Tom’s Travels

Hi All,
Well, I’m still in Hanoi and unemployed.Maybe the stories about schools desperately seeking teachers was a myth. Or maybe that was just in Thailand. Anyway I have sent resumes to several schools and am waiting to hear from them.
Took a city tour the other day and visited, among other things, the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh. Big marble block building. Very austere with strict rules regarding deportment. No cameras, no laughing, no talking, no hands in pockets. We went thru screening before going in and moved in single file. Beautifully uniformed guards moved us along. No stopping, keep moving. The big boy was laid out in a glass coffin. Looked like a wax dummy.
The Presidential Palace was next door but Ho chose to live simply in a two room house on stilts. Will send pictures when I can.
Visited Temple of Literature which is an ancient school but looks like a pagoda.
Monday, went to the Perfume Pagoda. It’s a two hour ride from Hanoi. That in itself is an adventure. There are many, many, many more motorbikes than cars in Vietnam and they crowd the streets and roads. Cars just weave in and out honking all the way. But we killed no one. After the car ride, there is a one hour boat trip. four passengers and one FEMALE rower in a metal flat-bottomed john boat. And it began to rain. We bought flimsy ponchos, very flimsy. Everything in my backpack got wet. Was able to protect my camera. They we went up a mountain. I chose to ride the cable car. The Perfume Pagoda is in a cave. It’s the most sacred pagoda in Vietnam. Interesting but not spectcular. Mostly just a huge cave with the Budda and decorations inside. Pictures to follow.
Enjoyng myself and seeing the sights while I can. Will let you know my progress as I know it. Anxious to find a job. but wanting to see what there is to see.
More later,
Love to all,

Hi Everyone,

Sorry I haven’t written lately. I’ve been very busy and the compuyer at home has not been working. Had it looked at twice and it seems to be OK now.

I’m teaching a full load (24 hours per week) and it is very hectic. For those of you who are not teachers, let me explain that the 24 hours represents only the time that you are in class and for which I am paid. I’m getting $16 per hour here which is a handsome salary as the average in come in the country is less than $700 per year. But when I also include the time spent planning my lessons, the per hour rate drops considerably.

On Monday and Wednesday, I teach from 2:30 to 4:30 and from 7:30 to 9:30. Tuesday, Thursday and saturday, it’s 9:00 to 11:00 and 4:30 to 7:00. Saturday it’s 9:00 to 11:00 and 1:30 to 4:00. So the schedule is such that I teach six days a week and it is spaced out so that there is not quite enough time to do anything in between classes. Luckily, all the classes are at the school so I don’t have to travel all over town. These classes all end in January and I will get a new schedule. Hopefully a better one that will at least allow me to get out of town on weekends.

The weather has cooled down into the seventies. Feels great to me but the Vietnamese are complaining about the heat. Monday, every one of my students was wearing a jacket. Usually I catch a cab to work because if I walk, I get sweaty and feel clammy all day. But Monday was so nice I considered walking. For the Vietnamese, winter had set in!

Novenber 20th was National Teacher’s Day in Vietnam. It’s a big thing. Teachers are very well respected here much like Doctors used to be in the US. Teachers at the school got large bouquets of flowers, scarves, ties, appointment books, wall decorations, etc. It was quite impressive. My class of adults who work for Vietnam Customs, invited me to a restaurant in a village outside of town. The specialty of the village is snake but they assured me that the main course was pork. It was delightful. The restaurant was beautiful, a converted old house with lots of beautifully carved and polished wood. Very ornate. The meal lasted a couple of hours with different courses which seemed to appear at random without being requested. It was served family style and we ate with chopsticks (I’m getting pretty good). We drnk wine which was more like a strong after dinner liquor. They kept making toasts and i kept drinking. They presented flowers and we took pictures. After the meal, we moved to an outside balcony and had tea and fruit. I didn’t see anyone pay the bill but it was taken care of and then one of the students announced, “Mr. Tom, we go home now.” It was very nice and I appreciated it. As we left the restaurant, I noticed several large jars (probably 5 to 10 gallon jars) with dead snakes soaking in some sort of liquid. The snake on top was  a cobra and its nech was flared and its mouth was open. This, I was told, is snake wine and the snakes soak for a year before the wine is finally prepared and served. I will try it before I leave. I will also try cat and dog meat, which my students assure me is delicious.

Went to a pavilion which was set up during APEC to display the history and culture of Vietnam. I went to see a concert of traditional music but unfortunately, it turned out to be modern music from many Asian countries. I was wearing sorts and carrying groceries I had just bought. As I was sitting there, a lady came up and asked if I would move down to the front where there were tables set up for VIPs. I declined because I wasn’t sure i wanted to stay and I wasn’t dressed properly. A short time later, a woman wih a TV crew came up and asked if I would answer two questions on TV. Again, I declined. It seems that the vietnames are very happy to have westerners here and want to show them on TV etc. People still say hello as I walk down the street.

OK, must run for now. More later.

Love to all,

Tom

Here’s a copy of my group email update from a couple weeks ago.
CK
Hello Prague People,

Here’s a quick rundown on the Vietnam experience so
far. Sorry it’s only one of those lame group emails,
but it seems to be the best way for me to stay in
touch with people, and I am thinking about all of you!

Days here: 7
Hours awake from San Francisco to here: 36
Days that mysteriously disappeared during flight: 1
Population of Hanoi: 5,000,000
Motorbikes in Hanoi: 4,000,000
Motorbikes on road at any given time: 3,000,000 (the
others are all parked on the sidewalks, forcing you to
walk out in the streets)
Helmets seen in Hanoi so far: 1
Number of times the driver honked the horn from the
airport to the center: 500 (10 honks per minute x 50
minutes).
Near-miss, potential accidents witnessed: astronomical
Accidents witnessed: 0
Temples/pagodas visited: 8, all very beautiful and
peaceful, with thousands more throughout the country
Dead communist corpses visited: 1 (apparently visiting
Uncle Ho’s mausoleum is automatically added to every
city tour, whether requested or not).
Friendly people: almost everyone
Hard-sell, aggressive street vendors: 50%, but they
smile, and eventually leave us alone. For some reason
they take Tom’s no much more firmly than mine.
Vietnamese words learned so far: 5 (please, thank you,
good morning, beer, icecream)
New (to me) fruit types eaten: 4
Types of rain that can fall in any given day: 5 (see
Forrest Gump for an excellent description of this).
People wearing conical hats: everywhere, not just in
movies or posters.
Number of times forced to wear conical hat for cliche
tourist photo by won’t-take-no-for-answer-street
vendor: 1
Beautiful women in traditional dress: dozens. I plan
to get one of these beautiful long dress/slacks
outfits made.
Number of job offers so far: 0. Apparently things
move slower in that regard than we were expecting. But
we are hoping for something with a university, and/or
on the coast, and we have ruled out HCMCity or daycare
jobs completely, which does narrow the field.

I hope the above doesn’t come off as a negative
impression–it certainly isn’t meant to be. It’s our
first time in Asia and the sights and sounds are very
foreign, but we are enjoying the new experience and
trying to make the most of this time as tourists while
we can.

Running low on battery power in laptop and brain, so
can’t think of other things to add right now.

I’ll write again once we get settled somewhere. In
the meantime, I hope all is well with all of you.

Take care and keep in touch,
Colleen

Hi Everyone,

Well, I’m finally getting around to e-mailing everyone to let you know what is going on with me. For those of you who don’t know, I’m in Vietnam. I’ve been in Hanoi for the last two weeks seeking employment as an English teacher. So far, I’ve had two offers, both in Hanoi, but haven’t made any commitments as yet. Would prefer working in a smaller town on the coast. Quieter, maybe cooler with a breeze, and near a beach.

Hanoi is a big city with 5 million people, 4 million motorbikes, and three helmets. The streets are incredibly crowded, many more motorbikes and bikes than cars. There are traffic lights only at the major intersections and only the cars seem to pay attention to them. In most cases, motorbikes converge on the intersection from four directions at once. It’s like schools of fish or flights of birds coming together, somehow they enter this melting pot and come out the other side unscathed. It’s a miracle. So far I have not seen a single accident.

The secret to crossing the street is to wait til there are no cars coming, step out, walk at a constant pace, and don’t look. If you don’t panic, and walk slowly, they will judge where youi are going to be when they get to you and they will try very hard not to hit you, but they will pass very close to you. It’s like walking in the ocean and having a school of fish swim by. Somehow they move around you and never touch, it’s just not as frightening.

There is constant noise in the city. Constant honking of horns on cars or motorbikes. Most of the time it’s to let the person in front of you know that you want to pass or , at least, to let them know that you are passing them and they should not move into you lane (and, believe me, I use the word lane very lightly). I’ve seen cases in which our bus would pass another bus by pulling out into an oncoming stream of motorbikes. It was the responsibility of the motorbike to pull over to the edge of the road or take on a bus head-on.  Sometimes the busses just drive merrily down the center of the road, with motorbikes taking what was left of the road. But everyone is constantly honking their horn. I really think in some cases they just like the sound of their horns. And there are a variety of sounds, not just the one note blaring we have in the States.

Hanoi is a big, crowded, dirty city. The weather sucks. I haven’t seen the sun since I’ve been here. The people are nice and friendly. Most want to sell you something, of course, but they don’t harass you. Women with a board over their shoulder and two hanging baskets want to sell you fruit or bread. Men with three wheelers want to give you a ride round town. Men with motorbikes want to take you somewhere. Just say no and keep moving.

I’ve been living in the old quarter of town which the guide book says is the most densely populated area in all of Asia. I can believe it. Small shops line the streets and they are packed with merchandise, I mean, absolutely packed! The people live in the streets, literally. In the old quarter, the side walks are so filled with parked motorbikes that there is usually no room to walk. You walk in the street and ignore all the honking and pray no one hits you. It’s worse at mealtimes. The shopowners cook their food in little pots they set up on the sidewalk then gather around and either sit on little stools about six inches high or just hunker down. (Everyone here can hunker down, squat, sit on your heels, for those not from the South). At mealtime, the street is the only avenue open. Periodically, between the shops, there is a narrow (3 foot) passageway leading to the back.  I’m told that as many as 25 people live back there and share one bathroom. No wonder they live on the street.

In addition to looking for employment, I’ve been on three tours. The first was a tour of the city of Hanoi. First stop was the mausoleum of THE Man. Ho Chi Minh. A large cold, marble building with nothing inside but HIM. We stood in a long line to enter but it moved fairly quickly. No cameras, no hats on the head, no improper dress, no laughter, no talking, no hands in pockets, no stopping. There were beautifully uniformed guards who herded us through quickly. If you hesitated, they touched your arm to move you along. We were in the the room with HIM for about a minute making a big “U” around the body. He looked very yellow, well, even more than normal. Could have been plastic as far as I could tell. In and out. No time to make a quick inspection.

Next door was the Presidential Palace. Ho refused to live there but preferred a simple two room house on the grounds. We walked around the balcony and looked inside. Spartan to say the least.

We went to the Temple of Literature. Actually, it’s a Buddhist Temple where students went to study. It was dedicated to Confuscius (sp?). I’ll have to read up on this to understand the realtionship. Maybe more about this later.

The rest of the day was devoted to going to different pagodas. I was “pagoda”ed out by the end of the tour. One pagoda was in a lake in the center of town. The story goes that the emperor won a great battle and gave his sword to a Golden Turtle who lived in the lake. If, in the future, Vietnam is pressed by it’s enemies, the Turtle will return the sword to save the nation. In light of the history of the nation, either the turtle has fallen asleep on the job or the legend rings hollow.

The second tour was a day trip to the Perfume Pagoda. We rode on the bus for an hour and a half through flat land where there were endless rice fields being harvested by (mostly) women bent over cutting the rice at the ground. Back-breaking work. Much like picking cotton. All the land is ovened by the State but it is leased to families for a period of 15 years. The rice is often spread across the road. Our bus drove over many piles of rice. This is the manner they use to separate the rice from the shaft.

We arrived at the Perfume River just as it began to mist. We bought flimsy ponchos that were offered. They were about as sturdy as the plastic bag you get to carry groceries home from the store. We were inundated with women trying to sell us things. They tried to “give” us bracelets and said ,”My name is Moon. Remember me when you come back.”  I figured if you took a “free” bracelet, you wer somehow obligated to buy something from them when you came back. We got in metal, flat-bottomed john boats, four tourist and one female rower to each, and set off. It began to rain hard. We all got soaked, even the thinks in my backpack got wet. Luckily, I was able to keep my camera dry. The rain was wet but warm. The wind slowed our progress and it took over an hour to get up river. We got off at the base of a mountain. Here we all bought sturdy ponchos and threw the others away. We were given the choice of walking, make that climbing, the trail up to the Perfume Pagoda or taking a gondola. I chose the gondola. Even the climb up to the gondola was slippery and treacherous due to the rain.

The Perfume Pagoda is actually an enormous cave. Did I mention enormous? There is a huge stalagmite right in the middle of the entrance which is called the tongue of the dragon. There is a big iron bell at the entrance which I hit three times with a large mallet which was supposed to bring me luck. It hasn’t worked so far. The cave is like any other cave, with stalagtites and stalagmites, just larger than most. In the back there is the necessary paraphernalia which make it a pagoda. The buddha with the thousand eyes and thousand arms, lots of gold statues, etc. There seems to always be three layers of icons with the most sacred in the back on the highest tier. I’ll have to read more about the religion to understand.

Due to the rain, there were very few tourists that day. We had lunch in a large quonset hut on long banquet style tables. The meal was family style. Lots of food. Not always sure what it was but it was good and filling. Lots of rice always. And spring rolls. I have been quite pleased with the food. Think I am beginning to lose some weight.

Hello Everyone,
At one of the dozens of travel agency/cafes in Hanoi, I saw this ad ” 4WD Jeep Trip — An exciting way to get off the bitten track and explore the diverse culture and immense beauty of Vietnam’s Northern mountains.” Excellent level of English! Except for that one word, which immediately struck me as a great title for my next installment. You’ll soon see why.
The Bitten Track: A week after we arrived, while waiting for our CVs to make their way through the cyber bureaucracy, we went off on a 3 day trip to Ha Long Bay, due east of Hanoi, on the coast (Gulf of Tonkin). We saw beautiful scenery, hundreds of rocky islands (there over two thousand of these in the vast bay, formed by a giant dragon’s tail), caves and pagodas. Had great meals, a moonlit overnight stay on a boat that looks like a Chinese Junk, swimming, and very exhausting hiking.
And then we agreed to go to Monkey Island. Guess what they have there? The guide said “You can relax on the (beautiful) beach, or go just up the trail 50 meters and maybe you’ll see some of the monkeys that live on the island.” Why, oh why, didn’t we relax on the beach? The 50 meter trail involved 20 meters down the beach and then 30 straight up a rocky cliff. We stayed at the bottom, shaking our heads, watching the 25-year-old French members of our group work their way up and then start shouting excitedly that there were monkeys all over the place up there. So, we started our rock climbing — getting each foothold was just challenging enough to be slow going, but easy enough to think “I can go a bit higher.” Near the top, I could see the monkeys scampering all around near our French friends and several other tourists already up there. I heard someone say, “Let’s get out of here. Stay away from that crazy one there.” Tom was ahead of me and hadn’t seen any monkeys yet. He grabbed a hold of a branch on the lone tree there. That’s when the largest “crazy” monkey jumped out of the tree and latched his teeth into Tom’s arm, hanging there for seconds. He was one angry monkey.
Fortunately, he retreated back into his tree, and everyone was able to make their way down. A local man dozing at the bottom of the trail leapt up when he saw Tom’s arm and took him immediately to the sea, washing the dripping wound with salt water. A few minutes later, the guide at the park station gave treated it with antiseptic and gauze. By this time, I was reading in Lonely Planet about rabies. Long story shorter now — the chance of the monkey having it was probably slim, but possible. If you have had a rabies vaccination and then are bitten by a rabid animal, then you just wash it well. If you haven’t had the vaccine, and don’t follow the complicated post-exposure treatment plan, you get rabies. If you get rabies, you die. Period. Tom hadn’t had a rabies vaccination, and despite the guide saying “we don’t think anyone has died from these monkeys before,” we decided to opt for the complicted treatment. We got back to the “main” island, Cat Ba, and went to the local doc. He knew about tetanus and wound treatment, but nothing about rabies. He thoroughly cleaned and sutured (8 stitches) the wound and passed out some Hungarian antibiotics. That’s another long story in itself. A 60-something doctor in Northern Vietnam–what sort of wounds was he suturing 35 years ago? Moving on, it took 24 hours to get back to Hanoi, but we had read that we had a few days window, and we stuck with the tour program to get back, instead of trying some other method of return which would’ve taken almost as long anyway.
Went to the Int’l clinic in Hanoi, where the head doc is a Dutch man who speaks fluent Dutch, English, French and German (maybe more, but that’s all we’ve witnessed so far). But he’d only been here for 3 weeks, and was much more familiar with crocodile bites from his recent stint in Africa. He consulted the young Vietnamese doctor, and all agreed that rabies treatment needed to be followed. (Was the monkey crazy? Or was it protecting a younger monkey that was also in the tree?) For the rabies potential, Tom immediately got 4 shots of immuno globulin and started the post-exposure 5 shots of rabies over a month. The cost for this is staggering, but had they not had it there, we would’ve been on the plane to Bangkok to get it. For the wound, which now had a red area all around it and was the more obvious problem, they reopened the stitches (not a good idea to stitch an animal bite — it locks in all sorts of bad things). They cleaned the hell out of it, and started a stronger antibiotic. We went back 4 days in a row for daily inspection, disinfection, and dressing, then got the all-clear and a kit to do all this on our own daily. The photos of the wound went to their Med Staff meeting for education (and entertainment?) purposes.
Over two weeks later, the wound is finally looking much better. We go back to the clinic once per week for the next shot and to chat with all our new friends there. I no longer see the angry monkey every time I close my eyes. We haven’t figured out the exact species, but I could pick that bugger out of a line-up if I saw him again. The moral of the story, in case you haven’t already figured it out, is “get your rabies shot before you go anywhere!” FYI, I’m following my own advice and have started a normal rabies vaccine program.
In between trips to the clinic, we were following up on jobs and doing more traveling while avoiding the typhoon that struck central Vietnam. We have signed on for jobs in Hanoi, to start at the end of the month, and are following on housing leads by the minute while living in a small hotel room. We took a fabulous trip to Hoi An, a UNESCO town in the south, and we might head to a beach resort in the south, if we can get everything arranged on housing soon. Not wanting to overwhelm with an even longer email, details on all of these things will come in the next installment of our Hanoi Herald (credit to Adam for this catchy title). There will be stories of the childrens’ mid-autumn festival, excellent meals, the wonderful reviving power of iced Vietnamese coffee on a hot afternoon, and the glories of having tailor-made clothes to flatter/hide figure flaws. For anyone even remotely thinking of coming to visit, these last 2 alone are worth the cost of the airline ticket. Stay tuned . . .
Hope you are all healthy and happy,
Colleen

Hello All,

Well, here comes another long travelogue so hit delete if you wish.

I went to Hoi An a few weks ago for a long weekend. I fly to Da Nang and caught a taxi to Hoi An, about forty minutes to the south. Da Nang caught the brunt of Typhoon Xangzane and there was a lot of evidence of damage. Tree limbs were piled up on the edge of the streets, roofs were blown off and some smaller, ill constructed houses were completely destroyed.

The ride to Hoi An paralled the Pacific. I caught glimpses of the water but couldn’t see the beaches. Passed what is know as China Beach made famous by an America TV series about the war. Stayed at the Grassland Hotel which is about two kilometers from the center of town. The receptionists wore beautiful traditional dresses, long silk pants with a full-lenghth dress split of the side to just above the waist. The dresses button up to the neck and always have long sleeves, but are soft and flowing and beautiful. The Vietnamese value white skin and do everything they can to avoid the sun. On motorbikes, the women wear masks, hats and long gloves. I first though the masks were to avoid polution but now I think they are as much to avoit getting burned.

Decided to go into town and the hotel provided a bike for me to ride. Said to park it anywhere and lock it. That was an experience. Though Hoi An is a small town there was still plenty of motorbike traffic and plenty of honking of horns. I just tried to ignore it and go on.

Hoi An was also hit badly by the typhoon. I huge tree was down in one of the small streets and one road was still completely filled with mud which they were trying to sweep up.The town is filled with small shops and is famous for making custom-made clothes quickly and cheaply. I had a pair of shorts made. Picked the material, wanted pockets on the sides, knee length ( haven’t seen anyone here in tennis shorts). They measured me at 11 in the morning and I came back at 6 for a fitting and picked up the final product the next day. They weren’t as inexpensive as I had thought but I didn’t try to barter. The quality is excellent, they fit perfectly and they should last forever.

Evidently, I was there during the full oon of the eighth lunar month (whenever that is). They were having the Mid-Autumn Festival all over the country. Supposedly, the parents have been busy all fall harvesting the crops and now it is time do devote time to the children. The kids of all ages work in teams. They have Dragon costumes. One carries the large head of the dragon with the body streaming behind and the others wear pants that match the body of the dragon, so it looks like a dragon with lots of legs. One of the group beats rhythmically and LOUDLY on a large drum they push around town. While the dragon goes thru lots of gyrations, another member of the group collects money or candy (they prefer money). They were all over town and the drumming lasted til about midnight.

Bought a city tour ticket whcih got me into several tourist sites, an old house, a pagoda, the assembly hall, and a traditional music concert. Very interesting but I have no idea about the icons and symbols. In the pagodas, there are usually several Buddhas and each is presented daily with fresh fruit and water and flowers and candy and incense. But I don’t know why. (The edibles are given to the poor or children after they have spent the day with Buddha. Nothing is wasted). I’ll have to learn more about the religion and what the symbols mean. It would make the visit more interesting. At the end of the traditional music concert the sang the last song to the tune of “Aulde Lang Syne” and clapped rhythmically. This seemed very strange to me but I have been to three musical events now and each ended this way.

In the old house, they had a “Confucious Cup”, the only one in Vietnam. If you fill the cup 80% full, you can drink the tea. BUT, if you go beynd 80%, ALL the contents drain out. It was a lesson in moderation from the great man. If you try to take too much, you can lose everything.

Took a tour to My Son ( pronounced ME sun). It is an ancient Hindu religious center built by the Cham people much like Angkor Wat in Cambodia but much smaller. The area was built from the 8th to the 15th centuries but then abandonned and rediscovered by th French in 1898. During the “American War”, as they refer to it here, the My Son was used as a staging area by the Viet Cong so we bombed the hell out of it destroying about 70% of the monuments. The buildings are of red brick and rather small. The entrance is always facing north and there are no dorrs or windows to the south as it is associated with death. Restoration is taking place slowly. Again I was at a loss as to the many carvings and symbols and thus lost some of the appreciation of the place. But still, it was very interesting.

The bus trip was interesting as well. The bus drives in the center of the road usually to allow the motorbikes to pass on both sides. Of course, we had to weave around the occasional cow crossing the road. We also had to avoid the crops, corn and sweet potatoes (is this a presidential moment?) which occupied about three of four feet on each side of the road. The crops were drying and would be fed to the animals.

Halfway back, we transferred to a boat where they fed us and took us to a traditional woodcarving village. They were doing incredible three-dimensional carvings. Incredible stuff that would take a long time but one mistake and you start over.

Back in town, they were still beating on the drums.

I didn’t get to the beach which was only a few kilometers away. I wasn’t there long enough and there was too much to do. But I did see blue sky and sunshine, something I haven’t see in HaNoi as yet.

So ends another tale in the Travels of Tom Terrific. More to come or you can just ignore them.

Love to all,

Tom

Hello All,

Well, here comes another long travelogue so hit delete if you wish.

I went to Hoi An a few weks ago for a long weekend. I fly to Da Nang and caught a taxi to Hoi An, about forty minutes to the south. Da Nang caught the brunt of Typhoon Xangzane and there was a lot of evidence of damage. Tree limbs were piled up on the edge of the streets, roofs were blown off and some smaller, ill constructed houses were completely destroyed.

The ride to Hoi An paralled the Pacific. I caught glimpses of the water but couldn’t see the beaches. Passed what is know as China Beach made famous by an America TV series about the war. Stayed at the Grassland Hotel which is about two kilometers from the center of town. The receptionists wore beautiful traditional dresses, long silk pants with a full-lenghth dress split of the side to just above the waist. The dresses button up to the neck and always have long sleeves, but are soft and flowing and beautiful. The Vietnamese value white skin and do everything they can to avoid the sun. On motorbikes, the women wear masks, hats and long gloves. I first though the masks were to avoid polution but now I think they are as much to avoit getting burned.

Decided to go into town and the hotel provided a bike for me to ride. Said to park it anywhere and lock it. That was an experience. Though Hoi An is a small town there was still plenty of motorbike traffic and plenty of honking of horns. I just tried to ignore it and go on.

Hoi An was also hit badly by the typhoon. I huge tree was down in one of the small streets and one road was still completely filled with mud which they were trying to sweep up.The town is filled with small shops and is famous for making custom-made clothes quickly and cheaply. I had a pair of shorts made. Picked the material, wanted pockets on the sides, knee length ( haven’t seen anyone here in tennis shorts). They measured me at 11 in the morning and I came back at 6 for a fitting and picked up the final product the next day. They weren’t as inexpensive as I had thought but I didn’t try to barter. The quality is excellent, they fit perfectly and they should last forever.

Evidently, I was there during the full oon of the eighth lunar month (whenever that is). They were having the Mid-Autumn Festival all over the country. Supposedly, the parents have been busy all fall harvesting the crops and now it is time do devote time to the children. The kids of all ages work in teams. They have Dragon costumes. One carries the large head of the dragon with the body streaming behind and the others wear pants that match the body of the dragon, so it looks like a dragon with lots of legs. One of the group beats rhythmically and LOUDLY on a large drum they push around town. While the dragon goes thru lots of gyrations, another member of the group collects money or candy (they prefer money). They were all over town and the drumming lasted til about midnight.

Bought a city tour ticket whcih got me into several tourist sites, an old house, a pagoda, the assembly hall, and a traditional music concert. Very interesting but I have no idea about the icons and symbols. In the pagodas, there are usually several Buddhas and each is presented daily with fresh fruit and water and flowers and candy and incense. But I don’t know why. (The edibles are given to the poor or children after they have spent the day with Buddha. Nothing is wasted). I’ll have to learn more about the religion and what the symbols mean. It would make the visit more interesting. At the end of the traditional music concert the sang the last song to the tune of “Aulde Lang Syne” and clapped rhythmically. This seemed very strange to me but I have been to three musical events now and each ended this way.

In the old house, they had a “Confucious Cup”, the only one in Vietnam. If you fill the cup 80% full, you can drink the tea. BUT, if you go beynd 80%, ALL the contents drain out. It was a lesson in moderation from the great man. If you try to take too much, you can lose everything.

Took a tour to My Son ( pronounced ME sun). It is an ancient Hindu religious center built by the Cham people much like Angkor Wat in Cambodia but much smaller. The area was built from the 8th to the 15th centuries but then abandonned and rediscovered by th French in 1898. During the “American War”, as they refer to it here, the My Son was used as a staging area by the Viet Cong so we bombed the hell out of it destroying about 70% of the monuments. The buildings are of red brick and rather small. The entrance is always facing north and there are no dorrs or windows to the south as it is associated with death. Restoration is taking place slowly. Again I was at a loss as to the many carvings and symbols and thus lost some of the appreciation of the place. But still, it was very interesting.

The bus trip was interesting as well. The bus drives in the center of the road usually to allow the motorbikes to pass on both sides. Of course, we had to weave around the occasional cow crossing the road. We also had to avoid the crops, corn and sweet potatoes (is this a presidential moment?) which occupied about three of four feet on each side of the road. The crops were drying and would be fed to the animals.

Halfway back, we transferred to a boat where they fed us and took us to a traditional woodcarving village. They were doing incredible three-dimensional carvings. Incredible stuff that would take a long time but one mistake and you start over.

Back in town, they were still beating on the drums.

I didn’t get to the beach which was only a few kilometers away. I wasn’t there long enough and there was too much to do. But I did see blue sky and sunshine, something I haven’t see in HaNoi as yet.

So ends another tale in the Travels of Tom Terrific. More to come or you can just ignore them.

Love to all,

Tom

Hi Everyone,
Well, I have a job starting October 26th here in Hanoi. Teaching 19 and a half hours to start but may increase somewhat later. Two days after I committed to this one, got an e-mail from the school in Danang stating they were interested, paid a lot more money, but didn’t know when a job would actually be available. Such is life. C’est la vie. Maybe another time. Still doing touristy things.
So, here comes another of those long, rambling tales of what I’ve been doing. If you’re not interested, please hit the delete button now. If you don’t want to be bothered with them in the future, please let me know. I won’t be upset or offended. I know that sometimes long e-mails cause trouble with your computers. And maybe you’re just not interested in Vietnam. Feel free to say, don’t send any more.
Well, here goes. Went on a three day trip to HaLong Bay east of Hanoi. Started with a three hour bus ride to the coast. Midway we stopped for refreshments at at “tourist” stop where they were making embroidered pictures. Over 100 young people sat at tables sewing. One person made the picture from start to finish. They had a drawing or photograph which they sketched on the cloth stretched in front of them. Maybe a tiger, a street scene, a landscape, a woman on a bicycle in traditional costume. Then they selected the colored thread they wanted and began to sew. A 20×24 inch picture took 25 to 30 days to complete. Larger ones took longer. They were incredible. You had to get close to see that they were embroidered rather than painted. It is a special art. I noticed that many of the people working there were crippled in some way. Maybe this was a vocation for those who could not work in the fields.
At HaLong Bay, we got on a boat which was very similar to a Chinese Junk. We had those funny looking sails though they never put them up. (other boats did). They fed us lunch immediately. Don’t remember what we had but there was a lot of it and it was good. Sat with a couple of nice young people from the Isle of Man, off the coast of Scotland. They refer to themselves as Manx, rather than Brits. Sailed out into the bay weaving through the islands. Most of you have seen pictures of HaLong Bay though you may not know it. Two thousand islands, each a huge rock coming out of the water and stretching straight up to the sky. Reminded me of Cypress knees at Reelfoot Lake, for you Tennesseans. First stop was the Amazing Cave. It was high up on one of the islands and we had a steep climb getting up there. I was soaked in sweat when we got to the top. The cave was huge but like any other, stalactites and stalagmites. At least it was cool. The view from the top was spectacular and I got pictures of the bay.
Next we went to TiTop Island, a short ride away. I had noticed this island before because it has a Pagoda on the very, very top. It also has a beach and we had the opportunity to swim. Rather than make another climb, I opted to cool off in the water. Others went to the top. All the tour boats stopped here, including a boatload of Russians, most of whom were overweight and wore bathing suits too small for their bodies.
Back on the boat, we sailed out into the bay and anchored for the night. Women in small fishing boats loaded down with merchandise, water, drinks, potato chips, cookies, etc., rowed out to us and called, “Buy from me?” There were several of these boats and they rowed from one boat to the next. We could even hear them after dark. Supper was excellent, Spring rolls, spinach, rice, cuttlefish (small squid) and a whole fish. I avoided the whole fish. Our group included the Manx, two Finns and six young French (4 girls and 2 boys). After supper, we played UNO and I got to practice my French. One boy lives in Aix-en-Provence and the others are from Istre, near Marseilles. Really a nice group.
The next morning, the women in the fishing boats were there bright and early selling the goods. We sailed to Cat Ba Island and got off the boat. We went to the National Park on the island and began a three mile trek. We climbed to the top of a mountain which had a metal tower on the top which offered a spectacular view of the area. I didn’t climb the tower. A lot of the climb up the mountain had been like climbing stairs, sometimes steeper. It was rugged and I was exhausted. One of the French girls noticed I was lagging behind and she slowed the others to let me catch up. Not only was I tired and winded, the tower had metal stairs. I’m not afraid of heights until I can look down though the structure on which I’m standing and see the ground. That bothers me. I knew I wouldn’t enjoy going up the tower so I didn’t. The climb down the mountain wasn’t a whole lot easier. I was by far the oldest in the group and it showed.
We found our van and rode to the hotel in town. Our room overlooked a large bay filled with the sailing junks. It had been a fishing village which now catered to tourists. We had lunch and were told we would go to Monkey Island at 2:30. We went to Monkey Island in another boat. They nosed into the beach and put down a board at a very steep angle and told us to climb down. The board, about 8 inches wide with 1×1 boards nailed on as steps, kept moving as the boat kept being pushed around by the waves. Anyway, we all made it. Our guide pointed out the path to climb to see the monkeys or we could go swimming. We set off to find the monkeys. This climb was steeper that the morning, but was only about fifty feet up. The French got to the top first and called down that the monkeys were there. I was near the top and saw a monkey about ten feet above. I grabbed a climb to climb up, looked down below, and felt a strong tug on my arm. I jerked my arm away and looked at it. My right forearm was bleeding. I had been bitten by a monkey. He was sitting on the limb screaming at me. Evidently, there was a small monkey sitting on the limb when I grabbed it and the big monkey, protecting the little one, attacked me. I had a deep cut about an inch long and and a spot about one-quarter inch round where the surface skin had been removed. Needless to say I started back down. I didn’t get any pictures of monkeys though I got a close-up view. One of the French girls was also bitten, but just a scratch.
We went back to the beach and got some first aid, disinfectant and bandages. We decided to go back to town immediately. In town our guide took us to a local doctor. He was a happy fellow wearing white pants and a sleeveless undershirt. He looked at my arm and told me I needed stitches. He put on a white jacket and a white pillbox cap. Now he looked like a baker. He sterilized his instruments by pouring a liquid on them and setting it on fire. He cleaned out the would and did a good job closing up the cut. We stopped at an Internet site and looked up Rabies, my major concern since I had not had a rabies vaccination before coming. It said I needed immunoglobulin and the rabies vaccination. The local doctor had neither. Supper at the hotel followed by more UNO.
Next morning, we got back on the boat and sailed back to the mainland with a stop for a swim half way. I didn’t swim because of my arm. Lunch in HaiPhong and the three hour ride back to Hanoi. Went to the SOS International clinic where they looked at my arm. Had a Doctor from Holland and one from Vietnam. I was in good hands. There was a debate as to what to do. They said that suturing the wound was the wrong thing to do. Never close an animal bite. They couldn’t decide if they should remove the stitches and reopen the cut or wait a day to see what happened. They opted for the latter. They gave me the immunoglobulin, some antibiotic, and the first of four shots, spaced out over for weeks, for rabies and told me to come back the next day. The immunoglobulin was VERY expensive so, if you’re coming to Vietnam, get the rabies vaccination first!
Went back the next day and they decided to remove the stitches. Pus began to ooze out, so they were pleased that they were doing the right thing. Ended up going back four days in a row getting the wound cleaned out and the dressing changed. Hope to have a nice scar so I can say, “Well, when I was in ‘Nam …”

It was a good trip. The area is beautiful and very different. It’s bizarre how the islands come straight up out of the water. If any of you have seen the French movie “Indochine”, you have seen HaLong Bay.
OK, more later on the continuing adventures of Higgiro.
Love to all,
Tom

The Great Eight Reunion in Belfast, Northern Ireland

The Great Eight, that hardy band of teachers who worked and traveled together in Malaysia, had their first reunion last week-end in Belfast. A good time was had by all. The Great Eight consisted of Joe and Marlene, from Canada who were traveling with their granddaughter, Tom and Colleen, Americans who came from Prague, Julie, Polish and is now teaching in Krakow, and our hosts, Mike, from Belfast, and his girlfriend, Sarah, who is English. The only original member of the group who was not there was Renee, who made the lame excuse that she couldn’t pop over for the weekend from Australia. She was represented by Joe’s granddaughter, though being only 12 years old, she didn’t drink as much as Renee would have. We were last together in the summer of 2007 at International House, the English language school connected to Limkokwing University in Cyberjaya, Malaysia.

We all arrived on Friday, March 14^th. Sarah, who is currently working in the Belfast tourist office was able to get us a friends and family rate at the Hotel Europa, a four star hotel. It’s a beautiful hotel in the center of town and has the distinction of being the most bombed hotel in Europe, maybe the world. There have been 76 bomb threats, of which 34 have actually gone off. But things have been peaceful for years, up until the week before we got there. (More about that later). We met in the lobby and walked across the street to the Crown Bar, established in 1849 according to the sign above the door, and had a very nice meal. It was a beautiful restaurant. Carved woodwork. Lots of artwork. Statuary. Very nice. We even took pictures of the Ladies Bathroom. Well, the girls did, at least. And the food was excellent.

We then retired to Fibber Magee’s Pub in the back of Robinson’s next door. Another typical Irish setting. Very crowded but we were able to get a table in a corner not too far from the music. The music was provided by a threesome who played traditional Irish music. It was great. I think I must have some Irish blood in me somewhere ’cause I love traditional Irish music. Just imagine, Friday night, lots of Irish people, drinking beer in a crowded pub, singing and dancing into the wee hours. Who’d have thought that could happen? We were all tired so we made it an early evening but I could have listened to the music all night.

The next morning, we had a magnificent buffet breakfast in the hotel, the price of which was included with the room. Eggs, sausages, bacon, potatoes, different kinds of bread, juice, coffee, pancakes, etc. Also on offer were baked beans, a typical breakfast food in the UK (but somewhat unusual as a breakfast food for and American) and black and white pudding. Now this isn’t really pudding in the normal sense of the work. I’m not sure what is in it, but it has the consistency of a dry sausage. The difference between black and white is that the black has more blood mixed in it.

We met at nine and went first to St. George’s Market, a food and crafts market that is open on Saturday morning. Permanently located in a huge building, they offer everything from fresh fish to vegetables, spices to meat cut directly of a whole hog roasting on a spit. It would be great to be able to go there every Saturday morning to get fresh fruit and vegetables. We formed a two car caravan and headed north out of the city. We made several stops along the way to take pictures or explore the ruins of a castle. It was a blustery, windy day but clear. At one point, on a narrow country road, we ran into a traffic jam. A sheep (and we saw many of them) had gotten out of the field and into the road. There were fences on each side and he didn’t know how to get out of the way. He would run a few yards and then stop and look at us. We would move forward and he would run a little ahead of us. Finally he found a side road and we were able to resume speed.

Ireland is green, very green, and beautiful. I expected the grass to be brown because it was still cold and wintry. Sarah said that their grass turns brown in July and August. Can’t stand the heat. We drove north along the coastline enjoying beautiful views of the sea and the adjacent hillsides dotted with sheep. After a delightful lunch in a quaint hotel, we began the explore the “Giant’s Causeway.” The “Causeway” is a geological formation of hexagonal pillars of rock, standing vertical and tightly packed so that you can walk on the like walking on stepping stones in a garden. The difference is that they are not all the same height and there is some climbing to do. In some spots they form a vertical wall, five to ten meters high. Also care must be taken on those closest to the sea as they can become very slippery from seawater. And the day we were there, the wind would almost sweep you over the edge. It’s a fascinating spot and covers an area of a hundred meters or so. Some say that the “Causeway” is the result of a volcano and that the molten lava cooled to forms the hexagonal pillars.

The truth is that the Irish Giant Finn McCool built the causeway across the Sea of Moyle to the island of Staffan, which is in Scotland, in order to do battle with the Giant Benandonner. Now these two had yelling back and forth to each other and Benendonner had challenge Finn McCool to a battle of strength. Finn agreed and said he would build a causeway across the sea. This he did but when he finished he was exhausted and went back home and fell asleep. The next morning Benandonner came across the causeway to Ireland. Finn’s wife heard him coming and, knowing that Finn was too tired to fight, covered her husband with a night gown and a sleeping cap. When Benandonner demanded to see Finn, she said, “Quiet! You’ll wake the babe!” Now Finn was not a big giant by giant standards, only 56 feet 6 inches high, but Benandonner reasoned, If this is a baby, then Finn must be enormous! He beat a hasty retreat back to Scotland, destroying the Causeway as he went. And that’s the true story of the Causeway. Ask any Irishman. They always tell the truth.

It truly is an amazing site. A World Heritage location.

We stopped a couple of more times along the coast, walked on the beach, and had ice cream before heading back to Belfast. That night we had another nice dinner and drank a toast to the missing and missed Renee. The pubs were too crowded to even get into on a Saturday night. We went into Robinson’s, the oldest pub in town, but didn’t stay. After a long day, we called it an early night.

Sunday morning, after again stuffing ourselves at breakfast, we took a bus tour of the city. Fascinating. The tour guide touched on all aspects of life in Ireland. Ireland has had a long and embattled history. I’ve never been sure if it was the Catholics against the Protestants, rich against the poor, or Irish against the English invaders. Whatever the cause, the problems are still there. They’ve made great progress recently but the wounds have not totally healed. We rode in the top deck, outside, and it was a cold, blistery day. Not the best for me. The tour guide was very witty, open, and informative. He pointed out highlights along the way. We went to the shipyards where the Titanic was built. I didn’t know it was built in Belfast. He stated that the Irish did a good job building it but it had an English Captain and a Scottish engineer. “It wasn’t our fault. The Titanic was OK when it left Belfast.”

We rode through the different areas of the city, those that had historical interest as well as those that took sides during the conflict. The Irish refer to the times of the killings and retaliation as “The Troubles.” “In the time of the troubles….” or “during the troubles….” He pointed out neighborhoods that were “staunchly Catholic” or “staunchly Protestant.” And some were immediately adjacent to each other. In some areas, there are metal walls, some as high as 50 feet, which separate the two factions. There are metal gates which are locked at nights and on weekends to keep the residents apart. And there are murals everywhere painted on buildings memorializing heroes from one side or the other. The guide pointed out a new building and told us the old structure had been replaced to make room for the new. He said that a team of English engineers had been brought over to blow the building up. “What a waste of local talent. We’ve been blowing up things for years.” All in all, it was a very good tour. I’d like to do it again (in warmer weather).

We grabbed a bite to eat at Subway and Mike and Sarah and Julia took us to the airport. Our goodbyes were not as sad and teary eyed as those in Malaysia because this time we really knew that we would see each other again sometime, somewhere in the world. It was wonderful to see them again and it will be wonderful to see them next time, hopefully with Renee.

Ireland is a wonderful country. I can’t recommend it highly enough. I want to go back and I think you should too!

OK, this part is for me. My understanding and thoughts on the current crisis. The week before we went to Ireland, two British soldiers and a policeman were killed in separate incidents. The RIRA (the Real Irish Republican Army) claimed responsibility for the deaths of the soldiers, and the Continuity IRA for the policeman. The IRA ( the original) called for a truce years ago and has been working within the political process to bring peace to the country. There have not been any killings in over twenty years. The members of the “old” IRA who are now in parliament came out strongly and condemned the killings and branded those responsible as murders. This from men who had led the IRA during the Troubles and had probably been responsible, directly or indirectly, for deaths. Members of Sinn Fein stood shoulder to shoulder with the British in calling for peace and hoping the no retaliations would occur. They attended the funerals, which would not have happened a decade ago, according to the paper. A former IRA commander called the killers “traitors to the entire island of Ireland.” They say that the RIRA and the CIRA are dissident splinter groups and have no real support. Let’s hope so, but scattered graffiti did appear after the killings. “RIRA 2, Brits 0”

The papers pointed out that although there had been no killings for years, attacks and shootings had continued. And from BOTH sides. Between Sept. 2007 and August 2008, there were 62 casualties but no deaths. 25 “suspected” republican attacks and 37 “suspected” loyalist (British) attacks. One article pointed out that there were 40 “peace lines” (the metal walls) in the city, which is TWICE as many as there were a decade ago. It also stated that all but 5% of Irish children are educated in segregated schools. We saw a sign in front of a school which read “Carnlough Controlled Integrated Primary School.” 68% of 18 to 25 year olds stated that they had never had a meaningful conversation with someone of the other religion. Parents in Northern Ireland are calling for integrated schools and 825 say they would like for their children to go to an integrated school but there are none in their area because the religions are so separated into neighborhoods.

Ireland is a beautiful country with beautiful people and it is sad that a few can cause so much trouble for so many. But the conflict has been going on for years and the wounds won’t heal quickly. It’s heartening to see both sides stand together against the killings. They say, “We won’t go back!” The general mood was that the killings were the work of a small group of dissidents who didn’t have broad support. They were an aberration rather than a return to armed conflict. I hope they are right.

Economically, Northern Ireland seems to be flourishing, lots of building and new construction. It’s a wonderful country. I can’t wait to go back

CRETE

After teaching intensive courses for two months in the summer, Colleen and I decided to get away to a warm climate. We decided on Greece, a country neither of us had visited, and found a somewhat inexpensive package deal to Crete. There are tons of packages to Greece originating in the Prague and it was difficult to find one that was not already sold out. We ended up in a small tow/village on the north coast called Analipsis. It’s about 20 kilometers from the capital city of Heraklio or Iraklion depending on which map or street sign you were reading. I think Heraklio is the English spelling and Iraklion is the Greek.

Analipsis is in an area of the island that is growing rapidly based on expansion of the tourist trade. Lots of construction and new building surrounded by the older, somewhat rundown little town. There was a brand new, fancy, modern, very expensive resort right on the beach near the modest place where we stayed. But most of the buildings in the area, even the new ones were simple and plain. Even in the little town there were vacant lots overgrown with weeds and a hundred meters up the road was an olive orchard. Our apartment was simple but nice. No air conditioning and no fan but we were able to get the breeze from the ocean about 200 meters away and had a good view of the sea.

Crete is an island in the eastern Mediterranean some distance from the mainland of Greece. It has an ancient history which blends into Greek Mythology. According to Greek Mythology, the Goddess Rhea fled to Crete to protect her unborn child from his father, Cronos, who swallowed his children because he feared that one of his offspring would usurp his power. That child was Zeus. Later, Zeus transformed himself into a bull and seduced Europa by whom he had Minos, the future ruler of Crete. Minos married Periphae whom the Gods tricked into falling in love with bull and she conceived the Minotaur, the fierce creature with the body of a human and the head of a bull. The Minotaur inhabited the labyrinth in Knossos and each year young boys and girls were placed in the labyrinth as sacrificial victims. Theseus, the son of the king of Athens ultimately killed the Minotaur. Angry that the Minotaur had been killed, the King of Crete imprisoned Daedalus, the architect of the labyrinth, and his son, Icarus, in the labyrinth. Daedalus built wings out of feathers and wax and they tried to escape. Unfortunately Icarus flew too near the sun, against his father’s warning, the wax melted and he fell into the sea and drowned. So, as you can see Crete figures largely in the stories you have heard and read about Greek Mythology.

There is evidence that Crete may have been inhabited as early as 6500BC. We know that the Minoans, one of the early civilizations, existed in 2600BC and reached it’s zenith in 1900BC when the palace at Knossos was built. (More about that later.) After prospering for 1500 years, the Minoan civilization was destroyed by the Greeks in 1100BC and the Greeks ruled the island until the Romans took control in 67BC. After the fall of the Roman Empire, Crete became part of the Byzantine Empire from 330AD to 1204AD with a brief interlude from 813 to 961 when the Saracens controlled the island. In 1204, the Crusaders, rather than making that long trip to Jerusalem and fight the Infidels, decided to sack the Christian city of Constantinople instead. They dismembered the Byzantine Empire and sold the island of Crete to the Venetians. The Turks and the Ottoman Empire took control of Constantinople in 1453 and after many attempts, finally conquered Crete in 1669 and ruled until 1898. The Cretans rebelled with the help of the Greeks and were declared an independent state in 1898. Crete was united with Greece in 1913 The island was occupied by the Germans from 1941 to 1945. And so ends the History lesson for today. No tests.

The first few days were spent going from the beach to the pool. Nothing strenuous and no desire to do much more. The beach was nice and deep, lined with chairs and umbrellas you could rent. The beach was sandy but the water was clear, even at the shoreline. Crete is a huge rock and at water’s edge there were flat, slippery rock shelves you had to get across to get into deep water. It was very windy and the breakers would shove you back. The water was cold but not unbearable after you got in. I wanted to get a tan so I was careful about how much time I spent in the sun. The little village of Analipsis struck me as more “poor” than “quaint” or “fancy” as you would expect of a village on the sea which depended primarily on the tourist trade.

It was active at night but mostly only people going to restaurants to eat or wandering in and out of tourist shops. Very little night life, which was fine as we had a kitchen and ate most of our meals in the apartment.

After a few days, we got bored with just lying n the sun, so we took a day trip to Heraklio and Knossos. Knossos is the Minoan Palace built in 1900BC, destroyed by an earthquake, rebuilt, and destroyed again about 1300BC. Knossos is big and consists of many building which comprise the palace. Mostly just ruins, there are several columns and frescoes which are brightly colored as they would have been originally. This was done by a British archaeologist named Evans who began the excavation of Knossos in 1900. From paint chips still on the walls and small fragments of the frescoes, he restored the color on certain columns and reconstructed frescoes as he thought they would have been. Thus we have several bright colored frescoes including the famous one depicting “bull jumping” in which the young man runs toward a charging bull, grabs him by the horns and vaults over his back. Evidently a pastime enjoyed by young Minoans who had nothing better to do. The construction was amazing for something built at that time. There were stairs, columns that were larger at the top than the bottom, archways, and colorful frescoes. We marvel at Machu Picchu in Peru but that is a city made of stones. Stones that are so precisely carved that they fit together so well you cannot slid a piece of paper between them. But Knossos predates that by 3500 years. ( The Incas thrived between 1400 and 1500AD.) Knossos reveals a culture that seemed much more advanced than the Incas. Advanced construction techniques, art, and religious symbolism are all there. Unfortunately, I have no pictures because my camera battery was dead and I had not checked it before. Dummy me.

Crete is a barren land. It reminds me of Provence with even less vegetation. Rugged, rocky terrain. And I think most of Greece is the same, beautiful but austere. According to something I read, ancient Greece was lush and green. However, because the olive oil trade was so lucrative, one of the rulers long ago declared that all the land would be cultivated in olive trees. The natural vegetation was stripped away and olive trees were planted everywhere. Unfortunately, olive trees don’t have an elaborate root system. They depend on the tap root which grows deep into the ground. Thus the olive tree can survive in a land of little rainfall because it finds water underground. But without a root system, there was nothing to hold the land and the rich topsoil eroded away and with it the lush vegetation. Another example of the misuse of natural resources.

Back in Heraklio (Knossos is just outside of town), we strolled though town. Saw the major sites including the Morosini Fountain built in 1628 to bring water to the city. The harbor, Venetian Harbor, is protected by a jetty and defended by a huge Venetian fortress at the end of the jetty. Didn’t go into the fortress (not sure it was open) but went out on the jetty, an exciting excursion as waves were crashing over the seawall and we had to run between waves to keep from getting drenched. All in all it was a good day trip. Easy to get around by bus.

Crete is not a huge island, only about 200 miles by 50 miles and we were in the middle. So, after a couple more days on the beach we got restless and we decided to take a road trip. We rented a car and headed for Hania. It was easy to find, just follow the “New National Road”, which was equivalent to a state road in the USA, certainly not similar to the interstate system. The interesting part was that the road signs were in three different languages, each language on it’s own sign. Hania, which I think is English, Chania, which might be Russian with the “ch” as one letter sounding like the “ch” in the Scottish “loch”, and, or course, the Greek, Xania. X being the initial sound in Chi Omega, for all you fraternity and sorority members.

We stopped in Rethimno, one of the major towns on the sea, wandered the narrow streets and had lunch. Rethimno has a beautiful protected harbor and a lighthouse which dates from the Turkish period. Narrow, crowded, winding streets and lots of tourist shops. Visited the Venetian fortress which sits on a hill and dominates the city and the harbor. The fortress has thick walls, ramparts, round guard towers on each corner, all of gray stone. You enter the fortress through an arched tunnel. There are several buildings inside including a mosque.

In Hania, we found a room near the old harbor. Spartan would be a good description. We payed the man because he would not be around the next morning. He had to work. We walked away from the water into the town. Not particularly interesting til we got back down to the harbor area. Kirk told me he had been stationed in Hania when he was in the navy. His main base was Rhoda, Spain but he spent a week in Xania from time to time. The harbor, protected as usual by a jetty with a lighthouse at the end, is really pretty. Lined with cafes and packed with strolling tourists. Each cafe has someone out front inviting you to dine with them and showing you their menu, but they are not aggressive. If you say no they say, “have a nice evening.”

Stopped in one of the cafes and had a couple of beers and watched the world go by. Very pleasant, very nice. The waiters were very playful and gregarious, calling back and forth to the waiters in the cafe next door. Only a rope separated the cafes along the waterfront. When we asked for the check, the waiter acted surprised. “You’re leaving us?” He conferred with another waiter and then, when he came back to the table, he brought two small beers and three shots of Raki, the local firewater. We toasted each other and threw down the shots of Raki, obviously, the third shot was for him. We drank the third beer slowly, too much alcohol for me, and then had to ask for the bill again, insisting that he not bring more drinks.

The room that night was near the harbor and just above an outdoor cafe. Since here was no AC and no fan, we had to keep the windows open. Unfortunately, the little cafe below us was very popular and had live music, two guitars and a singer, and a noisy clientele. It was difficult to get to sleep until the wee hours.

The next morning, we headed down to Elaphonisis, a tiny village with a beautiful beach. The beach was wrapped around a narrow peninsula. The sand was fine as sugar and almost as white except for a slight tinge of pink, for which there was a scientific explanation which I never discovered. The was was as clear as that in a swimming poll. It’s one of the top beaches in Greece, deservedly so. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it’s very isolated and you have to want to get there to go there. No casual, “Oh, there’s a nice beach. Let’s stop here.” It’s definitely out of the way, but tourist buses from Hania and other locations kept arriving all day long and the beach was crowded. The water was very shallow and you walked out a long way before you could actually swim. We rented lounge chairs and a beach umbrella and spent our time in and out of the sun and in and out of the water. It was a great day.

On the way home, I was stopped for speeding in an open stretch of country between Hania and Rethimno.. I was doing 93 kilometers per hour, about 55 miles per hour and the officer told me the speed limit was 60 KPH. That’s 36 miles per hour!!!! On the NEW National Road. I was astounded! 36 mph on the best road in the country, in the countryside???? It cost me 40 Euros if I paid within ten days, which I did. From then on I watched the speed limit carefully and watched it vary from 80 KPH to 30 KPH in the city. 18 Miles per hour? The Cretans certainly want to live a slow-paced, laid-back lifestyle.

As we drove through the larger towns, it was interesting to see the architecture. Nothing interesting. Nothing exotic. Most of the building appear to be built of square sections but not stacked evenly on top of each other. They look like a three year old child has tried to stack his blocks but doesn’t have the coordination to do a good job. A vertical tower with square segments sticking out at different levels and on different sides. We didn’t see any of the classic white houses with blue roofs.

After a couple more days on the beach and at the pool, we rented a car again and headed south to Matala in the Libyan Sea (The part of the Mediterranean north of Crete is the Cretan Sea). We crossed the island south of Heraklio and drove through the mountains and dropped into a broad, valley that was heavily cultivated. The greenest part of the the island I had seen. Matala is a small village which depends on tourists visiting the beach. The beach is a wide, sandy crescent with cliffs at each end. Cafes line the beach offering food and drink to the sunbathers. One of the cliffs is riddled with caves which were carved out of the wall and used as tombs by the Romans. I went into several but didn’t find any skeletons or Roman coins.

Matala has a pebble beach, rather large pebbles and rocks that made it hard to walk on. It was also hard to get into the water. There were large, slippery boulders just under the water and you had to be very careful of your footing. It was windy that day and waves were crashing in but the water was clear and refreshing. Spent all the time in the water or getting sun and a good time was had by all. Drove back to Analipsis, very carefully.

The next day we headed east, planning to avoid the sun and preserve what tan we had. We went to Agios Nicholaus, a small town with a lake in the center where, legend has it, Aphrodite used to come here to bathe. Lots of those old Greek stories center around Crete. From Agios Nicholaus, we took a boat trip out to Spinalonga, a small island off the coast that used to be a leper colony. Along the way, we stopped for a swim. They just anchored up and let us jump in. Water was clear and refreshing but too deep to see anything. Spinalonga is a small, barren island protecting a large harbor. It was fortified by the Venetians in the 15^th century. In the early 1900’s it became a leper colony. There was no cure for leprosy and consequently, they were isolated. The former residents of the island were moved and the lepers occupied the existing homes. We landed and, since the island was fortified, entered the island the same way the lepers had, through a long, dark tunnel. The was one other entry to the island and it was used by the doctors and nurses who came out periodically. The lepers were treated very well because the government did not want them to try to escape to the mainland. They had electric lighting when the city on the mainland was still using gas lamps. Even during the German occupation, the lepers didn’t suffer any hardships for the same reason. No one wanted them to leave the island. A cure for leprosy was found in the 1950’s and the residents of Spinlonga were treated and ultimately allowed to go back to their families. Our guide pointed out that 3 million people have leprosy today even though there is a cure which is relatively inexpensive. And then, of course, she made a plea for contributions.

Our last day was spent at the beach and around the pool soaking up those last rays of sunshine. Our plane didn’t leave til 11:30 at night but the hotel told use we could keep our towels for the day and they had showers and changing rooms available. It was a good trip. I didn’t delve into the history as much as I usually do and that’s a shame because Crete is certainly unique and has a storied history.