 hotels from around the world. Everything here from the wooden floor down to the door locks has been bought from a hotel somewhere. Each furnishing is something that I fell in love with while I was staying at the hotel. I just wanted to recreate that feeling in my home and after a lot of phone calls, I did it.”

But is doesn’t come cheap to keep your holiday memories with you all the time – so far Peter has spent close to $200,000 decorating his house. The most expensive single item, apart from the wooden floor from Sweden, is the bathroom window.

Peter first spotted the window at the Princeville Resort on the island of Kauai in Hawaii. The window looks like any ordinary window at first but at the push of a button it instantly becomes frosted so people cannot see through it.

Peter, who has been a travel writer for 20 years, has now installed one of the windows next to his bathtub, which came from the Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong.

He added: “I was fascinated with the window the moment I saw it in the hotel. I had great fun playing with it. I would go into the toilet and just stand there until someone came in and looked at me oddly. As soon as they did that, I would press the button and the window would get frosted. I’m still amazed I never broke the thing, because I took great delight from that moment on in constantly running to the bathroom.

“The window was tricky to get because the hotel at first had no record of where they got it. But after two months of tracing, we found the company and got one.”

Another quirky item in Peter’s bathroom is a toilet from the Park Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo. It is the only toilet Peter has ever seen that comes with an owner’s manual to operate the heater, bidet and fan.

But one of the cheapest pieces is also in Peter’s bathroom and comes from the Savoy Hotel in London. The 15 inch diameter showerheads looks impressive but cost him just $200.

Peter added: “I just had to have the shower head. I could never forget the feeling of standing under the shower at the Savoy. It is the reason I stay there when I travel to London, it was one luxury I could not do without!”

But Peter came up with the idea of decorating his home from hotels purely by accident. His original home in Sherman Oaks, a suburb of Los Angeles, had been destroyed in the 1994 Northridge earthquake. The house had to be razed to the ground and Peter spent more than two years fighting with the insurance company before he could start rebuilding.

He brought in architect Garth Sheriff who asked him what style he would like the house. Peter started listing a number of items that had caught his eye over the years during his world-wide travels.

Garth was making detailed notes but after 20 minutes stopped Peter telling him: “You’ve given me a list of all your favorite hotels furnishings.” And Peter quickly had the brainwave of calling round the hotels to see if the items he loved were available.

He quickly hit the phones and found out that in most cases the hotels were happy to sell him the things he wanted. And if they didn’t sell it themselves, they soon put him onto the manufacturers.

Peter said: “It was time to my house rebuild from scratch. When Garth first met me with contractor Matt Matheson, nothing was left of my house except a huge dirt pit. They both sat me down and told me to make a list of what I wanted in the new house and to decide what style I wanted.

“I had no clear idea but Garth said: ‘Ok just go room-by-room and give me a wish list of what you’d like in each of them’. So I went from room to room telling Garth what I wanted but ten minutes later he interrupted me. He laughed as he showed me that what I had given them were about 47 separate, fabulous, individually great hotel experiences I had had around the world.”

“In the bathroom, if I could just get the showerhead from the Savoy hotel in London, the bathtub from the Peninsula in Hong Kong. I had carried on with the tiles from the Four Seasons in Hawaii and I saw this great sink at Caesars Palace, and then there was this incredible toilet from the Park Hyatt in Tokyo.”

Peter’s list went on for four pages and he soon realized that he wanted to live like he worked. With his schedule as travel correspondent for NBC, Peter traveled all over the world to hundreds of destinations. And he finally realized that not only did he stay in the hotels that he had written on the list but had had great experiences at them.

“With my travel schedule, I had not only stayed in all the hotels I mentioned, but had experienced that showerhead at the Savoy in London, and had been intrigued by the unusual toilet at the Park Hyatt in Tokyo. In fact, it was arguable that I spend more time in hotels than I do at home, so I thought wouldn’t it be logical to want to incorporate the best hotel creature comforts in my house?”

As soon as Peter finished his list he started hitting the telephones and calling every hotel. He asked if he could buy the king-size bed from the Four Seasons in New York and the pillows from the Athenium in London. Peter also wanted to get made from the same wood used by the Regent Hotel in Bangkok and some lights from the Park Hyatt in Sydney.

Finally after many phone calls to hotels and manufacturers, Peter had his complete home. He said: “I hit the phones and started calling the hotels in the United States and around the world where I had those great experiences. Within three weeks, I had made the decision – to build my house around the great hotel experiences of the world.”

After furnishing the bedroom and bathroom, Peter decided he didn’t want to stop there. Soon he had the wooden flooring from the presidential suite at the Sheraton in Stockholm and the granite tiles he had seen from the Hyatt in Jakarta. The Regent in Bangkok put him in touch with their furniture maker, Peter Joghrat, who has his own workshop and showroom directly behind the hotel.

Peter loved the wood from the hotel so much, he flew architect Garth to the hotel to talk to Joghrat. He then had several items made including doors, cabinets and bookcases.

Peter then moved on to the detail work like the lights, looks and the kitchen. He bought lamps and bathroom sinks from the Europa Regina in Venice and for his kitchen appliances he went to one of his favorite hotels, the Mark in New York. Peter said: “I also wanted the appliances from the Mark Hotel which were Viking Stoves and Sub Zero refrigerators.

“For the sinks and the bathtubs, I went to the folks at Kohler, in Wisconsin, then stopped by the factory in Madison, to watch them make my refrigerator at the sub-zero plant. I even flew the architect out to Bangkok because I loved the furniture so much at the Regent Hotel. And not only did I get the built in counter tops and cabinets but also the doors and window moldings.”

Peter has also bought table lamps from the Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles, a dresser from the Dorchester in London, the master closet from the Oriental Hotel in Bangkok, a huge clock from the Hilton Hotel in Akron, Ohio and a Karastan Carpet from the Regent Beverly Wilshire in Beverly Hills where they filmed the Julia Roberts movie Pretty Woman.

He also has an antique phone from a different hotel from such countries as Albania, Denmark, Argentina, France, and Greece, twenty in total.

But Peter didn’t keep the hotel designs to inside the house, he even got his swimming pool from a hotel. He said: “Even my pool comes from a hotel. I copied the design from the Westin Hotel in St. John, U.S. Virgin Islands. And what distinguishes this pool is not just the structural design, but the lighting and engineering. At night, a tube of fiber optics ringing the underside of the pool coping produces a seductive, subdued light that also slowly changes colors.

Now six years after his first home was destroyed, Peter has his dream home featuring all his favorite comforts. But, as he explains, anyone could furnish their homes with items they see in hotels.

Peter said: “This idea is totally accessible to anyone staying at any hotel. For example, the Four Seasons in New York sells a few hundred of their beds a year to guests. The Savoy is doing a brisk business in showerheads while the The W hotel chain sells its ‘heavenly bed’. Literally dozens of hotels throughout the world place their logo on ashtrays or bathrobes but it is essentially meaningless. But if a guest likes their armoire, sink or even the toilet, what better advertisement for the hotel than for that item to be installed in the guest’s own house!”

Here is a list of some of the furnishings that Peter Greenberg has bought from hotels to furnish his home.

KITCHEN

Lights – Europe Regina Hotel in Venice

Wooden floor – Sheraton Hotel in Sweden

Appliances – Mark Hotel in New York

Granite tiles – Hyatt Hotel in Jakarta

Built in wooden counters and cabinets – Regent Hotel in Bangkok

SMALL BATHROOM

Lights and sink – Europa Regina Hotel in Venice

BACK OFFICE

Wooden book cases and cabinets – Regent Hotel in Bangkok

LIVING ROOM

Granite tiles – Hyatt Hotel in Jakarta

Door locks – St Regis Hotel in New York

Chairs – Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles

Lights – Park Hyatt Hotel in Sydney

High backed chair – Manila Hotel in the Philippines

OFFICE

Clock – Hilton Hotel in Akron, Ohio

Key Cabinet/dresser – Dorchester Hotel in London

Phone system – Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas (although antique phones in other rooms from various hotels)

BEDROOM

King size bed – Four Seasons Hotel in New York

Bedding – Shutters Hotel in Los Angeles

Pillows – Athenium Hotel in London

Lamp – Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles

Slate – Four Seasons Hotel in Mauii, Hawaii

Carpet – Greenbriar Hotel in Virginia

Master closet – Oriental Hotel in Bangkok

Coat hangers – Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong

BATHROOM

Sink – Europa Regina Hotel in Venice

Frosted window – Principal Hotel in Kauai, Hawaii

Bathtub – Peninsula Hotel in Hong Kong

Shower head – Savoy Hotel in London

Toilet – Park Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo

GARDENS

Swimming pool – Westin Hotel in St John’s, Virgin Islands

Photography by Leigh Green of Splash News.
Writer Nicola Pittam is a British journalist who has worked for Splash News in Los Angeles for four years. She reports daily on the latest from Tinsel Town for the British newspapers

Simple Planning Makes for a More Enjoyable Vacation

Posted on July 1, 2001 by admin

© 2001
June is “Rebuild Your Life” Month… time to think of ways that you can rejuvenate yourself and reconnect with those you care about most. If your vacation includes travel, I encourage you to plan at least one trip that is purely vacation. Make the first day of summer (June 21) your deadline for finalizing summer travel and vacation plans.

The annual family vacation is typically a time for fun and relaxation… if you plan ahead. For those who don’t plan accordingly, it can also be a time of disaster, stress, and heartache. Unfortunately, most people don’t associate planning with fun. I’ve learned that leaving even the smallest details unattended to can be a recipe for disaster. I’ll illustrate my point by sharing some personal experiences.

Confirmed Airline Reservations… Ha!

Six years ago my family planned a summer vacation to Alaska. Because Alaska only has a couple months of warm weather, we knew that the month of July would be a busy time to travel there. That’s why we purchased our airline tickets six months in advance. With paid tickets in hand, I called the airline the day before to confirm our reservations. They confirmed that we had paid reservations for the flight.

The next day we got to the airport 1.5 hours before departure time. That’s when we were told that the flight was oversold and we did not have confirmed seats on the plane. I said, “How can this be? We bought these tickets six months ago! We were among the first passengers to purchase tickets for this flight! And we’re here early… most other passengers have not even checked in yet!!” The agent behind the ticket counter explained to me that, because we had purchased the tickets so far in advance, seat assignments were not made at the time of purchase. (We since learned that most airlines do not have their computers set up for seat assignments until 60-90 days out.) Those who purchased tickets or called to request seat assignments within 60 days of departure had reserved seats. We were placed on the waiting list.

Our story had a happy ending. We got the last three seats available… all in First Class! Although we had a favorable outcome, our vacation could have ended in disaster. This is one lesson I will never forget! I’ve just purchased airline tickets for December to Hawaii. Although the flight is almost sold out, the airline will not make seat assignments until 90 days prior to departure. Guess who has a reminder in her tickler file to call the airline in September! (Learn more about setting up your own tickler file at this link)

Guaranteed for Late Arrival to the Hotel… Ha!

The summer following our trip to Alaska, our family vacationed in Minnesota. Our flight was scheduled to land very late in the evening, so I asked our travel agent to set up a guarantee for late arrival when she booked the hotel reservations. Our agent confirmed that she had given the hotel our credit card to hold the room. As planned, we arrived at the Doubletree Hotel at about 11:30 PM. When I went to the registration desk to check in, I was told that there were no rooms available. I was shocked! I presented them with a printout from our travel agent, which confirmed our guarantee for late arrival.

In search for a greater understanding of what a “guarantee for late arrival” meant, I asked to speak with the manager on duty. I asked him, “If we had not checked in tonight, would the hotel have billed our credit card for the room, even though there are no rooms available?” That’s when I learned that the Doubletree Hotel’s guarantee was only a one-way guarantee. He confirmed that this was their standard policy. Having difficulty comprehending this policy, I reframed the question: “So if we are paying for the room, why is someone else sleeping in it right now?” He informed me that the guarantee did not obligate them to provide accommodations in their hotel; it simply meant that they guaranteed we would have a place to sleep that night. As I stood at the counter, the desk attendant spent the next 20 minutes calling other hotels and motels in the area. Finally he informed me that they would put us up at no charge at the Prime Rate Motel down the road! Hardly the accommodations we had planned on… and “down the road” was 15 miles away!

When we returned home from our trip, I called the Doubletree Hotel headquarters in Phoenix to see if this was their corporate policy, or just the local policy for that particular location. I was shocked when their customer service rep informed me that this was “standard practice in the industry,” adding that “the airlines do it all the time.” From now on, when I know I will be checking in late, I ask explicit questions about a hotel’s policy regarding guaranteed late arrivals.

How High Do Mosquitoes Fly?

Of course, some things are simply beyond our control, and no amount of planning can guarantee a flawless vacation. I remember one of my first trips to Jakarta, Indonesia, where my husband’s brother and his family live. We had made the long flight halfway around the world, and I was exhausted. (A quick geography refresher: Jakarta is near the equator, and it is very hot and humid there.) We were staying in a nice hotel with the modern comforts of air conditioning and purified water… two important elements for me.

When we checked into the hotel, we were informed that they would be doing some electrical work on the elevator shafts, and would therefore be turning the electricity off for the entire hotel from 2:00 AM to 8:00 AM while they did the work. I thought to myself, “Well, by then I will be asleep and I won’t even notice it.”

Boy, was I wrong! At 2:40 AM I woke up in a sweat. By 3:00 AM I was really hot and sticky. I had a brilliant idea! We were on the 12th floor, and I decided to open the windows to let in some fresh air. There were no screens on the windows, but I figured that we were high enough off the ground that it would be safe to open them. I made an assumption that mosquitoes would not fly that high. Again, I was wrong. Within a few minutes I had 32 mosquito bites covering my body and more were buzzing in my ear. Now I was not only hot and sticky, but I also felt like one huge, itchy, miserable welt. (My husband only had two mosquito bites. For some reason, mosquitoes have always liked me more than him.) We ended up leaving our hotel room and walking around the lobby the rest of the night.

Ten Tips for Planning Your Vacation

I hope that by sharing my personal experiences, you will avoid learning similar lessons the hard way. And it goes to show that those little details in the planning of a vacation can make a huge difference in the outcome. You can make your next vacation relaxing and enjoyable by following these simple vacation planning tips.

1. Keep your vacation planning information in one place. Create a labeled file folder (“Hawaii Vacation”) and use it to keep your airline, hotel, car rental information, as well as maps or AAA guide books, tourist information, contact information for people you know in that city, etc. To read about some programs related to travel that you can download onto a handheld organizer, check out the applications mentioned on the Handango Website.

2. Plan ahead for your wardrobe. Think about all of the activities you might do, and imagine what you’d want to wear for each activity. For example, on the beach you might want a swimsuit, cover-up, slip-on footwear or water shoes, a sun hat, sunglasses… maybe even a face mask, snorkel, and some flippers. Will the kids want shovels and buckets to build a sand castle? Do you need to supply your own beach towel, or will you be staying somewhere that supplies this for you? What about waterproof sunscreen? The more you can visualize yourself on the beach, the better prepared you will be. One helpful tool I’ve found for wardrobe planning is a Website that offers historical weather averages for thousands of cities around the globe. http://www.worldclimate.com/

3. Use a travel checklist. I’ve created a Packing List to get you started. Once you’ve tailored this to your needs, keep it in the travel file you’ve created. This will help you remember to pack both the basic necessities, as well as some of the more obscure things you might not remember but would want to take with you. http://www.orgcoach.net/packlist.html

4. Let children pack their own travel bags, and make sure their bag is small enough that they can carry it themselves. Help them select things they can do on the road or in the air: Walkman and cassettes or CDs, books, handheld video games, portable crafts, card games. Talk about seating arrangements ahead of time to avoid conflict among siblings about who will sit where.

5. Pack a carry-on that is small enough to stay with you at all times. Include necessities that you must have, in the event that you get separated from your other luggage for a day. If you need to take medication on a regular basis, be sure this is with you, and not in your checked luggage. If you are combining a business and vacation trip and need something for a presentation the next day, take it in your carry-on rather than checking it.

6. Plan early to get the best selection and to get early booking discounts. If you’re really adventuresome and are not particular about where you want to go, you can also book reservations last-minute. There is some risk involved in doing this, but you can also get some great deals this way. CheapTickets sells surplus seats, a.k.a. “distressed inventory,” at some great bargains. If you have any concerns about your safety while traveling to a particular destination, you might check out a Website that offers a report on global hot spots to avoid.

I’ve recently found a wonderful Website called SideStep, which does a search of more than 70 travel-related Websites and finds the best AVAILABLE flights, hotels, and rental cars on a given date. Many Websites will find the “best deals” but when you go to the site you discover that they are sold out for the dates you want. This site does not waste your time if a flight is sold out. For more links to some helpful travel-related sites, visit the travel section of my Links to Great Sites page.

For who insist on combining business and pleasure during your travels, I offer 10 Tips to Tame the Paper Tiger When You Travel. http://www.orgcoach.net/traveltips.html

7. If you’re driving, you may wish to map out your trip ahead of time and make hotel reservations along the way if you are traveling during peak vacation time. Mapquest offers a helpful Website for mapping out your route and estimating travel time under normal driving conditions.

8. If you’re traveling to another country, check out the Currency Converter for International Exchange Rates. If you’d like to master a few useful phrases in a foreign language, visit the Foreign Language Assistance Website. It even contains some sound clips so you can pronounce words properly.

9. If your vacation plans include staying home rather than traveling, plan how you will spend your vacation to rejuvenate yourself. Perhaps there are some local attractions that you’ve been wanting to experience but have not had the time to experience. Are there people you want to connect with? Get clear about what you want to do and who you want to do it with, and then plan to make it happen. If your vacation includes having a friend or relative flying in to visit you, you can check the status of a flight to see if they will arrive on time. You can even get a real-time map of the plane and its progress, based on radar data. http://www.flightview.com/

Visit Earthcam to view hundreds of images from all over the world without leaving your chair. The digital images are updated regularly, and some are live.

10. This is the most important tip of all: pack the right attitude. Let go of the “what if” and enjoy the moment. Remind yourself what matters most, and focus on that. If this is a vacation to get away and relax, then focus on activities and thoughts that will be relaxing. If your goal is to reconnect with family and build memories together, that can be done regardless of circumstances (missing a flight, not getting tickets to an event you wanted to attend, etc.). If your goal is to sight-see and take in some special attractions or shows, then plan ahead and make the reservations necessary to ensure that you can do what you want to do when you get there.

Kathy Paauw, President of Paauwerfully Organized, specializes in helping busy executives, professionals, and entrepreneurs declutter their schedules, spaces and minds. She is a certified business/personal coach and professional organizer. Contact her at mailto:orgcoach@gte.net or visit her Website at http://www.orgcoach.net and learn how you can Find ANYTHING in 5 Seconds – Guaranteed!

the-vu

An Original Internet Magazine – Online Every Day Since July 1st ,2000, at the-vu.com

Category Archives: Places

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Discovering Phnom Penh

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Hotel Home

Simple Planning Makes for a More Enjoyable Vacation