Around the World in a 60s Daze. China - The Last Chapter

May 2, 2002.



Dear Family and Friends,

As my great friend Craig Ferguson might say, "You could write books on what I don't know about China". Having spent four weeks skipping around China like Svend Robinson on a Trade Mission, I am hardly qualified to comment on this vast, culturally rich, diverse and ancient land. Nonetheless, I am going to do so, but somehow doing so reminds me of the sign Gerry Ennis used to have in his office at Shell, "To yeers ago I culdn't even spel enjineer, now I are one."

Four weeks ago China existed for me largely as the Mysterious East, exotic, inscrutable, teeming. And of course, as characterised by American press, it was Red China, the Evil Empire, repository of all things Communist, and anti-Christ. Well, today I do have a slightly more informed and realistic view of China and its people. This will be a long message to tell you about it. I hope you will accept my apology for being so wordy, but I never use four words when a thousand will do.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter VIII - Laos & More

April 5, 2002

Dear Family and Friends,

My last chronicle ended as Carole and I arrived in Laos. I can only imagine your anxiety waiting to receive the next instalment, so here it is. Laos has the smallest population of any country in Indo China (5.4 million), and only Cambodia is smaller in area than Laos; but Laos manages to border on Myanmar, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Thailand. The Mekong River called the Nam Khong here, and so important everywhere in Indo China, runs the full length of the country. All those countries just mentioned have been involved in the rule of Laos over the past millennium. A good portion of the Ho Chi Minh trail, leading from North to South Vietnam, was in Eastern Laos, so Laos became a major target for American bombers during the Vietnam/American War. Laos has the unhappy distinction of being the most bombed country in the history of the world. Only in 1975, shortly after the fall of Saigon, did the Pathet Lao secure Vientienne and create the Lao People's Democratic Republic, a regime closely connected with Vietnam.

Carole and I flew in to Vientienne, the capital, for a short visit of this landlocked country. Vientienne is certainly the smallest national capital I have ever been in, and after the frenzy of all the other cities I have visited, flying in to Vientienne is like arriving in Powell River and stepping into a time warp. I don't know how many people live there, but it can't be much more than 100,000. From the first moment at the airport, we knew we were dealing with different people than previously. There was no rush of taxi drivers trying to get us to go with them, rather a couple of them just let us know they were there, should we ever decide to go downtown. No pressure, no bargaining. Traffic is very light and it is easy to walk around the whole downtown, which borders along the Mekong River.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter VII - The Nam

March 24, 2002.



Dear Family and Friends,

Swarms of motorcycles, straw woven conical hats, very narrow buildings, rice paddies so green they seem to glow, fresh baguettes, Hill Peoples in traditional dress, remnants from decades of war, all will be my enduring memory of Vietnam. These letters may be getting boring to many of you, but I am going to persist anyway, and hope there is something of interest for you.

Lorraine, Carole and I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) nearly three weeks ago and we have had a whirlwind tour of the country, south to north. With a population of 80 million, Vietnam is the 9th most populous country in the world, and, or course, it dominated world news for most of the sixties, seventies, and even eighties. Today these determined, hardworking people have put that struggle behind them and are now looking towards a prosperous future. They seem to be a country of entrepreneurs and there is really little evidence of Communism save large billboards urging workers on. Vietnam is full of tourists, Australians, French, German, Dutch, Scandinavians, and lots of Canadians. In fact, we met two pairs of Newfoundlanders in one hotel. I can't recall ever meeting someone from Newfoundland on any of my previous trips.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter VI - Bangkok & Cambodia

March 27, 2002


Dear Family and Friends,

It is almost as big of a culture shock arriving in Bangkok as it is arriving in India. This is my first visit to Thailand after years of hearing of it and all its enticements. The soaring skyscrapers, the ultra modern Light Rail Transit, the obvious wealth in Bangkok, all are in stark contrast to what I have seen. I suspect that the advantage Thailand enjoys over other South East Asian countries is the fact that it was never colonized by any European power. I am glad I made the stop in Sri Lanka; otherwise I'm sure I would have been totally overwhelmed.

Strangely though, as busy and interesting as it is, I do not find myself taking photos at every turn as I did in India and Sri Lanka, and my first days in Bangkok were spent getting my Vietnamese visa and booking the flights in and out of Cambodia and Viet Nam. I checked into the Maxim Inn (a recommendation of John McClurg's) on Suhkumvit Road between Soi 7 and Soi 9. It is modest, but quite comfortable and inexpensive. I checked out the hotel recommended by Glenn and Lorraine, the Royal Benja, but they travel on a much larger budget than I do, so I took a pass.

Carole (Holmes) arrived as scheduled at 11:59PM on February 19th; it is great to see someone from home. We talked until about 3:00AM, as I caught up somewhat on news from Canada, and Carole got more details than I'm sure she wanted to hear about India and Sri Lanka. (Now that Carole has arrived I will have to actually write the truth and stop making this stuff up. Just kidding. I'm still going to make it up.)

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter V - the Teardrop Isle

February 19, 2002.


Dear family and friends,

The teardrop, tropical island of Sri Lanka, is splashed down in the Indian Ocean just miles from India. In fact, the two countries are almost joined by a series of small islands called Adam's bridge, and it is not hard to imagine a bridge being built one day. But Sri Lanka is light years away in most respects. But before I get to Sri Lanka, a few post script notes on India.

My last letter was sent from Varkala as I was preparing to depart from Trivandrum, the largest city near the southern tip of India. The train from Varkala to Trivandrum is an easy trip of just over one hour. From Trivandrum I wanted to go to Kanyakumeri for my last day in India as it is the very southern tip where the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean, and the Arabian Sea all meet. A government workers strike on that day caused all tours to be cancelled, so I decided to go on my own on regular buses, and I'm glad I went. It was quite exciting actually, to be at that point, dipping my toe simultaneously into all three famous waters.

It was an interesting trip back to Trivandrum as several buses were also cancelled and I ended up having to take an alternate route back, but managed it with the help of yet one more of the locals.

My mind has just been crammed with the sights, sounds, and smells of India, and I leave with some considerable mixed feelings. On the one hand, I cannot overlook the poverty and squalor. India is being buried under a pile of plastic; bags and bottles are discarded everywhere. I have been told that the average cow in India dies with 20 pounds of plastic in its gut.

Deb Kindness, our Intrepid tour leader, told me of one of her clients, an American lady, who, while travelling on a train, was invited to share a lunch with an Indian family. After finishing her lunch, she gathered up her plastic wrapping etc. and was looking for a receptacle to put them in, when her Indian companion took them from her, and along with her own trash, promptly threw them out of the train window. The American lady was quite shocked, and explained to her new friend that, had she done that in America, she would be subjected to a substantial fine. The Indian lady said, "You should be moving to India, Madam".

On the other hand, I will never forget the Indian sunrises and sunsets, the incredible timeless beauty of a farmer plowing his field with a team of bullocks while women in saris of every colour tend the rice paddies. Nor will I forget the people. But for now, goodbye India.

My flight from Trivandrum to Sri Lanka took less than one hour, and I arrived in the very modern, clean airport at Colombo. I cleared customs and immigration and entered the main terminal anxious to meet Sherine and Kushan Dharmarwardena, Supipi's Aunt and Uncle. Kushan had e-mailed me Sherine would be holding up a sign with my name on it, and sure enough, there was Sherine, also anxiously, trying to pick me out in the crowd. Sherine and Kushan had been worried they were going to be late in getting to the airport due to the traffic so they had phoned ahead to a friend who works there, and asked her to try and meet me in case they were late. Their friend asked Sherine what I looked like, and Sherine, never having met me, said, "He looks like Santa Clause". My actual age had apparently not been forwarded from India. In any event, they were on time and it was great to meet them after our many e-mail exchanges.

Around The World In a 60s Daze. Chapter IV - India, Oh India...

February 3, 2002.


Dear Family and Friends,

India, Oh India!

Where do I begin? This has been such an incredible adventure.

But to start. English is very commonly used in India, but that has been no great advantage to me. (I am the first person to acknowledge how unsuccessful I am at languages.) Despite their best efforts, I find it very difficult to understand what people are saying. It has much to do with the intonation and cadence (it's almost sing song), but the different usage of words, as well as their order, all make it seem like they are speaking a foreign language with a few English words thrown in.

As an example of how English is used, one night I was sitting up late in the lobby reading and having a tea. The man serving me hovered around a bit anxiously and then asked, "I am knowing when you will be leaving sir?" In other words, "Please tell me when you are going to bed". I am often told "same, same" when shopping or bargaining. Which would be okay, except that is often followed by "but different". Several times when I have asked the price of something, I am told, "Oh, it is very less, sir." Cheap, they mean.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter III - Delhi and Rajistan

Dear Family and Friends,

It is not possible to come to India from a Western Country and not be shocked. The sights, smells, sounds, chaos, squalor, filth, traffic, animals, people, and beggars are simply overwhelming.

I arrived in Bombay/Mumbai a week ago Thursday night and got a pre-paid taxi to Kara's classmate Ranju's home in Malabar Hill at about 3:00AM. Malabar Hill is apparently the most expensive real estate in the world and it is certainly the best area of Bombay. On the trip from the airport I could see that the sidewalks were filled with people curled up sleeping. It was very gracious of Ranju and his wife Vinita to take me in as it certainly made my entry into India much easier.

I spent the next two days wandering around the highlights of Bombay, Colaba, India Gate, Chowpatty Beach, and Haji Ali Mosque (more later of this). Getting around is quite easy in that there are taxis everywhere, and they are so cheap. A 15 minute ride seldom costs more than 13 Rupees, about 40 cents. There are so many of these that it makes the London Cab seem rare in contrast. All cabs are a black Fiat with yellow roof. All, and I mean all, are dented and scratched, they belch black smoke (unlike here in Delhi where all cabs and auto rickshaws are being converted to natural gas).

The drivers are either maniacs or kamikaze wannabees, or both. I had one driver who will always be burnished in my brain. I got into his cab and as I was trying to give him directions, he slammed the car into gear, crunched into the traffic, shouting, god knows what, at me. We careened through the streets, and when stopped, he would rap on the windows of cars beside us trying to find out where my destination was, shouting at me much of the time. He was a bit vulpine in appearance, with piercing black eyes, a bit of madman look about him. He would loll behind the wheel when stopped, then drive with such total abandon and indifference, you couldn't help but admire him. He also had excellent honking technique. All cabbies honk, and most of them honk most of the time. This guy honked a lot too, mostly at random, but after a particularly hair raising encounter, he would give a kind of double toot that I took to be the equivalent of giving the finger.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter II - Zermatt

Dear Family and Friends:


When I first came to Zermatt in 1975 it was a rather small city with about 2,000 permanent residents. It was, even then, a prime destination for skiers and hikers but it remained the quintessential alpine village, high in the Alps at the base of the Matterhorn. The streets were then full of horse drawn carriages and only a few small electric cars were in use (no regular vehicles are allowed in the city). All the hotels, houses and chalets had flower boxes out and the whole place had a relaxed feel.

I've been back to Zermatt a number of times since 1975, but this time I am very much aware of how much it has changed. The flower boxes are still here (with nothing in them now, of course), but the horse drawn carriages are mostly gone and the remaining horses wear diapers, horse shit in the streets apparently offending the sensitivities of modern mountaineers. The narrow streets are filled with hordes of the even narrower electric cars. There are even new electric buses that whiz the tourists, who used to walk, to the ski lifts and back.

Still, the clip clop of the remaining horses with their harness bells jingling, the crunch of the snow when you walk, the twinkle of the Christmas lights in the City and across the valley as viewed from Bonny and Hermann's deck, and the sound of Hermann practising his Hacktbrett (Swiss mountain dulcimer) in the basement, all make Zermatt a captivating place and I've had a wonderful stay.