CLEGG BROTHERS WORLD TOUR 1985
by
Peter M. Clegg
Copyright by Peter M. Clegg, 1989
All Rights Reserved.
THE BEGINNING
With a swift tap, the airline agent stapled the ticket to the boarding pass, tucked them in the paper jacket and handed them to me across the counter. As I took them, a phrase which I had read earlier on the ticket agreement was working at my inner thoughts. The agreement said, "Once the journey has begun, this ticket cannot be refunded." I had just drastically limited any possibilities of recovering the $2200 I had spent buying Pan Am's around-the-world ticket. Was it worth it? I had ambivalent feelings as I contemplated the adventures that could lay ahead over the next four months, but then reflected on the large sums of money that we had just parted with. At this point if anything happened it would be an extremely short and expensive trip. On the other hand we were just embarking on an adventure that would be a once in a lifetime experience. We were going to circumnavigate the globe and visit as many countries as we could along the way.
When did it start? How did it all come about? Who convinced us to do this? That's hard to say. It may have started with the world map that hung in the dining room for all of the years that we were growing up. Each time a member of the family or the ward received a mission call to a far off place, we could know exactly where in the world that place was. It may have been the National Geographics that came every month, thanks to Grandmother Clegg's yearly subscription gift. Neo Geo's, as they came to be known, were found on the nightstands of every bed in the house. Many of them were worn and coverless from countless lookthroughs before going to sleep.
At college one semester, the trip actually began to look like a reality. A couple of friends from my mission had returned using the world pass ticket from Pan Am. I talked to them and to a travel agent friend who told me the particulars. In the cold, dark days of January and February my roommates and I talked out the details and the places that we would like to go. Kevin, Brian, and Glen had all been to Japan on their missions and we had a great time brainstorming of all the things that we could see and do. We found out more about the flights and calculated a daily budget. The only thing lacking was money. As the semester drew closer to an end things looked less promising. Time was limited, school pressing, and money nonexistent. Brian and I kicked around the idea of just going to Tahiti instead. We had a poster hung in our apartment with tropical forests and sandy beaches and there were some good package deals to Tahiti for a week. When it came right down to it though, it just didn't seem to be the thing to do. I felt that it would probably not be a wise use of funds and not very responsible. I was expecting a tax refund which would have covered a short trip but I decided that I would sacrifice and use the money to buy a diamond. The diamond could be another story but it will suffice to say that my practical thinking was merely wishful.
Dad had not been all that receptive to the idea anyway. I think that he perceived it as an effort to escape reality and responsibility; something which filled our mind's dreams and fantasies and diverted us from work and the tasks at hand. He asked us several times, "Why do you want to go? Going just to say you went, or trying to be someone your not won't make you any happier for having gone," he would say. I suppose that it was his way, and a good way, to make us think of the reasons we were really going. The answers we would give were to see how other people live, to see economies in other lands, to see how the church is growing, to explore what was on the outside. I think that inwardly I felt a longing for a better understanding of the things which surrounded me. I had learned from my travels to the Caribbean and Thailand that the world is a large place and much different than can be comprehended from reading or watching television.
With the buying of the diamond and the end of the semester, thoughts of traveling were replaced with thoughts of summer school, a certain girl, and an internship for my major. The trip moved from front burner to a distant wish list.
FOUR YEARS LATER
I had since graduated from BYU and accepted a job in San Francisco. My brothers had all returned from their missions and were going to school. Steve and Ben had come to live with me in northern California to make money to continue school. Ben, Steve and I were sitting on a little grass mound outside our condo in Walnut Creek, California. It was a beautiful Sunday morning and we were just relaxing in the summer sun and trying to figure out what excitement there could be left in life. I had been working at Bechtel for two and a half years and was fairly bored with life. Work was a constant struggle for satisfaction and progress. My church calling was rewarding but very challenging and frustrating. Steve had been working at several different jobs ranging from CAD to Kreepy Krawley. He had just found out that his old girlfriend at the Y was engaged. Ben had been there about two months and was working with computers inside a San Francisco office building for eight hours or more a day and that was really quite an adjustment for an Idaho farm boy.
In our discussion of a search for adventure and fulfillment the idea of a world trip came up again. This time the idea seemed to carry its own energy. Just sitting there and talking, the idea seemed like the crucial, long lost piece in some puzzle. We talked of the countries that we would like to visit. Steve and I wanted to return to our mission fields and see the Philippines were Dan and Paula went. We wanted to especially see India and the more underprivileged countries. In a way we wanted to feel the experience of life in other lands. There were a lot of questions that we wanted to answer such as how do other governments operate, how do economies function, how is the church growing in other lands, and many more. The power of the thought bordered on electricity. We had learned through experience however, that when things are meant to be, they will come to pass if you just keep plugging and doing what is right. We decided then that we wouldn't really make a big thing of the plans, or tell a lot of friends or make it a goal with number one priority. Instead we would just keep it in the back of our minds and see what the next few months held for possibilities.
In the next few months things didn't really appear to be working out for the trip. I had the opportunity to take a new job at a good salary increase. Steve went back to school at BYU and Ben got a job at FMC. I met a new friend who I really enjoyed spending time with and I was making plans to settle more permanently in the area. I put a deposit on a townhouse and proceeded to draw up the paperwork for the loan. About the middle of October I seemed to reach a turning point of which I could write another essay. To be brief, by the middle of November I found myself without a job, girlfriend, or house payments. No attachments whatsoever.
It didn't take long to figure that it was now or never to take the opportunity. Ben was very enthusiastic and said he was a definite 'go'. Steve was a go but wanted to wait till the middle of January to get some things taken care of with a club that he was the president of at B.Y.U.. I talked to Dan and he was game. After getting laid off I went home for a couple of weeks and approached Dad with the idea. To my surprise he was very receptive. We got out the map of the world and laid it on the floor and traced out our intended route. I think mother took more of a "wait and see" attitude.
Uncle Philip called not too long after I had been out of work to see if I would like to come and work for a couple of months and look for something in the southern California area. Whether I found a job or not, the couple of months window would work out just right. I left Idaho and went to Walnut Creek and packed up everything that I had. I gave my bed to the Asians and left my boat and furniture with York. I then went to LA with tentative plans to leave from there.
The two months of preparation went very fast. A lot of coordination went into getting everything ready. It took some work just to find a travel agent that could handle the ticketing. Then it took some work to educate her on the rules of the world pass. She was very helpful though and so excited about the trip herself. When I finally went to get the tickets she told everyone in the office that I was one of the three brothers that were going around the world.
We had to get passports and visas for several countries. I also had to coordinate with Steve and Ben to get things all in one place at one time. About mid December we came to a point where a firmer commitment was needed. In talking with Steve, Dan and Ben I laid out all of the pros and cons that I could think of and then told them to let me know. I felt flexible and also felt that I had less to lose by going than any of them. My schooling was done and I could have a full time job anytime I wanted. Ben had no qualms and said it was the only thing keeping him going. Steve thought about it for a couple of days and then called to say yes. He had talked to his mentor Brother Dyer and he convinced him that it would be a once in a lifetime chance. Dan called to say that he had thought it over and weighed it out and the conclusion was that he felt he should not sacrifice his schooling. I was disappointed as we really would have enjoyed his company and needed his help in getting around the Philippines, but didn't try to sway him one way or the other.
Steve had also convinced me that I should take the GMAT and try to get into business school the next fall. So I planned the trip and studied GMAT test samples at night while doing takeoffs at the office during the day. In some spare time I read all of the encyclopedias on many of the countries that we would be visiting. On January 25, I took the GMAT at Fullerton. Three of the eight sections were math so I should have done well. I didn't feel that I had done well because I didn't finish several of them but I had done the best I could. If I passed, I would consider it a sign I should go back to school.
We were scheduled to leave on February 4, a Monday night. The Wednesday before, Steve and Ben flew down. Dear Mother drove them to the airport in Salt Lake with sub-zero weather and a sub-standard heater in the old blue Maverick. They had taken an off-beat charter flight and landed at another runway near LAX. When I finally found them they were just sitting in the sun watching planes takeoff and a movie that was being filmed in the area.
We spent the next couple of days getting visas for Thailand and Japan and getting our youth hostel cards and student ID's. The only place that we could get a visa for India was in San Francisco so I had Michelle get them and then express mail our passports back. We looked for packs and sleeping bags. The packs were easy to decide on. We checked out several sports stores and finally decided on bags made by EMI. They were very durable and well made. The nice thing was that the straps folded and zipped into the pack so it looked sort of like a suitcase. There was a day pack which zipped off the main pack for taking shorter side trips.
The sleeping bags were a different story. The first place we looked carried bags by The North Face. We wanted something that was light and didn't take up much room but also was warm. They had one model, the Blue Kazoo, which met our needs perfectly but was not in the price range at $210. So we kept looking. We went to several sports and department stores and the Army/Navy surplus. We crisscrossed the whole LA basin looking for the right combination. Ben and I finally decided to go back to North Face for the Blue Kazoo and Steve opted for a fiberfill from Kmart that was a little bit bigger. The Kazoos were good for temperatures down to about 20 degrees and stuffed to about a 6" by 12" roll.
Back at the Clegg's in Villa Park, we sorted out what things we wanted to take. We took about three changes of clothes, a sweater, and a jacket. There was still plenty of room. We had a little three man tent that we bought and because it wouldn't fit into one of the packs, we agreed to pass it around and strap it on the outside of our gear.
No trip can get underway correctly without a bon voyage party. We ended up with about three of them which were mixed with other things. Ann Voigt had a birthday party at Magnolia Peach's in Brea. We were sitting there and had ordered 15 orders of hors devours when in walked Michelle and Diana from No Cal. It was great to see them. Next day we had a video party and watched the Killing Fields. It was a graphic and disturbing movie which according the members of the Asian branch was quite accurate. Sunday, Kevin and Kathy Clegg blessed their baby and we all met out at Kim and Jalayne Pugmire's for a dinner. It was great to talk to Uncle Russ. He was so excited and enthusiastic about us going. We really did receive some good support. Uncle Sam and Jan were very excited and made me feel a little more at ease about taking off.
Monday night, Brian and Annie came to chauffeur us in the royal, red, rabbit convertible. We didn't have all that much stuff and it all fit in the trunk. The atmosphere on the way to the airport was filled with excitement. Brian and Ann wanted to go with us. I think that we were a little bit apprehensive about the things that were to come and whether we would get our hard earned moneys worth.
On Board Pan Am 747 Bound for Hawaii
"I can't believe what a hassle it is to break away from normal life and go somewhere. There are bills to pay in advance, arrangements to make in the event of accident, belongings to store and secure. I signed a power of attorney and sent it to Dan with instructions of what to sell and give to who. Uncle Philip offered to let me store my car in the office. I have been so worried the last couple of days that I think I have made myself sick. But suddenly I feel very relaxed and things are going to work out great. It is a great feeling to be back here among the clouds. We are all a little concerned about money but have a fairly good credit cushion just in case. I requested an increase on my credit limit on the Visa and obtained an American Express card.
I talked to Mother just before I left and it is so cold up there. One feeling of regret is that Dad and Mother are left behind. It would be so great to bring them and the rest of the family along on a trip like this. It seems like so much of this winter has been 'freeze or endure to survive'. I have had a lot of different feelings about going but generally have felt pretty good. It seems like this is a good thing to do. Everything has worked out so well thus far. I just wish they, especially Dad and Mom, could come with us."
HAWAII
The first flight was great but would have been a little better if we had known where we were going to spend the night. We arrived at the airport a little after midnight. After collecting our baggage we went to the lower level of the building and looked for transportation to somewhere. We missed the last bus to downtown by about 15 minutes. The only resource that we had plenty of was time and so we just decided to wait till morning. We walked around and saw several people with packs just sacked out in corners or on benches. It was sort of a revolting feeling to just stretch out on a bench. I was worried that security was going to kick us out or that someone would try to steal some of our things. We had our nice packs, sleeping bags, travelers checks, visas, passports, etc. Something inside resisted just going to sleep in the open. Actually, I think that at any given time there was only one of us that was asleep. I was miserable. The weather was rather cool and clammy. I had not felt too good the couple of days before we left and my shoulder was really hurting from something. Steve had a bad head cold and when coming down out of the clouds had been in real pain.
The first night was to help us appreciate what came after. At about 7:00 a.m. we called Aloha Rental and got an old red Datsun for $12.75 per day. We calculated Hawaii would be a little more expensive and so we could do this and still keep in budget. The weather was cloudy and a little chilly so we decided to drive around and look at the island. We drove northwest out to the edge of the island and the end of the drivable road, looking at all of the sandy beaches and waves along the way. We stopped and looked in a cave that was covered with graffiti. The further we drove the more run down and junky the countryside seemed to get. There were lots of rusted junk cars and run down houses. We took a nicely paved side road and followed it back up near the mountains to a 'howlee' resort. Hi-rise condominiums, landscaped grounds, a golf course and No Trespassing signs were circled by the lush green mountains. We couldn't help but notice the contrast. Back on the main road we followed it to the end where the road which had run along the base of the mountains just above the ocean was washed out. It looked as if the road just vanished between the crashing waves and the rugged cliffs.
We drove back towards Honolulu and decided to stop and see Pearl Harbor and the Arizona Memorial. While waiting to get in we gave Paula's old roommate Heather a call. She and her husband Terry lived with their family on a sugar plantation not far from the memorial and they invited us over for dinner. We toured the museum, watched the movie and took the boat ride over to the monument which is built over the sunken battleship Arizona. Something struck me which would be a recurring thought through the trip. That was amazement at the structures which can be built and the resources which can be marshaled at the call of war. To see the movie with footage from all of the ships that were in the harbor preparing for war and to see the destruction which ensued was something that made me ask what are the true forces behind man's building and accomplishment.
The same thought ran though my mind as we hiked to the top of Diamond Head in the afternoon. It was a spectacular view and felt good to get out and exercise. At the top there were lookout points and gun mounts which had been carved in the rock for the military. I wondered at how industrious people can be when motivated by war. There were tunnels dug through rocks and stairs carved out of the cliffs.
After touring the memorial we drove out to the plantation where the Sharp family resided. Terry graduated with a degree in agriculture from B.Y.U. and had come to work for the Oahu Sugar Company. They had a couple of cute little girls (Sarah and Teresa). We ate a delicious hot meal of soup and rice and then walked around the little village. It was owned by the sugar company and all of the residents were working for or had worked for the plantation. There were small houses with all kinds of exotic smelling flowers and trees all of which Heather named for us. It was a beautiful sunset as we watched the sun line sweep up across the cane fields to the green mountains. We stayed the night sleeping on the floor and couch. Because of the light rain the next day, all work had been canceled. Terry got one of the company trucks and we put on our rain ponchos for a tour of the plantation. He was responsible for all of the irrigation of the cane fields.
Water is a very precious commodity and the irrigation system was complex. It is not necessarily the lack of water but the cost of pumping that makes it expensive. Terry showed us the drain system which drained the land of excess water. Large, vertical pipes marked the vents so they would not be destroyed during harvesting. He showed us the drip irrigation systems and how the water went from mainline to submain to spaghetti and finally to the drip lines which actually watered the plants. We saw filter systems which removed the sand from the water and algae systems which removed buildup and helped to keep the system from clogging. Other systems injected fertilizer which was spread through the water during irrigation.
We saw sugar cane in different stages of growth and had some to munch on as we tried to hack a path through a patch. We didn't get far as it was quite dense and near ten feet tall. It reminded me of when we were kids and we used to hide in the corn fields. We drove up to the higher lands where much of the farmland had been let go to weeds because of the cost of pumping. At the tree line we stopped and looked out over Pearl Harbor and Honolulu with Diamond Head in the background. It was beautiful and peaceful. On the way back we looked at old wooden pipeways and talked to an old Filipino who was taking water and weather readings. Terry showed us some different test plots of sugar cane which he could identify and called strains 7726, 2731, .... or some bunch of numbers. To the untrained Idaho eye it all looked the same. We also saw patches of test corn and pineapples. It was the first time that Steve realized that pineapples did not grow in trees but on the ground.
The atmosphere of the plantation was sort of a dying feeling. Terry explained that with cheap sugar imports, high cost of pumping and labor the cane industry was losing planted ground. AMFAC was a huge corporation which owned Oahu Sugar and was only keeping it going on a test basis to see if it could turn a profit with new strains of cane or alternative crops. The cannery in the village had closed and so had the sugar mill. There was old rusty equipment and junked out harvesters lined up at one end of the village. It seemed almost as if a struggling last effort was being made before the fast growing green foliage reclaimed the lands and old equipment.
We thanked Terry and Heather for their hospitality and felt we had seen a portion of Hawaii that is much more real than Waikiki. They were tentatively making plans to return to the mainland where agricultural potential was better and there would be better schools for their kids. We noticed a picture of their school classes and they were the only two howlees (Caucasians).
Another phone call set up the rest of our stay in Hawaii. Ken was a friend of York's who had been to stay with us once in Walnut Creek. We had taken him water skiing and had not called him earlier because we had not known him that well. What a mistake! He truly gave new meaning the word host. Ken was a native Hawaiian and works in Honolulu as a travel agent. He arranged to meet us at a shopping center downtown. He was a little upset that we had not called him earlier and we soon found out why. He had so many great things to show us in his native state that we were hard pressed to see them in the next 24 hours. We 'quick changed' (he talked pigeon after he got to know us a little better) and took his car up above Honolulu where he pointed out a lot of sights we wouldn't have seen; museums, government buildings, colleges, etc.. We then headed past Diamond Head to the Toilet Bowl. It was a large hole in the rocks which was fed from the bottom by the incoming waves. As a wave would come in the water would rise and surge us to the top of the bowl and then flush as the waves went out. Great fun! From there we drove up to a spectacular lookout where an ancient king had driven his enemies over the edge. The steep volcanic mountains were green with black outcroppings of lava rocks and magnificent to look at.
We then fulfilled on of those dreams that many people have when they think of Hawaii. Ken took us to a private swimming hole which had waterfalls coming in and going out. The area was ceilinged with large trees and a long, knotted rope hung over the water. We swung, splashed and swam till dark. Ken was the perfect host. We felt so at home and he was having so much fun even though we knew he had been to these places hundreds of times before.
After the swim we went back to Honolulu and out for Chinese food. We were going to pay for his food but he insisted on paying for all of ours. It was excellent. We quick changed' again and then drove out around the island past the BYU campus and temple. It was beautiful at night. He told us much of the Hawaiian history and took us up to the private school that he had attended during high school. It was established by the last Hawaiian queen for those who were native Hawaiians and the place carried an academy atmosphere. Ken insisted on desert and insisted on paying for it again. I was amazed. He took us home and made us all beds with sheets around his apartment. He washed our clothes and next morning when we awoke he had taken the ones that did not dry overnight to the laundry mat and put them in the dryer. He had also taken the morning off to see us off at the airport. On our way he stopped and bought us Hawaiian shaved ice at a little place where he knew the owner. It was a great taste sensation. At the airport he produced these beautiful flower leis and said we could not visit Hawaii without having received a lei. He insisted we come back when we could spend more time. As we took off I couldn't help marvel at such a splendid display of charity from someone who didn't even know our last names.
We flew out at 11 a.m. and the sun was shining beautifully on the beach near the runway. We really wished we could have stayed longer. We flew over the island of Hawaii and it was a beautiful sight. I could see the green of the mountains, the white sand of the beaches and the red dirt of the farmlands. Some of the beaches were black and glistened with the reflection of the receding surf.
JAPAN
We raced the setting sun to the west as we headed for the land of the rising sun. Another huge plane that was like a floating hotel. Ben seemed to become more pensive as we got closer to Japan. I realized that it was his first time out of the United States. Several minutes before landing, we descended through the clouds and were able to see the land below. Neat mounds of timber land fitted with rice paddies and occasional villages. Ben stared out the window with eyes wide open.
Narita Airport equals security squared. Even as we flew over the end of the runway we noticed the security fences which were amply high and doubly deep. Guard towers and radio antennas dotted the compound. The runway of white concrete was very wide and long and the entire airport was huge. Uniformed security were everywhere but everything was very efficient. We were through customs and had changed some money in just a matter of minutes. There we were standing in the terminal looking at a display of the new Toyota MR2 sports car which we had never seen in the United States. We found an information center and asked for directions to the youth hostel. Again apprehension was beginning to mount as it was getting dark. We called the hostel nearest to downtown Tokyo and it was full. Fortunately, there were vacancies at the other location and the Japanese lady at Information gave us written and verbal instructions. We were to take two trains. Some directions were not given by stops but by minutes. "Ride the train for 27 minutes, then get off." It was amazingly accurate, considering there were 11 stops during that period of time.
New and foreign ways of doing things became immediately evident. Train ticket machines were color coded for different routes. Routes however were written in Japanese characters. Our written instructions told us the machine but not the currency to use. Unfortunately, we did not have the proper change. There was no place to change bills and the train would soon be coming and the longer we waited, the more the hostel would fill up. Finally out of desperation, pushed the lone red button in the middle of a white wall. An unseen door opened and a man exploded with strings of incomprehensible Japanese. We pointed to the machines and the bills to describe our plight and he quickly exchanged the bills.
Our first train ride almost touched off an international incident. We were comparing the conji's (Japanese characters) on our direction sheet with the ones along the ceiling of the train car and asked a young businessman if we were on the right train by pointing to the sheet. He nodded that it was right. An older fellow, obviously drunk, started to disagree. Within minutes they were outside of the train slugging it out. I was about to intervene when Steve stopped me. He said that it happened all of the time in Korea and that it would embarrass the others if we were to pay any attention. We didn't and eventually they quit and got back on the train.
The ride into town was full of interesting sights. We rode through small towns where we could see the open markets. Hundreds of bicycles (all unlocked) were parked at the stations. Little tiny bus taxis and van ambulances. We rode over bridges and passed flooded fields of rice. Closer to town, the apartments began to rise along the tracks creating a deep channel which eventually became a tunnel under the city. Two train transfers were necessary to make it to the hostel. Both were miracles. All, yes all, directions were in conji. Steve had some experience reading the stuff as Korean's use some of the same Chinese characters. We mostly went by color and showing the written directions that the information lady had written. The Shinjuku station was a multi-level labyrinth. Trains were coming and going on five levels in six directions. Riverlets of people were rushing from level to level and train to train. We took a smaller, feeder train to Sangubashi. It was night but there were many lights. Tiny was the first impression. Narrow streets, small shops, tiny vans, little cars and scooters. A Honda was a big vehicle.
We found our way across the tracks to the remains of the Olympic village. The hostel was a four level dorm structure and each room had six beds. The people at the desk gave us clean sheets and took our money and student I.D. cards. Little did we realize that this would be one of the last places that we would get sheets until we reached Europe several months later.
Of major concern was what to do with our packs. They were heavy and we did not want to carry them around just to go eat and didn't know how trusting we could be. We decided to leave them in our room. That seemed safe. We took the day packs that zipped of the back, loaded them with the valuables (passport, ticket, money, etc.) and headed out to stave off hunger pains. Again we felt apprehension as to whether we would be able to survive on our daily allowance. We knew that it was going to be a tight trip moneywise and felt that we needed to set a precedent in the first foreign country. Exceeding the budget would only shorten the trip. We were expecting food to be $6-7 a meal because of Tokyo's high cost of living but were very pleasantly surprised when the noodle dish across the tracks only cost us 350 yen (the equivalent of $1.60).
Many of the Japanese restaurants have displays in the window with plastic food, the name written in Japanese and the price written in Arabic - kind of a three dimensional menu. Figuring out how to order was something else. We couldn't tell which characters on the menu matched which dishes in the window. Steve slipped outside for a moment and returned with the characters of the dish we selected written on his hand. He showed his hand to the waitress/cook/owner and counted off three, pointing to each of us. We watched Japanese TV and warmed ourselves while we waited. It was quite cold and very humid. In a few minutes, we were eating steaming egg noodles in a light sauce with cabbage, sprouts, pork, onions, etc..
Back at the dorm we met the other occupants of our room. One was a quiet Japanese boy. Many of them come from the country to Tokyo to take tests for school. While washing my clothes I carried on a conversation with several of them. They were so polite yet funlovingly curious about America and practicing their English. The washing machines were so tiny. I thought I had ruined one by washing three pair of Levis at one time. One roommate was from Australia and was a teacher on holiday. The other was from a fellow named Manoge from Calcutta.
Manoge was a very fascinating personality and we talked with him for a couple of hours. He had come to Japan to study the economy and see the manufacturing and trade. He was very well educated on world affairs and opinionated as to what the Japanese were doing to the world economy. According to him, Japan was at war with the Americans to capture US manufacturing and develop a superior economy. Korea was at war with Japan and is trying to carve a piece of the economic pie. Although he had never been to the US he knew it very well. He was familiar with the Church and had a friend at BYU. He told us all about the good things of India and the places that we should visit. It sounded exotic and fascinating. He also invited us to visit him in Calcutta.
I slept great that night. It just felt good to have a roof overhead and a little bit of heat. The weather was very cold and wet and the heaters came on at 9 pm and went off at 6 am. The next day it was still raining. As part of the `experience it all' theme, we decided to try a different form of transportation to downtown Tokyo and set about to decipher the spider web of the underground subway system. Many of the stations were the same as the trains but the entire system was underground. A great fear was getting on the wrong train and ending up outside the limits of the map that we had.
We found our way to downtown Tokyo and we exited from the station only to find avenues of shops going in several directions, all underground. After wandering for a bit we found a stairway which lead up to natural light and of course, cold rain. It was then decided that we would do what would become a regular in each country we visited, see how and what natives buy. The shops were tiny and the corridors went for miles. Shops were filled with all manner of merchandise. There were clothes, shoes, leather, jewelry, books, groceries, and even computer shops. The most fascinating were the toy shops with all of the games, gadgets, lights, and junk. We looked at computers that used kanjis and had keyboards in the shape of hands and listened to a new invention that we had heard of but not seen in the States, compact disk players.
After popping up several times to see if the rain had let up we decided that it wasn't going to quit so we donned our rain ponchos and forged ahead to see what was visible through the drizzle. Before we left California, we had stopped at an army surplus store to buy the ponchos. I had bought one for $20 which was nylon and Steve had bought two plastic ponchos for $5. Mine leaked around the neck and I ended up borrowing one of Steve's. Our first conquest was the Imperial Palace with its moat, fortresses and gardens. While tramping around the outside we met Richard from Ireland who was also seeking an entrance. Our first attempt to cross the moat found us at a huge wooden door which was heavily guarded with armed security officers. They spoke gruffly and pointed to an entrance in the distance. It must have been where the emperor hung out if he indeed did stay at the palace.
Once inside we just walked around the gardens and looked at the exterior of the buildings with the many different types of architecture. We climbed a small vista and were able to see across the deserted palace grounds which disappeared into the fog and the rain. We snapped a picture or two at the wall and then walked to the National Museum. It was fairly expensive and jammed with school children so we decided to rest. We wandered downstairs to some chairs and vending machines. The pop cans were skinny and taller than what we were used. Ben had to try one labeled "Old Georgia". The first swig convinced him that it was not soda and one from each of us lead to the conclusion that it must be cold coffee! Yuk.
Walking around in the rain at the Imperial Palace not knowing anything about where we were convinced us that we needed some direction and background in our wandering. We set out for the tourist office which was located in the Ginza Market. The office was closed but we spent time wandering through the streets. The place was alive with people, even though it was raining. All the shops were crowded and there were lights everywhere with flashing signs in Japanese kanji. Fascinating crafts and merchandise from all over Japan. There were movie houses, restaurants and banks.
We found our way back to the subway station and stopped in an underground store to buy some hot raisin bread. I'm sure that we looked like vagabonds as we sat on the floor in our rainsoaked clothes devouring a loaf of bread. We got some funny looks which was not what we had grown accustomed to. No one ever even looks at you unless you are talking to them. People keep their eyes only on what is down and directly ahead of them.
We took the subway again back to the dorm and warmed up by the kerosene heater while we waited for check in time at 5:00 pm. While waiting I browsed through a book on Japanese culture; specifically - how to properly conduct oneself in the fuddo (public bath). To the Japanese this activity is performed with order. The bath house was several buildings away and we sprinted in the rain. The entry way contained shelves to put clothes and slippers. Through the second door and into the steam filled room was taken only soap and a small towel which was used for washing and chammying off the water once finished. I sensed as we entered that we were noticed. The only fair skinned bodies. The book said that the towel was used to wash and when walking or standing to cover nakedness. Steve, accustomed to the Korean style, threw his towel over his shoulder and charged ahead.
The outside of the room was surrounded with taps about three feet apart and about a foot high. There were little stools and plastic pans that were stacked and scattered about the room. In the center of the room was a large, waist deep pool from which steam was rising. The procedure was to sit on the stool in front of the tap, shave, and wash oneself thoroughly using the towel and the pan, then retire to the hot pool for a relaxing soak. After a long day trudging in the cold rain the sensation was sublime.
The next day was Sunday and it was exactly that, clear and sunny. We had found a telephone number that was a directory assistance for English. We called and got directions to the church and then located the train and subway stations on the map. We headed into the suburbs and finally ended up at the station that we had been directed to. The address was not so easy to find. No one spoke English. We finally asked at a police station and they directed us to the right area. Once in the area we walked and walked. Some people looked at the address written by the police and asked their neighbors but no one really seemed to know. We finally hiked up a side road and discovered what must have been the false object of our search. It was the Saint Andrews Colombian Mission. We had asked for directions to the Latter-day Saint Mission home.
By now it was afternoon so we decided that we would head back towards the airport and see if we could find an inexpensive hotel to spend the night. Another false presumption. We kept looking for little villages with boarding houses or small hotels but there was nothing at all before Narita. The village of Narita is part traditional Japanese and part international jetset accommodations. The only lodging available was at Hotel Let's, (let's what?). The rates were $60 for a room for three. We debated as it was over the budget but figured that we had saved some and that we were actually a day ahead because of crossing the international date line and spending a night in the airport.
We really noticed the contrast between student class and tourist class. The room was on the seventh floor with a beautiful view of the countryside. Beds, sheets, TV, and our own modular bathroom. It looked as if the bathroom had been placed as a unit. The tub, sink and toilet were all molded plastic and one piece with the walls and ceiling. Everything in the room was computerized.
Since we missed church we decided to have our own religious discussion which degenerated into arguments over personalities. We had been too close together for too long under intense circumstances. A walk through the village melted the tensions. The narrow windy streets were lined with shops containing produce of every kind. Fruits, cakes, vegetables, dried roots, paper, and religious paraphernalia (incense, bells, and many other things that I couldn't imagine a use for). We found a greasy tabled restaurant and ate hot soup.
"Monday - while waiting for the flight we watched TV; the Japanese version of Star Search and American Bandstand. It looks like they have the westernization well under control. Lots of neat TV graphics, better than I have see on US TV."
We also walked to the large Buddhist temple which was a major attraction in Narita. We wandered the grounds looking at the monks quarters and the gardens. We entered the temple and listened to the chanting and watched the robed figures. The buildings were large and open to the air. The temple and grounds were clean and spacious. Not much glitter or gold. Mostly woods and polished rock. We bought some oranges and rolls and welcomed the warmth of the morning sun as we ate.
We took the train the last leg to the airport and mentally prepared for the next country. We disposed of what money we had remaining at the airport on french frys and hamburgers and then relaxed and waited for the next flight. There is a feeling in airports that is quite welcome after spending some time in a foreign land, sort of like returning home. It may be that the airport is known to be the only passage back to a more familiar environment.
KOREA
It was an evening flight from Tokyo to Seoul. I was seated next to one of the new generation Koreans who had gone abroad to sell the latest of Korean production. He was attired in expensive sportswear but was very modest. He was a representative for a sports company which manufactured products for AMF and Coleman. He was very friendly. He had been to the US several times and was awed by the wealth and freedom. He spoke of his struggle to keep learning English at a rate that kept pace with the demand for growing sales coverage. He spoke of his family and the restrictions that were placed on its size and challenges that met his children.
Korea. It was time to relax and let Steven do the thinking. There is a tremendous amount of effort that goes into surviving the first few hours in any country: currency calculation and deciding where and how much to cash (830 one/$1), transportation to a location where you won't get ripped off or mugged, language barriers, cultural differences, where to stay, etc..
Steve could now take over all of that responsibility. He knew the money, what places to stay, and how to speak the language. We had decided to take the midnight train from Seoul to Pusan and hailed a taxi at the airport. Ben and I rolled into the back seat and let Steve up front to do the talking. We had kidded him a little about his ability to still speak Korean and he assured us that he was still fluent. Ben and I were poised in the back seat waiting to hear his directions to the train depot. He hesitated for a few seconds, turned to the driver and said, "Seoul Staashun". The driver returned a blank look. Steve repeated, "Seoul Staashun". The driver, still confused, summoned a hotel recruiter who asked the directions in English and then explained in Korean to the driver. Ben and I laughed uncontrollably and mimicked him all the way to the train station.
People would look at you in Korea. Almost everyone in Japan would look down or straight ahead but never at you. I know we must have stood out but were never stared at. The train station in Seoul was different. Steve went to find tickets and in the time that he was gone we were accosted by a drunk, a beggar , and someone wanting us to smoke something. There was also a pungent odor which lingered in the air. I soon found what may have been the source of it when I ventured into the restroom. There was no water to wash down waste once the job was done. It simply accumulated or drained in an open trough until the cleaning people came in with their rubber boots and fire hoses and washed it away. They had just finished and as I stepped into a stall found it dripping with less than clean water.
Steve eventually returned with a friend he had met in line and we boarded the chair car for an all night ride to Pusan. Early morning Pusan was cold. The humidity from the ocean and the low temperatures had us bundled in all of our warmest clothes. We were following Steve in this country but I am not sure he knew exactly what we were going to do. We took a bus to his old area and then started walking. We walked around the stadium while he showed us were the elders used to play basketball. We walked in the direction of the church trying several alleys before we found it. We started walking towards downtown when the weight of the pack, the cold, hunger, and the bad nights sleep began to wear on me. I demanded that we find some place to stay and forced Steve to remember what the Korean characters for yogwan were.
Yogwans are the Korean answer to inexpensive motels. Our first was a small room just large enough for the three of us and our packs to fit inside. The floors were heated either by electric pads or by circulating hot water. The only heat in the room comes from the floor. There was usually a thick pad to sleep on and then a blanket or two to go on top. Having the heat come from underneath created a nice secure feeling. Our first room was heated with water which was heated with yuntons. Yunton is charcoal which is shaped like a quart can with holes drilled through it lengthwise. They were sold in every market in every town we visited and fueled many a roadside vendors portable shop. A round lid in the yogwan floor was lifted and a new yunton was placed on the smoldering remains of the last one. This started the new one to burning and it was good for another twelve hours or so. Our first night left Ben and I with headaches leading us to believe that we should have left the window cracked. Steve said that missionaries had died from these little black units emitting carbon dioxide.
With Steve in command we were to see all of Pusan in one morning. We charged downtown and through the market place. Our first experience with Korean food was to eat cold noodles in a cold restaurant. The noodles were covered with a cold but spicy hot sauce (the dish was called peeping pop). To me the dish matched the waste removal system. Atop the Pusan tower we had a planning meeting to see what we would like to see for the rest of the day. We all three picked one thing that we found interesting.
My choice was the marketplace. Every country fascinated me with the things which were to be bought and sold. The market area of Pusan was several square blocks of tightly packed little shops. Each street appeared to have evolved around a particular trade. Hardware alley was path after path of every kind of tool and component. There were casters, hinges, pulleys, motors, lights, tools, wires and electrical components. In the mens clothes area a man stopped me and tried to sell me a fully lined raincoat for $20. We learned fast not to linger or look as the merchants were very aggressive. Next to the docks was a huge two-story building with edible merchandise. In the fish area you could take delivery of your fish in any form: frozen cubes, flayed, dried, or still swimming. I had never seen a pan full of swimming eels before. Upstairs there were rows of seasonings, spices, different rices, ground peppers and varieties of kimchi. The kimchi is like cabbage that has been pickled, peppered and fermented. Kimchi is mostly red, very hot and smells very strong. Winter kimchi is more like lightly pickled cabbage and before we left I was developing a taste for it.
Ben's choice was the sweater factory. As Steve remembered it, the sweater factory was a place to buy beautiful sweaters and shirts at very reasonable prices. It took a while to locate and lots of hiking. When we arrived we found it closed but the clerks that lived there were more than willing to open to foreigners who had travelers checks. I am afraid we would have disappointed them had some other foreigners not come in and started buying. Ben bought one all wool sweater for $8 and Steve a white shirt for $1.25 which had a Mervin's label in it.
Steve's choice was to visit his old mission home. When we arrived, the heat was off and the elders were sitting at their desks dressed in heavy sweaters and jackets. The home was in the process of moving to a new location and so much of what had been there when Steve was there had been removed and the bare cracked walls remained. As we squatted on the street waiting for the next bus into town he reminisced as to how those walls used to ring with laughter and good spirit.
The food began to get better. We found bakeries which made soft, fluffy raisin bread like what we had eaten in Japan. Near our yogwan we indulged in the full experience of sokumgooey. We were ushered into our own private room with a low table and pillows to sit on. Our cook entered and remained through the entire meal. The main course consisted of browned beef which we dipped in seasoned sesame seed oil with lettuce, noodles and a hot sauce. Of course there was water and new kimchi. Another favorite was pogumpop (fried rice with meat and egg over the top).
Our next stop was to be Chinju but a problem arose in just finding the bus station to get out of the city. We got on bus line 10 at the direction of a bus driver. We headed to the central station but when we got to where Steve had remembered it, there was nothing there. We got on bus line 57 and went to the next station but Chinju was not serviced from there. We again got on bus 10 and then someone we asked directions of told us to get off at the next stop. We stood there (nowhere really) and finally asked the token purser who told us to get back on bus line 10. We finally got there and were walking around the corner when a bus pulled up to us and the driver of the very first bus we boarded said, "I told you to get on 10 and stay there". It was pretty funny and such a coincidence that after so many miles, buses, and in such a large city that he would notice we had finally made it.
The bus to Chinju was very pleasant. The countryside was much cleaner and more peaceful. There were frequent toll roads and the traffic was fairly slow. We could still see many signs of US military. Helicopters were on patrol over the city and there were bases in the country. Country folk seemed to have life a little better than city dwellers. The farms were neat and clean with large houses clustered together and surrounded by rice paddies. It was well into the dry season and most of the diked paddies were caked mud and dry straw.
Chinju was a quieter and smaller town. We got a yogwan near the station so we wouldn't have to drag our packs around town. The owner wanted to charge us more than the normal rate because she would have to go around to all the neighbors and gather blankets to cover the big foreigners. We assured her that we had our Blue Kazoos and they would be adequate.
"Ben just woke up and he isn't feeling too well. We have been eating foreign food for about a week now so it is about time for his stomach to "walk" as the Thai's would say. He and Steve sat around last night and talked of french fries, hamburgers and moms best meals. Actually what we had was quite good. Steve and I walked into town and had fried rice with egg. Ben had to settle for "milgoms" (little oranges), Seven Star Cider, and some of that white Japanese air bread."
We experienced what Steve referred to as his major mission trial, the weather. We walked around the town during the day and just subjected ourselves to the cold, moist air and biting wind. I spent the afternoon and evening in our yogwan sitting on the electric floor mats and thinking. I thought about my friends the Foulgers and Williams and wondered how things were going back on the fast track in Silicon Valley.
I wanted to really use the time on the trip to clear my mind and gain a proper perspective but it always seems difficult to place oneself in a spiritual frame of mind. It was nice to be removed from the worry of a job or school or anything in the near future. Our major challenges were to locate a place to stay and find something to eat. "I think we are gaining a much better understanding of what are `needs' and what are `wants'. Sleep, food and warmth are pretty important. Life here can be so simple for some and yet still have such quality. Homes, cars, wardrobes, and things are not really necessary."
"I have also been thinking about Dad and his stay here during the Korean war. I try to imagine what it would have been like to have been here with fighting and killing and fear. I am thankful that I can come as a tourist and that the Church has been established and is growing. Steve talked with a couple of members in Pusan that remembered him as a missionary. At the time he was here one was a nonmember and the other newly baptized. Now one is a ward mission leader and the other a ward clerk.
"Contemplation aside, the question of the hour is, "To mogyok or not mogyok?". Is this weekly Korean custom a diversion of the flesh or is it a necessary and pleasing ritual? Either way, it sure feels good. Mogyok is the Koreans answer to the Japanese bath house. They are easily spotted because of the tall smoke stacks which most of them have. The procedure is much like the Japanese but the Koreans are less inhibited. The one in Chinju was very nice with raised hardwood decks, hot pools, cold pools, scented pools, and a sauna. We just kept going from one to the other until we started looking like prunes. I think it did Ben in as he had not fully recovered from his first attack of the gaumboo.
"The persistent cold weather was beginning to affect the readings on the fun meter so we decided to move on to Taegu for the weekend. Steve had a lot of good memories from this area and wanted to go the church there. We first found the church and then a yogwan nearby. Ben was in pretty bad shape and spent the next two days in bed. Our room had a black and white TV which got the Armed Forces Network (AFN). He watched the Kentucky Derby, and old reruns. With the cold (it was snowing some) our sightseeing trips were limited so we did a lot of reading. Uncle Russ had given me Irving Stone's "The Agony and the Ecstasy" before we left and said to read it before going to Italy. I would read about 40 pages then rip them off and give them to Steve. He would read them then pass them on to Ben. It should have been the other way around as Ben is such a voracious reader that he was often waiting and I had to rip off five pages at a time."
Steve and I went downtown to a book shop and he bought "Wuthering Heights" for $.50. Rather than just throw it in a bag, the old gentleman wrapped it very neatly and then bowed as he presented it to us.
Steve and I took a bus out in the country to Yung Nam University just to see what a college campus looked like. It was nice and clean and the surrounding countryside was beautiful with the neat rice terraces. I couldn't help noticing however, there and as we rode back how everything was lacking quality of construction. Houses that were not terribly old were having to be torn down. Sidewalks had gone to pot, curbs crumbled. Nothing was built to last.
We needed to figure out how to get Ben some hot food. His diet of Seven Star Cider and bread was not really helping. When we ordered food at the little restaurants, they didn't ask if this was "for here or to go?". At the two places where we asked if we could take the food in their bowels on a tray and then return it, they wanted to know why. When Steve explained that we had a sick companion they insisted on bringing the entire meal to our room and then returning to get the tray at no extra charge. It was a couple of blocks in the cold for the one old woman and when we tried to give her a tip she politely refused while giving us instructions on how to get Ben well.
Some of the new foods that we tried included bulgogi. It was a delicious mix of beef and vegetables cooked at our table over rice with sides of winter kimchee, clams, egg, seaweed soup and regular kimchee. It was fairly expensive though at about 3000 won per dinner. We also tried yaki mondoo which was a kind of chicken wonton.
Sunday we went to church. It was a nice large ward with lots of young people. The building was heated and that contributed to a warm spirit. The bishop was very gracious, spoke good English, and translated for me. He has some unique challenges. Steve saw several faces that he recognized. There were some very good discussions in the classes and I noted it interesting how minds inquiring after the truths of the gospel seem to move in the same patterns and ask the same questions that are asked in wards back home. Two Korean missionaries that were leaving for Seoul gave their farewell talks. We prayed for Ben and by evening he was feeling much better.
Monday morning we took a bus to Seoul and charged around for a while trying to find the temple and find out where Steve's old mission president was. Some of the differences in our traveling behavior started to surface. Rather than ask directions or call on the phone, we would take bus after bus and then walk and walk some more. The way we finally found the temple was to walk to the top of a hill where we thought it was and then spot it across the way on another hill. It was fortunate though, as it was really the best view we were able to get of the entire temple as it was in a close area with other buildings.
The temple was still under construction. We spoke to the construction superintendent and he allowed a tour. Our guide was the new janitor-to-be. He was very proud of the building and showed us each and every room. It is a small temple but will be beautiful. It is a contrast to most of the other structures we saw in quality of construction. The temple is located on the same property as the institute. While we were waiting for our tour guide, out of the institute came the two elders that had spoken in church the day before. They looked glad to recognize someone even though we had only briefly met them the day before. We had one of them take a picture of the three of us in front of the temple.
Seoul is a big city. There is the rush of cars, taxis, and lots of buses. We wandered the markets looking at the exotic fruits and dried fish. We found a yogwan near the temple, mogyoked, watched the Daytona 500, and slept on a conventional bed. The next morning I had a backache. We took a taxi to the airport and left a recovering Ben to watch the packs while Steve and I looked for breakfast and flew the kite.
The kite was a bon voyage gift from Steve's friend Vincent. Instructions were to assemble and fly the kite in every country we visited and take pictures as evidence. Vincent had made the kite himself out of red, white and blue plastic and had sent it in its own traveling case. In Japan we had waited till the last minute and Ben and Steve had ended up flying it in the parking lot of the airport. Korea was a repeat. It was so cold that we had trouble assembling it with our gloves on. Steve flew it and I took the picture. We disassembled it and after breakfast strapped it to Steve's pack which was checked as baggage. That was the last we saw it. At the Manila airport we waited till all luggage was claimed but it never showed up.
My thoughts as we left Korea were on the conscious and unconscious tensions that were felt. The struggle of some against the elements was visible the night we walked downtown and passed women wrapped in thin sheets at temperatures that were near freezing. The sound of US and Korean helicopters reminded us that one force is visible anticipating another which is not far away. In Seoul it was struggle towards the appearance of a western civilization with western dress, music, hairstyles, and factories.
PHILIPPINES
Our steward on the flight from Tokyo to Manila was from Rigby, Idaho and was Mormon. I had noticed that he announced in both English and Japanese so I asked him where he had learned Japanese. We had a good talk and he told us that he had gone to work for the airlines to travel but was now married with children and was looking for work which would keep him at home.
Hot, moist air enveloped us as we walked across the tarmac and up the ramp to the terminal at the Manila airport. I kept thinking, "I wish I didn't have my longjons on!" The warm tropical odor of vegetation and city pollution brought back memories of Bangkok. The atmosphere at the airport was completely relaxed and easy going. There were several Americans and servicemen but no one was in a hurry. Everyone was dressed in shorts and casual clothes. We went through customs and changed money with no problems (exchange was 18 pesos to $1 at the airport or 20 pesos at the money changers in town). We were getting to be old hands.
The minute we stepped outside of the front door however, our situation suddenly became apparent. It was late at night. We were in a strange country with no idea where to stay and there were no less than 20 people clamoring for our attention and trying to get us to take their taxi or their hotel or their restaurant. We had originally intended to find a place to leave our big packs and then look for the youth hostel. But panic overtook us and we let a lady talk us into staying at her hotel for $20. She had watched us refuse the other frenzied crowd and then approached us while we were discussing our plight. We rationalized by saying it was within budget. She showed us a brochure with large rooms and a beautiful pool. "How do we get there?", we asked. Our options were to take a taxi or wait for their own "special" airport transportation. We opted for the airport transportation and waited for 15 minutes till an old, smoking, rolling wreck pulled to the curb in front of us. The driver got out in his tattered shorts and T-shirt and untied the string that held the trunk down. I began to get that sick feeling that I had made a bad choice.
The drive to the hotel was not really impressive. I knew that there would be some really nice sections of Manila and some not so nice and this area fit in the latter category. The "airport transportation" said we had arrived and asked us for 160 pesos. It had taken us about twenty minutes and I figured that $8 for that long was not unreasonable in some cities of the world so we paid. The driver protested that it was 160 pesos per person and then we protested. The hotel lady, who had ridden with us, told him that 160 pesos was enough for all and to go along.
The pictures from the brochure had been taken in another era. The paint was cracked and faded. The pool was filmy and full of floaters. As we checked in there were several men lounging around the lobby in their night clothes staring at us. The person behind the counter offered to keep all of our valuables at the front desk and we politely refused. Once inside the room we made sure the windows and doors would lock and then put all our valuables under us as we slept. The hot water wasn't hot but the temperature didn't require it. Fortunately, the air conditioning did work and the room was clean. I slept fitfully, half expecting some of those unshaven "lobbyists" to come after us with their butterfly knives that Dan had talked so much about.
The light of morning sun gives an entirely new perspective to a situation. The section of town wasn't that bad. It is just that with little zoning, there are ruins and slums next to major attractions. We were only a few blocks from the bay. We decided to return to the airport and leave our large packs there, taking only the small packs and the few clothes needed for the warmer climate. We took a metered taxi and it cost us 25 pesos! We later returned on a bus for 50 centavos (1/2 peso). More "learning money" which will be explained later.
Discovering the secrets of Manila proved to be a monumental task. First the only maps of the city were in expensive hotels and cost over half of one day's allowance. Besides that, there were no bus routes and most important, nothing which indicated jeepney routes. Jeepneys are the peoplemovers of Manila and all the Philippines for that matter. They are an evolution of the WWII army jeep that has developed into a chrome laden, rhythm pulsing, alley bus which looks like a lighted Christmas tree on the outside and a mini Catholic shrine complete with two red benches on the inside. The outsides were covered with chrome bumpers, signal lights, horns, fins, mirrors, and assorted figures. The front compartment contained a high wattage stereo, crucifixes, statues, and four or five of the drivers young friends or family. Passengers sat in the back and passed their money up the line to the driver or one of his associates.
Once we learned some of the routes, we took jeepneys everywhere. The nightlife in Manila kept the streets clogged with them well after midnight. At 11 p.m. we could walk from the hostel in any direction and still get there faster than the jeepneys because of traffic. A night walk was interesting and many people were out because of the cool. The gas fumes and haze from traffic was forgotten in the excitement of the night markets and crowds. There were new fruits and different foods from the street vendors. Groups of college students milled around talking disco.
We managed after several sets of directions to find the International Youth Hostel sign. It is a green triangle with stick tree and house and this sign was rusty. The hostel was not what we had envisioned when we read the pamphlet. It was an old house with concrete floors and walls. The girl manning the desk took her time and said she would show us the one vacant room. We followed her upstairs while she kept singing over and over, "I want to get close to you" and "tonight I give my love to you". We felt secure though, knowing that there were three of us and if the missionaries go in twos for protection, three was even better. The room was small and had a double bed and a single bed with about two feet around each. There was at least an eight inch sag from the edge of the bed to the middle. But for $6 a night? We took it without reservation. We locked the door and headed out to experience Manila.
Lots of walking. We walked to a market which was closed, to some hotels to find directions, to a Kentucky Fried Chicken to eat, and finally to the pier were boats left for Corrigidor. The cost was $35 for a half day trip (way over budget). There must be a cheaper way to get there. We asked five people and got five different sets of directions. We were really missing Dan. He was supposed to be with us for this section of the trip!
We met some interesting people at the hostel. There were several Israelis. We visited with them at night over melons and fruit from the market. I was a little nervous sharing the same knife for fruit as one of them who was quarantined in the Philippines because he had hepatitis. I found them very interesting. For one thing they were very close as a society. They passed books to one another and information as to what were the best sights to see at what times and how best to get there. I was impressed by their intelligence and aggressiveness which seemed balanced with simple hardworking commitment. We listened to their side of the troubles in the middle east and realized that even among themselves, there is more than one side of the situation. One fellow, Gadi, spent a couple of evenings talking to us about our lives and the Church. He was simply shocked by our moral commitments and asked many questions.
During the first day we more or less kicked back. We washed our clothes in buckets by hand like the natives do with a cake of soap I had bought in the market. I found what had to be one of the most repulsive living conditions I have seen. On the back side of a market was an open sewage canal which was full of debris and garbage from the residents and market refuse. Part of the market area was rocks and slag and the sewage was seeping up creating puddles here and there in the marketplace. I wondered where the city sanitation inspector was or if there was such a person.
Next day we set out to find the natives route to Corrigedor. Little did we know that natives don't really care to see it so there isn't an inexpensive route. We took a Jeepney to the Santa Cruz market. It was massive, above and below ground with shops and merchandise everywhere. We caught a bus down the peninsula to Banglora. The ride was beautiful once outside the teeming mass of Manila. Miles of rice paddies, coconut trees, banana trees, nepa huts, water carabao. Small villages with sports arenas, roadside watermelon stands and Iglesio ni Christo Churches. These churches, located in almost every town, were impressive structures with architecture which resembled some of our temples. Dan said that is where they got the idea. I was amazed at how prevalent they were.
When the bus stopped the vendors would board with sodas, pork crisps (deep fried pig fat), and ballut (little cooked chickens inside eggs).
When we arrived at Bangalora we found we had to take another bus to Malveris before we could catch a boat. Malveris seemed to be the end of the earth in a way. We drove further to the end of the peninsula and then wound down a steep mountainside. Just outside of town, the highway ended and there was just enough room for one bus to bounce down the rocky dirt road. The bus stopped a couple of blocks into town and the driver said, "Get off. This is town center." We walked to the beach and out on the crumbling cement pier. Boat drivers wanted 350 pesos to take us out which was some savings but there wasn't enough time left that day to make the trip. We had already paid for our night at the hostel so we had to be content to sit on the pier and admire the island from a distance.
The trip back was beautiful and peaceful as the setting sun lit up the vertical miles of billowing clouds. The whites, yellows, oranges and reds of the clouds contrasted with the green shades of the rice fields and banana plantations. The peacefulness of the evening was gradually eroded away by entrance back into Manila. As we neared the market the traffic got slower and slower until it took us a complete hour to go the last mile. We would have gotten off and walked if we had known where we were. We cruised a few of the shops looking at watches, sunglasses, shirts, and shorts, and eventually bought a pair of thongs.
Dan's mission president, President Andrus, was now the president of the new Manila temple. I called and got directions and told him who we were. The Philippine temple is spectacular. It sits on a gradual hillside which looks out over a large valley and part of the city. As our taxi driver pulled up at about sundown he gasped and asked, "What is that?". The pure white spires and the graceful architecture were magnificent. We had left our good clothes at the airport and were hot but ventured inside. Several American couples were serving there as temple missionaries and they assured us that we were dressed as well as many of the natives to attend the temple. We had some time before the session so did initiatory work. The temple workers were all curious about our trip and several of them were from Idaho so between each ordinance they were asking us a million questions. The session room was small but full. We wore the formal Filipino dress shirts as part of the temple clothes. The shirts have a design running down the front and an open collar.
Afterwards we visited with President and Sister Andrus and they told us what a good missionary Dan had been. President Andrus said that he could count on Dan to help straighten out any problem situation. A Sister Cox said to tell Dan that a family in Santa Rosa that he baptized still asks about him. We also visited with some of the Filipino members, one who thought she remembered Paula. They were very friendly and had such a warm spirit. It was a different side of the Filipino people than we had seen in the taxi drivers and street vendors.
Four of our ten days in the Philippines were gone just trying to find our way around Manila. This traveling was a lot of work. Miles of walking, asking directions and trying to find safe places to eat. We didn't eat too much of the native food because it didn't look that appealing. Nothing looked like what I used to eat at Carman's Fine Phillipine Food in San Francisco. We were ready to find a place to relax. There must be one of the 7000 islands that would be relaxing and away from the city! After hanging around in an air conditioned mall for a while, we ran across a travel agency.
Our initial plan was to obtain some information about some possible locations and then find our own way there. We explained to the travel agent what we were looking for and she showed us a picture of a small island with white sand beaches. We discarded our recent experience with brochures and asked the location. Boracay with a rolled "r". Just to be polite we allowed her to figure a package tour for five days plus airfare. To our surprise, it was within budget even with airfare. A five day package was only $45 per person. We booked it. The deal was to include airfare to a neighboring island, breakfast everyday, and our own nepa hut at Mrs. Yap's "Summer Place". The only thing we had to take care of was the boat from the island of Tablas where we would land to the island of Boracay.
The Philippine domestic air terminal was definitely on a different level than the international airports we had become accustomed to. Our twin engine prop plane was delayed for an hour but we were finally on board and in the air. As we flew out over the ocean we could see what must have been some type of fish farms. Water was visible in all directions but here and there were houses on stilts. Stretching out from the houses were fencelines which created a spider web pattern over the entire bay area.
The flight to Tablas was about an hour long and we circled for a few moments waiting for a storm to pass so we could land. The runway which ended at the beach was just barely long enough to stop the plane. This was what I always imagined when I thought of a tropical island paradise! Open fields, coconut and banana trees, green hills, and the ocean. The terminal was just an open building with a roof. There were three or four huts, a small inn and that was the town. Our plane arrival and unloading 15 to 20 people was a major happening.
There was one jeepney which was loading for the town of Santa Fe where we were to catch a pump boat for Boracay. The rate quoted by the driver was considerably steeper than the agent said we would have to pay. It should have been about 5 pesos and he wanted 20. We were still converting to dollars and to us $1 was not outrageous for a 29 kilometer ride but some of the others would not stand for it. A spokesman emerged from the group of 15 tourists that were there. His name was Robert and he was a Frenchman who taught English and French in Japan and had brought his Japanese wife on holiday. His counterpart in the negotiation was a very vocal Filipino lady who insisted that Americans had plenty of money to pay. She overlooked the fact that of the 15 of us, only five were Americans. The Americans probably would have paid but that infuriated the French, British and Canadians.
Robert caucused the group, gaining commitments to band together and assuring us that it would only be a matter of time before they weakened and gave us the regular fare. We walked around a bit and the rest of the group bought beer at the inn. After 30 minutes and no sign of agreement, five of the group broke ranks and climbed on board. It must have been enough to give them profit because they began to leave. The driver would go a few feet and then stop saying that this was the last jeepney of the day. Robert assured us that there were more and that the driver would not leave and risk losing all our fares. He was wrong on both counts.
The jeepney was gone and there were no other vehicles in the village. There were no phones or even electricity. No place to stay and it was starting to rain. The three of us started walking down the deserted dirt road. The comedy of the situation struck us and we began to laugh. As it began to pour we broke off some banana leaves and held them over our heads as we walked and joked at our mini international crisis. There were three French, two British, one Japanese, one Canadian, three Americans, and a village and surrounding countryside of Filipinos who had come to stare. The urgency of the situation was overcome by the beauty of the island. "So what if we are stranded. This is one of the most beautiful places ever to be stranded in. We won't freeze and we may get wet but it is warm. There are coconuts and bananas everywhere."
The consensus of the group was that we should start walking. That may be the only way to Santa Fe. We would be in a better position to flag down anyone who might come along. Ben, Steve, and I had traveled very light but were the only ones. We rustled some bamboo for a sling and rescued one of the Frenchmen from his two heavy suitcases, carrying them like a captured animal. He couldn't speak English but was very appreciative.
After about a mile we came across another little village. There was an immediate break to buy beer and rest. It was found that there was an old jeep truck in the area. After 30 minutes of negotiating and drinking, Robert prevailed upon the driver to take us to a town this side of Santa Fe called Looc for 150 pesos. That was only slightly less than the original jeepney. Once the deal was settled there was a scramble through the surrounding huts by natives which produced several gallon bottles of gasoline and water for the radiator. We all pushed to get it running and then piled in the back.
The drive to Looc was spectacular. It was beautiful and clean. The small ribbon of road meandered through valleys and hills of rice terraces, palm trees, and grass huts. Occasionally the ocean with a sand or rock beach would come into view.
On the way we overtook a funeral procession. The community was walking behind a small wooden casket which was pushed along on a cart made from bicycle wheels. The mourners were wearing regular dress of shorts, T-shirts and thongs. From somewhere in the crowd came the sound of screechy holy music being played on a loudspeaker. As we passed, we were all very quiet. Once passed however, the somber mood of the funeral procession was replaced by boisterous laughter, waves, and pointing gestures at the silly foreigners. We must have been quite a sight.
Once into Looc, our troubles were not over. We found that, as at the airport, there was only one vessel for transportation and that was only obtainable at an inflated price. Robert left (while the others drank) and returned to say that he had found a boat on the other side of the harbor cheaper. He kept talking in French to his fellow citizens and the Canadian. Bob the Brit's wife could understand them and ascertained that he was trying to bluff. We were concerned because it was getting late afternoon and finally got everyone to agree that it was time to go.
The boat barely fit the ten of us, our luggage, the captain, his three assistants, and a family of four from a neighboring island. It was about three feet wide and about 30 feet long with bamboo outriggers on each side. What powered this load? A five-horse Briggs and Stratton engine.
Once underway, it was difficult to determine movement. We could see an island in the distance and the captain pointed in that direction. As we neared the island we hit sand about 300 yards out so Ben and I got out and pushed thinking the crew might take the hint that we wanted to hurry. No luck. It was not even our island! We helped the family off the boat and carried their kids and stuff to shore and then pushed back out again.
The waves began to get higher and the captain had to navigate each one to keep us from filling with water. I continued to pray as I had done from the start of the voyage. I was of the same opinion as my mother that preventative prayer produces much better results than last minute pleas for help. I thought of the stories that the Asian Branch members had told of being adrift in boats for days. Three small boats with sails appeared and headed towards us and I remembered more of their stories of sea pirates who had robbed them. We were perfect targets. Foreigners with cameras, money, and passports and we were miles and days from any communication. At about this time the motor quit and there were about five minutes of panic and high anxiety. The captain climbed down inside and bailed out water. After several cranks the motor finally sputtered and stayed running.
Things started to look up. The sail boats passed us by. The waves died down and soon we were close enough to an island that we could probably float and swim if we had to. And then it began to happen; one of the most magnificent sunsets that I have ever seen. The island to the east, spotlighted with last rays of the sun, was illuminated with hundreds of shades of green from the vegetation along the beaches. Around the hills, rock cliffs were visible and tiny white clouds hung near the tops. Far off to the east in the distance where huge billowy clouds that ascended up for miles in every hue of yellow, orange, red, and white. To the west were patches of azure sky and clouds with blazing gold linings. As the sun settled beyond the horizon the clouds turned dark gray with rays of deep red streaming through. It looked as though some distant high volcano had erupted and rivulets of lava were flowing down and into the sea.
Just after dark we arrived at the island and could see lanterns were burning along the beach. This was the only source of light as there was no electricity. We found Summer Place and Mrs. Yap. We were concerned about our accommodations but she assured us that they were being prepared and invited us to eat. I asked about signing in or paying for the meal or checking reservations or doing something formal. She reassured me that this was not a place to worry about those things. We would get a bill sometime before we left the island. The prices were posted and were not very high so we began to take her word for it. We dined on beef, vegetables and rice and retired for the night.
"The island is almost a dream. Our accommodations are a large nepa hut on stilts. The floors and walls are made of bamboo, and the roof is of coconut leaves. We have a little room which has a shower and a toilet and there is a lantern which hangs from the ceiling. On the front porch is a bamboo table and chairs and a hammock in which I am sitting at this very moment. The island has miles of deserted, white sand beaches. The ocean is calm and the water completely clear. The natives are very friendly. We stop for a pop or a snack at the little restaurant and they all know us. What ever meals, drinks or fruit we get are just added to the bill. Kids come by and talk. Some have the chore of keeping the water tank filled. There is a large tank on a bamboo scaffold which supplies water to our showers and heads. Every few hours somebody climbs the scaffold and hand cranks till the tank is full."
Sunday we read scriptures for a while and then I went for a walk along the ocean. I sat among some of the large rocks on the beach which were embedded in the sand and watched crabs. There were little white ones that blended with the white sand and green ones that matched the rocks. It was all so beautiful and I kept thinking how nice it would be if all of the family were here together.
One afternoon a large white yacht, which looked as if it had been a converted freighter or ferry of some kind, anchored in the bay. They had a speedboat and some jetskiis and just spent a few days on and around the island. What a great way to travel.
Monday was adventure day. We loaded up on sunscreen and entered the coconut groves in search of an overland path to the other side of the island. Higher up, we came across farmland with red dirt and sickly looking crops. There were banana trees, goats, pigs and some nepa huts that were not in near as nice a shape as ours. We found a "one-bottom plow" which was pulled behind a water carabao and hitched Ben to it.
We found another deserted beach on the eastern side of the island. We walked along the beach till we came to cliffs that required we turn back overland. We came across a small village of three or four houses. One of them had a one room store from which a small boy sold us a warm drink of pop. On the north beach we found a cave near the water level. It had a three foot hole for an entrance and then opened up into a large room with light streaming through a hole in the roof. The floor was covered with cool sand and we buried each other for sunburn treatment. Steve had gone back to full dress to block the rays.
We played in the waves with some of the kids and then worked our way on around the island, skirting rocks and climbing cliffs. Just as we got to the point where it seemed it would be too difficult to turn back, we ran into a bunch of those shameless Europeans. They must have had to struggle through heavy brush to get there because most of their swim suits were ripped completely off. We just walked nonchalantly through their party and on to the next group of cliffs at the end of the beach.
Not wanting to turn back, we started swimming out around the cliffs. We thought that our own beach would be just around the next group of rocks but we ended up swimming for quite a ways. It wouldn't have been so hard if we hadn't had my little camera and had to swim with one hand holding it out of the water to keep it from getting wet. Ben was the master swimmer and kept it dry. A group of Filipino fishermen paddled by and laughed at the funny foreigners.
Another group of cliffs and we decided to go inland, scaling the cliffs. For a moment the sky darkened and we looked up to see clouds of giant bats, screeching as they circled and flew to a higher part of the island. Exhausted we made it back to the restaurant and dined on deep-fried pineapple pancakes and vegetable omelets.
I started to get a heat rash on my feet which felt like the nerve ends were open. I wasn't sure if it was some plant we had encountered, bugs that had crept into the net, or heat. The next day we spend mostly in the shade reading and I seemed to be a little better. There was a used paperback book store which had a good selection of books that people brought and then exchanged and I had been reading a copy of Wuthering Heights to give us a feel for England. For people that stayed there for several months at a time, books were the only form of commercial entertainment.
That evening, we went down to the gentle surf and laid in the water to watch the sunset. From behind in the east, looking to the west, the colors merged from blue-black with a crescent moon and diamond stars, to pale blue and turquoise, to pink, reds and oranges, with azure blue and fiery yellow of the sun right at water level. Just the colors stimulate emotions. It was so fantastically beautiful.
We had some clothing tailored by one of the locals. He had a peddle powered Singer that he worked at all day, making baggy shirts, pants, and shorts out of rice sacks. They were very comfortable and many of those on the island were wearing them. He charged $2.50 to measure and make a pair of shorts.
Wednesday we rented bicycles for the day but took them back after one hour because they we too small and the paths weren't too good. We didn't get them back without getting embarrassed though. We were riding along the beach in an area where there were several boats tied from the water to the palm trees. Steven was trying to catch up to us and piano stringed himself on one of the taught ropes. It looked as if it caught him right in the throat and he went sprawling and the bike end over end. He put on a good show for the natives who were laughing at the stupid foreigner. We just kept riding like we didn't know him.
We rented a paddle boat and snorkel equipment and paddled out beyond the rocks and cliffs. The underwater scenery matched that above. The water was completely clear and we could see the bottom in a pattern of rocks and sand. There were fish of yellows, blues, greens and some with solid patterns and stripes. There were jelly fish and star fish. Ben discovered, the hard way, an under water porcupine. It was a plant (we think) with sharp quills pointing in all directions. He stepped on one by accident and it stuck in his foot. It must have had some sort of poison on the quill because he was in pain for some time.
We floated and dove and then just swam with our faces on the surface, watching all the life under the water. It had become cloudy and even sprinkled a shower but we still got very sunburned.
We arose early, paid our bill, bid Mrs. Yap farewell and boarded another pump boat for passage to the island of Kalibo. Our leave was much less eventful than our coming. The boat ride was just a few minutes. On the other hand, the jeepney ride to the airport was spectacular. By the time we got off the boat the jeepney was already full. The driver motioned us to climb on top with the baggage and before departure we were joined by eight other people. The car creaked and groaned on every turn as we motored towards the town of Kalibo. It was a beautiful ride over hills and along the ocean, down canyons and across flat plains of rice paddies, through villages and past schools filled with children playing basketball. The fields were dotted with people working and occasionally we saw a carabao or a hand tractor.
Lots of people were drying grain by laying it out on the roadside over canvas. We saw a couple of what appeared to be portable rice huskers (stripped jeepney frames with some sort of milling equipment attached).
The driver reminded me of a middle eastern terrorist. He was larger than the average native and in spite of the humid heat wore a stocking cap that covered his head and face. He drove like a maniac with the horn honking frequently. Twice we had to stop for checkpoints. The driver knew they were coming up so a couple of miles out, he stopped and everyone on top was injected inside until we were past the officials.
When we arrived in Kalibo we were stampeded by tricycles (motorcycles with covered sidecars). We probably had plenty of time to spend in town but were so put upon by the mob that we took the lowest price which turned out to be the average price and ended up at the airport two hours early. This strip was similar to the one in Tablas but had double the air traffic at two flights per day.
Returning to Manila was almost like going home. It was the first time we had returned to familiar territory since we left. Cash was short so we stayed again at the hostel. This time we were not so fortunate to get the upstairs suite and had to stay on the ground floor with the cockroaches. There were two twin beds with sagging mattresses. Steve was going to sleep on the floor but ten minutes and twenty insect sightings convinced him to convince us to move the beds together and sleep three across.
Before turning in we jeepneyed down to the Santa Cruz market and on the way back spotted a huge fire. It looked like it was two to three blocks away but as we ventured closer found that it was about fifteen blocks away. We got close enough to see the flames which were 40-50 feet in the air. People were streaming out of the area with all their personal belongings on their backs and heads. Occasionally trucks carrying beds and furniture emerged but the streets were gridlocked with people. We tried to approach to see if there was anyone we could help but as we neared we noticed a gas station near the flames. If the station would have gone up, the mob that would have resulted would have been disastrous. We decided to vacate and hoofed it back to the hostel. Sirens continued throughout the night.
Our flight left in the afternoon so we wandered the tourist markets looking at all of the interesting things to buy; carvings, seashell pieces, fabrics, wicker furniture, and native handicrafts. It would have been nice to send something home but the shipping costs were prohibitive.
At the airport we learned another lesson on the etiquette of air transport: always call ahead to confirm your flight. Our flight to Hong Kong was at the beginning of the Chinese New Year. All airlines were totally booked and had been for weeks. Because we had not called and confirmed our seats in the last 48 hours they had been canceled. I explained to the attendant that we had all of our flights confirmed in advance and she said that she would put us on standby with first priority. Luckily we made it. The airport departure tax was unreasonably high (near $20 per person). Another American college student from Ohio approached us and embarrassed asked us for enough to cover part of his. We gave it and wished him luck. The flight was our first on Cathay Pacific. New plane, clean airline and good food.
HONG KONG
"Exchange rate is $7.8 HK to $1 US. After Manila this place looks antiseptic and feels much cooler. It is crowded but clean and orderly with billions of shops. There are thousands of high rises, taxis, and double decker buses. The city is divided into two main areas, the peninsula (Kowloon) and the island (Hong Kong) with fishing boats, junks, cargo ships and ocean liners sandwiched in the bay between."
With a little 'luck' we found a place to stay. It was a guest house referral from someone at the hostel in Manila. Somewhere between two main streets on the peninsula is a fruit stand about 10' wide and 12' deep. At the back of the shop a couple of stairs start up and then disappear to the left. Up the dark cement stairwell we trudged with our full packs. The only light was from the neon on the street which shown through holes in the patterned cinder brick. Three times we circled upward only to find locked bars which protected doors at each level. On the fifth floor we found the small plastic sign which said "LUCKY'S GUEST HOUSE". Guest room would have been a much more accurate description. Immediately behind the door was a small desk which just about filled the entire dingy little entryway. Luckily there were three spots left and we took them (much to the dismay of some who had followed us up the stairs). To our immediate right was a room which had 8 cots packed as tightly as possible. My first thought was this was some sort of detention facility. Unkempt foreigners were sitting around talking and sorting through rucksacks and packs. There were only two spots in the room and the other was upstairs on the roof. Steve drew the lot to go up solo for the first night and then join us the next night. Bad as it may sound, it had the essentials (hot water, a bed and a roof) and that is all we cared about.
The fellow at the desk (who looked like a geriatric hippie) gave us directions to the nearest laundry. The contrast from the PI was delightful. Imagine going from washing our own in a bucket to pushing 8 lbs of soiled clothes through a window and picking it up a few hours later clean, neatly folded and packaged in plastic all for only $12 HK. It was so much fun we had to try it again before we left. We thought it would be a great business to do in the states. We would call it BFR Laundry (Bureau of Feminine Rectitude).
Our next step was to quench a Big Mac attack at McDonalds and then cruise the streets looking at the wares of the world which are for sale in this trading empire. Thousands of tiny shops with attractive displays sold watches, electronics, cameras, music tapes, clothes, jewelry, carvings, silks, and handiwork from every country in the world. I am amazed at the complexities of the city. Most of the high-rise buildings look residential - where does everyone work? Where does water and power come from for this tiny independent nation? What kind of networks are necessary to keep food flowing to the city? What happens to all the garbage that is generated? I also noted the contrasts in standards of living. On one hand there were flats which appeared to be crowded with families with laundry hanging about. Buses and ferries were crowded and masses of people were walking everywhere. On the other hand there were many Rolls Royces and Chinese type fortress homes perched on the hillsides. We spent evenings walking the crowded street markets on Temple Street and looking at the wares which were mostly shoddy. We wandered through the huge malls on the island which rivaled anything I had ever seen in America for luxury. Imported rugs, furniture, antique vases, silks, and perfumes. I was fascinated by the construction of the new Shang Hai Bank Building. It is to be the most expensive building in the world at a cost of $1 billion US.
One of our first priorities was to phone home and let them know that we were alive. I was quite apprehensive wondering if all would be well at home. What if someone had been very ill or even had died? We had been out of touch and were a week overdue in calling. If something had happened I would have felt responsible. Fortunately all was well. Most of the five minutes was spent in bill talk. To place an international call we had to go to the ferry building and wait for a phone. The operator placed the call and after twenty minutes or so he signaled us to a booth where the call had been connected.
The good news was that my GMAT scores had returned and I had not bombed as I had feared. The news was a great feeling. The test had been very difficult and I had not felt that I had done as well on it as I had on the practice exams. On the practice exams I was barely reaching the lowest score necessary to get into BYU. The real exam had been much more difficult I felt but with the scores in I was well above the average. I considered it a gift and a sign that I should go on to graduate school. With that worry out of the road, my future plans after returning home could take better shape and I could relax knowing more what I was going to do.
Over the next few days we just explored and answered some of our questions. Water and power came from mainland China. There was much more to Hong Kong than the city. Outlying areas with territories and islands provided more land area than I had originally imagined. Lots of things happened at night like stocking stores and cleaning garbage. We tried all sorts of transportation; taxies, double decker buses and trolleys, ferries, and the new subway system. The subway was just like BART in San Francisco. We explored the island and took the tram to the top and walked around the park. We still were amazed at the number of high rise buildings which crowded up from down below. We walked the waterfronts and looked at ships which ranged in size and age from little wooden junks to the QE2 ocean liner which was in port.
Our search for native food led us to try one of the tables in a back street market. There were no other foreigners there but the locals were eating heartily so we talked Steve into experimenting. At the center of each table was a cooker with hot charcoal. We each selected a large plate which was heaped over with lettuce, beef, fish, shrimp, noodles and eggs. Once we were seated the waiter brought us each a bowel and a steaming pot of broth which he placed on the cooker. The idea of the game was to use chop sticks to place food from the plate to the broth where it simmered till done. The key word was simmer. We decided that we could be assured things were cooking and if they were cooked, there shouldn't be resulting stomach problems. We weren't disappointed.
We caught a couple of movies while in Hong Kong. I was sure after seeing them that they both had been severely edited for Chinese audiences. One was Passage to India which I was sure had no plot. The other was Dune which Ben tried to explain to me as I had not read the book. We also decided that if we were to spend time in shoppers paradise we should at least buy something. We increased our camera power by Ben and I buying new Canons with zoom lenses. Ben bought his first and suffered all day with buyers remorse. I thought it was such a nice unit that I bought one also so we could spend the rest of the trip taking duplicate pictures.
Sunday we donned our best attire (slacks, shirts and sweaters) and headed for church. There was an English speaking ward on the island side which met in an old but elegant building. Keith Coombs from Thatcher and his family were there but he slipped out to Manila before we could talk to him. We met a couple, Steve and Chris Hendrix, who had traveled from London to Nepal on their honeymoon. They were excited about our travels and invited us to dinner and told us all of the places to see in India and Nepal. They lived in a nice townhouse overlooking Repulse Bay which cost $5000 per month. Steve worked for Otis Elevator as part of their joint venture in China. After dinner they drove us around the island and then dropped us off at the Golden Dragon Computer Center.
It was a two story building, a full block large which was just crammed with tiny computer shops. Any kind of software or hardware was available. Much of it was what in the US would be termed 'pirate'. There were IBM clones for fractions of US prices, all kinds of software and hundreds of games. We picked up cards from some shop owners who assured us to contact them with orders and Visa numbers and what ever we wanted could be shipped without problem.
Back at Lucky's we found that another female had been added to our room. I had awoke the second morning to see that one of the beds which was vacant the night before now contained a British girl. No BFR needed here.
Steve had sent film to be developed and it wasn't finished so we decided to delay our departure a day. We discovered that we could alter our flight times without added cost but not our route. We had a summit meeting to plan the rest of the trip. We had polled Church members on Singapore and they all said that it was just another city and there were much more interesting places to see. Steve Hendrix said Nepal was a must and so was Bernaris in India. Steve Clegg said that he had decided that he was not going to go the entire trip but that he wanted to see Israel. This put a limit on the time that could spend in Thailand and India and I was a little upset that it was only now that he realized he didn't have the time.
The morning that we were to leave for Thailand, I awoke and looked down to see Steve already showered, packed and sitting on his cot, reading and ready to go. It was odd as we usually had to blast him out of bed. Upon questioning he volunteered that he had rolled over just as it was getting light to see a large rat crawling on top of the sleeping bag of the fellow who was sleeping in the bed next to him. The rat had sat down, raised up its head and looked at Steve for a while and then crawled down off the bed, taking sleep with it.
The bus ride to the airport took us past a lot of crowded factories and industrial facilities that we hadn't seen. There sure are a lot of people compressed into a limited area! School grounds were tiny patches of concrete wedged between towering apartment buildings.
The airport was a breeze. We had called ahead to confirm our flights this time. We got there just in time to board without delay and without apprehension as we went through passport control. We were becoming true international travelers.
RETURN TO BANGKOK
Approximately nine years earlier, I had sat in the window seat of a 747 watching the rice paddies and checkerboard of fields and roads fade and disappear below as we climbed into the clouds. My thoughts and feelings were mixed as I wondered if I would ever see again the land and people that I had grown to love as a missionary. The landscape had been green and vibrant then as it was near the end of the monsoon season. As we descended through the clouds and the patterns of dirt dikes, foot paths and roads appeared, I thought back on that moment. The land was brown and yellow now as it was well into the dry season, but I had a feeling of excitement and the thrill of returning.
I had some time to ponder and try to pick out landmarks as we circled in the air above Bangkok for 30 minutes. The captain said that some local dignitary was taking off and our landing was delayed. It turned out to be the queen who was leaving for a tour of the United States to promote Thai products. The airport was much as I had remembered it. The lines at passport control were long and the heat and humidity were high.
Taxi rides into Bangkok were also high. The exchange rate was 28 baht to the dollar and taxi drivers were not at all abashed to ask 150 for the drive. As a missionary, 75 was outrageous. I noticed immediately that even though there were as many taxi drivers as in Manila they were much more polite. No mobs. We opted for the bus into town which cost about three baht.
Our friends in Manila had directed us to a section of town near the river and the temples which also had several guest houses. We found one called Marco Polo in a tiny ally off the main street. This one was clean but had about 40 people staying in a house the size of ours at home. The owners and girls that took care of the place were very friendly. Someone speaking Thai really caused some commotion. They were so excited and gave us a good room. These hostels are really something quite different. There were several rooms which were just large enough for beds down stairs and upstairs. Downstairs there were a couple of bathrooms with showers and a room off the entryway which had several tables and a TV. Every night there was a movie. Upstairs there was a large dormitory room with several beds. We opted for a private room for three at the cost of 60 baht per night.
Our immediate task was to start on the problem of getting Somlai's brother out of the refugee camps. I went to the phone and began making calls to the US embassy and the volunteer group which was responsible for making assessments about refugee cases. No sooner had I got off the phone when our first adventure began. Steve was sitting there waiting and watching TV in Thai and this attractive, college age girl sat down next to him, lit a cigarette and began to tell him her problem.
Her name was Angela and she was here from Switzerland with her boyfriend Guedo. She was very upset and needed help but didn't know where to turn. I guess my speaking Thai led her to believe I might have some influence with the local authorities.
Poor Guedo it seems, had fallen in with the wrong crowd. He was being held somewhere where they were giving him drugs and sex while taking his money. She had been to get him but had been threatened that she would be hurt. Tomorrow was their flight back to Athens and although she had his ticket, she didn't have her Guedo.
I was apprehensive but she was persuasive with her Swiss accented English and soon we were on a bus heading for another section of Bangkok. I reasoned that Bangkok is so crowded and the people so friendly that we wouldn't have any problem finding help or the police if anything happened. We also didn't feel intimidated by the Thai's due to the fact that we were all larger than anyone and three of us posed a fairly formidable resistance.
The bus ride through Bangkok brought back many memories. We changed buses at the Central Train Station. The smell of the street vendors with their spicy foods and barbecues teased our appetites.
After another 20 minutes on the bus we got off and climbed on a soi truck. These trucks are shuttles that branch off the main streets and are usually Toyotas or Datsuns which have covers over the back and a couple of benches and hand rails. As the truck began to wind its way back off the main street, anxiety began to heighten. It was not a populated area and no sign of police anywhere. At the very end of the soi were a couple of 8-10 story apartment buildings that looked as if they had been built as part of a government housing project. The type of people hanging out reminded me of the crowd we had run into when cleaning the sewage out of Klong Duey for a service project. It was the most drug infested area of Bangkok.
Angela's being nervous didn't help either. She went to a room on the sixth floor of one building where they had stayed together the first night that they were there but it was empty. We followed her to a room on another floor which was sort of the office. To our surprise the place wasn't run by the gentle Thai but by a bunch of young, burley Germans. They weren't very friendly but we stood there flanking Angela until they told her were Guedo was. He was in the next building towards the top. The elevators didn't work and we were still getting used to the heat and humidity. We found the room unlocked and she charged right in. Guedo was laying in a darkened room with only a Thai loin cloth wrapped around him. He was stoned out of his mind, pupils dilated and eyes yellow, and resisted going with us saying that he was just about to make love. Angela went first for his passport and travelers checks which Steve strapped to his waist and concealed under his shirt. She next packed his bags and got him dressed. Down at the parking lot he insisted he had to go back to the office and say goodbye and pay his bill. Ben and I stayed with the belongings and waited to flag a soi truck. Steve went with them to the office. They were gone for the longest time and Steve came back saying that he was reluctant to go but he had told him that he had five minutes to leave and if he didn't we would leave with his things. We waited longer and I was just heading up to tell him we were leaving when he appeared at the entrance. He was still upset at Angela saying bringing us wasn't necessary and that he was disappointed at what he was missing.
At the end of the soi she assured us that she could get him back now so we gave her his things and parted. We saw them later that night sitting in a cafe and he still looked hammered and not to happy to see us. She came over to us and thanked us again. Next morning we saw them again. He looked much better as if whatever it was had worn off and cast us a brief look of thanks.
Phone calls out of the way and the prince rescued it was time to eat. Our first meal was a plate of fried rice. Steve and Ben loved it. The rice is cooked with meat, eggs, seasonings, and mixed with a sauce, then served with sliced cucumbers, green onions, and salted with anchovies extract. All that (a filling meal) for 8-10 baht. We relaxed on the way back taking in a few of the street markets and watching the rhythmic ritual of the bus krabow. The ticket takers on the buses are called krabows. They all have a cylindrical can which opens from the side with a hinged lid. Inside are compartments for money and rolls of tickets. The krabow shakes the can, jangling the money and clacking the lid, while he or she chants the price, counts money and asks for pardon while moving through the crowded bus. In less than three seconds they can take your money, roll off the tickets and tear them, rip them lengthwise to show they have been used and hand them back with your change.
Bangkok had changed in nine years. It seemed more crowded and air pollution was higher but the streets were cleaner. Many new buildings had gone up. Many of the streets which were two-way then were now one way to accommodate the increased traffic. The few canals that remain were polluted and stagnant still. The Chowpaya River which runs right through the middle of the city was still crowded with the long narrow boats which transport produce. The temples at had all been cleaned and the gold was shining.
One of the first stops was to the mission home. It still looked the same but nine years older. I noticed that the piece of tile I had broken on the carport was still not fixed. In the mission office I found President Hogan and visited with him for a few minutes about the refugees. He was sort of cold at first but warmed up after a while. I think it may have been my beard. I had been growing it since the Philippines and with my rice sack pants I did not at all look like missionary or anyone respectable for that matter. He said that the camps had been closed to foreigners unless permission was granted by the Thai Military. Some members had just gone there and were able to get in but he didn't think we could count on being able to do this. After a few minutes of visiting he wished us luck and wondered how so many were affording to take these trips around the world.
The feeling at returning to Asoke was sort of like Steve's in Korea. It was nice to go back but there seemed to be a melancholy hanging over the place. When I had been there, there was hope and excitement. New buildings, new tracts, growth and expansion. Now many of the areas had been closed that were opened while I was there. Tracting was not permitted. There had only been 800 new members in eight years. Visa problems were still apparent.
Back near the Marco Polo Guest house, we decided to try one of the joys I remembered as a missionary, a thai haircut. Haircuts were always anticipated for several reasons. The main reason was that they were usually in air conditioned comfort. In addition the haircut included a shave, and neck massage, and usually some contemporary music. With a little extra time, Ben and I decided to have one.
When we entered the shop, all of the barbers were in the back room. Apparently, it was the boxing championship between Thailand and Korea. They were intensely watching and invited us to cheer with them. We noticed that most of them were drunk and that they were getting more so by the minute. After watching the fight we didn't know how to graciously leave and escape the drunk barbers and soon found ourselves in the chair. They were the worst haircuts ever. Way too short and he shaved my beard with a dry razor!
Our first thiaw (Thai for trip) was to Ayudthaya. It is a smaller town but was one of the early capitals of Siam. There were many ruins and old temples. We took the train from Central Station and arrived there in time to get a nice room in a hotel. We spent a day looking at ruins and taking pictures. We asked around as we talked and walked if anyone knew where the elders lived. No one had seen any farangs (foreigners) with white shirts and ties riding bicycles. We even walked around the area where I remembered the elders had lived and the branch met. Nothing. As a last resort we decided to visit the market at about 9:30 to see if the elders came in for a fruit drink before turning in as we used to do. No sign. We decided to buy a watermelon and bartered in the market for one before walking back to the hotel.
As we were walking along the street a motor scooter with three ladies pulled up beside us. One got off and asked in Thai if we were missionaries. I started to explain that I used to be and she interrupted asking, "Are you Elder Clegg?". I was stunned to silence at being recognized. She said, "Don't you remember me, I am Sister Joy." It took a while for it to come back. She had been a district missionary when Elder Slater and I were Zone Leaders and we had worked with them a couple of times. She had been a good missionary. I queried as to how the branch was doing and where the elders lived and was disappointed to find that the elders had been pulled out about five years ago. The members had all become inactive or moved. She had married a Buddhist and now pretty much did what he wanted. She called at the hotel the next morning and invited us to come visit them but we had already bought tickets to go to Lopburi. She said that they might come to church there and we could see them then.
"Yesterday was a day which showed us that we were indeed being watched over. After touring more of the ruins, we caught a truck for the Summer Palace. It was about an hour away and we were going to catch a train from there north to Lopburi."
The Summer Palace is quite famous and was built in the 1800's and has more of a European influence. Part of the complex includes a gold temple that sits on the water. We looked at vases and carved panels and wandered the grounds looking at bushes sculptured into elephants.
About this time, Steve remembered that he had left his pouch which contained his passport, money and ticket under the mattress at the hotel. We raced back to Ayudthaya and found it in the same place with nothing gone. Lucky.
We caught the train to Lopburi hoping to avoid a fellow that said he would meet us and take us to a hotel. He was a doctor that we had met on the other train and said he was interested in the Church but for some reason, I doubted his integrity. He was there at the train station though, and took us to the worst hotel. It had green, purple and orange lights in the room with a big round bed and mirrors everywhere. During the night, someone kept pounding on the door and asking if we wanted girls. I finally really yelled at them and told them no.
Church growth at Lopburi was definitely different than it had been at Ayudthaya. When I was in Lopburi there were no members for the first 5 months. We baptized the first member, Sister Luksana. Now there was a native branch president and about twenty members in attendance at a building that the church was renting regularly. There had been about 80 members baptized since I had been there. They asked if I would bear my testimony and I did telling them how we had baptized the first member. After the meeting, almost all there told of how Sister Luksana had been instrumental in their baptisms. She had since married an American and moved to Utah.
Some of the members invited us for food and also helped us find a new hotel that was much better. We visited the Elders on P-day and found Somkit still there. She had been our maid when we were there and was still working for the Elders. Missionary work seemed much different now. They were not allowed to tract or hold street meetings. Those were mainly the only things that we did to proselyte.
It was fun to walk the soi to the old house and visit with Somkit. He daughter was a teenager now and Somkit seemed resolved to life as a maid. One of the sisters from the branch came by to see if she could be of assistance. They all thought that it was wonderful that Luksana could go to the States and marry an American but I wondered.
We went out to Muang Mai (the New Circle). I wanted to see if Suwat, our first real investigator, was still teaching. He had been committed for baptism with Elder Sessions and myself but the last week had backed out, believing rumors that we were CIA agents. I found him in his sixth grade class and he stepped out for a few minutes to talk with us. He said that he didn't have time to study the gospel now but I told him that we had since published the Book of Mormon and asked him if he would like a one. I gave his name and address to the elders and asked them to take him a copy. We didn't have the Book of Mormon while I was there.
We found a teak outlet which sold carved things from Chiang Mai. There were beautifully sculpted chairs, lamps, statues and tables. The tables and wall hangings looked like elephant paintings but were actually carved in three dimensions. We took cards saying that if we ever came back, or got the money we would send for some.
In town we found an air conditioned ice cream shop (a definite addition since I had been there). It was so hot outside and as we were relaxing inside, here came the elders and sisters to celebrate a birthday. We had a good talk and they were kidding me by saying that when I was there as a missionary, they were all in the fourth grade. Not bragging, but my language was still as good as any of theirs. My proficiency level improved dramatically at first and then started to plateau. I needed my dictionary. I felt like a little kid when I first got there, trying to read everything in sight.
Somehow we all agreed that we should attempt the trip to Ubon to see if we could find Somlai's brother Lang. We went to the train station and reserved three sleeping berths. We spent Tuesday finding our way to Saraburi, home of the Lord Buddha footprint. A temple has been built around it (the footprint is 8 feet long) and we engaged in the local custom of buying a stick and ringing all of the bells that surround the temple for good luck. We also bought and freed a bird for good deeds. I am sure the little kids that sold it to us just went and caught it again. Ben tried to catch the freeing on film.
We had some time before the train left so we found a bowling alley and had a couple of games which totally upset Steve and Ben. They hate that game! We searched and searched for bicycles to rent as the train didn't leave till late at night. As we walked around the city, we came across a lagoon which had, of all things, windsurfers for rent. We had never tried as it was a fairly new sport and the price was reasonable at about $2 for four hours. We rented one board and then another. Steve took pictures while Ben and I performed.
The water was smooth and the breeze gentle so it was not difficult. It felt so good to get out of the heat into the water, a sensation I never enjoyed as a missionary. The hardest part was getting back to the shore. I couldn't get the tack down to move back into the wind and finally a little boy had to paddle out on a board and take my sail back while I paddled back.
We strolled the night market and I introduced Steve and Ben to rhoadies. They about foundered. Rhoadies (I don't know where the name came from or what it means) are made by taking a dough and kneading it and stretching it to a very thin skin. It is then dropped on a hot, shinney surface where it cooks like a soft tortilla. An egg is dropped on it and sugar, butter, and a sauce like condensed milk are spread over it. The rhoadie lady rolls it up and wraps it all for about 25 cents. Her hands are lightning fast and part of the treat is just watching her make them.
Our train finally came, and with our beds made and our tickets punched, we turned in for a night of gentle rocking as the train rumbled out to the northeast border. I awoke early in the morning to cold air. It was a new sensation as it had been so hot and humid since Hong Kong. I had also not slept very good, dreaming of the problems we might encounter getting to the camps.
The way things worked out however, it must have been meant to be that we meet Lang. As we got off the train at 6:00 am, a Thai girl with an American accent asked us if we were lost. She was from Ubon but was an American citizen. She knew which trucks and buses to take and within thirty minutes we were standing at the front gates.
The refugee camps were not prisons but they still were not freedom. They were like huge schools with dorms and buildings; lots of open areas with people roaming around. We had arrived early enough that the guards were not fully awake. I asked some of the people through the fence for Lang and he was there within a matter of minutes. We sat down and I began to question him about what I could do to help.
We hadn't been there long when a guard came out and started to hassle us. He was in a T-shirt, military cap and had a gun. He said basically what we knew, that no foreigners were allowed to visit the camp unless they had permission from Bangkok. Lang told us to walk towards the main gate and he would talk to us at the fence. I was afraid that he would only be able to talk as we walked past the fence but as we neared the truck stop, here he came out of the camp following us. He was free to leave and go into the city.
We spent most of the day talking and writing a letter that described his situation to the Joint Volunteer Agency, a neutral agency which judged status for refugee status. A copy of the letter follows:
Dear Persons:
I am writing to again seek assistance for relocation to America as a refugee. My family and I are currently in the Ubon refugee camp in Thailand.
Prior to 1980 I was a grade school teacher in Khenethao, Laos. My older brother was a soldier with the old government. In November or December of 1980, he was arrested at his home in the same town. Because of the uncertain conditions my older sister had already fled to Thailand. She was accused of being a spy for the old forces that were supposedly gathering in Thailand. From my many friends, I learned that the new forces suspected me as a spy for the old forces and that I would be arrested as was my brother. Although I was never a spy, I was accused. On the night of December 11, 1981, I noticed my house being surrounded at a distance by soldiers from the new red forces and so at about 12 midnight, I took my family and escaped silently. As we left we saw police and soldiers moving towards our house. Our house being close to the river, we took one of the village boats and crossed to Thailand during the night. We have learned that my older brother is still under arrest and we fear the same thing would happen if we returned.
Since 1981 we have lived in the Wi Nai camp (10 months), Chonburi (10 months), and Ubon (till present). We have been interviewed twice for relocation but as of yet have no word. Time grows long for us and we would deeply appreciate any assistance you could give us on this matter. My older sister and her children are living in the United States in California. My father also lives with her and we would sincerely like to join them there. They are the only remaining members of my immediate family other than my brother who is under arrest in Laos.
I realize this case has been reviewed but we are still awaiting some word. We dare not enter Laos for fear of arrest and prefer the limited freedom of the camp to returning.
Please help us.
Sincerely,
The Lang Senaphensari Family
I really felt sorry for him. We brought his wife and family out to the gate for a picture to take back to Somlai and couldn't even get them to smile. The conditions were not that bad but to live there for three and a half years must take some toll. After finishing the letter we caught the next train to Bangkok. The sleepers were full and we sat up all night.
After talking to JVA in Bangkok we found that he must show evidence of persecution for refugee status. The fact that he had kept teaching school after the new government took over was supposed evidence that the new regime did not threaten him but that he left for economic reasons only. Judy Kocher at JVA told us of the problems that they had with people just coming across the border because they thought it was a free trip to America. She suggested that we write a letter to the Immigration and Naturalization Service and she was going to recommend the case for reconsideration.
I can see their point and I can see Lang's. I guess we can just do our best to show the facts as plain as we can. We wrote a letter to Olen Martin of INS and called him later to see if there was anything else we could do. He said no.
We spent part of the day shopping in Bangkok. It is such a busy city with masses of people everywhere and the heat was intense. We looked and looked for something which we could send home but didn't come up with much. We bought some T-shirts and letter openers. Lots of nice carved elephants available to buy. I finally bought a nickel-bronze set of tableware with teak wood handles. It was something I had wanted to get since my mission. The buying was fun. It was an air conditioned shop and they treated us in the traditional fashion, serving drinks and then delightful bargaining. We found some of the baggy pants out of Chinese silk and sent them to Ken in Hawaii for his hospitality. We also bought some chopsticks so we would have some safe eating utensils for India.
I can't remember the incident surrounding the following entry but perhaps someone else will. "Steve hates shopping..... He is going off his nut I am afraid. He just lets warped vacuum fill his space when he is not under pressure and he comes up with some pretty wild ideas. Only problem is I can't see any logic in them. He just says that is Clegg pigheadedness!"
We caught a bus early one morning for Kanchanatburi near the Bridge over the River Kwai. It brought back lots of memories, driving through the back streets of Thonburi, another area I had lived in. We passed the statue at Wongwian Yay (the big circle) and I thought of all the times I had gone around that circle.
After we arrived we had some trouble with trying to find a way out to the bridge and finally just ended up walking. We walked across the bridge, whistling the theme from the movie and then took some pictures and sat and talked. The bridge that is standing is not the one that was built but it is in the same area. Even at this time there is still some danger in going too close to the Burmese border which was not far in the distance.
We walked back to town and missed the train back to Bangkok by about 100 steps. We had dallied at the war cemetery looking for possible relatives and seeing where the majority of those who had died came from. We saw some sights from the bus that I wish I could have caught on film. A Datsun truck full of woven basket lids and two ladies on the tailgate holding them on; a gust of wind caught some of the lids and the bus ran over them. The ladies were laughing and the entire scene was rather comical. Another truck was piled high with hay and six or seven fully clothed women on top with one man.
The women do most of the manual labor - stirring, carrying, mixing, planting, bricking. They break the job into tiny pieces and take their time. We drove past a bus factory of sorts. The entire bus is built in one small yard. It is put together piece by piece, welding each panel and forming each fit.
"Ben and I stayed up talking into the night. He said that he didn't like historical places because they never seemed as good as the movie. I lay awake thinking about the question which is building more momentum in my mind. How do these millions of people who have not the gospel fit into the gospel plan? There are so many. So many will never have the chance and yet are good people, better than I. A British lady at the bridge was so kind in taking a young boy as a somla driver so that he could learn the route. She wanted him to be able to be better prepared next time even though he might not take her to where she needed to go. If eternal salvation is what every human ultimately wants, why are there so many who have absolutely no idea? Why are we so fortunate to be Americans for one and then also members of the Church? How does it all fit together? I thought in a way that we were a bit like the prophets of old who have seen the generations of the earth, we have certainly seen a great many people and they are so numerous that they can't be counted."
An accounting history is in order. We found in the first few countries that we generally spent the same amount of money each so we decided that for each country we would all cash the same amount and then pool it in a kitty. This was ok for a while but we soon found that who ever was responsible for the money (me) was continually being hounded to buy this ice cream or that pop. Some eat more and as long as they are not responsible for budget control, they just keep asking (Steve). So for Thailand, we developed a modified system. One person was the kitty man. An estimated amount was put in the kitty and the rest is equally distributed for whatever was wanted. Everything that was bought for all was paid for with kitty funds. We'll see how it works in the next country with a new treasurer.
INDIA
At the Bangkok airport as we were getting our bags out of storage the Thai fellows were asking us where we were headed next. "India", I said. In English he replied, "You couldn't pay me to go there." Having just traveled through a third world country which was not that highly developed, I hesitated and wondered if we were not getting into something we had not anticipated.
By the time that we reached Bombay it was 10 pm. The terminal didn't look that bad. It was several years old, with concrete floors and metal frame, and swept clean enough. The line through customs was long and slow moving. The officials gave the impression that they were officials with credentials of power not efficiency.
After Thailand, it was my country to relax. No decisions about how much money to exchange, where to stay, when to eat, etc.. We got directions at the tourist information booth on where to go to find a hotel. The information master official was not very coherent but did give us one of the maps of Bombay that looked as if it had been printed in the 1950's. He explained the best place to find a reasonable hotel was in the area of the Taj Mahal Hotel and that the best way to get there was to take a taxi.
The que for the taxi began at a booth inside the airport. It was a "service for tourists" the attendant said. I questioned the procedure but the rate was not outrageous so we went along. We paid money and were given a piece of paper which we were to give to our diver as full payment, no matter how much he asked once we got there.
As we stepped out onto the curb the atmosphere of international airport seemed to dissolve into clouds of dust. The road coming around the loop to the main door was dirt. It may have been paved at one time but now it was gravel and an endless line of black taxicabs (all the same model) stretched along the curb and into the darkness. The cabs were being loaded with our flights passengers one car at a time.
The car (we later learned) was one of the two models of Fiats that were cloned and then massed produced in country. As we drove around the loop at the airport we saw at least two hundred taxis in a lot with drivers waiting inside. Our driver said that some waited days for one fair from the airport.
The road from the airport to the main part of the city was about 30 kilometers through town. As we drove from the airport on the unlit roads we could see frame shacks on both sides of the car. They were built of sticks, cardboard, tin and draped with cloth remnants. There was no electricity but the darkness was interspersed with flames from lanterns and fires. Above the roofs could be seen a rising cloud of dust and smoke.
In contrast to the apparent poverty, were the women walking or standing in the doorways with their silk sarees. Multicolored, and gracefully streaming from head to foot, the dresses seemed to signal that despite the outward appearance of poverty and oppression, there was an inner nobility. My impression was that at one time there had been a beauty and grandeur to this place that was now eroded away.
As we neared the city center, we passed buildings of stately architecture and European influence which seemed to have not been painted or repaired for thirty years. Men were out walking in their traditional dress. To us they looked like white baggy pajamas. Some wore turbans. We stopped for gas and it took 20 minutes. True to the pay booths warning, the driver insisted that the slip was not payment enough and that we owed him more money. We politely refused and thanked him.
The taxi dropped us in front of the Taj Hotel, a total contrast to what we had seen coming in. A multi-storied building with glass doors, chandeliers, gold trim, and red carpet rose out of the dark surroundings . Valets and doormen in red and white uniforms mingled among the shinney cars and a horse drawn carriage.
As we picked up our bags and started walking in another direction we were immediately surrounded by men and boys offering to take us to a hotel. They all spoke English and vied for our attention. Some pulled on our arms. Others tried to take our packs. We tried a couple of nicer looking hotels nearby but found them way out of budget. It was getting late (around midnight) so we singled out one fellow who looked respectable and said that he knew of a good place that would meet our budget.
We followed him down a darkened street where people were sleeping on the sidewalk, through a narrow door, and up some dimly lit and creaky wooden stairs. We were followed by several of the others. Apprehensive was underdescriptive. At the top of the stairs however, was a beautifully carved door, and behind it a clean and fairly modern looking reception desk. We asked to see the room. It was small but looked better than Lucky's. We took it and paid the fee. The fellow who had brought us in stayed till we were settled and then went back to the desk to collect his reward for bringing in the business. It became readily apparent that everyone was in it for something. Many times we were approached to see something, browse, talk, or be shown directions only to find that we were eventually put in a situation where we were asked or even pressured to buy something.
As the night wore on, the relief at finding a place to repose turned to anxiety. Our first concern was for the water they brought us. Was it safe to drink? Just to make sure we purified it with pills. It had to sit for 30 minutes and then it tasted awful. Sort of like hydrogen peroxide without the foam. The smell of the public rest room rivaled the train station in Korea. I showered but kept my thongs on.
We also found that we had some very close neighbors - inside the walls. Throughout the night we could hear the rats scratching and squabbling. As a precaution, we put our packs in the closet and pulled our beds to the center of the room so that if they got in, it wouldn't be as easy to repeat the Lucky's scene. It was not particularly a good nights sleep.
Next morning we descended to street level to find that the mysterious mist of the streets was just dust and blue car smoke. No one was sleeping and the sidewalks had been transformed from beds into highways for armies of pedestrians. We started walking toward the central train station to determine how and when we could start our exploration of this country and its people. Different than any we had seen thus far. The Indian eyes were intriguing. Dark, distinct, and often fine featured. The traditional women in their silk sarees and men in white. The purple turbans. The feeling of intelligence picking its way through littered streets.
As we paused to look in a shop window, a young man stopped to ask us where we were going. We kept walking, trying to discourage him from selling us anything, but he kept talking and asking us what we were doing. We learned that his name was Charles and that he was going to school but was out for the day and wanted to know if he could show us around. When we asked why he would like to spend his free time with us he said that he wanted to be a travel agent and that he would like the practice with foreigners. He seemed rather pleasant and willing even after we assured him that we could not pay. He turned out to be a great blessing.
He began by answering all of our questions. How big is Bombay? (8 million). What is the main industry? How many people are homeless? (2 million). What is the education level? (Quite high, India has 70 million unemployed college graduates). We also learned that he had graduated from college with a degree in engineering but that there were no jobs for engineers who did not have connections. He had decided that there was more promise in tourism and although he had worked for his father to make money, was practicing on us. There were very few questions that we asked that he could not immediately answer.
Our first item of business was to determine the best way to get to the places that we wanted to see. The train station was the first place to go. There we learned that all tickets to Agra were sold out for three days in advance. There was a special tourist booth with first class tickets available which were three times the normal fare. Outside, Charles assured us that tickets were available for that night if we could adapt to the local method of getting them. "You must put a little weight on the table so that your request does not get blown away and lost." Simply put, we needed to bribe. Not knowing how to do this, we took him up on his offer to help us out.
The lines to get tickets were at least two hours long so we took turns. Charles would go up to the window and then to the side door of the ticket room. He would initially be rebuffed but persisted in low tones. He came back to us for money, returned, then came back and assured us that we would get our tickets for the train that night. Eventually we reached the window and got the tickets.
We were then off to see the sites of Bombay. The first stop was the straw market, Bombay's central bazaar. This was by far the most exotic marketplace of any on the entire trip. No special tourist areas or trashy trinkets. The market was a maze of stone and wood buildings with dirt floors which were covered with straw. The ceilings were high with old timbers and small windows at the top which filtered rays of light through the air filled with dust and incense. There were scattered open courts with pens of live chickens, pigs, monkeys and other animals. Men, women and children scurried everywhere with straw baskets under their arms and on their heads. Two small begging boys attached themselves to us and followed us for about an hour. They kept tugging at us and then put their hands to their lips to signify they were hungry. Charles said not to pay them because it encouraged begging. One of his statistics was that at any given time, one third of the population were making their living by begging and it didn't need to be that way.
The area was filled with the aroma of exotic spices mixed with the smell of organic decomposition. There were fabrics, fruits, grains, and several kinds of rice. Although there was a large variety, there was not abundance. Of great interest was the selection of birds; many colored and multi-shaped with long feathers.
After leaving the market, Charles took us to a neighborhood where he said no foreigners ever went. It was even poorer. We stopped in front of a school and were almost mobbed by the children. I finally got them to back away by promising to take their picture. They were so curious.
In the same area we visited a Hindu shrine. Charles told us of the different order of monks and we visited with one of the higher order. The higher order wore a cord or string draped at an angle across their chests. The statues of gods were surrounded by incense and piled with dead flowers.
Our next stop was to find something to drink. Where was it safe? We went to what appeared to be a social parlor for men. The drinks were expensive (if the normal income was $1 per day it was a half days wages) and I was not impressed with the service, air conditioning, or the drink but we tipped anyway. It felt good just to sit and begin to quench thirst.
We stopped to have a few photos taken for our visas to Nepal and then were on and off buses going around the city. We found some nicer areas which were probably the financial district. Glass and steel structures with only a few windows missing. We ended up at the hanging gardens, a hill with plants, flowers and a park which looked over the city skyline and the ocean. It was a peaceful place and a beautiful view of a long white sandy beach. Charles said we couldn't swim there though because it was too polluted.
We visited another Hindu shrine which had a statue of the four faces of Vishnu. "This shrine", Charles explained, "is where murderers and thieves come to ask forgiveness and do merit. These four faces represent four phases of life. Off to the side were some stalls with the proverbial sacred cows locked in side. Charles politely explained the belief of reincarnation and the relationship between the cows and dead relatives. I asked him what he thought personally..."I think it is bullshit!" he said. "I'm Christian".
Next we visited a Moslem Mosque. The story was that some holy man had died and was buried in a bay near the ocean and in later years the ocean filled the bay. Pilots flying out to sea in the early part of the century noticed that a certain spot of ground was never covered during high tide even though it was below water level. The result - a mosque was built.
It was a majestic structure built up out in the bay. White with pillars and a dome and it was reached by walking along a winding path which had been made by piling rocks. The walk from land to the mosque was an unbelievable quarter mile. Every kind of deformity, affliction, birth defect, or ailment ever known to man was visible at some point along the path. It was body to body humanity from the shore to the temple and all begging for alms. We were stunned. Cameras remained in the pouches and we inched along with the rest of the crowd.
At the mosque Charles explained a little of the Moslem custom and pointed out to us the prayer court. We sat for a while on the rocks and watched the people. To most of them this was recreation. The tide began coming in and the crowd began moving back to land. We waited and then hurried along the path but stopping here and there to drop a rupee in a bowel of someone who looked as though they really needed it. Our guide said some had been put out there by families as a way to earn income. Some organization came along and put a gruel in the bowels and left a piece of bread. Just looking at the stuff turned my stomach.
The last stop was the washing places. We stopped and walked to the top of an overpass and looked out on hundreds of people all segregated into rectangular station areas surrounded by low stone walls. All were washing clothes. Each station had some water and two to three people scrubbing and pounding clothes. The most fascinating movements were those who were swinging long cords of cloth up and over their heads and then slamming them on the rocks. It was a combination do-it-yourself or have-it-done kind of place.
We headed back to the main train station by commuter train. Standing on the platform a couple of Indian women in sarees sauntered unusually close to us and then laughed as they continued on down the platform. Many of the men (many in suits going home for the day) chuckled. To my puzzled look Charles answered that they were not really women at all but the equivalent of the Filipino buckla or gay.
By now it was late afternoon and we were approaching starvation. We hadn't eaten much since coming into country and hadn't seen much that looked safe to eat. We had bought a few pieces of fruit that had peels. Charles assured us the we could eat and drink safely at the train station so that is where we went. Our train left from there later that night. The restaurant introduced another cultural oddity - segregated eating. The separation was not traditional though but between vegetarian and nonvegetarian. We tried something that we would end up eating quite regularly - vegetable cutlets. They were deep fried scone like and consisted of vegetables, flour and curry. The meal was welcome after such an adventurous day. The restaurant was on the fourth floor of the station and we could look out the open windows and see the reflection of the sunset on the gray and patchy buildings.
We had a good visit with Charles. We asked him about his future plans and how he felt living in India. He said he would never be allowed to visit the United States, never go into the business he wanted or have the things he wanted. We soon found that he was selling something also but he was not pushy about it. He had silk sarees that cost $35 but could be sold in the northern states for much more. If we would like smuggle them (it was illegal for him to send them) to Agra he would arrange for a buyer to met us and pay us the higher price. We respectfully declined.
Charles had maintained all along that he was taking us for free and required no fee. We discussed it on the side and were so grateful for his help and information that we found the going rate for a tour guide and then increased it half again and gave it to him. He was very appreciative and I couldn't help but try to picture myself in his situation and feel the hopelessness of the ability to progress.
And so we started the twenty-seven hour train ride to Agra, home to one of the seven wonders of the world, the Taj Mahal. The boarding platform was open and there was freight and produce mixed with the passengers. We bought 15 bananas for 5 rupees and ate them as we waited for the train. I noticed a woman watching us from the middle of her bales of material and I offered her a banana but she quickly declined. She was one of the few women who would look at us long enough to maintain eye contact.
The train was our next bit of culture. We had second class sleeper cars and I halfway expected something similar to Thailand. Second class in Thailand doesn't have air conditioning and that is about the only difference between second class and first class. Not so for India. The car was divided into compartments which held six ticketed passengers (and one or two more). The beds were wooden shelves stacked three high and had no cushions, bedding or curtains. The middle shelf folded down to allow sitting up on the bottom bench. If one wanted to sit up, all had to.
Through the ride, people came and left our compartment as we moved from town to town. One Seik stayed all the time. He wore a turban and was very cocky, arguing and ordering everyone except us. The windows wouldn't close and it was fairly cool. The dust from the countryside and smoke from the coal fired engine filled the compartment. We were clean when we left and filthy within a few hours.
The landscape was very different than any we had seen so far. It was very hazy from the dust I suppose. Everything was so dry. We saw little water and the countryside reminded me of Snowville in late summer. Shelters consisted of tents, mud and dung huts, a few brick buildings and structures covered with banana leaves. The crops were banana trees and ripe grain of some sort. Lots of goats and sheep with occasional pigs, buffalo or oxen and even a big monkey. Farm equipment was mostly oxen. We saw one tractor in the two days, some carts and a few odd looking trucks. Some areas had low rolling hills but all were very dry.
AGRA
It is hard to believe that in all of the heat, dust and dirt a place so enchanting could materialize before us.
We arrived at Agra at 1:30 am and decided to just wait till morning before finding a hotel. We went to the second class sleeper room and each found a spot to lay down. Steve and Ben were on a chair and under a table. I had a couch for a while but sometime during the night an Indian shoved me to a sitting position and took half. I was too asleep to defend myself. They can be very persistent and aggressive.
As we emerged from the station in the morning sun, we braced for the crowds. Charles had given us the name of a hotel and told us that it was within walking distance. A driver offered to take us there for a ridiculously low price (7 Rupees) and we agreed. He had one of the larger of the two model cars. On the way he made us another offer that was fairly reasonable and I suppose made up for the low fare to the hotel.
He offered to chauffeur us to all the sites of Agra and be our guide for 100 rupees. The referred hotel was a dive (even for the country) and so our chauffeur recommended one in our price range with the distinguished name of Hotel Tourist. The beds were yellowed and sagging but the place was clean. We washed up, stopped for breakfast at another hotel which was a five star for India (sulfur tasting eggs), and then were off.
The Taj was simply unbelievable. From the dust, shacks, and din of the surrounding area, we walked through the entrance and felt as if we had been transported instantly up a few levels. The Taj rose majestically in spectacularly white domed marble. Between us and the edifice were symmetrical ponds and landscaping. The entire area was green and manicured and surrounded by a high wall of red sandstone. Inside the court area were a guest house and mosque made of the same red stone. People were walking quietly and no one was selling anything.
The building itself sits on a high bank overlooking the river and the grounds and other buildings form a rectangular perimeter. Our guide said that the Taj was built by a Mogul emperor as a memorial to his wife. The only thing inside the entire structure was two marble boxes which represent the tombs of he and his wife. The inside wall panels were of solid marble, fifteen feet long. The panels were inlaid with semi-precious stones in intricate flower and geometric designs. The guide took us to a lower level in the dark and then shined a flashlight from the backside of the marble. The light could be seen through the marble and the stones lit up in many colors.
This was one of the only religious structures which had no gaudy or distracting idols or ornaments. Everything was so symmetrical, spacious and majestic. One rumor has it that the emperor who built the Taj, cut off the hands of all the workers who built it so that they could not build another structure as beautiful.
We took off our shoes to walk around the building. The view from the river balcony was spectacular. In the distance was the Agra Fort, built by this emperor's father. It was massive and of the same red sandstone. The river itself was fascinating with people washing clothes, animals drinking, plots marked off in the sand with green growing and the mirror reflection of the slow water against the bank and sky.
Very thirsty, we stopped at the marble factory for a drink (suggested by our driver). Here, Moslems who are descendants of those who worked on the Taj, made marble tabletops and boxes after the same fashion as the inlaid panels. The jewel stones are ground and made into a pattern, usually a flower of up to thirty-two pieces. Once the pattern is made, the marble is hand etched to fit the stones. The stones are then glued and the surface polished.
We started with the largest pieces and worked down. All the time, guides (or sales persons I should say), were explaining shipping, credit and Visa options, deposits and resale value in the US. They had answers for every problem we posed as to why we could not buy. We finally gave a flat no and left.
It was then on to the carpet factory where rugs were hand made with Persian design. The process was fascinating, though tedious. Three young boys were working so fast their fingers were not visible. Each had different colors of yarn and were looking at a color picture of a pattern as they went.
The proprietor took us into a large room, turned up the spot lights, and started rolling out carpets one after another. He had the same sales technique as the marble people. The largest rugs at first with prices around $300. Smaller and smaller till, "If you really like them, you could buy this phone mat and take it with you." We said, "No thanks", and left.
It wasn't that we didn't want to buy anything, but just the one doll from Korea had been such a problem that we knew we couldn't carry anything and the cost to ship (and buy) was more than this trip could afford. We were afraid that we were embarrassing our driver by not buying anything but he assured us that we were under no pressure to buy.
Next, to the brass dealer. A little different approach. The owner lounged behind his desk, sat us in a chair and ordered Limcas for us (a lemon/lime soda drink which we drank often because it looked safe but Ben later attributed all of his tooth decay since that time to the acidic content). We were "under no pressure to buy". God had given him enough money, he had 150 people under him, and we could just sit and talk. He proceeded to tell us a story and in the process wanted to know certain things about us and then told us things we only thought we knew. I don't remember what he said but he refused to believe that I had not slept with a woman at my age. Steve and Ben were still young and he could believe that. They echoed my conviction and our principles but I don't think he was convinced.
The shop was a labyrinth of hand tooled brass work. Lamp stands, vases, goblets, mugs and on down to key rings. Steve relented and bought a vase, putting it on his visa card so we didn't have to recalculate the kitty. Even though we bought something it was still a mad scramble to get out. His seemingly laidback approach vaporized into a sales furor.
For a break from the sales pressure, our guide took us to the fort. Another impressive structure and all of the same red sandstone. It was massive and approximately 2.5 kilometers across. Part of it was a museum open to visitors, part was an existing military base, and a section of it was just closed up. Myriads of courts and passageways with occasional domes and white marble mosques. Pinnacles and pirouettes everywhere. We explored till we found one overlooking the river and could see the Taj in the background. From the top we could see the high outer wall, a stretch of ground, an inner wall, and then a mote with water up against the fortress wall.
Our exploring led us to the back of the open area and to a rooftop where there were no guards and only a wire fence to cross as a barrier to the sealed portion of the fort. We crossed the fence and exploration began anew. There were huge barns with domed roofs and large bins for the feeding of elephants or camels (we saw both in the marketplace). The ceilings were solid with living bats. We climbed over roofs and scaled narrow ledges to find our way around. Standing on a second level and wanting to get to the bottom we started down a darkened stairway. Once in the dark, we felt the swish of air and heard the beating of bat wings flying up between our heads and the low ceiling. Most of this area was unkempt and in a state of decay. Weeds were growing up through the floors and some walls were only piles of rock.
The day was not over as our driver had a some more places which he thought would be of interest. One was a marble factory but we were on to them by now and breezed through, all the time stating that we had no money, had none in the states, could not carry anything with us and were definitely not interested in buying any marble. We relented as you will find later.
The last stop was educational in two ways. The first was that here we learned that our driver had been getting paid 5 Rupees to bring us to each of these places. He was getting paid to feed us to the wolves. The second was that we learned what a Sitar was and how it sounded. We were to stop at this last place to be treated to some native music.
The stop was in a crowded neighborhood and was a home of sorts, not at all like the other businesses we had been at. We sat on the low, sagging couch and waited. Soon an old gentleman dressed in a white robe entered carrying his instrument. He appeared to be some order of monk. He conversed good naturedly for a few minutes and then began to breath life into the instrument. The sitar is stringed with a base made of pumpkin shell. It has eighteen strings but only two of them are played. The rest just vibrate in harmony. I got impressions of jazz, rhythm and blues, and even some rock from his playing. It was really quite captivating to listen to.
And all of this for our enjoyment? Well yes, and you can have this all your life if you buy it and take it home. Largest down to smallest. Deposit, we mail, visa, credit. Just take one to Europe and sell it for twice what you paid for it. They are really in demand there.
Back at the hotel we paid our driver and decided to try the hotel food. I wondered where they made the food. There didn't appear to be any place to make it at the hotel. The old gentleman who took care of us was very stately though he appeared very tattered. We dined on mutton ribs with a cooked potato, cooked tomato and soup. It was quite tasty and two days later none of us were sick. In fact Steve had the opposite problem, he wanted to eat everything in site.
The next day was Sunday (not really observed here) and we were off to find Nepal. We took peddlecarts to the station (today we were into alternate means of transportation) only to find that if we were to go to Nepal we had to go to Veranassi (Benares) instead of Deli. It sure would have helped to have a map but the closest place to probably find a good one was in the US. The next train didn't leave till 7 pm so we headed back to the fort, this time taking a taxi scooter.
We climbed a tower which overlooked the river, the Taj, the train bridges and all of the courts. It was high and secluded and we stayed most of the day. We read King Benjamin's address and then discussed for two hours whether we should give of our substance to the beggars. I argued for and Steve and Ben against. We were all quite adamant in our positions but as the trip continued we seemed to reverse. I was in favor of buying fruit and food and giving it. I did for a while but soon learned they would rather have money. A few of the children were very happy to get an orange or banana. They were probably the truly needy.
One experience we did have with a beggar was quite enlightening. As we were getting on a bus for a long trip, a small girl entreated us with that look that said, "I am starving and only you can save me." She kept putting her hands to her mouth and stomach. I gave her a rupee and she put it in her bowl. Ten minutes later she was back with the same look and an empty bowl. In talking to the foreigners on the bus we found that almost all of them had given her a rupee or more. There were several buses at the stop. If she got twenty rupees from each bus that would be 5 times the average daily wage for an adult. When Steve came through two days later she was still at the same stop and he donated also. She was making a killing. Charles said that begging was the largest vocation in the country.
As the sun went down we hailed a horse cart. The poor horse was only skin and bones and the driver ran him all the way to the station. It looked near collapse. Steve, in a departure from his argument, tipped the driver and strongly told him to feed his horse.
The train to Veranassi was a little better. These boards had thin pads on them. There were more foreigners on the train. One fellow named Paul was a young lawyer from Chicago. We had a good talk and he told me of the places that he had been and was going. The were all the seats of the religions of the world and I realized later that he was probably searching. The farmland along this route seemed more fertile and the people more healthy but there was still a lot of hot, dry, flat land.
VERANASSI
Our train arrived at 1 pm but no one knew if we were really there and whether to get off the train or not. We were 30 minutes early and the punctuality threw everyone off. It was very interesting the way that train cars are sent around the country. When we started, our compartment was at the front of the train. A few stops later we found ourselves at the back and several times we just sat alone on the tracks at a station for up to 30 minutes. The engines were an assortment from what looked like coal burning steam engines to more modern diesels.
We found a hotel, GM Guesthouse, which was a cut above Hotel Tourist. White sheets, clean beds, a dining room with excellent food, and the luxury of hot water. I stepped out of a long hot shower to see two despondent faces. Ben said, "We got big problems." Steve's passport and airline ticket had been lost or stolen somewhere between Agra and Veranassi and he had just discovered it. It was in his day pack away from his money and wallet and either at the train station or on the train it had come up missing.
He made several phone calls and then decided that the only thing to do was go to Deli to have them reissued. I was reluctant but he decided to go alone and Ben and I on to Nepal. India was his country to make command decisions. If he could get them reissued, he would join us in Khatmandu. If not he would fly home, putting the airfare on his credit card. We set up a communication system which we thought would be fail safe but later proved to only give our dear mother more gray hair.
Steve was to leave immediately and then telegram us the next day from Deli what the verdict was. If he couldn't find out in a day he was to send a telegram to the national tourist office in Khatmandu. If worse came to worst, he was to call home and leave a message and we would do the same. We said goodbye and hailed him a taxi for the train station.
Next morning, Ben and I arose at 5 am and caught a rickshaw to see the sunrise over the Ganges River. About 500 yards from the river, a man came up and ran along side till we agreed to have him take us on his boat.
At first site, the scene was striking. The still, smooth surface of the river, the sun rising through the mist. One side of the river was miles of temple buildings, all with long steps leading down to the water. People were crowded at the bottom doing morning ablutions. Some were washing, some pouring water ceremoniously, others bathing, and some were swimming. From the boat we could see people, the steps behind them and the temples, all in the light rays of the rising sun. The temples and steps were called Ghats and the people were performing the Hindu rituals.
As the sun rose, the early morning enchantment began to fade. We saw a place where the Moslems came to bath although this held no significant religious purpose for them. People were washing clothes in the river and beating clothes against the rocks. Further down, we watched as a group of monks put burning fire in a dead mans mouth and then tied him to a rock. They put his body on a boat, paddled out and dumped him off. We learned that this type of burial was for the poor (those who can't afford a proper cremation), children, a certain order of monk, and people with smallpox.
As we walked along the Ghats, we noticed raw sewage seeping from the steps into the river. In many places cow dung was being spread in cakes to dry in the sun. Later that evening we returned to the burning places. In the one area, about eight bodies were being burned. I watched for a quite a while as a young boy tried to get us to look at silks. There was no sense of sacredness or family in the last ritual. When it got dark, whether completely burned or not, the remains went into the river. You wouldn't catch me doing what our friend Friedreich the drinking Swede did: swim in the Ganges.
I read an article in the world edition of Time a few weeks later about the disease that is found in Veranassi, much of it attributed to decayed human remains in the river. It saddened me as I thought how the religion had failed to continue to bless these people and now it was actually acting as a blind or tool of destruction.
Cow dung was drying everywhere. We even saw young people scooping it up fresh and putting it in pans that they carried on their heads. It is used as fuel and sold in the dried cake form. Some of it is used to build the living structures that we saw in the country.
Somehow, we managed to get pulled in by one of the silk traders. He lead us though a maze of alleys between narrow buildings, up a set of stairs and into a room with mats on the floors and pillows around the sides. The lights came up and he began flinging out tapestries one after another. Largest to smallest, credit, visa,........ They were really beautiful though, and I wish later that we had bought some. An acquaintance that we made said that the person who brings you in gets 25% of the profit and the orders which are to be shipped, usually never make it.
We explored the menu at GM and waited for word from Steve but none came. Next morning we went to the bus station. The government official at the train station was very helpful in lining up transportation to Nepal. He said the bus was very nice and especially designed for foreigners. There were foreigners there alright, but the bus was no different than any other. No windows that would work, tiny seats packed six across.
The roads were only one lane wide and each encounter with a bus from the opposite direction was a defying of the laws of physics. It was a game of chicken as they approached. At the last minute, each bus would swerve out and the bus would lean away from the center of the road. The busses would pass and then the springs and momentum would swing us back to the center of the road.
It was a long hot day. We rode from 9 am till dark. The land was again flat and dry. We arrived at the Indian/Nepalese border and crossed the border check to find our luxury hotel for foreigners. The bus was almost all non-natives and we had overheard some interesting conversations. Several were from Europe and had come there to find a guru and enlightenment. Most smoked nonstop and were addicted to a roll-your-own version of native leaves.
The border was fairly efficient for Americans but others weren't given the same speedy treatment. We thought we were ahead but were stopped at the Nepalese side to buy entry visas. We had not originally planned to visit this country and so had to buy a one week visa at the border.
The luxury hotel with free breakfast was lower on the scale than anything we had stayed at yet. It did have running water but only two showers for the 40 who had been on the bus. No one seemed to mind and we all waited turns. Our stop to buy visas delayed our check in and as a result the only room left was a dorm room with about 10 others. A couple of them were brothers from Canada. They had shaved their heads, wore the red dots on their foreheads, and were dressed in sandals with a color version of the native clothes. Despite their appearance, we had a good talk and found them to be in much the same situation we were.
After a breakfast of sulfur eggs we loaded a Nepal version of the "special foreigners bus" (exactly the same as the Indian one). We helped load all of the baggage on the roof and our charity proved to be a blessing. By the time we were loaded on top, the inside was full and the only seats available were some stools on the floor. I jokingly asked the driver if we could ride on top and to my surprise he said yes. It was heaven and such a scenic ride. A Japanese girl joined us a little later and said in broken English that this was better than any drug.
NEPAL
From the top of the bus we could see in all directions. The dry air felt cool as we sped along. The physics affect from the top of the bus was even more exhilarating. Our first and immediate concern was that not far in the distance was a power line crossing the road. The poles on either side were not straight and the line sagged to the center. We laid as close to the top of the bus as we could, crouching between luggage and backpacks. Fortunately we had a couple of feet to spare. After passing several of them the apprehension began to subside although they were all at different heights.
Off in the distance to the north we could make out some foothills through the dusty haze. We soon reached them and then turned to the east and followed along on the flat land. There were small farms and stacks of straw which were piled in a loose manner on top of platforms. We watched along the way all the people working.
Of most interest were the rock crushers. In empty river beds and along the road there were men with big hammers breaking rocks into small pieces by hand. Women and children were tapping at smaller rocks and bricks and reducing them to gravel size chunks. Later in Nepal we observed how one of these one lane highways were created. The crushed rock was sorted into three sizes. The larger rock was spread by hand to create a base. The medium rock was placed on top and then a layer of the fine gravel was hand raked smooth.
Large barrels of tar were heated along side the road with fire. The hot tar was poured into 5 gallon buckets with a line of holes in them. The barrels looked like a home made water sprinkler. The tar was spread evenly and then another layer of fine gravel was spread. A few trips over it with a rice truck and instant paved road. It looked like a grueling, tedious process.
After an hour or so, the bus turned north again and began to wind its way up through the foothills. We crossed a river and then began to hang to the side of the river gorge. We climbed higher and higher following the line of the river but the water dropped deeper and deeper into the gorge. The road was still one lane and the bus passings here gave the exhilaration a new dimension. A time or two I didn't see how we could rebound from our position over the edge but we did.
As the flat farmland dropped behind, terraces began to appear. Each hill was stepped from top to bottom with small irregular patches at different levels. Each terrace had a border of an earthen dam. Some were green or full of water but most were dry. It was a marvel, the work that had gone into creating the terraces and then maintaining them. Many of them had been there for centuries.
People were planting in some, others were harvesting. They would lay their shucks of grain in the road and let the buses and trucks run over them and then sweep up the grain.
The houses were made of adobe and the roofs were covered with leaves. Houses and villages were linked together with footpaths. That was the network of transport. Everyone we saw on the highway and the paths was carrying something. Racks on backs were fitted with assorted material, most of which looked like branches, leaves, or bundles of wood and the load was held by a strap over the head. Much of the carrying was being done by women. The highway that we were on was the only one into the country and served as its main artery to the outside world.
We stopped for lunch in a small town which had a dirt road for a main street. Each of the restaurants had dirt floors and were not really clean. The Europeans who had been on the mountain with "their gurus" dove right in and ate like the locals. A flat bread/pancake looking thing, a reddish brown gruel and some rice were all put on a plate and eaten with the fingers. No silverware to be polished in this country.
We settled for a pop and some "award winning crackers" as Ben called them (they were stamped with some insignia). They tasted like 100 year old vanilla wafers. We walked around the village in our bare feet. I have a picture of Ben standing on the main street in his white clothes with some of the naked native kids. He looked like he had just beamed down from another planet.
Back on top of the bus and we climbed higher into the hills. I kept thinking that it was a miracle that we were making it this far without an accident and that it would be a double miracle if Steve made it safely and found us. We were driving further into the adventure zone without him.
Towards evening we quit climbing and started to descend into a large valley. There were more cars (more than two models) and some larger brick homes. We had to climb into the bus before we passed the check point. By the end of the day we were wind and sunburned, especially on our foreheads where the wind had blown our hair back.
We found the recommended hotel but it was full. There was another one across the street called Capital Guesthouse. It promised running hot water and private rooms for approximately $1 per person per night. We took it despite the cost. Pretty basic but functional. There were two bed frames with a foam pad and one sheet. There was a small table and one naked light bulb. It was on the third floor and the window looked out over a small courtyard and part of the city.
Next morning we set out to lay some tracks so that Steven could find us. We checked at the tourist office and there was no message so we left one for him.
Khatmandu was a fascinating place. The city has little rolling hills and lots of narrow windy streets and paths. Many of the buildings are small three and four story with roof patios. Several nights we went to the roof and watched the sunset and peered into the distance to see the Himalayas. Ben said that this was how he imagined a scene from Lord of the Rings.
We strolled around the markets and the center of the city. There was an area at the center were there are some very old temples. They had bricked courtyards, winged gates, and birds. The shops seemed more stocked and there was more food visible than in India. Many more foreigners here. The markets had many brass works, silks and wool items. Another section of the market had men sitting at sewing machines, ready to custom make your order.
The meat shops were interesting. Not many of them but the meat was freshly killed and just laying out on a table waiting to be bought, heads, legs and all. In one section of the market was the public bath where people came to get water.
In the tourist section we were approached 2-3 times a minute with a little ditty which went something like, "change money, travelers checks, hashish?" and sometimes, "cocaine?". The first night over dinner with the kid who got the reward for taking us to a hotel, we talked to him and his friend about life there. He said that schools were a joke because the national language changed each time a new government was installed. There were so many tribes and nationalities in the country. He said that people took and dealt in drugs because there wasn't any thing else exciting to do. He even told us how he had helped smuggle drugs to the United States.
Kids would beg for money for school. If that failed to stir sentiment, they would ask for a pen. Nepal was ruled by a king but was a democracy. Sometimes I think that democracy in a third world country is another name for Chaos.
While exploring the city, Ben and I heard a series of rifle shots and we cautiously followed them to a crowd gathered at a gate to an inner square. The guard explained that it was a ceremony and invited us as foreigners to follow him inside. He escorted us past the crowd and up to a balcony with about 20 other foreigners who were watching the ceremony. An officer explained to us that this was a sacrifice ceremony to the military gods of victory. Around the square were placed flags representing each of the gods. These flags had been brought in from the outlying military posts.
Around each group of flags were circles of men. Some men were dressed in military uniforms. Some were in white T-shirts and shorts. And, some (probably government leaders) were in the traditional baggy pants and shirts. They all had on western suit coats and vests however, and I couldn't help but notice the odd assortment of tennis shoes.
The white shorted, T-shirt guys were the beheaders. In each group was an assortment of goats (large and small), and cattle. At a given signal, the animals would be decapitated with one swift blow. Their heads would be placed in a row in front of the flags and the guns would be fired. The officials would then parade past the flag and incense, stopping to touch their forehead to each flag.
Occasionally a goat was beheaded and then the body, still pumping blood, was dragged in a circle around the flags. I suppose the blood circle was some sort of barrier to spirits. The men would mingle and visit until a signal was given. They would stand at semi attention, the guns would fire, and another round of goats would que up for the life beyond, knowing that they had helped their country have victorious battles.
The officer who narrated for us said that two years ago the ceremony had gone well and that year all the battles had been victorious. Last year there were some problems and it had not been a good year. This year the ceremony was going good so far but it looked like it could go on all day so we left.
We found Khatmandu well within our budget. The hotel was a dollar. For a dollar fifty you could pigout royal at one of the little cafes which served pseudo-European food. One of our favorites was a place called Kaye Kayes. They always had a cake of some sort on the counter and a decent looking menu. There was a peculiar odor there though which, until the end of the week, we didn't match to the odor that came from the meat stand.
No word from Steve and so we decided to call home. There was only one place in the entire city to call from and only one phone that was working. They required local currency so we set out to cash some travelers checks. The exchange rate was 18.2 rupees per dollar at the bank, and 22 rupees per dollar on the black market.
Back at the National Communications Department we paid for three minutes in advance and gave them explicit instructions not to cut us off. I was always apprehensive calling. It had been four weeks since we had called and a lot could have happened in that time. Ben got through after about an hour and everyone was fine. Mom said that my old company had called saying that I owed them $800 on my expense account and needed to contact them immediately. I was furious and asked her to call them and say I was out of the country, didn't owe them a thing but would clear it when I got home.
We casually asked Mom if she had heard anything from Steve. Wrong thing to ask. She couldn't believe that we would abandon our own brother in such a far off country. We assured her that he was ok here and started to explain that Americans were safe when we were cut off. Our three minutes were up and it was someone else's turn.
About this time I took sick. Not so much food or stomach problems but a monster cold with headache, chills, and sinus. I spent a day in bed reading, looking out the window over the city, worrying about Steven, and praying that he would find us. That night Ben came back from the bus stop with a tall, blonde brother carrying a red backpack. I could have kissed him.
He had some adventures of his own getting to Deli and getting his passport reissued. He had sent us a telegram at the hotel in Veranassi but received it himself when he returned there two days later. We were glad to be reunited and sent home a telegram to the effect that we had found Steve. His biggest concern at losing the ticket and passport was not that he might be forced to cut short his trip and go home, but that he would be branded as irresponsible and the one who got lost.
Mean time back at the ranch..... The news that we were separated caused quite a stir. Mother had dreamed a dream a few days before that we were separated in some far off country and Steve had gotten killed. Naturally our news that he was missing caused her great anxiety. Between Saturday when we called, and Monday when they got the telegram, most of the valley had heard. When we got home everyone wanted to know how Steven got lost. His worst fear came true.
The next few days we experienced the frustrations of inefficient bureaucracies and last minute plans. We had to obtain reentry visas into India. That took two days. We rented bicycles to ride out to the embassy. Ben had been sick and was riding behind us. We lost him and went back to find him. He was sitting on the sidewalk and had just stopped to throw up in the gutter.
At the embassy we were all given numbers as we came in at 7 am. At 9 am the gates were opened and it was a free-for-all dash for the crowd that had congregated to the building. Inside the officials started taking the first in line. Steve crowded to the front and chastised them for not going by the numbers. They then started to use them and we helped monitor who was next. Steve was becoming quite aggressive. We were there a half day only to learn that the passports could not be returned for 4 days. We had to ask special permission to get them the next day as our Nepal visa expired and we had to get another one of those.
Next day we returned to the embassy and got our passports. On to the Nepal government office and looking at Ben's passport found that they had only given him 3 days to get back to India. Nepal required a trekking permit to go outside the Khatmandu Valley. These took a week to process and by then our other visas would have expired. In frustration we extended our visas for 5 days and decided to spring for the $55, one hour plane ride along the Himalayas.
But, the Royal Nepalese Airline was owned by the government and run much like the visa department. The first day there were no flights available, "come back tomorrow". Next day, "no flights today, come back this afternoon". That afternoon, "stand in line". Two hours later and finally someone who appeared to know what was going on, "no flights today, tomorrow, or any day till late next week".
As a last ditch effort we decided to hike to the edge of the valley to see if we could see the mountains. We weren't leaving till we had at least seen them. Steve was getting sick so he returned to the hotel. Ben went back to the Indian embassy to see if he could get his visa corrected to match ours. I went in search of transportation and found what for us, saved the Nepal experience.
I found a shop that rented motorcycles to foreigners for about $10 per day plus gas. I went back and got Steve and we headed out through the countryside towards a place called Nagarkot. It was a little village at about 7000 feet which was perched on the rim of the valley and had a spectacular view of the Himalayan range. The ride up was very interesting. We passed brick kilns where there were piles and piles of brick. The villages had buildings made of these bricks and we were curious as to how long these bricks were good for. It looked as though there were as many buildings crumbling as were being built.
The countryside was green and beautiful. As we climbed, the mountains were decked with terraces. At the top, we could see the Himalayas off in the distance. A haze had come up from the deep valleys and partially obscured the view but it was still an awesome sight. We were at 7000 feet and could see snow packed peaks which were another 20000 or more above us. Everest was one of them but it was difficult to pick it out of the haze.
We ate outside at a little restaurant overlooking the valley. We were the only people there. Had some more sulphur eggs and some of the worlds worst pancakes. Steve said they tasted like Franky's. The view made up for it though.
We took the bike back and Ben took it for a while, then Steve, and then I took it again for the last hour. I rode out the other direction through several villages. The roads were so crowded with people walking. They moved right over though, at the sound of a motor or horn. Others would drive so fast but people moved. Just like the parting of the waters. The bike was a Suzuki 250 road bike and people looked at it like we would look at a Ferrari. Very few vehicles for the number of people. 15 million in that small country.
Next day Ben and I decided to rent another one and try for a better look at the mountains early in the morning. We woke up the shop owner. This one was a Honda and not as easy to handle as I found out. The view of the range was not much better but we made out the outline of the peaks, one of which was Everest.
Later in the day I rode out to Kahani. It was really a beautiful ride. The terraces rose for miles up from the deep gorges and over the pass. I could see the peaks of the Anapurna range quite clearly. On my way out I stopped to ask directions of an old man. He pointed the way and signed that he would like to ride on my motorcycle. So many people were walking and the few motorcycles that I saw were just scooters.
I stopped at a pass to admire the view. The contrast of green terraces and then brown ones, both of which climbed vertically for miles was awesome. A lady with her load came up to me, squatted down and started talking. I thought she might be crazy because she just kept talking at me like I knew exactly what she was saying but she appeared intelligent and after about 15 minutes she put on her pack and waved goodbye.
A little further up the road, two boys flagged me down and asked for a ride. I took them to what I thought was one of their homes. One boy got off and the other stayed on. I assumed that his home was up further. After we had ridden quite a while he signed that his home was back there but that he wanted me to take him to the next town and buy him some clothes. I was peeved at him leading me on and told him I would take him home but not till I was ready.
At the top we found a retreat for the British ambassador. The view was breathtaking of the mountains, the river, and the terraces. On the way back I was coming around a tight turn and there in the middle of the one lane road was a jeep carrying about 20 men. I hit my brake and the motorcycle scooted right out from under me. It went down dumping both of us on the road. I jumped up and the boy was already up and saying he was alright. He had a scrape all the way up his leg and the longer we were there the more it started to bleed. Everyone got out of the jeep and one fellow poured wine on the boys leg and my arm which had a little road rash.
The bike was only scrapped so I started it and we were cautiously off. We were soon to his house and he jumped off and grabbed my brake. He wanted me to pay him for hurting him. I only had a 100 R bill or I would have given him something. Several kids came running and wanted a ride but I said no and started to leave. The boy was enraged and hit me as I pulled away. The surprise of it startled me and I wondered the rest of the night at what the local authorities would extract for damages if they could detain a foreigner.
I took the bike back and we packed to leave, giving the hotel a few extra rupees for the extra hours we had stayed. The fellow who had sold us the bus tickets back to India had lied. There were only 4 seats across but they did not recline. It was a pretty miserable ride from 9 pm to 6 am. We had to stop often as we met trucks on the road. Most of the trucking of goods into the country appeared to be done at night as there was a lot of traffic.
The ride was spectacular though. A full moon cast long shadows as we crossed over the pass out of the valley and started to descend into the gorge. The terraces appeared to drop into a black abyss and the feeling of descending in and out of the moon shadows with the rock on one side and thousands of feet of nothing on the other was exhilarating.
We made it to the border where we were to get our free breakfast and shower. The breakfast came (with flies) but the shower didn't. We decided that we were only going to get filthy anyway on the bus so we would wait.
We learned a valuable lesson crossing the border which would have saved us some grief. That was - don't bother about a visa. Several on the bus had let their visas in Nepal expire for weeks. They just paid a fine which would have been much more painless than the exercise at the embassy.
Steve and Ben with backpacks on and headbands turned for a parting photo shot at the border. The bus to Gorakapur wasn't due till later but one was waiting so we took it. Ten minutes into the ride and we had a flat tire. We found some Limca and tried to be cool. So hot and dusty. Limca was about the only thing that we could easily find and felt half way safe drinking. It was some sort of lemonade that had a pretty good bite. The odd thing was that most of it was bottled in old style CocaCola bottles.
At Gorakapur we had to wait for an evening train to Deli. We went to the second class waiting room and rested. I fell asleep on a chair and when I awoke couldn't see Steve. I stepped outside the room to the hallway and there he was sprawled on the floor asleep. He had brushed away some of the dust and was laying there with his headband on and one of his tennis shoes for a pillow, oblivious to everything. Just like one of the natives.
I spent some time walking around the town looking for pictures that would try and capture the atmosphere of the place. Nothing is like being there. The cows wandering through the streets, the two models of car, the mixed dress of turbans and the white pajama clothes. Masses of people milling through the scant markets.
Back at the train station our 8 pm train didn't come until 9. It was all out war to get on. I am not sure of the logic but everyone was trying to get on at the same time those on board were trying to get off. It was like two football teams playing through a two and a half foot door. It was a good thing that Steve and Ben were large and aggressive. I just sort of got sucked in behind them.
Once on the train, we jostled for our seats and finally got settled in. We had passed the point of civilized consideration and become more or less one of the natives who seemed to be living the law of Moses. We folded the boards, stowed the packs and settled in to sleep. Part way through the night we were awakened by the Brit in the next bunk ralphing. Three times all over the floor. No water, rags or cleaning materials on the train. He kept calling to some invisible attendant to clean it up but none appeared. It stayed till Deli.
New Delhi was different than anything we had encountered so far. It was cleaner and more westernized. The Canaught Circle area had much broader streets and was much more spacious. We spent part of the day visiting the markets and wandering the government buildings. The government section of the city was beautifully laid out. Symmetrical buildings, circular drives, broad streets, and spacious parks and green areas. We walked to the presidents house and browsed an art exhibit.
Pan Am, the carrier we had been flying with, was on strike and so we set about to straighten out our tickets. In Nepal, the Pan Am office had given us the ok to take our tickets to Alitalia where we had been able to trade the Deli-Frankfurt flight for one which went to Rome then Israel. We were excited as this would allow Steve to go to Israel before going home and would eliminate a lot of backtracking.
In Delhi the run-around began. First to Pan Am who sent us to Alitalia then back to Pan Am, then to Alitalia. The final word came from the only efficient agent at Pan Am. "The agent in Nepal doesn't know at all what is going on!" We had to go to Frankfurt and would be flying on Luftansa. By this time we were fit to be tied and when the agent asked when we would like to go, we said the next flight. There was one leaving that night at 2:30 am and he booked us on it.
As we walked from the office a young Swiss couple came up and asked us how we ever got on that flight. We told them we just wanted to go on the next flight. They were dumbfounded as they had been trying to get on a flight out for several days and were told just before us that there were no flights for the next couple of days.
We felt a little overjoyed at the opportunity for quick departure but found that we weren't through with Indian efficiency yet. We had quite a few rupees left and went to a recommended place to exchange them for dollars but were not successful. Dollars were a hot item. It was also illegal to take any rupees out of the country so we were between a rock and a hard place.
We ate up quite a few of them and then browsed the night markets for something that would be worth buying and carrying but had no luck. Some rupees were used on our pile of laundry. We got a taxi to the airport and then our fun began.
We noticed that no international flights left the country except between the hours of 12:30 and 6:30 am. We tried to change money back into dollars but found that you must be holding a boarding pass to do that (the ticket with marked departure time wasn't sufficient). We waited for a boarding pass in a long line and then cashier insisted on a the latest encashment receipt. My latest one was three weeks old and he kept questioning me when I said that it was the last one. He then had to go check something. I was about ready to reach through the hole in the window and grab his scrawny neck and slam his face to the glass. Steve was standing next to me and felt the same way.
At emigration we waited in another line. They looked and looked at the same things over and over again as if by taking time, they would see something that wasn't there. We were finally stamped out of the country with our passports and then were off to wait in a preflight security check line. We couldn't enter too early (although it was past our flight time) and had to wait. They checked everything; pens, books, cameras. We were frisked and went through the metal detector again.
In the departure area we were to board a bus for the plane. Busses were in short supply and every time one would come, the entire room would stand and try to board. No order at all as to which planes the busses were for. At three am we finally got on the bus and it slowly made its way to the giant, gleaming DC-10 which was silhouetted by the full moon through the smoky haze of the city. We were so happy to be on board that one would have thought we had just escaped from somewhere.
The phrase "I felt like I had died and gone to heaven" seemed to be appropriate as we entered the cabin of the Luftansa DC-10. The plane was clean and new looking, the air smelled like civilization, and the people were not all Indian.
We settled into our seats and soon the anxiety associated with the delayed departure began to ease. There were no more delays. The doors were closed and soon we were climbing above the dust and smoke of Delhi towards the bright stars.
The contrast between countries was probably as marked as any two on the planet. The airport at Frankfurt was new and modern with steel, glass, and merchandise all about. In a matter of minutes were standing outside the airport having only briefly held up a passport to gain entrance. The security guard only looked at the picture. The process was so fast that we thought we had mistakenly taken a turn through the wrong door and were now in the country illegally. Not so.
Efficiency abounded. Money was exchanged in a matter of seconds. Directions were given clearly and concisely. Taxis were Mercedes Benzes. We found our way by bus and walking to the hostel on the Main River. It was like a dormitory but very spacious. White sheets, comfortable beds, hot water, and all antiseptically clean. Breakfast of bologna sandwiches and hot chocolate and if you got there early enough there was some granola type cereal for foreigners.
Steve was to be leaving soon. He felt that he needed to get back to school and that another six weeks would drain him too much financially. We rested some and wandered the streets. The city seemed so empty compared to where we had come from. I kept wondering if it were some sort of holiday as we rode about on buses and none of them were full enough that people had to stand. No masses of people walking. Just a city of buildings with a few cars and some buses.
We visited the cathedral, the market, and spent the evening wandering the restaurant area behind the hostel. We even found a McDonalds. My friend Brian vowed never to eat American fast food out of the US but my philosophy was to sample fast-food capitalism wherever it was to see if it was a viable vision or if the french fries taste the same. I think it is. Some places were even improvements over their American counterparts like the Frosties at Wendy's in Switzerland which use Swiss chocolate.
Within a day or so it was time to depart. Pan Am had just started a new flight from Frankfurt to Dubrovnik so we did not have to find our way to Munich for the connection. We went through security and up to passport control then sat down to visit about what we had learned together so far and reminisce about the good time we had so far. One of the first comments was, "If nothing else, at least we know how to board an airplane!"
We talked and laughed at Steve for a while. He was going to stay in Frankfurt for another day or so and then go on to London for a few days and then home. He had really wanted to see Israel with us but even now we were not sure how or when we would get there. As we were sitting there chatting, a sharp, British sounding female voice came over the airport speaker. "Paging Mr. Peter and Benjamin Clegg. Your Pan Am flight for Dubrovnik is departing." We jumped to run and then doubled up in laughter at the apparent loss of the one thing we thought we had learned.
We hugged Steve goodbye, checked through customs and then sprinted to the gate. The crew were laughing as we ran through the boarding door as if they knew they had let the air out of our balloon.
ADDED BY STEVEN IN MARCH 1993
I was briefly looking at some journals from my previous journeys. Today marks the eighth anniversary of my passport and ticket being stolen. Most of you already know the story of me "getting lost" in India while engaged in the "Clegg Brothers World Tour 85"'. I digress at this time and recount the entire event that led up to my passport being stolen and the subsequent turmoils in my family because of the simple phrase my brother Peter uttered to mother over the phone from Katmandu, "By the way, have you heard from Steven lately?" Such a phrase could be immortalized along with "One small step for man, one giant step for mankind" (Armstrong), or "Don't shoot, I think those Indians are friendly," (Custard).
It was along the train ride from Agra, home of the Taj Mahal, to Varanassi, a stopping off town en route to Katmandu that my valuables were stolen. I am still not sure to this day whether or not it was stolen, or I just inadvertently left it on the compartment seat. At any rate, when we arrived that night, and I searched for it in vain. After quickly taking stock of every option, it was clear what needed to be done. Because of the poor phone systems in India I would need to make a beeline to New Delhi and get a new passport and ticket. Because travel was restricted in and out of the country, a ticket and passport leaving the country were considered a hot item.
Ben and Pete wished me luck and it was off to the train station. Our strategy for communication was like this. If you can't catch up in 3 days at the guest house in Varanassi, then call home and leave a message. It was my hope to get things straightened out and rejoin Peter and Ben as quickly as possible. It was a lonely ride back to Delhi that night, wondering if I would see Ben and Peter again on the trip. The methodical rhythm of the train track soon had me in deep sleep. My journal has an entry about a particular dream that was going on in my head that night. Vast open spaces in Idaho and Wyoming. I was weightless and floating over this great expanse. Up ahead was this small building where a cafeteria and brightly lit arcade existed. I floated down from above and joined in a conversation with the people as they ate their dinner.
Suddenly, someone was twisting my foot. The dream ended. I awoke to the stares of 15-20 natives, one of which had taken the courage to wake me by twisting my foot. They were all talking loudly and pointing to their train tickets in confusion. I ascertained from their looks that my spot was reserved for someone else. This struck me as a little funny at the time because their train ticketing system was rather chaotic to begin with. Imagine standing in line at a train station and pushing, shoving your way to the front in order to get a second class ticket with a seat assignment. Ben and Pete made me do this because they said I excelled in football. However, after getting the ticket, there was no assurance that you would get your assigned seat. Every time we rode the train, we had to invite someone to vacate our assigned seat. Anyway, on with the story. I was half-awake still feeling the remorse of my ticket and passport being stolen. It was now 2:30am. My journal recounts how the brave native tried to communicate in broken English, whilst I played dumb, mumbled back to them in broken English and wildly gestured for them to leave me alone. I was soon back to floating over Wyoming.
New Delhi was a great adventure. The light of a new day always makes things easier to bear. Such was the case again. I started out in a renewed effort to secure "Passage from India." The American consulate person was kind and informative. Just show up with $48 dollars and pictures and get a new passport. That was his instruction. I had brought along my old passport from the mission days in Korea. Thank heavens for that. If that hadn't been in my possession, it would have taken days to verify who I was before a new passport could be issued. Within three hours, the job was complete and I was skipping off to the Pan Am office to cancel the ticket. Pan Am was on strike world wide, and I feared for the worst. But after arriving at the office, the gentlemen said that my ticket had not been used and that he would cancel the old one and reissue a new one. What a relief! Two problems down, one more to go. I needed a visa to get into Nepal. What a disaster this process turned out to be. Wheels "needed a lot of greasing" to get past this hurdle. I stood in line for hours, only to be told that because of certain stamp, or signature, I would need to go across town to another building. Finally, after 3 days of waiting, the final stamp of approval arrived. I was free to leave the country for Nepal. I wired a message to Peter and Ben at the last place we had been. My telegram would reach them just in time.
While heading back to Varanassi, a tall, long-haired Swede introduced himself to me. His name was Frederick. I soon came to call him the "Frederick the Drinking Swede" because he was always carrying an open bottle of beer. We discussed religion, politics, etc. as the landscapes passed by us. He lamented the fact that many Americans don't know their geography. A tourist once made the comment to him that "Sweden was the capital of Denmark, wasn't it?" and he never forgot how stupid that sounded. We had a lively time over the next few days of getting to Katmandu. I later saw him riding a bicycle around Katmandu, again with a bottle of beer, as he shouted to me from across the crowds," Hello, mister Steven!"
I arrived back in Varanassi, and checked into the same hotel I had left Peter and Ben at 4 days previous. A knock came at the door. It was a telegram. This was puzzling because I wondered how Peter and Ben would know that I had arrived. It turned out to be the same telegram I had sent to Peter and Ben from New Delhi 2 days prior. Great! They had not received my telegram after all. I booked passage for Nepal and retired to bed.
Next day was beautiful as we all crammed into a bus, many were Europeans. There were no Americans. We all bounced along narrow roads for hours. At days end we stopped at a little inn on the border of Nepal. It was great to take a break from the tiresome traveling. Bone weary and tired, I tried to find a shower. The smell of sweat odor wafted from the bed and the bathrooms were a hole in the ground with a small water facet instead of toilet paper. After brushing up a bit, I made my way to the canteen for some grub. While there, a young baby faced Irishman engaged me in some conversation. From my journal entry, it was a discourse on American politics and a severe berating of the Reagan theory of international politics. Intervention is evil and "why don't you stay in America and run your own show" seemed to be the main theme. This was not the first time we had received a tongue lashing from foreigners on the evil of American aggression. But all seemed to be very amorous whenever you mentioned the thought of visiting the US and shaking hands with Mickey at Disneyland. Smile would break out immediately and most would ask if they could come visit my home town while traveling. It was apparent that while most foreigners didn't agree with America's foreign policy, they envied the American standard of living.
Morning broke and we were again seated and moving toward Katmandu. The plains of India were now giving way to larger and larger mountains. The roads turned into switchbacks. The mountains were terraced with thousands of rock walls, all hand crafted over the centuries. No wonder this land was not invaded for centuries. It was nearly impassible in the twentieth century. Because the roads were so narrow, the bus drivers would play this game of chicken, seeing which one would drop the bus wheels off the road at the last second. One time, they got so close to each other, that the mirrors were bashed off. Glass went every where as our bus driver howled with laughter.
We entered Katmandu under fair skies and a beautiful sunset. It was about 5:30. I looked around in anticipation while getting off the bus. To my relief, there was Ben. He gave me one of those "over here" gestures and we headed back to the guest house. Apparently, he had been coming to the bus station once a day as the bus from Varanassi pulled in, anticipating my arrival. Peter lay stricken with the flu at the guest house. We embraced and said a word of prayer for my safe arrival. That night, we went to the local post office to call home. Rumors had run rampant in those past 5 days. If Peter and said nothing, it might have been better. My mother had dreams of my body being carried out of India and rumor spread that I had died and the body was lost. Well... the rest is recorded in Peter's version of the "Clegg Brother's World Tour 85." This wasn't meant to be a travel journal. Just wanted to clear the air on that mystery about my whereabouts for 5 days in India. .....Steven
YUGOSLAVIA
The flight to Yugoslavia was spectacular. It was a clear day and as we flew over the Alps, we could see hundreds of miles out both sides of the plane. The snowcapped, rugged peaks with greening valleys at their bases. The mountains stretched off distantly to the east.
We landed in Belgrade and unloaded everyone except the crew and two other people. We practically had our own Boeing 727 or at least all of the pop and peanuts that we wanted. We were held up on takeoff by a squadron of military fighters that were taking off before us. The airport seemed to double as a military base. The captain announced that we were being held up by military aircraft which he could not identify (probably Russian migs). Sort of a strange feeling started to settle.
We were going into a country which we knew absolutely nothing about. Up to this point we had read along the way or before leaving home a little about the countries that we were visiting. But on this one we drew a blank. We soon learned that Yugoslavia was communist but not aligned with Russia. We knew nothing about the language, the currency, or the people.
The second leg of the flight was as spectacular as the first. We descended to a low altitude and then flew along the ocean with the coast on our left and islands on our right. The water was clear and a deep blue. The islands were rocky and wooded with beaches on some sides. Occasionally there would be a boat beached on the sand.
As we started the landing pattern we could see the city of Dubrovnik. Much of it was built on cliffs over the ocean and the entire old section of the city was walled. Scattered ferns and trees dotted the rocky hillsides.
The airport didn't put us at ease any. These people were big and not so friendly. I don't think they were too happy about having to have a full reception squad for only four people on the airplane. Ben just about didn't make it through customs with his scriptures. The large customs lady kept thumbing through them with a disgusted look on her face. We changed some money and waited for a bus.
English was definitely not a second language. No one could understand very well and if they did understand, they couldn't communicate back. We were seasoned travelers by now though and had developed elementary sign language capabilities.
Our quest was to locate the hostel and we had a small map of its location in the hostel guide we had purchased before we left. We hiked up and down hills with our packs and eventually found it. Much to our dismay it was under construction and no one was around. What to do next? Well, there were these houses which had little signs with pictures of beds on them. Maybe we should try one of those but was it a bed and breakfast or a brothel? After trying a couple with no answer, we found one with an old gentleman home.
He spoke no English. We signed that we would like to sleep and he showed us the room. It was very nice and had a balcony which looked over the ocean. The furniture and decor reminded me of whatever was in homes when I was just a little boy. Just like stepping back in time 25 years. It was that way for much of the country we visited. Sort of a peaceful, quiet feeling that you were not being forced to manage progress.
The old fellow pulled out a calendar and we showed him how many nights we wanted to stay. He pulled money from his wallet and showed us how much it would be. We wanted to pay him then but he motioned that we should sleep first. We dumped our packs and headed out to explore.
The city was beautiful. It seemed like a nice place to go and write a book someday. There was a harbor with small boats, the old city, an open market, and some old rock buildings down at the waters edge. We walked and walked some more. The hills made a difference in how much ground we could cover.
Some of the thoughts that I had were how quiet it seemed and how peaceful. There were not a lot of tourists there. On the other hand there did not seem to be much ambition. The market was simple with not much of a selection. Stores had ample quantities of liquor. There was one or two kinds of cheese, one kind of salami, and one kind of bread. The essentials.
After coming in for the night, we heard our landlords wife begin to scold her husband. She railed on him for quite some time and eventually he came to the door and asked for our passports. She was with him and asked us if we spoke German. No. French? No. Italian? No. She shook her head in frustration. They kept the passports and we were a little worried (being in a communist country and all) but need not have been. It turned out to be the rule everywhere we stayed that they would keep the passport till the bill was paid. Next day when we paid our bill, she gave them back.
On first arriving, we thought we might stay for a few days and bask in the sun but by the second day it had turned off cold and was stormy. Our map of this country lacked a lot of detail but we determined from the one at the bus station that we could be in Athens the next day. We bought a bus ticket for Titograd and it cost about $4. This was the same type of bus as the one from the airport and it had cost $2 and taken about 45 minutes. Gauging by the cost of the ticket and the distance on our crude map, we would be in Titograd in a couple of hours.
The next 8 hours unraveled a varied panorama of landscape and countryside. The bus wound its way along the ocean, in and out of bays and harbors. We passed monasteries on rock islands and others perched on mountain ridges. We passed through small towns and villages, most not as nicely kept as the tourist town of Dubrovnik. Soon the bus began to wind up through the rocky farmlands to the mountains. The roads narrowed and the weather got worse. Over the top of one pass was a small valley of stones. The houses were of stone, fences of stone, boulders everywhere and the fields seemed to be growing rocks.
From the rock village we began to descend down into valleys away from the ocean. The weather had turned cloudy, windy and was biting cold. Towards evening we arrived at Titograd, about halfway to Skope where we could catch a train to Greece. Looking for a line to catch the next bus we stumbled upon what we found to be some great friends. Two Australian girls and a German fellow were waiting in line ahead of us to get tickets. They had gotten on the bus earlier in the day but we had not talked to them.
Mandy and Mary were from Australia and one was a teacher and the other was a secretary. They had been traveling for 18 months and were a delightful pair. They seemed to be having a great time. Gord was a cyclist from Germany and his beard and wild look betrayed his kindness and consideration. He had ridden his bicycle across Europe and was now headed for Turkey on his way to India.
As we reached the ticket window we found that all of the seats for the 8 pm bus had been sold and there were no more. The next bus left at 6 the next morning. Gord was the only one who could communicate as no one spoke English. Fortunately his English was good for communicating with us. They said come back at 8 and maybe by that time they would add another bus.
We found a cafe table in the terminal and sat down to talk. They ordered coffee to warm them up and the girls pulled out cigarettes which they smoked constantly. It seemed a very rare exception for a trekker such as us not to smoke nonstop. I wondered if it might be something about the lifestyle. We had a good talk and they were interested in hearing where we had been and we in where they had been. Something they had done that sounded appealing to me was to pick a small town in Italy and just stay there six months to learn the language and live with the people.
They had cassette tapes of the music in countries and had mastered greetings and basic phrases in each language. One thing that immediately warmed our hearts was their love for Idaho. They had spent several weeks in Paul skiing. Someone from there had met them in Australia and invited them over. "Idaho was a magical place", they said and had loved it. They had experienced some good traveling adventures.
We talked for a while and then Ben and I went out to search for food. It was half raining half snowing and the town looked so dismal. There were few shops, deteriorated roads, and unpainted buildings. We found the closest thing to a supermarket they had. There was a bread section with one kind of bread, a cheese section with three or four kinds of cheeses, a meat section with salami and a few cuts of meat. All of this was contained in about one third of the store. The rest of the shelves were lined with clear liquor. We signaled what we wanted and tried to get the lady waiting on us to smile. Before we left I think she started to crack. Although there was not a wide selection, the food was tasty and inexpensive.
The weather was getting progressively worse as we donned rain ponchos and walked back to the Autobusse Stancione. At 8 pm Gord found that there were no more buses till next morning so we bought tickets and deliberated over what to do. Ben and I just thought we would roll out in the station with sleeping bags but there was really no place to do it inconspicuously and it was so cold. Gord talked to some of the taxi drivers and they said that there was only one hotel in the area and it was not very expensive. Taxi fare would be cheaper if all five of us shared so we agreed to go.
By now it was pouring buckets of icy rain. As we pulled into the hotel my heart sank to my travelers checks. From the outside it looked like a five star for the country. The taxi driver assured us that it was the only one in town so we unloaded and went in. The clerk said that a conference of Germans had just come from Albania on one of the first international exchanges and that there was only one room left in the hotel. She was adamant about not renting it to five people. We stood around wondering what to do.
Mandy and Mary didn't let the apparent barrier stop them and asked to see the manager who was male. They then turned on the tears with the true story that we would be forced to spend the night in the rain if we couldn't take the room. He reluctantly agreed and asked for our passports. When we handed him two American, one German and two Australian passports he looked at us very strangely. The room had three single beds which we dismantled so we all had a mattress or box springs to sleep on.
We wanted something to eat but looked like such bums so they found us a table downstairs where we were just off the kitchen and we ordered drinks, us sodas and them local beers. We had a good conversation and at this point one of the girls wanted to know our full names jokingly stating that it was against their policy to spend the night with anyone who they didn't know their names.
One of them had an alarm and after a shower and good nights sleep we were back to the bus station and on the bus again. Another nine hour bus ride for $4. The morning was beautiful. Patches of sun as we climbed then into flurries of snow. The fog in the valleys with snow, green grass and blossoms was a beautiful mixture. We passed river gorges and waterfalls. As we approached the interior valley the rocks began to disappear and there was much more fertile farmland. Much of the farming still appeared to be done by hand and there were many people out working in the fields. As we approached Skope there were more signs of industry and factories.
Skope was a very interesting city. First impression was the presence of military. Soldiers were playing games in the arcade and all over the bus station. We had some time before the train left so we walked the streets. There was a river running through the center of town and bridges crossed back and forth from one bank to the other the entire distance to the train station.
The building architecture was most intriguing. We called it Galactic. Many of the buildings were mixes and matches of geometric shapes. Stacks of nonuniform blocks rising in the air gave it a futuristic feeling. Triangular wedges laying on their sides with cylinders attached. The contrast of spacey looking buildings but with windows gone or paint peeling left one feeling that some massive effort to push this society to the 21st century had begun and then failed.
We walked and looked and then stopped to sample a tasteless pastry and some hot chocolate. We joined our friends at the train station and waited for the train which was late. When the international express from Venice finally came it was full and the only place left was to stand in the hall. It was going to be a long night. Somewhere through the night Ben and I got to sit in a compartment and managed to get some sitting sleep. I slept with my head on one seat, my legs on another and middle hanging in the air. The compartment was full of high school American girls who, with their buddies, were "seeing the continent".
In the night Gord got off at Thessilonica and we exchanged addresses and good-byes. He had not said much but we could tell from his expressions and acts of kindness that he was a very good person. We had to buy tickets at the border and Ben got off to get them, he almost didn't make it back on.
Not much was seen during the night of the countryside but as the dawn broke we found ourselves rumbling down through a green valley. There were scattered farm homes and many tall slender firs and clumps of Joshua bushes. For some reason it looked much like what I had pictured Greece to be like (one of the few countries that turned out that way). As the sun rose I noticed that at almost every home there were people in front of fires. Over the fires were spits with animals being turned. (exchange 129-130 dr. per $)
Suddenly the compartment of our door opened and someone who was not a train official handed us a package for breakfast and wished us a happy greeting. It was Sunday morning as we entered Athens and it seemed virtually empty. There was no traffic and as we walked from the train station towards an area where there were to be some guest hotels we walked through a large open area of sidewalk cafes. There were hundreds of chairs but all were empty and many folded. I remember thinking how observant of the Sabbath they all were. It wasn't till later in the day that we discovered that it was the Greek Orthodox Easter (one week before the rest of the world) and everyone had gone to the country to feast with their families and celebrate.
We found a guest house with winding steps to the fourth floor. We had our own room which had tall ceilings and drapes and a window that looked out directly at another building. We were only a few blocks from the center of Athens and spent the rest of the day reading.
Sunday evening we decided to treat ourselves to a hot meal in a local restaurant. Being Easter, they had a special lamb dish which we tried with Greek salad. The salad soon became a standard at every meal. Something about the combination of fresh vegetables, oil, olives, and blue cheese were a taste sensation. Another favorite was the chavlockie, a pocket bread with roast meat, tomatoes, some seasoning and greens.
Monday we strapped on our walking shoes and spent the day wandering the ruins. We climbed to the Parthenon and asked, "Who ruined them?". Actually the Parthenon had scaffolding around the sides and it looked like it was under construction.
The majesty and symmetry of the structures left one awestruck at the capabilities of men centuries ago. There was a contrast of the grand and noble of the ancient against the clustered rabble of contemporary Athens which spread out in all directions as far as the eye could see. I always wonder what kind of sacrifices were made to achieve this lasting greatness. Were there slums in ancient Athens and slaves that built these things for the wealthy or was it more of a united effort where all benefited? And, what happened to 'ruin' what they had.
We toured the museum and viewed the statues and remnants. Here began the brewings of a discussion that we would continue to have throughout Europe about what makes art good art. One of my theories about nudity was that the elements which aroused then still arouse now. Feelings have remained constant over the centuries and hence have become classic.
I marveled most at the grandness and apparent perfection. The symmetry, the lines, the strategic location of the buildings. The perfectness of form, muscle, movement and expression all cast in stone. From the Acropolis, the highest hill in the center of Athens and the location of the Parthenon, we could see Mars Hill, the Greek Theater, the gardens, and rows and rows of tour buses. We spent most of our time wandering ruins and the tourist shops. Athens was definitely a tourist town which was nice for customs, shops, banks, and food. There were lots of open air restaurants and at night, dancing and music.
We visited the Olympic Stadium, all made of marble, jogged the track and sat on a couple of thrones. At night we caught a movie "Amadaeus" to see why it had won all of the academy awards. I met a young Finish girl who had been living in Greece for several months and studying. She was very intelligent but referred to the Greeks as very "thick" compared to the Finns.
Our destination from here was Israel and so we spent some time trying to find the cheapest way to get there. We had wanted to take a boat but found that it would be several days before the next one out and the cost was comparable to flying. We found a decent rate and bought one-way tickets thinking we would take the boat back.
ISRAEL
As we walked from the plane to the terminal there was a sweet smell in the air. We managed to find ourselves with no idea where to stay or what to do and it was late at night. For some reason, it felt very peaceful. There was a feeling in Israel that reminded me of home; comfortable and part of something which I can not describe.
Sitting at the bus stop waiting to go into Tel Aviv, we felt no more apprehension than sitting at the bottom of the lane. Ben said it was because there were so many US tax dollars here. The country was westernized and the airport terminal was very international. The two girls at the information booth were friendly and helpful in getting us a map and directions to the hostel. The bus ride was one I'll never forget. I would swear that the bus had rocket motors and the driver was using them. There were only a handful of us on the bus.
At night Tel Aviv looked like most any other city. The hostel was ok. One of the fellows who shared the room with us was a chap from England whose wife had just "busted" him. He had sold his pub, settled his affairs and was now in Israel to work on a Kibbutz. He was plastered and carrying a half gallon of wine with him. We left early the next morning but four days later we saw him walking along the road at, what looked like for him, the end of a very long day. He was in a remote part of the country and looked very sober.
Many people asked us if we had come to work in a kibbutz. We told them no - we were raised on one. Some of community work areas were pretty nice. A friend from Finland said the work was easy and there were swimming pools, movies and they took trips often. There were kibitzes for all types of industries but most of them were agricultural. Some in remote areas did look pretty desolate though. They were in areas of the country where the farmland was being reclaimed from the rocks and dust.
We took a bus the one hour ride to Jerusalem. Immediately apparent was the military presence. Several soldiers, men and women, got onto the bus. They didn't hang together but sat scattered around the bus, each carrying a machine gun. They didn't have luggage or carry anything much more than their uniforms and guns. There was an interesting intensity in their eyes. I found the women particularly intriguing. They carried an aura of intelligence and strength mixed with quiet mystery. Many times throughout the country we would spot soldiers, both men and women, along the road hitching a ride. Our friends told us that everyone must be in the military for an extended period of time and then return for several more years for short periods.
Our encounters with the military were not direct but we did come close several times. We had been told that it was safe to camp anywhere in the country and permission was not needed. After driving one afternoon, we decided to camp on the West Bank of the Jordan River. It seemed peaceful enough but several times through the night we were awakened by lights and loud motors. As the dawn broke we could see patrolling tanks. Off in the far distance we could hear explosions.
We thought that if we were in any danger that the roads would be blocked from joy riders but several times while driving around the Golon Heights, we were passed by speeding personnel carriers. We spotted camouflaged tanks and large guns hidden by the side of the road.
Riding into Jerusalem was much like entering any other sprawling metropolis. There were many high-rise apartment buildings and neighborhoods of homes. Most everything was made from the same color of tan rock, all of high quality craftsmanship (compared to India or Korea). An orthodox Jew, about our age, approached us at the train station and asked us if it were our first trip to Israel. He wore the black coat, black hat and had long hair with the long sideburns. He visited for a minute but when he found we were not Jewish, soon ended the conversation and moved on. I got the impression that he was looking to help pilgrims who were visiting for the first time.
The old city of Jerusalem was fascinating. It is surrounded by a wall which is old but was rebuilt within the last 200 years. Through the large gates and inside the wall it was like entering a maze of caves and tunnels. The streets are very narrow and during the day are only open to foot traffic. Because the city is so built up, many of the streets are actually like tunnels with buildings creating a roof. Throughout the tunnels were thousands of shops, food, closed doors and religious structures.
The city is divided into four sections; Jewish, Armenian, Moslem and Christian. We found a guest house in the Jewish quarter. It was off one of the main roads and through several narrow alleys. It had four levels which were connected by random stairways. The inside rooms had domed roofs and everything was rock covered with plaster. There were nine of us in one room and the house was full of people our age. From the roof one could see the Dome of the Rock and hear the prayer calls.
Things were fairly expensive. The exchange rate was 950 shekels to the dollar but every price was quoted in US dollars. The first hostel had been $6 and this one was $3 but didn't include breakfast.
The shop keepers and vendors must have taken lessons from the Indians. They were very persistent and aggressive. We looked at the "holy" merchandise and noticed the mix of religions; minoras, crosses, prayer caps. The Wailing Wall was not too far from our lodging and we went down and watched the Jews as they prayed at the wall. Most were orthodox with the black dress. They stood at the wall and rocked back and forth with religious fervor. The wall looked like the remains of an ancient stone wall which it was (supposedly from Solomon's Temple).
Back through a tunnel and through a large door was the Dome of the Rock. It was a large Moslem Shrine which was spacious and open compared to the rest of the inner city. We weren't allowed in at the time because it was getting late but we could look through a small opening in the large doors.
In another section of the city were Christian cathedrals. For some reason this section carried an eerie feeling for us. As we walked around the streets at night, we felt very uncomfortable particularly in the Christian section. The Jewish quarter felt more like home. Late at a restaurant, we were sitting there, the last ones, while two American couples tried to figure their bill with the owner. In desperation, they asked us (beards and dark skin) if we could speak the language. Come to find out, they were from Logan, Utah. We couldn't help them.
The city was generally busy and noisy. Gadi had told us that many people were disappointed in coming to the Holy Land because they expected it to be quiet and a place to meditate. Instead, they found tour busses, trucks, street vendors and city noise. At the airport, I asked a lady who had come from Massachusetts with her church how she liked the Holy Land. She looked at me with a look that said, "It was nice, but not really what I had expected." We found a place outside the city wall near the cemetery where it was relatively quiet and laid down to look up at the stars and talk. We discussed what it might have been like at the time of Christ.
We walked and walked and walked. We covered most of the city seeing the walled portion, King David Hotel, parks, gardens, and pools. We hiked through the little valley to the Orson Hyde Memorial which was spread on one side of the Mount of Olives. It was a beautiful park with winding walkways and beautiful native landscaping. It was in need of repair though. I think that the Church created it and then turned it over to the city for maintenance. The marble rocks which had an inscribed description at each entrance, were graffitied and cracked.
We read the dedicatory prayer by Orsen Hyde and marveled at how so many of the things that he had prophesied had come true in the last few decades. After reading the prayer and noticing that there was no one else around, we laid down and went to sleep.
It was only a short hike over the hill to the Hebrew University. Beautifully laid out and well kept, it was a collection of modern looking rock buildings on the top of the hills overlooking the city. We found some English encyclopedias and read up on the places we had been and were going. The students were very friendly and many of them spoke English. It looked much like a US college campus.
After dark, we walked through the open fields and back roads, down past the new BYU center which was under construction, and into the city. The new center will be quite an imposing structure on the Mount and in a very prime location.
We walked to the garden and stood in line to glance at the tomb. There was a special spirit there despite the hundreds of people and all of the other Christian testimony and sacrament meetings that were going on. From one portion of the garden could be seen the place of the skull and the area of claimed crucifixion.
Time to get out and see the country side so we looked for a car. We found a Fiat 127 which wasn't cheap but was necessary to see what we wanted to see in the time allotted. We drove east towards the Jordan and Dead Sea. Crossing the mountains and heading down, we passed a sign which said "sea level" and then kept descending. The countryside was rocky with little vegetation. Occasionally we passed a group of Bedouins with tents and flocks surrounding. The tents were quite large and many of them had a large dome with several smaller attached tents.
We visited Qumran which was the discovery site of the Dead Sea Scrolls. The hiding place was not far from ruins of an Essene settlement. There was evidence of running water and sewer systems among the rock remains. Some theory suggests that it could have been this group that John the Baptist was raised with.
Driving south we found the Masada and hiked to the top in the scorching heat. There was a tram but the line was hours long. It was not a long hike but very steep and the view was spectacular. The surrounding country was desert. It was difficult to believe that people would build such a structure except for defense. It was used at times as a resort for the ruling class. There were remains of a swimming pool which had to be filled with water that was carried by women from the valley below. It was definitely a strategic fortress with access from all sides visible.
As we crested the top, hot, thirsty and sweating, here was a group of about 70 people from KSL tours in Salt Lake. They were sitting under one of the shaded structures, listening to a tour guide. We listened for a while and then joined another smaller group. There were rock ruins from the building walls, and some structures had been rebuilt to show what had been there originally. The Roman ramp below was pointed out as the spot where the Romans entered at the end of the siege, but not before everyone had committed suicide.
The Dead Sea was smooth and calm. There were white ridges in many places which were due to the salt. Along the shore were a few resorts where people came to play and relax in the therapeutic mud.
We drove south, intending to go to Elat but it was so hot and we met a military check stop so decided to turn and go west. The countryside was true "wilderness". No wonder, Lehi's family and the children of Israel complained so much. The land was dry, rocky and had very little vegetation. We spotted a few camel herds in the distance but didn't see much of anything, even other cars. In the middle of nowhere, we passed by a huge fertilizer plant that looked like Beker.
We came to Bersheba and stopped to look at Abraham's well. North to Hebron we stopped at his tomb. The caves where Abraham was buried, are now covered with a complex of Moslem shrines. I did not particularly enjoy the places of import, but rather the countryside and undeveloped areas. I imagined the rocky hillsides and trying to farm them or herd sheep there. Jacob had plenty of pillows to choose from.
Bethlehem was another religious structure free-for-all. There were several churches and each had its own shepherds field. The cathedral built over the most popular birthplace was downright scary. We had to crawl through the entrance, so that none would come in standing. It was dark inside with all of the ritual paraphernalia of candlesticks and statues. The actual birthplace was downstairs below the alter. As we descended, we could hear the chanting and wailing of priests. Nothing that inspired us to stay too long.
Sunday was a special treat. We had not been to church for several weeks and so just being among the Saints was a great feeling. I didn't realize how spiritually drained I had been and how much of a recharging it was to attend church, feel of the spirit and take the sacrament. The meetings were very good with the speakers being Barbara Smith, the general Relief Society President, and Elder Kikuchi of the Quorum of Seventy. They were with a group that had come from Salt Lake on tour.
The regular branch has only about five families and the other 150 people were from Salt Lake. Bud Boyd and his wife, one of the local families, invited us to dinner. I guess we didn't look like the rest. He was a very interesting individual and was there working with computers. Most of his work was being done in Turkey so he traveled there quite a bit. He and his wife were both Jewish in California, had joined the Church and were living in Israel. There were some things that they really liked and other things they didn't. We had a great time talking to them and playing with their five small children.
Another acquaintance at church was Joseph Ephriam. He was from Ghana, about 7 feet tall and had jet black skin. He was fascinating to talk to. He was 21 and had joined the Church in Spain. He worked on shipping boats and had attended church all over Europe. He told us of the excitement he felt in the Church and about its growth in Ghana. The people there were basically God fearing and intelligent and were joining in large numbers without the presence of foreign missionaries.
After church, we drove back out to Jericho and tried to get close to the river Jordan but came to a roadblock. I guess we really didn't want to go to the next country. Jericho was interesting in that there were acres and acres of abandoned huts made of bricks. We drove through them and noticed that maybe one in 50 had someone, usually very old or very young, living in them. It was just as if the entire section of town had been forced to leave. Later we learned that is exactly what had happened as the Palestinians were driven out.
The Sea of Galilee was beautiful. We drove through the resort town of Tiberis and stopped to buy airline tickets to Greece at a travel agency (again a hassle to find a timely boat). On the north shore by Capernam we parked and looked at the surrounding flowered hillsides and the fertile farmland. The northern part of the country was productive farmland with irrigation pipes and harvest in progress. Some areas had thistles and dires woad.
Nazareth had several cathedrals but we didn't visit any of them, mainly stopping to survey the small towns in the countryside. It was a beautiful and peaceful drive back to Tel Aviv, with notice of the military hitch hikers.
We spent another night at the hostel and some time driving and walking the streets of the city. Tel Aviv looked like a suburb of Paris. Lots of fashion, recreation, and restaurants. We caught the sci-fi movie, "2010 A Space Odyssey" at a theater across from the beach.
We had been warned to get to the airport early because of tight security. Little did we realize that all of the two and a half hours would be used getting through. As we went through security, the young girl started to ask us questions. "Where did you stay? When did you come? Who did you see? Where did you go? Why did you come? Why did you buy your tickets in Tiberis yesterday? Did you make Israeli friends? Did they give you anything? How did you pay for this trip? Where did you come from before this? May I see your Pan Am tickets? Tickets from Greece? Where are you going? How long have you been gone? Can I see your student card? What do you do for work? What does your father do?" Then she got her superior and he asked us all the same questions again.
I thought we were about finished when she said that she would have to check all of our baggage. They went through everything, every garment, pouch, sock, etc.. We had to take our camera lenses off and finally they took our sleeping bags and packs to be x-rayed. People were watching us like they were about to see international terrorists be apprehended.
All through the questioning, the girl was very friendly and I was in return. By the end, there were several of them standing around and asking us questions. I got the impression that they were mainly curious as to how Americans their own age lived and wanted to see what we had. Anyway, after we were finished they put these red stickers on our bags, cameras, and us in visible places. I don't know if they marked us as high risk or showed that no one else need check us. In any case, no one else did.
My impressions of Israel took some time to materialize. I reflected how in some ways it was a lot like Idaho and Utah. There were areas of fertile farmland with rolling hills and mountains. The Dead Sea was like the Salt Lake. The wilderness areas resembled parts of southern Utah and Canyonlands. The Sea of Galilee was much like Bear Lake. I thought of the people. I was most intrigued with those Israelis that were about our age that were not orthodox. There seemed to be an intensity and purpose to them that I would have liked to further explore.
Back in Athens after we dumped our stuff at George's Guest House, we purchased a bus ticket and then headed out for one last Greek salad and chavlocki. The food was so good. The salad was simple with lettuce, tomato, oil, and a huge olive with a chunk of blue cheese. Something about the combination was really tasty. The chavlocki was like a pita sandwich with meat, tomatoes, some herbs and seasoning.
We found what we thought was a fantastic deal for a nonstop bus ride from Athens to Frankfurt; the Magic Bus it was called. The countryside was agricultural through much of Greece. Yugoslavia was also farmland but not quite as developed. The bus stopped every couple of hours for gas and rest stops. The total trip was 44 hours and we were aware of most of it.
Our bus companions were an interesting mix. There were a couple of Canadian couples who were quiet, a long haired creepy American from southern California who kept singing loudly and off key on his guitar. He told us that he had no money and was hoping to find a girl in Berlin that he had met, stay with her and have her help him find a job so that he could get some money to get home. We saw him later standing on the road trying to thumb a ride.
There was a Scot, George McKenze, who had only one volume, loud. The problem was that he spoke with such an accent that his Englishman friend had to translate for him. They joked and sang songs with the rest. At each stop, they all filled up on coffee and liquor. Another fellow from Denmark was very friendly and had worked in Montana as a bartender. All in all it was an interesting trip.
Entering Austria the mountains became very wooded and high. We could pick out castles on the hilltops as the sun went down. We were stranded for three hours at a small Austrian Inn. It was so cold outside and they stayed open though many of us weren't buying anything. It was a switching point and the bus that we were to trade with was coming from London. When it arrived, we were relieved that it had more room to stretch out in but deeply disappointed that the heater didn't work. Thank goodness for the Blue Kazoos.
The driver was anything but personable and when we got to Frankfurt, he drove past all the main exits and dropped us at a rest stop on the freeway about three miles from the airport. Fortunately we could see the tower in the distance and jumped the fence and walked the back roads with our friend from California to the bus stop.
GERMANY
In calling for our car, we found that the reservations that we had made in Israel were no good. They agreed to give us the same rate of $99 per week with unlimited mileage if our travel agent in the US would reserve them. We called home and talked to Steve (it was good to hear he made it safely) and Mother made the contact with the travel agent. We also called Joyce and confirmed her arrival.
The car line was three hours and twenty minutes long but we finally got one. I was the last one in line but they gave us the next size larger car at the same price. It was a four door Opel Kadette with good power and got about 40 miles per gallon. We weren't sure where to go so we found a map and decided that a river called the Rhine might be a nice place to start. It was gorgeous. In an hours driving we counted 12 castles. The hillsides were covered with vineyards and the river villages were picturesque.
Sleeping the first night on the ground was ok. The Blue Kazoos were heaven but we could have used a little padding. The campground was expensive relative to the hostile at $5 each plus some for the car and extra for the tent. There were hot showers, vending machines and a lodge to use.
We arose the next morning and drove towards Kohln eating some of the bread and cheese that we had bought in the village. At Kohln we visited the largest Gothic Cathedral in Germany. It was so large that I had to take an outside photo in two shots. It had taken 600 years to construct and from an architecture and engineering standpoint was really a monument. There were many spires and statues.
As we entered, there was a group singing hymns and the acoustics were beautiful. Downstairs there were what appeared to be the tombs of cardinals or religious figures. As I looked at the many pictures and statues, it struck me that they depicted the life of Christ in a German (or Bavarian) setting. The landscapes, people and backgrounds were all different than what we had seen in Israel. Again I was amazed at what effort and money must have gone into building the cathedrals and castles of the area.
We bought a road atlas of Europe and also a Newsweek magazine because of the controversy surrounding Reagan's proposed visit to the Nazi grave sites. We had made the mistake (before knowing anything about the news) of asking a German travel agent where we could find some of the prison camps. From her response you would have thought we had asked her to dig up her buried mother. She acted so offended that we didn't dare ask anyone else.
We cruised the outskirts of Stuttgart, hoping to see some signs of the Porche factory but decided it would be too much of an effort to locate it before dark and headed back to Frankfurt. The farmland was so beautiful. We were going to camp but it was raining so we found a place to park the car (inconspicuously) and stayed at the hostel. For some reason, hostel dwellers are not to have cars but should come on foot.
Sunday we located the English speaking church and drove there. The time must have been changed so we sat in the car and wrote in our journals. The weather had been rather damp and very cold. I told Ben as we sat that a couple more hours of this cold and I was going to quit having fun. The ward was a large one and there were some friendly people there. One fellow told us that the ward was a split between salesmen and servicemen. We met a missionary couple, the Martins, from Sunnyside Washington who knew Aunt Carlie and Uncle Myles.
As we were sitting on the back row in our sweaters and beards, a young, clean cut, business looking fellow sat down beside us and struck up a friendly conversation. His name was Steve Saunders and he was from Meridian, Idaho. He had recently finished his MBA from U of U and was working for a brokerage firm based in Monte Carlo. He had just moved to Frankfurt to work in the office there and though he had planned to attend the German ward, had opted for the English today. It was the beginning of a great friendship.
He was 31, single and as we talked, we found that we had many things in common. I felt a kinship and could empathize with his frustration and pain at trying to live life at our age and single. I was amazed that he had moved to Europe and was living there but he had felt that was what he should do. We talked through almost all of the meeting. He gave me his address and told me to call him when we came back through.
After church, we had some more bread and cheese and then headed south towards Heidleburg. We pulled off in a wooded area and wrote journals and napped for a while. I watched the sun and clouds as they traced patterns over the fields of grain and dry farm. We watched a couple of older women walk through the open fields in the cold and blowing wind with nothing on their legs or heads. They seemed to be exhilarated by a cold that was chilling us in the car with our sleeping bags wrapped around us.
So awed at the beauty of the countryside. We searched for a place to stay and last minute decided to take Steve`s advice and stay at a zimmer frei. It was expensive for our budget at $21 but was very nice. We thought it would be a fitting place to stay on Sunday. We read for a while and then retired on these huge, 3' square down pillows and under a thick feather federdecke. Next morning we breakfasted on a salami sandwich and sipped the best hot chocolate.
The castle at Heidleburg was fascinating. It had been built over several hundred years and then was destroyed by the French and fire. There were building facades with ornate stone carved statues and then open air behind the windows because the buildings were gone. I was amazed at how each of the figures were intricate and different. In the basements were huge 45,000 gallon wine kegs. We saw stained glass, carvings, ornately carved and crafted ceilings and many other interesting things. We were able to get an English tour which added so much to the background. Again amazed at the opulence which the ruling were accustomed to.
On a humorous note, we were waiting for the tour to begin and a couple approached Ben and asked him to take a picture with their camera. The fellow went into detail explaining how the camera was ready, wound and focused and all Ben had to do was shoot when they were in position. They walked to a spot with scenic background and were just turning around when he prematurely snapped the shot. He wasn't sure what to do, I guess not wanting to wind the film after the explicit instruction. He just stood there with the camera at his eye, waited for a few seconds and then said, "OK". I nearly split trying to keep from laughing. They came back and generously thanked him. He was lucky it wasn't an instant developing model.
The incident gave us something to laugh about and sort of broke the tension that had been building over several days. Constant time with someone, in rainy weather, under constant pressure to jointly decide what to do and where to go can get to one. We made a pit stop in town and bought some thin foam pads to sleep on and some film. Had a hamburger at McDonalds and argued over which of the two American girls we saw were more beautiful.
Armed with our new pads to insulate us from the cold ground, we decided to do some real camping in the Black Forest. The higher we climbed, the more it looked like Idaho - in the dead of winter. The Black Forest was completely white. Roads were slick and icy. The forest was awesome though and incredibly dense with giant pines. In the midst of the forest and getting dark we spotted the friendly youth hostel insignia (a stick house and a tree) and followed the signs to the only habitation that we had seen in miles. It was like a large chalet and that night was home to a couple of bus loads of youth. I was worried that they would know we had not come on foot and not let us stay, but no one questioned. It took a while to find someone who could speak English but a young man cheerfully helped us. We had our own room with warm steam radiators for heaters and a nice view from which we could watch the snow falling.
Due to inclement weather, we decided to head to Munich. The Newsweek magazine had mentioned that the one of the prison camps which Reagan could have visited was Dachau which was just outside of Munich. We found Dachau alright but once there didn't dare ask anyone where the camps were. We reasoned that it must be near railroad tracks because the prisoners were brought by train. We found the train station and looked around. On a pole was a small sign in English which said, "For British interested in seeing the war memorial, take bus #22." We waited for the bus to come and then followed it to the site.
Though I knew about the prison camps and had seen documentaries, I was not prepared for the magnitude of the tragedy that we were to witness only a small portion of. The camp had been pretty much destroyed except for the main building. A section of the outer fence and one of the prison houses had been rebuilt to show living conditions. The place was huge and at one time there were hundreds of similar buildings.
The main building housed the memorial. There were maps of all the extermination camps located throughout Germany and other countries. Pictures of the people, killings, crematoriums, mass graves, medical experiments, and general conditions. There was also a movie with live footage. The mood, even though many of the visitors were youth, was very somber. Outside was a modern sculpture which depicted emaciated bodies and barbed wire. The next day was May day and there were hundreds of baskets of flowers which had been brought and lined beneath the statue. The inscription read in several languages, "Never Again". It was much easier to see why there was such an outrage at the bumbling of Reagan's itinerary.
We spent the night in Munich at another hostel. After being carbound for so long, I took a nice two and one half hour walk to the city center and back. The architecture was very interesting and beautiful with a mixture of Gothic and Baroque. There were many eras represented. The very center of town was cut off to auto traffic and was just a huge walking area. There were many quaint shops and interesting gifts. All around there were street musicians with small money containers. The contrast between these and any others I had ever seen was that they were excellent musicians and all playing or singing classical music. There were very few people out because of the weather and the music created such a wonderful atmosphere.
As I walked back, I stopped and looked at the car lots. The exchange rate was good (from what we had heard) at 3.3 Deutch Marks to the dollar. I calculated that a new Mercedes 250 was only $23,000, a 190 was $11,000 and a super nice used BMW 319 for $6,000. All of these prices were less than half what they would have been in the States.
The next day we saw the architecture in the daylight. It was a holiday and there was some sort of fair going on but it was still raining and most of the shops were closed. We hit the autobahn and headed for Salzburg, Austria cruising at 140 km/hr (that is 87 mph). The highways were fantastic. We would think that we were doing quite well when all of a sudden a large black Mercedes or Volvo would pass us like we were standing still. Driving rules are a little different there. The first difference, which we learned the hard way, is that you never pass on the right side. The second was that you never stay in the fast lane when someone is behind you. The rest of the rules, except for the unlimited speed on the autobahn, is the same. The international road signs with symbols (not words) are used and are quite easily understood. I secretly wished that we had a car from Stuttgart which could take better advantage of the speed limit.
We changed some money at the border (20.55 schillings for $1). According to our road book, we could see the worlds largest ice cave in the mountains above Wurfen. Heading that direction we came off the flats and entered the Alps. We drove through a series of tunnels and emerged in a beautiful small valley. The valley floor and lower hills were green but the majestic and rugged peaks were pure white. In the center of the valley, above an alpine village on a lone hill was an old castle. It had a high wall and steep hillsides down to the valley floor. Clouds hung eerily around the top and the outline was only visible through the mist.
The ice cave proved to be blocked by ice. The roads were completely snow blocked before we got to the base of the tram and there was no one in sight. According to the book it was supposed to be open May 1 but it wasn't. It could have been the weather or it probably was the fact that it was a holiday. It seemed that there were many holidays which closed down most business during the time we were in Europe. We headed back to Salzburg and found that most of the tourist areas were open.
We spent time in the Salzburg castle which is high on a hill and has a commanding view of the surrounding area and the Alps in the distance. The snow white mountains seemed to shoot skyward from the flat, green farmland. The cathedral and Universtaz? were beautiful. This cathedral was my favorite in all of Europe. The pictures were of a more realistic type and I thought much more beautiful (however we are still not sure what determines beautiful art). The feeling was nicer but it may have been due to the fact that much of the cathedral was destroyed in the war and had been rebuilt with new paintings and lighter, warmer colors.
We also toured Mozart's birthplace which is now a museum. There were model stage settings for each of his operas, some original manuscripts and a lock of his hair along with things like one of his pianos and several personal effects.
We drove back towards Regusburg on a windy country road. The countryside was green and immaculate and the farmland so well worked. We never saw anyone working and also hardly ever noticed livestock. It almost seemed that there were more houses than people.
Ben and I had been together too much I think. An excerpt from my original notes shows how much we had gotten on each others nerves. "Being with Ben and Ben only for a long time now is starting to add up to irritation that will not dissipate. I wonder if it is just that we need a break from each other or if we are learning the real character of each other and are not pleased at all with what we see. I imagine this is what marriage could be like. Little things really annoy me like his inattentiveness in driving. I can't begin to count the number of times he has driven over curbs or suddenly slammed on the brakes to avoid missing something. Yet he seems so confident that he is totally safe and thinks the reason I don't trust his driving is that I inwardly don't trust my own. He is really much more unyielding on matters of debate and I find him much more stubborn that I ever thought. We were trying to talk about the prison camp and he was saying one thing when I had just read something completely opposite. I finally realized that conversation about anything like ideas, concepts, or opinions was useless. We only talk about concretes."
Fortunately, I think it was just being the only ones who we could speak English with. Finding a place to stay was an issue which required opinion or debate so we ended up just sleeping in the car at a freeway rest area. We went to sleep without talking. Humor finally helped break the tension. While I was driving, Ben began condemning his good Levi's as they seemed to have shrunk and were too short. He pulled out his Swiss army knife and began to cut the hem and was going to fray them out. I volunteered my opinion that frayed out pants looked incredibly stupid. His response was something to the effect that he had acknowledged my communication but did not care what I thought and he proceeded to cut. Next morning while looking though the trunk, I discovered that my good Levi's were missing. We both had a good laugh.
We also picked up some company. We went to the airport in Frankfurt and picked up Joyce. I had been a little apprehensive to find that all of the Berkeley crew had not been able to make it and that just Joyce was coming. The first thing she asked when she got off the plane was if we had room for one more person. Michelle had tickets for the next day. She had just decided between Saturday and Monday, arranged for vacation, got a passport and airline tickets and was waiting for us to call and confirm.
We bummed around Frankfurt doing a little shopping and some wash. Our first time through the wash process we spent what we had come to call learning money. That is money that is spent over and above the required amount by foreigners who don't know how things work locally. $6.70 to wash two loads of clothes. We were the only ones in the place but managed to figure out how to get soap and coins for the washer and dryer. It wasn't till the second time back that we noticed other women take their cloths from the washer to another machine before putting them in the dryer. The middle machine turned out to be a spinner. No wonder the dryer had cost us a fortune and took forever.
Michelle and Joyce were so excited. The could hardly believe that they were in Europe. They had brought a small tent but even with four people and camping gear we had plenty of room in the Opel. We decided to drive down what was called the Romantic Road and headed south, stopping in Augsburg for the night and staying at a hostel with the car hid several blocks away. We walked the streets and looked at the central cathedral. It was a beautiful city. At one time it had been one of the wealthiest and most influential in Bavaria. There were still old buildings, large houses and cobble streets in the center of town.
We stopped at Rothenburg which proved to be a delightful treat. The city was very old and surrounded with a high wall. It was situated overlooking a small valley and the trees and countryside beyond the wall were spectacular. There were many old buildings and churches with horse carts plodding through the stone maze of streets. We found the Medieval Torture Instruments Museum and spent three hours away from the chilly breeze.
The museum was amazing. All descriptions were in English as well as German which made all the difference in the world. (There was not much gleaned from going to the Napoleon Museum in Italy only to find all descriptions in Italian and French.) The main items of interest were the torture instruments but there were many everyday things from the 1600-1700s which helped create a better picture of life in that era. The instruments were used as torture for breaking of laws at that time. There were metal tongue clamps for the gossipers, thumb screws, drawing and quartering tables, metal chastity girdles with locks and many other things. A listing of laws enforced dress codes, church attendance, and punishments for crimes. Smoking, drinking and garbage were outlawed. (I thought these were original to BYU.) There were also seals, land deeds, and many artifacts which were fascinating to read about. So many thoughts about the origin of our current behavioral standards.
We left Rothenburg with rhubarb pastries and headed south again towards Fussen. Near there was probably the most photographed and popular castle in the world, Neuschwanstein. It was set in the foothills of the Alps. Stone mountains with snowcapped peaks jutted up behind, while green meadows, clear lakes and pine trees spread out below it. It was breathtaking and seemed to border on the edge of reality and imagination. Although it was built more recently, it was after the medieval style. King Ludwig had pictures from medieval knight stories, murals of swans (his favorite animal) and a concert hall because of his love of music and Wagner. The view of the mountains, waterfalls, lakes and valley from the castle were all magnificent. It seemed a pity that the castle was only lived in for 172 days before the king was mysteriously found dead in one of the lakes. We toured the castle (only English would do now), hiked the waterfalls and took pictures.
We drove down the road a mile and stopped in front of a small country church to eat our bread and cheese and soak in the beautiful countryside. We drove through Fussen and on to Innsbruk. Ski resorts on all mountains but absolutely everything was closed because of some holiday so we returned to the autobahn for Italy.
ITALY
Word on the autobahn was that Italy was a dangerous place. We were a bit nervous but we had forgotten where we had come from. Buildings were not as well kept and the roads were not in as good a shape but it was still beautiful and felt safe. The Italian Alps were just as breathtaking. The castles on the hills became large villas and the churches became monasteries. A major change was that all of the roads were toll roads and we had to stop quite often and hand over lira.
As we descended in altitude, I noticed the rock terraces that were stacked up along the canyon walls of some roads. They looked as if at one time they had been a major source of food for the area. They were now abandoned and full of weeds and overgrowth. I imagined that because of the developments in agriculture and increased farming production, that this land had become too expensive to cultivate. I wondered about the property at the well at home and wondered if someday, if not already, new techniques would make it unfeasible to farm all of those rock piles. The problem is not a world food shortage, it is easy and fast distribution.
We stopped and solved our own food shortage in a small town at a pizzeria. There was sort of a counter up front and a dining room in the back. Absolutely no one spoke English and we found ourselves being escorted to the dining room and being the only ones there. We didn't know what to order so we had pizza. It was delicious and not too expensive. The cover charges and gratuities required were almost as much as the food, but it was still not expensive.
Michelle said that there was a mission at Padova and being that the next day was Sunday, we headed there to find a church. Though Padova was not a large town, it was full of windy, one way streets and we arrived after dark. Miraculously, we found a phone in sort of a club/cafe and figured out how to use it. It took tokens, not money. Fortunately, Michelle had enough Spanish language and Italian blood to figure out how to look for the church in the directory.
I was very relieved when the voice at the other end of the line answered my "Do you speak English?" query with a strong "yes". He gave us directions to the church and also directions to a reasonable hotel. Well it wasn't so reasonable ($25) but the girls wanted it and even said that they would pay for ours if we would stay. Besides it was Sunday and we needed a nice place for the Sabbath.
We found the church by driving in the general direction and then following the elders on their bikes. The branch was very nice and there were several fine, established families. I did not notice many young people or young families. One of the elders translated for us and it was a very good meeting with a strong spirit. It was fast Sunday and a nice tradition that they had was everyone got up in groups to bear their testimonies. Entire families, friends, and husbands and wives. I particularly thought the husband/wife effect was nice.
All of the members were so friendly and many spoke to us in English. The Elders were shocked as they had never heard any of them speak English, even to a new missionary who could not speak any Italian. Apparently, the missionary success had declined in the past few years and there was now no mission there. One fellow who talked reminded me of a friend of ours at Berkeley, Tom McArthur. He had the same mannerisms and Michelle and I discussed the likeness.
A family, the Coles, invited us for dinner. The husband was American and had been there several years earlier on a mission. He had married a native, and was now back working. One of the things which he did was to research Italian family history for people in the US. They apologized for not having enough food but there was no shortage. We were filled and it was all so good. We found firsthand how Italians show honor and appreciation through food. We visited for a while, played with their two little boys and looked at their garden. They were happy to visit with Americans but we could tell they were very proud to be part of Italy and the Church.
We drove on towards Venice and found a little campground in a town a few miles out. We set up tents in our Sunday clothes so we would have a place to change. We had the girls tent and the boys tent. Found another pizzeria and explored authentic calzone. It was excellent.
Next morning, we converted more cash. The banks required us to sign a blizzard of forms and stand in lengthy lines. No 12 second wait like Germany. We bought a supply of bread, cheese and meat and turned toward Venice.
Absolutely amazing. The major question of the day was, why would anyone in their right mind build a city out in the water? This was not just off shore a few feet, we are talking miles. The entire city, and city it was with old stone buildings several stories high, was surrounded by water and had water streets.
We boarded the main boat for a tour of the grand canal to San Marcos square. More crowded than most of the pictures indicate but still a work of art. We walked the square and visited the cathedral. Pigeons and tourists everywhere. The rain thinned out the tourists and we stayed even though it was cold and chilly. Ben and I had rain gear and we finally talked the girls into buying these raincoats that looked like garbage bags. They were difficult to convince because the coats were so stylish.
Ben had been so proud of a real wool coat that he had bought in Nepal. As it got wet in the rain, we noticed that his hands were turning black. When he took the coat off, he discovered that all of the dye was running and his clothes were all black. The water also shrunk it. "Its a nice gift for Frank now." he said.
We decided to go back to the car on foot and followed a maze in what we thought was the general direction of the bridge back. We browsed shops of lace, blown glass (the two main exports of Venice), clothes and the marvelous looking food (maybe because it was cold and we were hungary). We finally found a little cafe, way off the beaten path and had lasagna and antipasta. It was delicious. Joyce had been taking a gourmet cooking class and so she had us try all of the sauces.
The walks were narrow and the maze of waterways was similar to streets. There was a main large canal, smaller side canals and then very small inlets that would only be wide enough for one gondola, gondolas being narrow black boats with ornamental points at each end. The buildings, though old, were of grand architecture and it was easy to tell that there had been a great mass of wealth gathered there at one time. After being lost for a while, we finally found an arrow that was pointing the direction back towards the land side of the city.
Late afternoon, we started for Florence and hoped for warmer and better weather. The traffic in Florence was as bad as Bangkok or Manila but Ben had to drive in it. He did a great job. Somewhere along the way, after a comment about one or the other of us driving, we asked the girls to give us an unbiased honest opinion. Michelle emphatically declined to comment. Joyce said that to be completely honest, we both scared her to death. Ben was erratic and I sped up too fast before passing. It wasn't the answer either one of us were looking.
We found the hostel. It was an old villa up on a hill and out from town a ways. We had to drive to it and reasoned that if anyone questioned the car and the fact that we were budget travelers, we would tell them that it was much cheaper than a Eurail Pass which it was. The villa was neat. There were large halls with domed, painted ceilings. Each wing had been converted into boys and girls, dorm type rooms. We all ate in a big dining hall and pigged out on pasta. I really like the old custom of having an apartment in the city and a villa in the country. We were only going to stay one night but ended up staying two.
We spent part of the morning doing the essentials, shopping at the open market. Michelle and Joyce had set budgets that they needed to spend. Joyce refused to go home with any extra money left over. Ben added to his coat collection with the latest in the green, baggy flight jacket attire. I gave him a hard time about buying it but later tried to talk him out of it.
Essentials out of the way, it was time to take in the local art. Home to Michael Angelo's greatest, we spent most of the day looking at his stuff. Overwhelmingly impressive. Before leaving home I had talked to Uncle Russ and he had gone to his library and pulled a copy of Irving Stone's "The Agony and the Ecstacy". We had read it throughout Korea and the Philippines.
This of course brought fantastic life to all of his works of art that we were able to see. In Florence we wandered around the Duomo, through the Plaza del Signora, and through the halls and courtyards of the Medici Palace. We marveled at the unfinished Slaves and stared at the David from every angle. Overwhelmingly impressive what one individual can do that has the ability to last for centuries. We decided that he just did everything bigger and better. In Rome we found the horned Moses in a cathedral. We looked at the Pieta behind glass in Saint Peters and stared at the ceiling and walls in the Sistine Chapel. The dome of Saint Peters was also designed by Michael Angelo.
We looked for some souvenirs to take home but by the time we decided what to buy, the banks had closed and we were out of money. It started to rain and as we headed back towards the car we spotted our friend who we had been conversing about, Tom McArthur. He and his sister were walking through an open market and he was sure surprised. He had just finished his first year at MBA school at BYU and was on vacation. He said MBA was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life which gave me a lot to look forward to.
We found food at one of the few open shops, stayed another night in the magnificent Villa with canoe bunk beds and then headed for Rome. The weather was much warmer and not as wet. We checked out a camp site but it was so far from the city. We had determined that it was probably not safe to drive in Rome but had some time so we ventured in and miraculously found a parking place near Vatican City.
Saint Peters was gargantuous. The largest religious structure in the world. Not so cold as others we had visited and I felt a certain spirit there. Very short on rest rooms though and Ben was in pain. He said he just did what the Romans did - we spotted a church official watering one of the pillars to the square. We wandered towards the center of the old city, walking past the Pantheon, the Forum and finally to the Coliseum. We got there just as the sun was going down and it cast shadows across the inner maze of the large circular structure. We pondered at the gladiators and Christian killings that occurred there.
Back towards the car and we stopped for an overdue dinner of pasta in a little out of the way cafe. It was carbonara which was noodles with egg and bacon. Very tasty. We had found a hostel earlier at the Olympic Village and stayed there. It was more like a dorm.
Next morning, the rain had caught up with us and so we went indoors to the Vatican Museum. We could have stayed there for days. We only took one of the tours and it lasted for hours. We looked at tapestries, paintings, old maps, porcelains, Raphaels, new art and more of Michael Angelo. How does a person get to the point of creating something like that? What inner talent must one possess and how much of a part does environment play?
Still partially raining, we went back to the Forum and wandered among the ruins. We pretty much had it to ourselves. We took pictures of ourselves among the statues and tried to theorize on what had happened there. We were short on history and all of the information was in Italian. Of course our adventures lead us back to were no one goes, but there was no one there to tell us not to. Imagination ran wild with the deep pits and mazes of passage ways.
We walked some of the city streets and when we determined that we were hungary enough, stopped for calzone. Not quite so tasty or quite so inexpensive as the last place. In all of our walking, we did not find the variety and selection of shopping items that we had found in Florence and it was difficult to find the right gifts to take home.
Next morning, we drove north to Piza. The tower really leans! Magnificent structure and a beautiful setting. There is a beautiful church as part of the complex. We climbed to the top and took pictures of Joyce and Michelle doing their favorite thing, shopping. The inner part of the tower was hollow but had been reinforced with metal and cable. A circular stairway went up inside the wall with outlets on each of the ledges or floors. One could get out and walk around the edge on every level and there was no railing to keep from falling. We got some macho shots of Ben in his Levis 501s and new jacket.
On north towards Milano. We were along the ocean, sometimes at sea level and sometimes way above. We approached Carrera and decided to stop. We had read so much about it as the source of Michael Angelo's marble and how he had gone to the quarries to pick out every piece. There were marble lumber yards throughout the town with pieces of marble stacked and inventoried like plywood.
We decided to drive up the mountains for a better look. We followed some signs and ascended up a narrow twisting road which finally ended at a marble mine. There were open pit areas and other areas from which marble was taken from underground. There was a little souvenir shop which was open and a lady who was very pleasant but not conversant in English.
We went nuts. We all bought everyone in our families presents. They were all so reasonably priced compared to what we had seen in other places. We bought vases, rolling pins, jewelry boxes, lockets, statues, etc. What a sensible thing to buy for gifts, especially when it all has to be carried on an airplane, or worse than that, from Carerra to the plane! Our little car was sitting pretty low to the ground by the time we left the pit.
We stayed in Milano that night, arriving after dark and had a hard time finding the hostel. The whole town seemed rather eerie. Maybe it was the industrial smoke or the seemingly cold feeling we got at traffic lights. Even the hostel was eerie. A fellow in our room wanted to tell us about his problems in broken English but we tried to be kind and avoid him. I got the feeling his problems related to his abnormal sexual preference. We were glad to get out of there.
We drove around a beautiful lake with spectacular villas and beautiful little towns and then started into the Alps. We stopped at a small town just before the border to blow all that was left of our Italian lira. We found an open market with some deals on Italian silk ties and some nice leather wallets. It was more native and not so touristy. Michelle really had to use her language ability though to help us with prices.
We bought more rolls and cheese. It was getting to the point where we had to be pretty hungry before it tasted as good as it first did when we came from India. Up into the mountains a ways we stopped at the Swiss border. The border station was so orderly and all of the guards were dressed in such smart uniforms and had the best looking jackets. We noticed an immediate increase in the quality of the roads and a return to higher order.
SWITZERLAND
Definite contrast in scenery once the border was passed. Back into the mountains and they were spectacular. There were waterfalls, jutting rocks, glaciers, forests, green meadows and of course, the rugged Alps. We climbed and climbed up into the snow mass, reached the summit and then descended down, down into the beautiful Swiss village of Berg. White buildings, quaint shops and beautiful flowers. It was somewhat of a tourist town but took a while to find someone who spoke English enough to direct us to a bank to cash some money.
We wanted to go to Zermatt but the only way appeared to be to put your car on a train and go through the tunnels in the mountains and that looked expensive. Zermatt we heard, offered the most spectacular view in all of Europe of the Alps. We opted for the drive around approach and headed in the opposite direction. The scenery was beautiful as we drove through the alpine valleys with beautiful wooden chalets, small churches and scattered villages.
The road suddenly ended, even though we could see it in the distance climbing towards a pass. We tried several gravel roads which turned out to be dead ends. When totally confused, we ask directions. We found a friendly gentleman outside the grocery store in the small village who told us that the road was still closed for the winter. If we would hurry, we could catch the next train through the mountain.
We grabbed some bread and cheese and drove to the station where a couple of other cars were waiting in line. As the train came, we drove up a little ramp and right onto a flat car. We were handed a flyer in English that explained the procedure which turned out to be quite simple. In looking at the map, we noticed that there were many "car tunnels" in the country. We just sat in the car and relaxed as we ate and rode the several miles in the dark. Another method for our modes of transportation theme.
The train deposited us at Andermott, a big skiing resort. There was still some snow but not many skiers. I was amazed at the number of lifts that stretched up the steep mountains out of the little valley. The descent from Andermott was down through a beautiful canyon and through a labyrinth of tunnels. Something of interest on the tunnels, many of them very long, was that there were many more lights at each end than in the middle. We guessed that it was so that the transition going from light to dark or vice versa was not abrupt, causing temporary blindness.
As we descended, the snow gave way to green and more civilization and eventually we were in flat lands again. Because of the cloud cover, Zermatt was ruled out and we turned to Bern. I slept for a while but woke just in time to see the Temple off in the distance. It was a good thing I spotted it because even though it was in sight, it took us an hour to find roads to it. We never would have found it from the city.
The temple was located out of Bern in a small town and was in a beautiful setting. We found the times for church an then went into the city to find the hostel. The city of Bern was beautiful. Buildings were of beautiful architecture and the major portion of the old city was on a hill at a bend in the river. We spent the evening walking the streets and eating at a nice but reasonable restaurant. One thing we didn't find in the old part of the city was any fast food restaurants. We found later that they had been restricted from the traditional parts of town.
We soon experienced some of what Switzerland is famous for, Swiss chocolate. Everything chocolate was delicious, even the frosties at Wendy's tasted better. There were creamy, nut filled, fruit filled and many grades of chocolate.
The hostel was a little different than the norm. The beds were all together like one big community bed. It looked like the model had been taken from Dachau. After the experience in Milano, we asked if there were any single beds. The only option was a single room for all four of us with individual mats on the floor. It may not have looked like the best situation but we all felt a lot safer.
Next morning we got up early and prepared for church. As the girls were getting ready in their bathroom there was another girl dressing nicer than the regular traveler. While we were sitting in Sunday School, she walked in. It turned out that she was from Australia and was from Kent's mission. Her name was Marianne and she was taking a tour of Europe as the cap on her history education. Kent had conducted at her baptism. We had a good time talking to her and she spent most of the day with us. She worked for the Church Public Relations office in Australia. She was so happy to met other LDS people her age and she had such conviction and appreciation for the Church.
Church was very nice and we went to the English speaking ward. Many of the members were American and were there working in the temple. We met a Gordon Schweppe who was a missionary contemporary of Uncle Owen in Holland. Also a brother Gallup who had taught Ag in Grace in 1948-50. Priesthood was on adultery and I was amazed at all the stories that these old high priests came up with.
Back in the hostel, I listened to Ben read his journal. It was interesting to see how we had both experienced the same things and yet had such different perspectives. His writing and descriptions were fascinating. We sat and talked and read from the beginning of the trip to the present. So far we had had a great time.
With cloudy weather, we moved on, hoping to come back later and see the Alps. We motored over hills and dales, through forests which finally gave way to jutting stone wall mountains that lasted till the French border. Before crossing, we stopped in a small town and liquidated our Swiss francs into chocolate.
FRANCE
The border guard just waved us through. The girls were so upset at not getting their passports stamped. They were also upset at having gone all through Italy and never getting pinched. Crossing the border and we were into another country with a new personality. There were flatlands and low rolling hills in all directions with were farmed into a bright yellow crop. Ben called it dyers woad and said that Reao would have a job for life over here. It turned out to be something called rape which was used for oil and livestock feed.
Our first experience with the French came when we walked into a bank and tried to cash money. No one would speak to us. Michelle asked in French if any one spoke English, they just said no. We went down the street to a bank which was a little more friendly but still smarting from the open rejection. Fortunately, that was the worst experience we had with the so called arrogant French.
We drove through Dejon and on to Auxerre where decided to spend the night. Another beautiful city on a river with an old cathedral and some interesting architecture. It was cloudy but we decided to chance camping at a site that was near a fair. Michelle was afraid of the cold so she slept in the car. After all the chocolate, I didn't sleep well and woke at midnight to find an inch of water in the tent. The tarp that we had put underneath was in a hole and the runoff from both tents had gone right to my sleeping bag. We moved the tent but by morning were all completely soaked. The girls still had to curl their hair. They had brought a butane curling iron.
On to Paris in the rain. I was driving and it was a good challenge navigating the one-way narrow streets with the mass of traffic and rain puddles. We found a hotel that had been recommended by M&M but it was full. The hotel referred us to a booking office which found a room for us. A little on the expensive side for us but we took it to keep from drowning. Michelle was not excited and said the room was scary. Ben and I gave it a 6 on the 1 to 10 scale of horrid hostel to heavenly hotel scale. After we moved in it was nicer and the girls affectionately referred to it as "our starving artists hotel room". It had tall windows looking down into the alley and an extra weird sort of toilet looking thing, the function of we could not agree on.
Everything was wet so we created a partition with the tent, tarp and sleeping bags. Next item of business (the most important for the girls) was to find a laundry. Wet clothes weigh more and we piled up an $18 bill to get clean clothes but, "It was worth it."
Secure for the night, we donned rain gear and walked across the river to the Louvre only to find it closed. Walked to Notre Dame cathedral. The phrase, "you've seen one, you've seen em all" was starting to pop up more frequently now. This one was a little different because of the architecture and Ben's deep affection for Quasi Motto. The architecture on one side in the back consisted of flying buttresses. I pointed out how the arching braces had been incorporated as part of the building to support the heavy walls. Later, when we were referring to them, Ben said, "I never saw any flying duchesses."
Paris has an atmosphere all its own. There were many small art galleries, fashion boutiques, and lots of small restaurants. The feeling was one of freedom of expression in every form. One of the first buildings we saw was the Pompedue Center. It was a conglomeration of colored pipes and exposed air ducts weaving in and out of the structural beams. The fountains consisted of colorful figures and objects spinning and spurting water in all directions. The locals dress was as free form as everything else.
We wandered around trying to decided on a place to eat. I thought 2 or 3 trying to decide was bad. We eventually decided on Italian food. Back to Hotel Pizza (it was above a pizza place) we sat and listened to the rain, ate chocolate and entertained the girls with farm, school, and Grandpa Clegg stories.
Because it was still raining the next day, we declared it Louvre Day and spent the entire day wandering among the art, tombs, artifacts, treasures, paintings and possibly pornographic pictures. We discussed at length again the definition of art with no conclusion. Again, amazed at the creations of some men and their talent. Was also impressed with the strawberry tarts, definitely divine creations.
Because of Louvre Day, the next day was declared Everything Else. We awoke to an absolutely clear blue sky and it made for high spirits. We had a little trouble getting the car out of an underground parking lot. We drove up the circular, one way exit only to find that we hadn't enough francs to get out. We scattered in all directions looking for places to change money but came back empty handed as it was a holiday (like the day before had been). Joyce finally got the hotel to advance some cash on her Visa and we were set free.
We found a pastry shop with a giant strawberry tart and all ate it in the park before starting for the Chartres Cathedral. The Chartreuse Chapel we called it. This was one of Joyce's requests and as we had not let her ride the gondola in Venice, we gave in to this one. It was located about 50 miles south of Paris and was not one of the "seen one, seen em all" variety. One spire was from one architectural period and the other was from another. There was also some beautiful stained glass. We toured the cathedral then sat in the sun and discussed why the French would build two models of Citron so disparately apart in style. The small one had rounded fenders and big lights and the large one was sleek and aerodynamic.
Drove back to the Palace of Versailles and of course it was closed because of holiday. We did wander the immediate grounds. I say immediate because they stretched off in all directions as far as the eye could see. A marvel of symmetry, landscaping, lakes, fountains, gardens and forests. I was amazed at how someone could think up such a thing, let alone the toil and life that it took to build it. There were videos for sale of the inside. Maybe someday we'll get one of those to see the interior.
Back to Paris and the Eiffel Tower. Impressed at the magnitude of a structure, especially one built before the turn of the century. The elevator to the top was closed so Ben and I laid on our backs and watched people go up and down the lower levels. Massive crowds everywhere and many people from the countries that we had been to. We walked across the river and around the grounds. During the day we drove through the Arch of the Triumph and all hung our heads out the car to take pictures.
Back at the hotel, Ben and I crashed while the girls went out shopping. When they came back, they were so thrilled with their purchases. They had new dresses, shirts, tee shirts, trinkets and presents for the Birthday Boy, Ben. It was his birthday the next day and they had found a pair of sun glasses like the ones he had lost and they got him a beautiful blue sweater. While Michelle modeled her dress and we complimented her, she sophisticatedly said she had bought it on her spring shopping trip to the continent.
Ben's birthday was the next day so we decided to celebrate and go for real French food. We found a restaurant and fortunately the maitrede spoke English so we all knew what we were ordering, except Ben. He said crepe and the waiter thought he said tripe. He repeated it back but Ben didn't catch the difference with the accent. Ben said that he could taste the meal for the next three days and every time we passed a stockyard.
I had boiled beef with boiled vegetables. It sounded bland but was absolutely delicious. Joyce said she had learned from her cooking class that there was an entire science to the boiling of French food. This trip had proved to be an education in more ways than one.
We went back to the hotel and told more stories. They loved them and we loved telling them. Ben said he overheard them saying that they were shocked to find out all of these things after they had known us for so long.
Next morning we loaded up chocolate, marble, clothes, gifts, etc. and took the subway to the East Train Station. Joyce and Michelle's two weeks were about up and they were going to take a train back to Germany for their flight home. The time we had spent together had been a blast. As we sat on the subway I thought of the words from one of the Eurythmics songs about the sounds of an underground train. We had bought several tapes throughout the trip and had listened to them over and over; Zoolok, Alan Parsons, Sting, Annie Lennix and others.
It was still a holiday and the station was not very crowded so we sat and drank Oije (an orange drink) and ate imaginary croissants while talking of the fun we had experienced. They said that it had been a superbly wonderful time. I hope so because we had really had a good time also. We walked them to the train and found their car and then waved goodbye as the train pulled out into the early morning mist.
Ben and I returned to the hotel and had our breakfast of french bread, jam and chocolate. We loaded the car and turned towards the northwest coast. I was more impressed with France than I had expected. Paris was really quite nice. I didn't notice much of a rough element or much poverty. The country seemed to be self contained with their own automobiles, trains, airplanes and electronics. Very progressive and more cultured than Americans.
The farmland was beautiful as we cruised along at the normal 140 kilometers per hour. At Calias we had to face the hard reality that it was just too expensive to cross the channel with the car. It would have been $140 round trip. We watched as the big hovercraft sat on the huge concrete landing. The engines started, blowing underneath and propellers on top and the giant innertube with decks waddled down the landing and onto the water. Mist and spray in all directions, then a surge in the engines and it was off across the channel.
We hashed over some plans and decided that we were tired of seeing things which were not in English. If we had more history in our heads it would have helped. Pretty sights and museums were getting old unless there was some meaningful background so we decided that we would go on to England. There was one more must though and that was Holland.
HOLLAND
We drove north along the Normandy coast checking our road guide and looking for signs or memorials from the invasion of WWII. Couldn't find too much except for some concrete bunkers in some areas. I wondered why there wouldn't be anything more to mark the spot but Ben said that the French were probably not too proud of the fact that they had got their fannies kicked and foreigners had to come to save them.
We drove through Belgium only stopping to get gas. The country was low and rolling and we crossed some large waterways and skirted Antwerp. The gas we paid for in four currencies (dollar, French franc, Belgium franc, and marks). The lady didn't understand English but she was understanding of our situation and we had a pleasant laugh. Ben said that on his birthday he had visited three countries: France, Belgium, and The Netherlands.
We drove through Rotterdam and the Hague to Kirjkick and found a campground on the coast with a secluded spot not far from the beach. The tent was pitched and there was still some light left before days end. I went for a walk along the ocean. To get there I had to walk over a large berm that looked as if it could have been man made to hold the sea back. The air was cold and the beach was deserted. I found a rock jetty that stretched way out into the ocean. It was only a foot or two above the water and at high tide looked as if it was covered as there was moss on many of the rocks. I walked out to the end, directly towards the setting sun. It was an awesome sensation. Standing there, I felt as if I were completely surrounded by water and I could feel the cold power of the ocean. As I looked directly ahead, the sun was a flaming globe of yellow and orange, descending into the mist with fingers of red reflections on the water stringing back towards me. I felt as if I was standing on the edge of the earth, one with it and looking into eternity. I stood there for some time, pondering the feeling.
As the sun disappeared, it turned off cold so I headed back to find Ben. We celebrated his 23rd birthday with a big bag of french fries from the snack shop. "Good on you", said the man at the gate.
Next morning, we headed north along the main highway closest to the ocean. There was the dike to our right and windmills to our left. We passed miles of tulips, greenhouses, and gardens as we drove from Harlem to Alkama. Homes and farms were immaculately landscaped and all beautifully flowered.
Bicycles everywhere! The natives were cycle fanatics. There are cycle roads on each side of the highway and they are just as crowded as the auto roads. Very well kept up and in excellent condition. Everyone is on bicycles; old men, women in dresses, families, and even the police.
We stopped for our usual ritual of bread, milk and cheese but this time were really in for a pleasant surprise. All were incredibly delicious. The shop that we stopped at had shelves and shelves of big round cheeses of many varieties. We picked a couple of choices and had them cut. Simply delectable. The bread was very good and the milk even tasted better.
We drove back to Amsterdam to spend the night at a hostel. There were two and the first one was full. It didn't seem like that good of area so we hoped the other one was better. Wrong! It had vacancies and there was a reason. We parked the car, unloaded our stuff and started walking to the center of town. Within the space of four blocks we were visually assaulted with every vice know to man. We were offered drugs (all kinds) four times. There was graphic pornography everywhere. The people generally looked sad and some were just sick. We later learned that one hostel was in the red light district and the other was in a gay area.
I remembered all that I had heard about how Amsterdam was a melting pot for the free thinkers of the world. There were people from every nationality. In the central plaza at National Monument there were street musicians of various sorts. The loudest looked like some hippie reject, Viet Nam, drug burnouts that were attempting to play some of the acid rock of the late 60's. They were obviously American and I was inwardly embarrassed. A couple of groups of Africans or Jamaicans got into a street fight and the police came to break it up. They stopped the physical fighting but couldn't or were restrained from doing much else.
The city itself is quite beautiful. It is built with circular, concentric canals which have shops and businesses on each side. One could go by land or by boat to most anywhere in the city. The markets were full of beautiful crafts, pottery, Delft porcelain, and many other things. We bought little wooden shoes for the Webb children. Their parents will love that on the concrete floors.
The night at the hostel was another one which we vowed not to repeat. I stayed up reading and then tried to sleep. I kept feeling this sick smell feeling that I used to get through certain parts of San Francisco. All night these obviously non-straight guys came in making noises. I slept with on ear on my pillow, my finger in the other, and one eye open.
Bright and early we were ready to get out of there. We had parked the car across the canal and during the night someone had tried to break in but failed. On a hunch I had taken all our belongings but the chocolate and the marble and locked them in a locker at the hostel with our own lock.
We drove to church which would have been a welcome sight had not several groups spray painted graffiti on the exterior. It was an interesting paradox that a country that was supposed to be so liberal, was so intolerant of religion. While in priesthood meeting, they asked for volunteers to guard the church over the coming holiday because that was the time that so much destruction was done. We noticed posters all over the country that advertised a reward to kill the Pope who would soon be visiting the Netherlands. All of this, and yet the country was so beautiful.
Church was very nice with the same questions, doctrine and spirit. I couldn't help sense in a way that the feeling was not one of growth and progression, but one of just hanging on. A young fellow and his wife seemed to be the center of the ward. He translated the meetings and then taught the investigator class which we attended with the missionaries. There were no investigators so he taught in English of the Holland Christmas traditions and the legend of Swart de Pete and Sinter Claus.
When we left, the sun was shining and we thought we would drive to the country and find a campground. Wrong again. There were plenty of campgrounds but few vacancies. Sunday was national recreation day! There were thousands of cyclers, parties, soccer and all types of sports. Work wasn't outlawed either. People were putting up hay and working in the fields.
We didn't find any place that struck our fancy so kept driving. I wondered what the Lord must think of all this breaking of the Sabbath or even if He cared. As we neared the German border, a sudden storm came up which was a duzey. There was lightning, thunder, hail and rain and all of it came so fast that people everywhere were scrambling for cover. It was almost like a scene from a disaster movie (Zoolok music added to the effect) and I wondered if it might be an answer to my silent question. One particular scene of an older woman in a white dress with hat blowing off on a bicycle is etched in my mind as she scrambled for control of her bike in the blowing wind.
Back in Germany, things seemed a little more quiet. We broke our vow and stayed at another hostel in Wisbaden. This one was much nicer and we had our own room with a nice view over the green fields. We had just enough marks to get the room and buy two pops. Ben was in much better spirits. He said that we were a little like Old Lady, one of the horses. Going in one direction was pretty good but once headed for home, there was no stopping her. I think that you get addicted to the sky. It had been so long since we were on an airplane that we were just aching to go again.
Back in Frankfurt I called Steve and he ditched work to come and take us around. We drove out to a cloister for monks that was a quiet retreat. We sat in the abandoned halls and talked. It was uncanny how we had so much in common, especially the pain and frustration of not being able to find someone to marry that felt right.
He took us to the new German Temple sight and then to eat wienerschnitzel. All my life I had thought that wienerschnitzel was hot dogs and it is really breaded veal or pork. We talked into the night and felt as if we had known each other for years. Next morning he took off work to see us to the airport. We boarded with promises to write.
ENGLAND
England's Heathro was a huge airport but all of the signs were in English so directions were easy. We stuffed all of the marble, chocolate and everything else we could in Ben`s North Face bag and put it in a locker there then set off to ride "The Tube", London`s subway. Somewhere along the way we had called home and talked to Steve. He said, "Take the tube to Russell Square, get off and you will see a sign right in front of you for the Karate Club where you can stay. It is a very nice place and reasonable."
We got to Russell Square but walked in circles for 45 minutes trying to find the place. No one had heard of it. About a half a mile a way we found a building with a Karate sign on it and after disturbing the occupant learned that we could stay there but we couldn't come in till 10 pm, had to leave by 9 am, and weren't supposed to come in groups that would draw attention. He was softened up long enough to let us leave our bags. Couldn't beat the price though at $1 per night.
We found something to eat, walked for a while and then came back. The place to stay matched the cost. We slept downstairs on the gym floor, using wrestling mats for cushion. After 10, there were several others that came quietly and made beds on the floor.
Next morning we checked into a small hotel near the subway station. We walked down to the Thames and along the river. Went to Piccadilly Circus and saw several of the play houses. We crossed the river and wandered some of the back streets on the south side. Parts were sort of scary but gave a good feeling for some scene from Oliver. We walked across London Bridge and watched punk rockers and tourists standing in front of St. Paul's cathedral.
Spent a good portion of the day in the London Museum. Fascinating history. Live footage and voices from the WWII air raids. At night everything near the hotel was closed so we found a movie house nearby. The movie was called "A Matter of Heart". I thought it might be science fiction but turned out to be something almost as intriguing. It was a documentary of Carl Jung, famous psychoanalyst, his life and theories.
There were some fascinating theories he had developed for not having had the gospel. He believed that man had a Godstamp (image of God) and that true joy came from searching for that character. Following conscience and blocking evil gave power and responsibility. He had some interesting insights on the idea of psychological binding of man and wife and the cleaving of two to one. His opinion was that Christianity was still the answer but that people need a way around mental blocks to so called religion, a religion which now is not working for the world. He also had some interesting thoughts of community which added new insight to the advantages of polygamy.
Burned out on walking and the city, we decided to find a car. Budget had a good deal for three days so we got a little Ford Escort with right hand drive. The lady at the counter was very emphatic that we should take the insurance. In Germany we had chanced it but here with everyone on the wrong side of the road, we decided in favor. It was really strange trying to develop a conscious feel about having part of the car on your left hand side. I took first turn at the wheel and maneuvered out of London carefully, only grabbing for the gearshift with the right hand twice. I think the blinkers and gears should remain on the same hands as a left hand drive. We drove to the airport and picked up our bag of belongings (marble and all) and then turned for the country.
The countryside was beautiful. There were lots of sheep, green and lush pastures and little villages. Southeast of London was something we had spotted in our book that looked very interesting, Stonehenge. Driving through the open countryside with scattered groves of trees, we crested a hill to see it in the distance. It was quite magnificent. There were no other rocks anywhere in the area. From the things we read, the closest rocks of that size were hundreds of miles away.
The giant rocks were standing vertically and laying horizontally in a circular pattern that contrasted the rolling meadows which spread in all directions. As we neared, we noticed that the area was fenced with wicked looking barbed wire. We understood that the place was a park and that entrance had to be controlled to limit rock concerts and mobs of radicals.
Of course the question was, "Who ruined them?" and next, "How did they get here?" The second question has lots of speculation but some theory dates the rocks at 10-12000 B.C.. The circle is such that some theory suggests it is tied to astronomical observations with rocks and points laid out to mark the summer solstice and eclipses. We walked around the outside and through the center taking pictures.
Next we turned north to drive up through the countryside on a small road. Again, it was beautiful. We passed an old country house which was the equivalent of an English castle. It was nestled in giant trees and surrounded with a foggy mist. We stopped and bought some corned beef and made sandwiches for lunch.
On through the countryside crossing narrow canals with long riverboats that looked as if they couldn't pass each other because of the narrow way. We arrived in Oxford and parked near downtown thinking we would walk around campus. Little did we realize that campus was scattered all over town. Each college was originally connected with a church building and the town had grown up around them since 1200 A.D..
The colleges were immaculately kept. It was the first university that I had seen which rivaled B.Y.U. for upkeep. The grass and gardens were immaculate and the old buildings were beautifully preserved and maintained. Within a couple of blocks were parks and open fields and all was very peaceful. It seemed like a fantastic atmosphere for learning.
The college students were interesting. We watched some playing croquet, soccer and noticed others dressed in tails heading for socials. Many of them looked young, clean cut and intelligent. We noticed some anti-American posters and lots of sentiment regarding the wish for the super powers to fight their battles on their own soil, not in Europe.
We found a little cottage with two beds, a sink, T.V., arm chairs, a heater, and a garden all for 9 quid per person and that included an English breakfast of eggs and sausage (none of this bologna sandwich for breakfast stuff). We settled in, writing journals and cranked up the heater as the mist and wind had become quite chilly.
Driving north again next morning we pulled up to a beautiful gate with manicured grounds in the distance. In checking the sign, we noted that it did not open for another forty minutes so we decided to drive on. Little did we realize that it was Blenheim Palace, one of the most famous in the world! Churchill had been born there and there was some magnificent things to see. We only found out after coming home and looking through one of the old National Geographics.
On to Stratford on Avon, birthplace of Shakespeare. It was a beautiful town and much of it restored for tourists. There were Shakespeare plays going on several times during the day. There were the long canal boats floating through the waterways. We took one of the tours through the city on top of an open double decker bus. We visited old tudor farmhouses with thatched roofs. The guides were very informative as to the lifestyle back then.
We learned interesting tidbits about how the pattern of straw on the roof was the thatchers signature. Canopies were invented to keep bugs and animals from dropping things from thatched roofs into bed with the occupants. The greater number of vertical logs in a tudor house signified greater wealth because of the expense of wood. We visited Shakespeare's birthplace, the home of Anne Hathaway (his wife) and the farm of Mary Arden (his mother) where we stood in a dove cot (giant hotel for pigeons).
North again towards Coventry. We followed signs for an auto museum but found nothing in the pouring rain. In a final effort we followed the signs for "Motorway" thinking it to be a race track that might be near the museum and before we knew it we were on the freeway headed to Lankashire.
Economically, this area didn't look as prosperous. There were more signs of industrialization and old factories. More mountains, rocks and lots of stone fences. We had another conversation on Ben's driving which didn't end in a fight. I think his theory was that driving on the right side of the road was uncomfortable but the more distance he covered, the less uncomfortable it would be. Therefore, the faster he drove, the better driver he would become in a shorter period of time.
We drove all over Bernly trying to find a bed and breakfast but with no luck. The people were very friendly but nothing was available. We drove towards Preston and found a little place off the roadside which turned out to be delightful. A lady and her daughter lived there and it was so homey. We had a good visit and next morning she fixed us a royal English breakfast with all the proper utensils.
At Lancaster we walked around the castle, wandered through the cemetery, and watched the sun trace patterns though the clouds on the surrounding fields. We wandered through the market place noticing the things that were sold in this part of the world. We found a phone office with all sorts of phone books. We looked to see if there were any Cleggs and found them all over England and Scotland. It was interesting looking at the countryside and wondering what our ancient ancestors had done there and what they were like.
On to Blackpool. It was a fairly large city on the shores of the North Sea. The wind was blowing steadily and there was sand blowing so hard across the beach that it looked like waves of water. The shore front was a huge amusement park for miles but most of it was closed down because of the weather and we were almost alone. I looked at the surf pounding with fierce swells and muddy water and wondered how much courage it must have taken to board an old wooden ship with other poor saints and set sail for some unknown, distant land.
We spent most of the rest of the day cruising back towards London. We passed through Cambridge and found it to be as beautiful as Oxford. On the beltway around metro London we got stuck in a horrific traffic jam. It was a bank holiday and weekend besides. Steve Saunders had said that the London Temple was under the flight path of Gatwick airport so we drove there hoping to see it. We asked several people but no one knew where it might be. We went to the top of the highest structure and looked in all directions but still couldn't see it. Oh well, maybe next time. It was getting late so we turned towards central London.
We drove through some dark areas in south London and we thought we were going in circles but eventually managed to cross the river and end up back near the car drop off. Sunday we visited the Hyde Park Ward and witnessed the forming of a singles ward. We didn't talk to many natives but visited with the BYU group who had just returned from a trip to the continent. We probably didn't look to mormonordinary with beards and sweaters rather than clean cut and ties.
Our last night was rather melancholy. I felt mixed emotions. I was anxious to get home and share so many of our experiences with family and friends but also was sad that this adventure was coming to a close. We had seen so much but realized that there was much more to see. Several people had said that we were wasting our ticket by traveling so fast. We had not seen Spain, Scandinavia, Africa, China, Russia or even been below the equator for that matter.
Next morning we repacked everything into carryable loads, walked to the elevator descending from Russell Square down into the ground, and bought passes on the tube to Heathrow. At the airport, we divided up our last British pounds and bought some of that airport tourist trash, things like British socks.
The flight was direct, 9 hours from London to Los Angles. The only highlights were a brief glimpse of the mountains and snow of Greenland and the ice pack. As we descended into LA it was darkening into night. The familiar smell of California ocean air brought a rush of emotion and a feeling that we were safely back in the United States. We had seen many interesting and beautiful places but there is a definite sense of something like a mix of freedom, possibility, and opportunity in American air.
As we walked through the airport, I thought of Steve Saunders' telling us to throw down our bags and yell to everyone that we had just completed a trip around the world. It would have been a nice scene in a movie but we just quietly went through customs.
The most painful and bitter purchase of the trip was the bus ticket from LA airport to Disneyland. It was near $19 per person which seemed exorbitant. That was equivalent to the most we paid for a hotel room anywhere in the world. We got to the hotel and called Uncle Philip's house to see if anyone was home. Perry came and picked us up but didn't hardly recognize us. As we waited we sat there on the grass by the roadside feeling much more at peace with the world. A certain confidence came in knowing that some great unknown was a little less unknown than it used to be.
We spent a day washing and getting the El Camino out of storage. It had been sitting in the back of the office with the cycle loaded for four months and was sitting pretty low to the ground. We called the ranch and started in that direction. It felt good to be in a familiar automobile and headed for home.
As we came up through the green valleys of northern Utah and southern Idaho, everything was in its spring-green beauty. The hills looked as if they were covered with lawns of green and the fields were all coming up with new growth. The air was crisp and clear and the colors of everything were spectacular. We had seen some beautiful places and had thought many times that a certain spot had to be one of the most beautiful on earth. But as we drove over the rolling road towards Bench, it was obvious that this was the most spectacularly beautiful of any we had seen.