Sunday, December 15, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Back From Bhutan
It’s hard for me to admit that I’ve been back in Seattle for two weeks already and seem to have accomplished so little, that this is the first time I have posted any writing, although I have posted several black and white pictures, which I have enjoyed editing and converting from color. Looking back I have very fond memories of Bhutan, of the landscape, the people, and especially of the pace of life.
We had internet access and mobile phones, but I hardly ever got a phone call, and we had no postal service, so no one sent me junk mail or bills. Most days I finished at the hospital by early afternoon and came home to the apartment, called Nonnie, and walked down to meet her at the Ambient Cafe for a coffee and a recap of her day; which museum she visited, which monastery she found, which shopkeeper she met. After coffee we would walk around Thimphu, which was great because no one bothered us - no aggressive shopkeepers, no touts, no panhandlers - and only the rare dog showed any sign of hostility.
The Bhutanese may not be as happy as the western world wants to believe they are, but they certainly are polite and respectful. Almost every night we ate in one of the many restaurants in town - all politely served medium quality food in mostly empty rooms, and we often wondered how they all stayed in business. Dinner and a beer rarely was more than the equivalent of ten dollars. After dinner we would walk uphill half a mile, more or less, then down the muddy dirt road past a pack of dogs, and climb the three flights of stairs to our apartment, where we would sit down on the comfortable old couch and check our email. The next day we would do it all again.
Our last three days in Bhutan we changed our lives and became real tourists with a comfortable SUV, a driver, and a guide. Friday morning we said goodbye to Paul, our room mate from Alaska, and went to the Haa Valley, where few tourists ever go. The drive was very scenic and the road smooth, if narrow. That night we stayed at the Soadnam Zingkha Heritage Lodge, in fact we were the first people ever to spend the night there. Our room in the newly renovated farm house was small, clean, and pleasant with a great view of the neighboring village. The high ceiling and four foot thick mud walls reminded me of staying in a medieval castle in Europe. We ate our dinner and breakfast in the new dining room, where the food was great and the service attentive to say the least; I felt as if my every move was being watched by the young wait staff who were so eager to please.
The next day we left our hotel and drove to the summit of the Chelela Pass, which is just under 12,000 feet, and from there we hiked up and up, to what seemed to be the top of the world, where there were incredible views and forests of prayer flags. That night and the next night we stayed at the Nak Sel boutique hotel and resort in the hills above Paro, where we had a beautiful room with views in three directions over the valley below.
Our last full day in Bhutan we hiked up to Taktsang, the iconic Tiger’s Nest monastery, pictured in virtually every magazine article on Bhutan. The monastery is located on the side of a mountain about 3,000 feet above the valley floor, and the path is steep but well maintained. Since we were hiking on Sunday there were many people on the path, such as Bhutanese making a spiritual pilgrimage, Indian army soldiers making a conditioning run, and tourists checking off another box on their bucket lists. The hike was hard but fun and the views of the monastery were worth every bit of effort. I slept well that night. The next morning we went to the Paro airport and flew to Bangkok, to another reality.
Overall we had a brilliant time but we were glad not to pay the $250 per person per day minimum that is required to visit the country as a tourist. I took thousands of pictures and must now try to do something with them.
We had internet access and mobile phones, but I hardly ever got a phone call, and we had no postal service, so no one sent me junk mail or bills. Most days I finished at the hospital by early afternoon and came home to the apartment, called Nonnie, and walked down to meet her at the Ambient Cafe for a coffee and a recap of her day; which museum she visited, which monastery she found, which shopkeeper she met. After coffee we would walk around Thimphu, which was great because no one bothered us - no aggressive shopkeepers, no touts, no panhandlers - and only the rare dog showed any sign of hostility.
The Bhutanese may not be as happy as the western world wants to believe they are, but they certainly are polite and respectful. Almost every night we ate in one of the many restaurants in town - all politely served medium quality food in mostly empty rooms, and we often wondered how they all stayed in business. Dinner and a beer rarely was more than the equivalent of ten dollars. After dinner we would walk uphill half a mile, more or less, then down the muddy dirt road past a pack of dogs, and climb the three flights of stairs to our apartment, where we would sit down on the comfortable old couch and check our email. The next day we would do it all again.
Our last three days in Bhutan we changed our lives and became real tourists with a comfortable SUV, a driver, and a guide. Friday morning we said goodbye to Paul, our room mate from Alaska, and went to the Haa Valley, where few tourists ever go. The drive was very scenic and the road smooth, if narrow. That night we stayed at the Soadnam Zingkha Heritage Lodge, in fact we were the first people ever to spend the night there. Our room in the newly renovated farm house was small, clean, and pleasant with a great view of the neighboring village. The high ceiling and four foot thick mud walls reminded me of staying in a medieval castle in Europe. We ate our dinner and breakfast in the new dining room, where the food was great and the service attentive to say the least; I felt as if my every move was being watched by the young wait staff who were so eager to please.
The next day we left our hotel and drove to the summit of the Chelela Pass, which is just under 12,000 feet, and from there we hiked up and up, to what seemed to be the top of the world, where there were incredible views and forests of prayer flags. That night and the next night we stayed at the Nak Sel boutique hotel and resort in the hills above Paro, where we had a beautiful room with views in three directions over the valley below.
Our last full day in Bhutan we hiked up to Taktsang, the iconic Tiger’s Nest monastery, pictured in virtually every magazine article on Bhutan. The monastery is located on the side of a mountain about 3,000 feet above the valley floor, and the path is steep but well maintained. Since we were hiking on Sunday there were many people on the path, such as Bhutanese making a spiritual pilgrimage, Indian army soldiers making a conditioning run, and tourists checking off another box on their bucket lists. The hike was hard but fun and the views of the monastery were worth every bit of effort. I slept well that night. The next morning we went to the Paro airport and flew to Bangkok, to another reality.
Overall we had a brilliant time but we were glad not to pay the $250 per person per day minimum that is required to visit the country as a tourist. I took thousands of pictures and must now try to do something with them.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Life in Thimphu
After two weeks our lives are getting more settled, more regular. Weekdays I go to work and then in the afternoons we walk to town and look into shops, stores, and visit the Ambient Cafe for coffee. After that we eat dinner at one of the many local restaurants, like Chopstick, Seasons, or Plums.
This week was the Thimphu Tsechu, the big annual festival. Tuesday was a holiday and we went to the dances in the courtyard of the dzong, the huge fort like structure that holds government offices and a monastery. The place was packed, everyone was wearing their best clothes, and the colorful masked dancers were amazing.
This weekend was a three day holiday with dances daily in the large outdoor space next to the dzong. On Saturday we went hiking above town to visit two monasteries, the latter was directly above the dzong and we could see and hear the dances clearly. The hike up to the first monastery was steep and exposed and since it was a sunny day it was hot, but from there on it was downhill and easier.
Sunday we went to the dances, us and thousands of locals. We were packed like sardines. The dances were great, the costumes beautiful, and the masks terrifying., but we were a long way from the dancers, it was very hot, and we were constantly pushed by crowds of people. After a couple of hours we worked our way to the exit and walked downtown where the streets were closed and there were small booths everywhere, like a state fair at home. There were games of skill, such as archery, darts, and ball throwing, and stalls selling shoes, clothes, and handicrafts.
Monday Ugyen took us to Dochula pass where there are 108 stuppas, and from there we hiked two hours uphill through dense forests of fir and rhododendron trees to Lungchuzekhs Goenpa, a monastery with incredible views - except that the views were obscured by clouds everywhere. Still it was a great hike, the monastery was interesting, and the monk who showed us the temple also invited us to his room for tea, which was delicious. His room was about 9x12 feet and very simple. We sat on a thin mattress next to a yak skin and he served us tea from an electric pot. The stone walls two feet thick and the view from his window were to die for. What a place to meditate.
This week was the Thimphu Tsechu, the big annual festival. Tuesday was a holiday and we went to the dances in the courtyard of the dzong, the huge fort like structure that holds government offices and a monastery. The place was packed, everyone was wearing their best clothes, and the colorful masked dancers were amazing.
This weekend was a three day holiday with dances daily in the large outdoor space next to the dzong. On Saturday we went hiking above town to visit two monasteries, the latter was directly above the dzong and we could see and hear the dances clearly. The hike up to the first monastery was steep and exposed and since it was a sunny day it was hot, but from there on it was downhill and easier.
Sunday we went to the dances, us and thousands of locals. We were packed like sardines. The dances were great, the costumes beautiful, and the masks terrifying., but we were a long way from the dancers, it was very hot, and we were constantly pushed by crowds of people. After a couple of hours we worked our way to the exit and walked downtown where the streets were closed and there were small booths everywhere, like a state fair at home. There were games of skill, such as archery, darts, and ball throwing, and stalls selling shoes, clothes, and handicrafts.
Monday Ugyen took us to Dochula pass where there are 108 stuppas, and from there we hiked two hours uphill through dense forests of fir and rhododendron trees to Lungchuzekhs Goenpa, a monastery with incredible views - except that the views were obscured by clouds everywhere. Still it was a great hike, the monastery was interesting, and the monk who showed us the temple also invited us to his room for tea, which was delicious. His room was about 9x12 feet and very simple. We sat on a thin mattress next to a yak skin and he served us tea from an electric pot. The stone walls two feet thick and the view from his window were to die for. What a place to meditate.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Jigme Dorji Wangchuck National Referral Hospital
JGWNRH, where I am working, is the largest and finest hospital in Bhutan - anyone needing a higher level of care than what can be provided there is referred to India. It is a very large six story building that resembles a monastery on the outside, but inside it is all hospital, with long corridors and lots of signs. Everything is concrete, tile, aluminum, and glass - very functional. The walls are painted white or various pale colors and are in need of a touchup. Electric wires, pipes, and tubes all are on the outside of the walls, as are the various bugs that crawl along disrupting my train of thought.
Light is provided by neon tubes or recessed long life bulbs, but are usually switched off to conserve electricity. The internal medicine ward has six rooms with six beds each. There are no sinks or running water in the patient rooms. Each morning the attending doctor, two interns, myself, and some of the nurses round on all the patients, most of whom have been in the hospital for several days or weeks - the average stay is about two weeks with some patients staying for months.
The patients problems are quite varied and sometimes fascinating. In one bed is a man with tetanus. the next patient is a woman with seizures and cysts in her brain on MRI scan, next is a young woman with kidney failure after a transplant in India. Other patients have heart diseases, strokes, electrolyte disorders, and various infectious diseases. The hospital provides food for the patients, but it is “not good,” so anyone with family in the area has their food brought in.
The hospital has a CT scanner and a MRI scanner, but only basic lab tests. Often the lab report says “no reagent.” But there seems to be an adequate supply of medications and overall the patients improve and go home.
It is a fascinating place to work for a month.
Light is provided by neon tubes or recessed long life bulbs, but are usually switched off to conserve electricity. The internal medicine ward has six rooms with six beds each. There are no sinks or running water in the patient rooms. Each morning the attending doctor, two interns, myself, and some of the nurses round on all the patients, most of whom have been in the hospital for several days or weeks - the average stay is about two weeks with some patients staying for months.
The patients problems are quite varied and sometimes fascinating. In one bed is a man with tetanus. the next patient is a woman with seizures and cysts in her brain on MRI scan, next is a young woman with kidney failure after a transplant in India. Other patients have heart diseases, strokes, electrolyte disorders, and various infectious diseases. The hospital provides food for the patients, but it is “not good,” so anyone with family in the area has their food brought in.
The hospital has a CT scanner and a MRI scanner, but only basic lab tests. Often the lab report says “no reagent.” But there seems to be an adequate supply of medications and overall the patients improve and go home.
It is a fascinating place to work for a month.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
First Impressions of Bhutan
Nonnie and I arrived at the Bangkok airport at 4:30am, checked in, and went to the AirFrance lounge for coffee and croissants before boarding our flight to Paro on DrukAir. The flight was very comfortable; the food was good, and the attendants in their traditional dress were lovely.
On the way we stopped at a military base in some sleepy little town in Darjeeling (India) to let a few passengers off and then thirty minutes later after flying over some spectacular mountains we dropped down into the Paro valley and landed. As we came down I could see tree covered mountains out of every window.
The drive from Paro to Thimphu took about an hour - the hospital sent a very functional vehicle to meet us and the young driver was calm and careful. The road was in good condition and followed a river most of the way, All of the buildings were made of concrete and looked solid, built to last. Most of the buildings are decorated with interesting painted symbols along with shutters and small architectural details.
Thimphu is the capital city of Bhutan and is proud of the fact that it lacks traffic lights, although I couldn’t see where they would put one. In the center of town there is a policeman in a booth, but maybe more for photos than for traffic, in any case he is a handy landmark. There were lots of shops selling souvenirs and handicrafts, but I saw very few foreigners on the streets.
Nonnie went into a five star hotel to rest in the lobby and use the lady’s restroom. The cost of a room there is $450 per night. Last night we went to dinner at a local restaurant and the total cost for three of us total was about equal to seven dollars. Obviously there are two economies at work here and tourists who pay $250 per day see the fancier one.
The hospital where I am working is huge and looks like a monastery. It too is concrete with wood trim and lots of exterior pipes and wires. There are six floors and the medicine ward is on the fifth floor - the elevators are only for patients who can’t walk. In the wards there are six beds in each room with both men and women are in the same rooms. The medicine team rounds on all 36 patients, many of whom are very complicated. The overall feeling of the hospital is best described as orderly chaos, but the people are very friendly and helpful.
We share our apartment with another doctor, a family practitioner from Alaska. The apartment has three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a decent sized kitchen, a dining room, and a living room. Below there is a nice wood floor - above there are horrible neon tube lights. Last night I counted six dogs sleeping on the stairs leading to our third floor apartment. As I look out our window now I see cloudy skies, corrugated rusty metal roofs, rather dingy looking apartments, and on the unpaved road leading up to our building a dozen dogs are sleeping. So far they seem to sleep all day and bark all night.
So far Bhutan is interesting but not paradise. That part of Bhutan is somewhere else.
On the way we stopped at a military base in some sleepy little town in Darjeeling (India) to let a few passengers off and then thirty minutes later after flying over some spectacular mountains we dropped down into the Paro valley and landed. As we came down I could see tree covered mountains out of every window.
The drive from Paro to Thimphu took about an hour - the hospital sent a very functional vehicle to meet us and the young driver was calm and careful. The road was in good condition and followed a river most of the way, All of the buildings were made of concrete and looked solid, built to last. Most of the buildings are decorated with interesting painted symbols along with shutters and small architectural details.
Thimphu is the capital city of Bhutan and is proud of the fact that it lacks traffic lights, although I couldn’t see where they would put one. In the center of town there is a policeman in a booth, but maybe more for photos than for traffic, in any case he is a handy landmark. There were lots of shops selling souvenirs and handicrafts, but I saw very few foreigners on the streets.
Nonnie went into a five star hotel to rest in the lobby and use the lady’s restroom. The cost of a room there is $450 per night. Last night we went to dinner at a local restaurant and the total cost for three of us total was about equal to seven dollars. Obviously there are two economies at work here and tourists who pay $250 per day see the fancier one.
The hospital where I am working is huge and looks like a monastery. It too is concrete with wood trim and lots of exterior pipes and wires. There are six floors and the medicine ward is on the fifth floor - the elevators are only for patients who can’t walk. In the wards there are six beds in each room with both men and women are in the same rooms. The medicine team rounds on all 36 patients, many of whom are very complicated. The overall feeling of the hospital is best described as orderly chaos, but the people are very friendly and helpful.
We share our apartment with another doctor, a family practitioner from Alaska. The apartment has three bedrooms and two bathrooms, a decent sized kitchen, a dining room, and a living room. Below there is a nice wood floor - above there are horrible neon tube lights. Last night I counted six dogs sleeping on the stairs leading to our third floor apartment. As I look out our window now I see cloudy skies, corrugated rusty metal roofs, rather dingy looking apartments, and on the unpaved road leading up to our building a dozen dogs are sleeping. So far they seem to sleep all day and bark all night.
So far Bhutan is interesting but not paradise. That part of Bhutan is somewhere else.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Brad and Derek
These past weeks have been difficult. Nonnie’s father, Reese Bradburn, died at 12:01AM on August 7th, while Nonnie and I were driving home from Albuquerque in a rental truck. She flew to San Antonio from Boise, to be with the rest of her family.
Brad, the name his friends used, had an interesting life. Raised in a coal mining town in Pennsylvania he joined the marines as a young man and was sent to China waiting to participate in the planned invasion of Japan. The atomic bomb ended the war and probably saved his life; he visited Nagasaki shortly after the surrender.
After the surrender of Japan he left the marines while he was still in China and walked to the other side of the base and joined Civil Air Transport (CAT), and started his civilian career in Asia. He married a Russian woman who was raised in China and they eventually had four daughters.
After Civil Air Transport closed Brad went to work for Air America, which, like CAT, was owned by the CIA. He was station manager in Hong Kong, which was where Nonnie went to grade school and high school. After the Viet Nam war ended he and his family moved to the Washington DC area, then he moved to Oklahoma.
Brad did great things with his life - a true member of the greatest generation.
August 21st was the one year anniversary of Derek’s death - the next day was his birthday - he would have been 35. On his birthday we drank champagne at his grave site, released 35 helium balloons, and ate birthday cake.
If time heals all things it hasn’t started yet; I miss him more than ever.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Fifty Years
Last Saturday night I went to my high school fifty year reunion, a fun evening with moments of joy, sorrow, regret, and delight all mixed together; emotions passing through me like pages on a flip chart. Everyone wore a name tag with their name on it as it was in high school, and below their name their black and white graduation picture, so it was easy to recognize people once I saw their tag. A few people were recognizable across the room, but most were not, although once I saw their tag I thought “of course.”
Since this was the first reunion I have attended, it really had been fifty years since I had seen most of the people there, and since we had over 600 people in our graduating class I probably didn’t know some of them even back when we graduated. Some friends that I really wanted to see didn’t show up, much to my disappointment; I don’t know why they didn’t come, maybe they didn’t want to go back in time, maybe they have health issues - I just don’t know. And over ninety people had died since graduation day, a long painful list of friends I wanted to see again, but never will.
One interesting thing to me was how people turned out, what they had done over the fifty years, what they had accomplished, what their choices and priorities had been.
I certainly had not seen the potential in some of my classmates; I didn’t see the talents that would make them successful in life, at the same time I had thought that being cool would guarantee success later in life. It didn’t.
Some said the city is planning to tear down our high school and rebuild on the same site, an idea everyone at the reunion thought crazy. The building and grounds are beautiful; they were the setting for the movie Mr Holland’s Opus.
I think most of us agreed that we went to high school in a more innocent time, before drugs, war, and assassinations changed America forever. But our high school was very large and very competitive, and not everyone was a great athlete, or a scholar, or a great performer; additionally we tended to form cliques, which were great if you were in but painful if you weren’t. Probably the 275 classmates who attended were the ones who had good memories of high school and had the money to return for the reunion; the ones with not so good memories stayed home.
When I graduated I thought that my adult life would have two bookends; a beginning - high school graduation - and an ending - the fifty year reunion. I thought I went to a great high school and I thought I had the best of all possible friends and classmates. I still think that.
But I hope that this reunion was not the second bookend to my life - I hope I still have things to do, places to visit, and old friends to see again.
Since this was the first reunion I have attended, it really had been fifty years since I had seen most of the people there, and since we had over 600 people in our graduating class I probably didn’t know some of them even back when we graduated. Some friends that I really wanted to see didn’t show up, much to my disappointment; I don’t know why they didn’t come, maybe they didn’t want to go back in time, maybe they have health issues - I just don’t know. And over ninety people had died since graduation day, a long painful list of friends I wanted to see again, but never will.
One interesting thing to me was how people turned out, what they had done over the fifty years, what they had accomplished, what their choices and priorities had been.
I certainly had not seen the potential in some of my classmates; I didn’t see the talents that would make them successful in life, at the same time I had thought that being cool would guarantee success later in life. It didn’t.
Some said the city is planning to tear down our high school and rebuild on the same site, an idea everyone at the reunion thought crazy. The building and grounds are beautiful; they were the setting for the movie Mr Holland’s Opus.
I think most of us agreed that we went to high school in a more innocent time, before drugs, war, and assassinations changed America forever. But our high school was very large and very competitive, and not everyone was a great athlete, or a scholar, or a great performer; additionally we tended to form cliques, which were great if you were in but painful if you weren’t. Probably the 275 classmates who attended were the ones who had good memories of high school and had the money to return for the reunion; the ones with not so good memories stayed home.
When I graduated I thought that my adult life would have two bookends; a beginning - high school graduation - and an ending - the fifty year reunion. I thought I went to a great high school and I thought I had the best of all possible friends and classmates. I still think that.
But I hope that this reunion was not the second bookend to my life - I hope I still have things to do, places to visit, and old friends to see again.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Friday, July 5, 2013
FOURTH OF JULY
Yesterday, July 3rd, was sunny and hot - today it is cloudy and cold. I shouldn’t let the weather change my feelings about such an important holiday, the holiday that celebrates the founding of our country, and our civil liberties.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal...
Substitute “people” for “men” and you have a perfect idea, an idea to build a life, or a country, on. The news is full of events that occur because people deny this idea, because one group of people hates another. When people act in accordance with this idea it seldom makes news. However, leaders who follow this idea are the ones who make history: Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama.
Recently it was disclosed just how much of our email, our phone calls, our lives, the government is monitoring. It may be necessary to protect us from terrorism, but I am unconvinced. Anyone who remembers The Pentagon Papers will have a hard time fully trusting our government. Most people seem to put their safety above their freedom. I think this is dangerous, and mistaken,
Last week my son Colin turned thirty. That day we ate salmon and drank sangria, and the next day we drove to the Olympic Peninsula and cooked clams, mussels, shrimp, sausage, potatoes, and corn over an open charcoal fire. It was ninety degrees in Seattle that day, but in our campground the wind was gusting and it was only sixty five degrees. We didn’t bring the right clothes and we were all cold. Only our grandson Oran seemed to be unaffected by the temperature - he ran everywhere, hunted for berries, jumped into any water he could find, and kept himself warm.
Thirty years ago I remember sitting at my desk in my office in Aruba when my dad called me from Portland to say that I had another son, that Nonnie had had a C-section and that she and Colin were doing well. Up to that moment I didn’t know if we would have a second son or a daughter. I was so excited and happy, and a little sad that I wasn’t there. Two weeks later I did fly to Portland and Nonnie and the boys met me at the airport. Derek came running down the concourse saying “Dad, dad - do you want to see my new brother?” So I held Colin for the first time outside the arrival gate in the airport while hundreds of approving passengers walked by.
Thirty years later much has changed - Colin has grown up and security at the airport makes it impossible to meet arriving passengers at the gate - Colin has his own son, and every young mother knows the gender of her baby after the first ultrasound.
I hope you had a good holiday!
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal...
Substitute “people” for “men” and you have a perfect idea, an idea to build a life, or a country, on. The news is full of events that occur because people deny this idea, because one group of people hates another. When people act in accordance with this idea it seldom makes news. However, leaders who follow this idea are the ones who make history: Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama.
Recently it was disclosed just how much of our email, our phone calls, our lives, the government is monitoring. It may be necessary to protect us from terrorism, but I am unconvinced. Anyone who remembers The Pentagon Papers will have a hard time fully trusting our government. Most people seem to put their safety above their freedom. I think this is dangerous, and mistaken,
Last week my son Colin turned thirty. That day we ate salmon and drank sangria, and the next day we drove to the Olympic Peninsula and cooked clams, mussels, shrimp, sausage, potatoes, and corn over an open charcoal fire. It was ninety degrees in Seattle that day, but in our campground the wind was gusting and it was only sixty five degrees. We didn’t bring the right clothes and we were all cold. Only our grandson Oran seemed to be unaffected by the temperature - he ran everywhere, hunted for berries, jumped into any water he could find, and kept himself warm.
Thirty years ago I remember sitting at my desk in my office in Aruba when my dad called me from Portland to say that I had another son, that Nonnie had had a C-section and that she and Colin were doing well. Up to that moment I didn’t know if we would have a second son or a daughter. I was so excited and happy, and a little sad that I wasn’t there. Two weeks later I did fly to Portland and Nonnie and the boys met me at the airport. Derek came running down the concourse saying “Dad, dad - do you want to see my new brother?” So I held Colin for the first time outside the arrival gate in the airport while hundreds of approving passengers walked by.
Thirty years later much has changed - Colin has grown up and security at the airport makes it impossible to meet arriving passengers at the gate - Colin has his own son, and every young mother knows the gender of her baby after the first ultrasound.
I hope you had a good holiday!
Monday, June 24, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Books
As I have been unpacking books today I have been thinking of where I got each book, what I was doing at the time, why I bought it, what the book was about, and so on.
The Camera was the first book of the Life Library of Photography series, a series I started to buy and read while I was in Greenland in 1973. I had just bought my first camera, a Minolta SRT 101 single lens reflex camera, a simple workhorse camera which brought me so much enjoyment hiking and photographing the barren landscape.
The book describes a dated technology but an ageless aesthetic.
Soon after I finished my tour in Greenland and returned to the US I started buying the Hundred Greatest Books from the Franklin Library. Moby Dick was the first of the series, and each month a new leather bound book would arrive, and each month I would hold it, smell it, rub it - everything but read it. That’s not entirely true; I did read some of them, like Crime and Punishment, but others, such as Euripides Plays, I just couldn’t get into.
The fall before I went to Nigeria in 1977 I read Return to Laughter, an anthropological novel by Eleanor Smith Bowen, a fictional retelling of the author’s experiences living and working with the Tiv in Nigeria, the same tribe my wife and I would be working with a few months later. My copy of the book, a tape wrapped paperback that sold for $2.50, is well worn and earmarked, evidence of being read multiple times. More than anything else this book prepared me for the shock of moving into an entirely different culture.
Once I was living in Nigeria I started looking for books that would help me understand the people there. My copy of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe is also held together by clear tape, but that old copy means a lot more to me than a brand new book would. Achebe was a great writer (he died recently) and this book started to open the door for me, to see the Nigerian culture from their side, to begin to start to comprehend the complexity of their society.
Another book that brings back memories is a cheap hard bound copy of The Life of Lenin by Maria Prilezhayeva, published in Moscow, and sold for 65 Kopeks. I obtained my copy while living in Almaty, Kazakhstan. The book is all propaganda, all about Lenin’s heroic struggles and the joys of communism, and as such is an interesting example of the way things were before the Soviet Union broke up.
I read my copy of The Plague by Albert Camus shortly after caring for a young man with bubonic and pneumonic plague in Gallup, NM, and the actions and emotions that he describes so well could still be seen at the Gallup Indian Medical Center - the panic, the denials, the pragmatism.
These book, and many more, tell the story of my life; much better than I could ever tell it.
The Camera was the first book of the Life Library of Photography series, a series I started to buy and read while I was in Greenland in 1973. I had just bought my first camera, a Minolta SRT 101 single lens reflex camera, a simple workhorse camera which brought me so much enjoyment hiking and photographing the barren landscape.
The book describes a dated technology but an ageless aesthetic.
Soon after I finished my tour in Greenland and returned to the US I started buying the Hundred Greatest Books from the Franklin Library. Moby Dick was the first of the series, and each month a new leather bound book would arrive, and each month I would hold it, smell it, rub it - everything but read it. That’s not entirely true; I did read some of them, like Crime and Punishment, but others, such as Euripides Plays, I just couldn’t get into.
The fall before I went to Nigeria in 1977 I read Return to Laughter, an anthropological novel by Eleanor Smith Bowen, a fictional retelling of the author’s experiences living and working with the Tiv in Nigeria, the same tribe my wife and I would be working with a few months later. My copy of the book, a tape wrapped paperback that sold for $2.50, is well worn and earmarked, evidence of being read multiple times. More than anything else this book prepared me for the shock of moving into an entirely different culture.
Once I was living in Nigeria I started looking for books that would help me understand the people there. My copy of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe is also held together by clear tape, but that old copy means a lot more to me than a brand new book would. Achebe was a great writer (he died recently) and this book started to open the door for me, to see the Nigerian culture from their side, to begin to start to comprehend the complexity of their society.
Another book that brings back memories is a cheap hard bound copy of The Life of Lenin by Maria Prilezhayeva, published in Moscow, and sold for 65 Kopeks. I obtained my copy while living in Almaty, Kazakhstan. The book is all propaganda, all about Lenin’s heroic struggles and the joys of communism, and as such is an interesting example of the way things were before the Soviet Union broke up.
I read my copy of The Plague by Albert Camus shortly after caring for a young man with bubonic and pneumonic plague in Gallup, NM, and the actions and emotions that he describes so well could still be seen at the Gallup Indian Medical Center - the panic, the denials, the pragmatism.
These book, and many more, tell the story of my life; much better than I could ever tell it.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Moving In
“De ja vu all over again,” as Yogi said, that old familiar feeling of opening boxes, moving furniture, laying out rugs, placing lamps, hanging pictures, shelving books, putting dishes away, and looking for toothbrushes, extension cords, address books, and that little book with all our secret passwords - Nonnie and I have done all these things fourteen times before and I hope this is our last time. Fifteen moves since we were married, and before that I moved from Portland to New York, San Antonio, Greenland, Charleston SC, and back to Portland. With each move the amount of stuff we have seems to grow, although we did some serious downsizing a few years ago. Over the years I have lived poor and I have lived rich, and what people say is true: rich is better.
We live in a corner house in a neighborhood of small blue collar houses, although now the cars in the driveways - Lexus, Porsche, BMW - indicate that our neighbors are a bit more upscale. There is an alley behind the house and we have a large driveway off the alley, big enough for four cars, a luxury in a neighborhood of two hour street parking. The streets are narrow and crowded, while the trees are huge and beautiful. Across the street from us, lined by tall trees and a thick hedge, is a cemetery, so that when I look out our front windows I see trees, but no graves, which I hope is the also the case in the winter.
In Albuquerque we gave away eight bookcases, particle wood pieces from Walmart, so now we are looking for new bookcases. The difference between particle wood and real wood in price and quality is exponential, but we bit the bullet and bought two new unfinished seven foot high pine pieces - real wood. They delivered them today and I will finish them tomorrow, hopefully, and see how my office looks when they are in place and full of books, after which I will make plans for more shelves. The movers who loaded and unloaded our rental moving truck all complained - “so many books.”
Oran came and spent the day with us today, keeping us happy and entertained with his boundless enthusiasm and energy. We went for a nice walk in Ravenna Park, which is near to our house and has a wonderful path winding along a stream in deep woods lined with 100 foot trees. At the far end of the park we found a playground and Oran had a good time climbing and sliding. It’s a great park for daytime use, but would probably be dark and scary at night.
We met our neighbor today, a young woman with two young children. She said Oran was welcome to come over anytime, and that she and her husband love the neighborhood and never want to move away. That was nice to hear. In general people here in Seattle seem friendly - more so than in Albuquerque - but time will tell as to how deep the friendliness runs. Nonnie thinks the drivers here are impatient and honk too much but in general they seem more cooperative to me, more willing to let other cars change lanes.
It’s been an interesting week to say the least...
We live in a corner house in a neighborhood of small blue collar houses, although now the cars in the driveways - Lexus, Porsche, BMW - indicate that our neighbors are a bit more upscale. There is an alley behind the house and we have a large driveway off the alley, big enough for four cars, a luxury in a neighborhood of two hour street parking. The streets are narrow and crowded, while the trees are huge and beautiful. Across the street from us, lined by tall trees and a thick hedge, is a cemetery, so that when I look out our front windows I see trees, but no graves, which I hope is the also the case in the winter.
In Albuquerque we gave away eight bookcases, particle wood pieces from Walmart, so now we are looking for new bookcases. The difference between particle wood and real wood in price and quality is exponential, but we bit the bullet and bought two new unfinished seven foot high pine pieces - real wood. They delivered them today and I will finish them tomorrow, hopefully, and see how my office looks when they are in place and full of books, after which I will make plans for more shelves. The movers who loaded and unloaded our rental moving truck all complained - “so many books.”
Oran came and spent the day with us today, keeping us happy and entertained with his boundless enthusiasm and energy. We went for a nice walk in Ravenna Park, which is near to our house and has a wonderful path winding along a stream in deep woods lined with 100 foot trees. At the far end of the park we found a playground and Oran had a good time climbing and sliding. It’s a great park for daytime use, but would probably be dark and scary at night.
We met our neighbor today, a young woman with two young children. She said Oran was welcome to come over anytime, and that she and her husband love the neighborhood and never want to move away. That was nice to hear. In general people here in Seattle seem friendly - more so than in Albuquerque - but time will tell as to how deep the friendliness runs. Nonnie thinks the drivers here are impatient and honk too much but in general they seem more cooperative to me, more willing to let other cars change lanes.
It’s been an interesting week to say the least...
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
St Anthony's Monastery
Located in the Arizona desert between Phoenix and Tucson in the middle of nowhere, St Anthony’s Greek Orthodox Monastery sits in an oasis of quiet and beauty.
Nonna and I went there for three nights with some other people from the Orthodox church here in Albuquerque, a religious pilgrimage for them but more of an adventure for me. Three years ago in Scotland I took a course in monastic life, which covered the medieval period, but I was very curious about the life of a modern monk, so I jumped at the opportunity to go to a real monastery.
We left Albuquerque about 8:00 AM Friday morning and arrived at the monastery about 3:30PM, just in time to go to Vespers, the evening prayer service. After the service we ate dinner and then went back to church for another service. We finished up about 5:30PM and had some free time to walk around the grounds, but at 7:00PM we were supposed to go to bed.
There were five of us - all men - sleeping in an eighteen bed dormitory room - “like the shelter” said one of the Russian men from our church. I finally got to sleep around 11:00PM that night and at 12:30AM one of the young monks turned on the lights and announced “time for church!”
Church started at 1:00AM and ended about 4:00AM. The church was dark, lit only by small red oil lamps above each icon; the service was entirely in Greek, and the music was chanted by unseen monks, giving an overall mystical surreal impression, heightened by sleep deprivation.
Our meals were served in the large dining room with four tables running the length of the room, the monks sitting at one table, men at another, and the women at their own table. At one end the elders sat at a short table set at right angles to the long tables, while at the other end a monk sat in an elevated seat and read while we ate in silence. He read in Greek, but maybe it was the psalms. The food was mostly vegetarian and simple, but surprisingly good - we had bread, olives, shredded cabbage, and fruit with each meal, and the main entrees were bean soup, pasta with tomato sauce, and my favorite - roasted potatoes with tuna fish and olive oil.
In the little free time we had I would meet Nonnie and we would explore the grounds and the several chapels, all of it beautiful. The stonework and woodwork are exceptional, the gardens are lush, and outside the walls the olive orchards look successful.
Overall it was a great experience, one of those things that are difficult at the time but when it is over you are very glad you did it. And yes, I would do it again.
Inside the main chapel
Nonna and I went there for three nights with some other people from the Orthodox church here in Albuquerque, a religious pilgrimage for them but more of an adventure for me. Three years ago in Scotland I took a course in monastic life, which covered the medieval period, but I was very curious about the life of a modern monk, so I jumped at the opportunity to go to a real monastery.
We left Albuquerque about 8:00 AM Friday morning and arrived at the monastery about 3:30PM, just in time to go to Vespers, the evening prayer service. After the service we ate dinner and then went back to church for another service. We finished up about 5:30PM and had some free time to walk around the grounds, but at 7:00PM we were supposed to go to bed.
There were five of us - all men - sleeping in an eighteen bed dormitory room - “like the shelter” said one of the Russian men from our church. I finally got to sleep around 11:00PM that night and at 12:30AM one of the young monks turned on the lights and announced “time for church!”
Church started at 1:00AM and ended about 4:00AM. The church was dark, lit only by small red oil lamps above each icon; the service was entirely in Greek, and the music was chanted by unseen monks, giving an overall mystical surreal impression, heightened by sleep deprivation.
Our meals were served in the large dining room with four tables running the length of the room, the monks sitting at one table, men at another, and the women at their own table. At one end the elders sat at a short table set at right angles to the long tables, while at the other end a monk sat in an elevated seat and read while we ate in silence. He read in Greek, but maybe it was the psalms. The food was mostly vegetarian and simple, but surprisingly good - we had bread, olives, shredded cabbage, and fruit with each meal, and the main entrees were bean soup, pasta with tomato sauce, and my favorite - roasted potatoes with tuna fish and olive oil.
In the little free time we had I would meet Nonnie and we would explore the grounds and the several chapels, all of it beautiful. The stonework and woodwork are exceptional, the gardens are lush, and outside the walls the olive orchards look successful.
Overall it was a great experience, one of those things that are difficult at the time but when it is over you are very glad you did it. And yes, I would do it again.
Inside the main chapel
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Seattle
Green and urban was my first impression of Seattle. Nonna, fearless as ever, drove a 24 foot moving van from Albuquerque to Colin’s new home in Seattle, while I followed her in Sarah’s Toyota, accompanied by Ono, their one year old Golden Lab puppy. Ono was great company, sitting quietly in the back seat, occasionally leaning forward to rest her head on my shoulder and poking her nose into my ear at unexpected moments while I was listening to a gruesome murder mystery on the radio.
We took our time on the drive, stopping the first night in Moab, the second night in Twin Falls, and the third night in Yakima, and arriving at Colin’s house around noon on the fourth day. He and Sarah found a house in Discovery Park, a hundred year old white clapboard duplex in an old closed Navy base which is now a huge park on the edge of Puget Sound. The location is perfect.
Sarah flew to Seattle with Oran, who will be two next month, and he seemed amazed to find his dog, his cat, his grandparents, and his toys in a new house so far away. He hadn’t seen his dad for six weeks, and when he came off after work the look on Oran’s face was pure joy, the kind of absolute emotion that only a child can show. Oran, Ono, and Tibby spent the next few days exploring and getting their pecking order established.
To me Seattle seems like another new beginning, another fresh start. Seattle is new to me; I have not spent hardly any time there, and I am eager to explore both the city and the country around it, the coffee shops and brew pubs, the Olympic Penninsula and the wheat fields in eastern Washington. I want to hike and take lots of photographs, and then get a printer and start printing in black and white, and when I am tired with that I want to start to write, to finish my memoir of Greenland, and then to take classes and visit museums, and to watch my grandson grow up. This coming September I am planning a trip to Bhutan, and I want to photograph there; and I want to return frequently to the Southwest US, to the best light anywhere. And it is still hard to retire, to quit practicing medicine, to stop doing what I have been doing for forty plus years.
I look at the photograph on my desk of my mother on her high school graduation day and I wonder what her life was like growing up in a small town on the Oregon Coast, a place she said she couldn’t wait to leave, leave for an education and for adventure, but instead she got married, had children, had polio, and watched her dreams slip away, dreams that must have included traveling, writing, photographing, and certainly included watching her grandchildren grow up, grandchildren she never got to see because she died before they were born, and so I think that I should go ahead and in spite of the huge emptiness inside of me continue to chase my dreams. I owe it to her. And I owe it to Derek and Colin, and maybe to myself.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Mira
Friday our cat Mira, whom we adopted as a tiny kitten nineteen years ago in Kazakhstan, died, the result of acute on chronic renal failure. She fell asleep, as they say, in Nonna’s arms, in the arms of someone who truly loved her, about as good a death as anyone can hope for.
She was a good cat, an indoor cat without front claws, unable to protect herself if the need had arisen. As a kitten she loved to wait in ambush, then run and jump at the wall behind us, placing all four of her claws at our eye level, as if to let us know that she could have had us, if she wanted to. As she grew older her athleticism slipped away and she became more of a couch potato, but always glad to see us, always trying to climb into our lap if we sat quietly long enough. In her last years she became blind in one eye and seemed to have trouble seeing out of the other eye. Her teeth started to fall out and she developed high blood pressure and Nonna faithfully fed her medications daily.
Goodbye Mira; we will miss you.
She was a good cat, an indoor cat without front claws, unable to protect herself if the need had arisen. As a kitten she loved to wait in ambush, then run and jump at the wall behind us, placing all four of her claws at our eye level, as if to let us know that she could have had us, if she wanted to. As she grew older her athleticism slipped away and she became more of a couch potato, but always glad to see us, always trying to climb into our lap if we sat quietly long enough. In her last years she became blind in one eye and seemed to have trouble seeing out of the other eye. Her teeth started to fall out and she developed high blood pressure and Nonna faithfully fed her medications daily.
Goodbye Mira; we will miss you.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
Ponnatee Resort
The air conditioner is going flat out and I almost feel cold,
the first time in weeks I’ve been anything but warm or hot - and this is winter
in Thailand. It even seems to get warmer
when it rains here.
Yesterday I visited three villages inside Burma –
Halockanie, Baladen Pite, and Tee Wah Doh – and today I am in a very nice air
conditioned room a thousand miles and a thousand years away, or so it
seems. The people in the villages live
in bamboo houses, or wood houses if they are well off. There is no glass, no tile, and no concrete
in their homes, and if there is a fire everything burns – everything except
their knife and cooking pot. They live
without electricity or running water, and not all of them have latrines. Dogs, pigs, and chickens are more numerous
than people. Little kids run around half
naked, playing with simple toys, but they look well cared for and most of them
appear well fed.
We visited several schools and held mobile clinics in
each. I saw several children with congenital
abnormalities - one boy had severe scoliosis (curvature of his spine); a little
girl had a strange abnormality of her eyes so that they appeared to be
constantly bobbing; like two corks in the ocean. One mother was sitting on the front of her
house holding her severely retarded fourteen year old son in her arms. He cannot talk, walk, or feed himself, yet he
was clean and appeared to be very well cared for, a testimony to the power of a
mother’s love. I don’t think he would
get that level of care in any institution in the U.S.
Most of the villagers look happy and interested in what
is happening around them, only a few of the poorest seemed apathetic. The school kids were clean and working hard at
school. No one was ‘goofing off,’ the
way we did in school. The teachers are
very young and hold very important positions in their communities; in their
culture teachers are held in very high esteem.
I was very impressed by them.
On a different note, today I learned that Terry, my
friend of more than fifty years, died quietly last night after years of
fighting Parkinson’s disease. I met
Terry when we were freshmen in high school in Portland, half the world away
from here. He was on the reunion
committee for our high school class and this year will be our fifty year
reunion – I’m sorry he won’t be there. He lived a life of honor and courage and he
will be missed by so many people.
Often I talk with my son Colin on Skype. This week he drove over miles of snow covered
roads to get to Seattle where he is starting a new chapter in his life. It is exciting and I’m sure things will work
out for him; it’s just a bit nerve wracking in the beginning –a new city, new
job, new people. What a different lifestyle
we live compared to those people in Halockanie.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Thailand – first impressions, again
If Hong Kong is designed
to encourage pedestrians, to make it easier and safer to walk, Bangkok
has taken the opposite approach, with uneven, or non-existent, sidewalks. Hundreds of electric wires hang from concrete
poles, which are stuck into the middle of the sidewalks. Sidewalk
vendors take up some more space, as do the outdoor restaurant – stalls. It’s all a big wonderful mess.
Behind the carts on the streets are the buildings, many of
them housing very expensive shops and malls.
Cars, motorcycles, and taxis all compete for the roads while the
skytrain runs two to three stories above the street. I prefer the skytrain, and I know the areas
around the stops the best.
After one day in the frenzy of Bangkok I travelled by bus
and mini-bus first to Kanchanaburi (2 hours) then to Sankgklaburi( four hours)
where I was met by my Mon friends. Now
I am in my friend Saikamar’s house, getting used to eating sitting on the
floor, the neon tube lights, the roosters in the morning, the squat toilet, the
lack of a sink, the exposed wiring, the motorbikes, the dogs… Yet it all seems so familiar, so friendly.
The nights are cold – two blankets – and the days are
warm. I’m sitting wearing a light shirt
while my friends are wearing sweaters, scarves, jackets – I guess it all
depends on what you are used to. And
there is wi-fi internet access here – real progress.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Hong Kong
Hong Kong – a city of banks, restaurants, designer stores,
and an infinite number of high raise apartment buildings. The public transportation is wonderfully
efficient and with my prepaid Octopus card all I have to do is to tap my card
to the reader on any form of transportation and the fee is automatically
deducted, although since I’m an “elderly” the fee is very low – it’s even free
to ride the Star ferry across the harbor, which everyone should do at least
once in their life. It’s still a
thrilling ride, even if the harbor is much small than it was twenty years ago,
and the boat traffic is much less.
Hong Kong is all about making money and spending money, and
eating; eating everything and anything, as long as it is fresh. For example, I ate goose intestines, duck
tongues, and the fallopian tubes of a frog-like animal. But more familiar types of food are even more
delicious (to me); roast goose, barbecue pork, steamed whole fish, and of course
we ate a lot of dim sum. I love dim sum,
not just the food itself but the ambiance – people sitting at tables with
strangers reading their newspapers, drinking tea, passing time. Of course the newer fancier restaurants lack
this slow pace, but even at these places I don’t feel rushed.
The streets in some parts of town are lined with designer
shops and outside these shops there are lines of people waiting to get in,
mostly mainland Chinese with money to burn.
On the Star ferry I saw women with bags – lots of bags - from Chanel,
Burberry, Prada, and numerous other high priced stores. All that money is driving up the cost of
real estate here, so that apartments rent for thousands of (US) dollars a
month, and sell for millions.
Get on a ferry to an outlying island, or a bus to the peak,
and in half an hour you are hiking in the country. Our first day in Hong Kong the weather and
visibility were great so we took a bus to the peak (the tram has become too
popular with mainland tourists now), and hiked from Victoria Peak to the top of
High West, another peak with a spectacular view and no buildings. While we were climbing the hill that song
from the old movie Love is a many
splendored thing kept playing in my head: “once on a high and windy hill
two lovers kissed…” But Nonnie didn’t
want to kiss in front of the other hikers.
Our trip was made much better by our friend Ed, with whom we
roasted a pig in Gallup, and with whom we ate many great meals in Hong Kong,
including a thirteen course wedding banquet at the marriage of Cheryl and
Harold, Ed’s nephew. That was a meal to
remember! Ed’s sister Amy had head surgery
when we arrived, but was able to join us for dinner at the end of our
visit. We wish her well.
I will remember Hong Kong as a city of contrasts – huge apartment
buildings and huge parks; rich people and poor people, cheap goods and
expensive items – a place of endless energy, and sore legs.
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