Stories

First impressions of Prague;

The Czech people seem to have a private / respectful attitude. They go about their day   In a purposeful and casual manner. They are observant without being disrespectful. They offer a helpful hand when asked, but you must ask. If they know you, you will be greeted with a smile and warmth.

It may be that winter is waning, a slight chill still in the air, or maybe the just love to procreate, but good golly there are babies in strollers and children everywhere. Lots of plants and flowers for sale as well. The humans here do enjoy their parks and public squares. 

Their does not seem to be one “cool” style of clothes, which is nice. Colors / designs / materials abound.

The streets are clean as they understand we are all in this thing together. 

I am sitting in a park as I write this listening to the clock tower bells observing the humans. Dogs are everywhere and many unleashed, like their masters they seem well behaved.

I spent a few hours the first night here with an old friend Devin drinking a few of the local beers. It was just as I like it, a small dark establishment in the basement of an old building, punk music loud. When we arrived it was closed, but my friend knows that there are different meanings of closed here based on the time and who you know. There was a small cylindrical countertop vending machine. It contained small canisters of sausages and pickles.

Time to wander, more later.

xt

My First Fly

I have been in Prague for 8 days.

 I have found a pizza place just down the way. Pizza and gyros seem to be a match here. There are small shops on every block. I like my pizza place, no nonsense carbs with beer of course. 

Many of the restaurants allow inside dining as well as outside patio tables. Outside dining is very popular. 

There are small markets on most corners that seem to be owned by either the Chinese or Koreans, well stocked shelves in narrow isles, usually 2 at most. Local pastries, beer , cheese and so forth. I shop there as most do, although I have made it to one grocery store. The grocery store is one of the few places that do not allow dogs. Hazel and I discovered this after we arrived. Luckily, we had her carrier with us because we were going to Uber the food home. I snuck her in and put her in a cart, casually rushing thru the store before being discovered, no one seemed to notice. People keep to themselves instead of getting up in everyone’s business. 

I had my first proper Czech meal last night in old town. A wonderfully tender pork schnitzel accompanied by the best potato salad I have ever had. 

I am sitting next to 2 French girls as I write this at a local restaurant on the patio. I am dining on beery cheese with toast and some pickled sausages. They are quite delectable, both the girls and the sausages. 

I have eaten gyros on the street. Not bad, not as good as the Saudi street food but good.

I have eaten fresh tomato soup from the farmers market in the church park, absolutely delicious,  while i watch the baby buggies roll by, pushed by the Proud Czech mothers.

In all of my dining experiences here, i have yet to see a fly until today, and i’m not sure I actually did.

Hop Scotch

There  have  been  no  Lucy  sightings  for  about  2  weeks.  Hazel  and  I  anxiously look  for  her  as  we  enter  our  small  neighborhood  park.  Just  another  one  of  those  unanswered  questions  that  float  around  my  brain.

We  have  seen  the  aged  old  man  with  the  5  dogs  a  few  times in  the  last  10  days  or  so.  We  have  not  had  to  do  the  “  which  side  of  the  street  “  dance  with  him  to  avoid  a  confrentation  with  the  dogs.  Each  time  now,  he  has  been  already  half  way  down  the  street,  sitting  on  a  small  ledge.  It  must  be  his  resting  spot  on  thier  walk. 

Hazel  and  I  watch  them from  our  side  of  the  street  as  we  pass  them.  We  have  no  choise  but  to  observe  them.  I  watch  as  the  old  man  fights  to  hold  onto  the  massive  Rottweiler.  The  dog  is  muzzled and  on  a  leash  but  we  have  more  faith  in  the  dogs  will  than  the  leashes durability.  

We  finally  got  a  good  glimpse of  the  other  4  dogs.  Three  are  fat  little  bulldogs black and white,  more  interested  in peeing  and  smelling  than  what  the  rest  of  the  world  is  doing. The  5th  dog  is  by  far  the  smallest  and  loudest.  A  teacup  chihuahu,  black,  angry  and  full  of  piss  and  vinager, wanting  desperately to  cross  the  street  and  confront  us,  the  old  man  thankfully  prevents  this  by  repeatedly  yelling  “Jacko”  at  him. Hazel  and  I  agree  that  “Jacko”  must  mean  jerk.

Hazel,  of  course  wants to  drag  me  across  the  street  to  say  whats  up,  lucky  for  me  I  have  the  common  sense  to  pull  her  down  the  street  as  the  noises  from  Jacko  echo  off  the  appartment  buildings  behind  us.

I  still  haven’t figured  out  the  schedule  for  the  farmers  market.  It  will  be  10  long  days  since we last enjoyed  tomato  soup.  We  had  come  to  believe  that  it  was  never  open  on  Monday and Tuesday.  Last  week  they  threw  Latin  fest  at  us.

We  have  high  hopes  for  this  week.  We  thought  the  gods  had  felt  sorry  for  us  today  as  while  we  walked  around  our  little  park  circle,  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  food  van  parked  by  the  church  as  we  looked  down  the  radius  emminating  from  the  park.  Our  pace  quickened  as we abandoned the park and hastily walked twords the church.  My hopes dimmed as we drew near, music, not latin this time but music none the less.  Another band, another festival of some sort.

There were vendors but no soup man.  It  must  have  be a health  theme  this  week.  The  stalls  were  full  of  pamphlets and  volunteers offering  information on  this  disease  and  that. Stickers  for  the  kids,  coloring  tables  and  the  like.

We  headed  back  to  our  park.  Hoping  to  find  the  elusive  soup  tomorrow,  Wednesday for  sure.  We  sat  and  watched  the  humans  at  our  park  for  a  while.  There  was  a  specticaled  older  woman  reading  a  newspaper,  the  gossip type,  the newspaper not the woman, with  the  aide  of  a  magnifying glass.  She  held  the  glass  at  a  constant  distance  from  the  newspaper,  a  system  obviously devleoped  over  the  years.  She  seemed  very  content.

Our  favorite  humans  to  watch  are  the  mothers  and  thier  children.  Chalk  is  a  favorite  of  the  kids.  They  draw  the  hop  scotch  patterns, flowers,  happy  faces,  what  ever  comes  to  thier  little  minds.  The  mothers  all  have  strollers full  of  snacks,   toys  and  other  distractions. 

We  watch  the  baby’s  first  steps.  The  joy  in  skate boards  and  training  bikes.  They  have  small  bikes  with  no  pedels  or  training  wheels  that  they  gleefully  race  around  the  circle as thieir mothers observe  them  from  the  benches, seemingly  thankfull  for  some  rest.

It’s late

Father’s Day

I am half a world away from my three daughters, they are with me, in my head on a daily basis. They give me strength, pride, and peace of mind. They are my comfort zone, and prove to me that goodness and kindness is alive and well.

My oldest daughter has just purchased her own school and teaching lab. She was married to a wonderful man last year and give me hope that I might see a grandchild or two before I go..... no pressure guys... she has dedicated her life to help others and will be a leader where ever she goes in this life. 

My middle daughter studied in Uruguay and is now working on her masters in Texas at the University of Austin. She will teach history and Spanish most likely in Spain. She is in Madrid now doing research deep in the Spanish archives. Her focus, determination and love of history and travel come from her grandmother , who was a teacher in Arabia, Iran, Libra, Holland and Kuwait for fourty years.

My youngest daughter will be finishing collage soon with a slew of degrees and minors. She will focus on her masters next. All this as she works three jobs. She will also find her way into the teaching world. She thinks teaching writing and English in some yet undetermined land.

All three daughters, from early childhood have been involved in their communities, church’s programs, schools, volunteering around the world, always rising to the top of their classes and what ever they encounter. They are doer’s and livers of life, they step up and speak fearlessly against the social injustice, for a stranger, a friend or group. 

I ask that you step away from the bait thrown at us and our children every day in the media. We live in a wondrous world filled with acts of kindness. We are in this life, the only one we may get, together. 

We must set aside our anger and focus on our children and how we might live and work together to stop the hate, to communicate and help one another. I am as guilty as the next man, and I can not pass judgment, who am I to judge anyone. Our children look to us and like it or not we do impact the way in which they view the world.

Let them view a world of peace, understanding, common good, consideration and love. Look for the good around you everyday. Small kindnesses can and will make a difference.

I greatest achievement in this world is helping to raise my beautiful children and if I were to die tomorrow, I would die a happy and peaceful death.

Mayonnaise VS Butter

We have but 10 days left in Prague. We will return in mid August for another month, unless we get sidetracked, which we are know to do as we are easily distracted when a new adventure presents itself.

We await the arrival of a childhood friend from our days in Saudi Arabia. He will be here on the 27th of the month. We are excited to see him as he, like us, is fond of travel and new experiences. He is a kind man, a Greek, with a quick smile and a sharp whit, a  dark sense of humor and a soft heart. 

His has passion for beer, the many complexities of both the new and the old histories, styles, and of course the taste. He will no doubt, drag us along with him to various beer halls and breweries, and we, as good hosts, will oblige. 

I have been preparing for his visit by exploring as many pubs as I can so as to make his visit as enjoyable as possible. My pubs I think, differ from his in that I haunt the underbelly of Prague, those establishments that never find themselves in the tourist guide books. They will have but two, maybe three taps, local brews. He is more interested in the larger cleaner pubs, that are breweries and will have many choices. He is cultured man, and will take notes and pictures, keep mementos and share stories with his craft beer club back home. Hazel and I will hide in the shadows, drinking what we hope, is just a simple beer with no extra things in it. We will pick a girl bartender that seems to be compassionate and understanding with our lack of beer knowledge, that speaks English and will understand that we are out of place here.

Our friend is kind enough to offer to take us to spend time with him at his family home in the Greek islands. We will first take the train to Belgium, where he has informed me that there are special beers. Then we hop the train to Amsterdam for music and shenanigans. We will fly to Greece, to visit another friend from Arabia, before we head to his island.

We will miss Prague and look forward to our return. I will miss the culture here. The consideration provided to all. It is a very safe city. People act will the community in mind. They pick up after themselves. They are respectful of others privacy. There is not the knee jerk, uninformed reaction to judge one another, they are kind and willing to help if asked, but you must ask, as they will not pry into your business.

They use cross walks here and the traffic actually stops for pedestrians, almost always rewarded with a smile and thank you wave. Lines for beer, and what ever else they sell in this city, always form from the right, no one attempts to cut or complain. There is much more We than me in Prague.

There is a blind man who is a regular at Hazels favorite little pub. He has the place memorized, yet as the night grows long, we all assist him as we can and keep eyes on him as he climbs the stairs.

The sidewalks are cobblestone and like South America, not always level, I suggest the high heels be left at home when you visit. Also, if you are thinking of driving, you must be able to drive a stick and be extremely proficient in the act of  parallel parking, from both sides. The water is safe to drink.

Hazel and I decided to cook in our apartment for the first time. There is a hot plate and the basic essentials. It was after we arrived home from Hazels favorite pub, at 4:53 am when this idea came over us. We had bread, ham, cheese why not make a grilled cheese? Then a debate came to me that a friend had laid on me. She said that mayonnaise was better than butter in the making of the grilled cheeses. We boldly went about to challenge this assumption. We did in fact spread mayo instead of butter on the bread. I must confess she was right. The consistent browning of the bread was as good as any grilled cheese sandwiches i have ever encountered, which is many. Added bonus, it was much less greasy as well. We of course would be laughed out of the scientific community if our study only consisted of one grilled cheese sandwich, so we made another, same result, this time with salami. Mayo it is from now on.

I am going to see one of my favorite bands tonight, Queens of the Stone Age. I must shower, more later.....

Hazel has known something is going on for days now. She has watched me with the sad eye as I have packed the large suitcase with things we don’t need. I purchased a small bag for us to scamp about with in Belgium, Amsterdam, Greece and Germany choosing to leave behind all non essentials In a luggage storage facility in Prague for when we return in August.

She watches me intently as I scurry around, collecting items from here and there, talking to myself as I try to decide what I can live without for the next months. There is a palpable concern flowing out of her and she wonders what I am up to now. She knows that when suit cases are involved, I may be disappearing. I can hear her pleading with me not to leave her behind. Asking me where the hell we are off to now?

She leaves the comfort of her throne, perched atop my pillows and comforter, to sit next to the suitcases, laying her head on one. She must know, as most do, that I am mad and have no real plan, relying on my people skills, the kindness of strangers, and fate to show us the way.

Alex and I left her like that when we went out last night, when we returned, she was still sitting in the same spot with her pink giraffe in her mouth. I try to assure her all is well and I wont leave with out her, but I continue to get the stink eye from her.

We made the train, a 9:33 am train I might note. This on 3 hours sleep.  We discovered from fellow travelers, that you actually need to read your ticket, so as to wind up in, not just the correct seat on the train, but also the correct train car. The conductor also educated us on the fact that you must fill out this form and that, here and there with dates, times and destinations, on your Eurail pass to get the proper stamp and so forth. 

The train out of Prague was right on time. Our car, 2nd class, is clean, air conditioned and comfortable. The ride is smooth, like one of those boxy old Buick’s that just kinda floated around the road. The landscape flies past full of forests, lakes and industrial towns. It is reminiscent of northern Arizona but with more trees and stuff.

There is a kind old man with a quick smile and the ability not just to speak 4 or 5 languages, but the ability to calculate different currencies in his head as he pushes his little trolly cart down the isle. He happily hocks his wares, candies, coffees, beer and so forth. I rolled the dice on what looked like a turkey sandwich on white bread that you would find in your corner seven eleven. I think it is turkey, along with egg mayo and a concoction of white pasty sauce containing red and the vile green pepper.

I just successfully pawned off the second half of my sandwich on Alex, with full disclosure about the vile green pepper. I can sell a sandwich my friends...

We are changing trains at the next stop so I will sign off for now.

LUCY

Hazel and I visit this park at least once a day. It is different than the large church park where we visit the farmers market. We sit on a bench and watch the humans. The lovers, mothers and their children, dog walkers, old people and so forth. The park itself is circular, centered between 6 large apartment buildings laid out in an octangular pattern (except the six sided shape not the eight sided.... I cant remember that word right now. ) We are now part of the regulars. 

There is an old woman, I would guess her age at 86 or 93. A tiny creature, slow moving and timid. She weighs no more than 78 pounds fully clothed with her coat on. She pulls a small 2 wheeled shopping type cart with her always. Her hair is white and poofy, like she has a small sheep on her head. Exasperated by the fact that she has large dark eyes.The cart has a cloth bag inside which reminds me of a grannys knitting bag. We have never seen her remove anything from the cart, but it is always at hand.

Her apartment is on the same route Hazel and I take to our apartment. The doors to her apartment building are very large carved wooden doors, quite heavy. Each apartment building door way has the panel for buzzing you in, talking speaker etc. Her's is updated so that she touches her key fob to the panel and the door unlocks. Panel on the left of the frame, handle on the double door to the right. She struggles to move from the panel to the handle in time and then summon the strength to push open the massive door as she wrangles the cart inside.

Hazel and I caught her in the middle of this process one day. We stopped naturally, and I held the door for her until she was inside. We surprised her, we are of course so light on our feet and nimble, that she did not hear us. She did not know what to make of this old man and his dog, her dark eyes examined us from deep within her mind, neither she nor I said a word and then we went our separate ways.

I like to sit on the bench next to the old woman's bench when she is there. No one ever seems to sit on a bench with someone already on it. Unless you know them of course. She is always by herself, Hazel watches her and tries to endlessly maneuver her way over to meet her. She shows little emotion as she watches the world.

I wish I could sit and talk to her, with Hazel in her lap, and have her tell me stories of the life she has lived. How she fell in love, raised children, struggled thru the great wars. We all are creatures of wonder, and have stories to tell. She seems so lonely and sad, but with out any resentment or anger. I hope to bring my Czech speaking friend to the park and hang out until the old woman shows up and see if she will speak to me thru her.

Hazel and I call her Lucy.

I sat on my bench, tomato soup in hand, in the park by the church. Hazel at my feet, content with the world.

We love to watch the humans come and go. They are such interesting creatures. I looked down to my bowl so as to maintain strict discipline in soup eating protocol, I dare not drop a drop in transferring it to my mouth.

A shadow grew from the ground by my feet, up my leg and over my bowl. I looked up to see this beautiful little girl staring at me from no more than 10 inches from my face. I smiled at her and she at me. We sat there staring and smiling for what seemed like a long time. No words exchanged. She had large blue inquisitive eyes, measuring me. I looked for her mother this way and that. There was a woman with her back to us already 2 or 3 benches along past us. She, involved with 2 other small ones, had not yet noticed her daughter watching me. The woman did not seem worried, nor the girl, nor I.

My attention turned back to the child in front of me. She started to speak to me, not in a timid delivery, but with a sweet confidence. She was both mining me for information of some sort, and also at the same time filing me in on some important life lessons she obviously felt I needed help with. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, I wanted desperately just to hug this sweet child. It made me miss the early days of my 3 daughter's lives. As earnestly as I could, I looked her in the eye and apologized, explaining that I spoke no Czech, only english. I told her my name and that I thought she was a very smart girl. I pointed to HAZEL and introduced her, thinking she may have interest in my doggo. She just keep looking at me and talking.

She finally finished what she thought so important to explain to me. Gave me one last look and ran after some pidgons.

This experience lasted a good 7 to 10 minutes and will be one of my favorite Prague memories.

MUSIC

Hazel and I are listening to the musical sounds of a band playing 2 stories below our  open windows. Stand up bass, my favorite, drums and guitar. Think Stray cats, rockabilly, bluesy kinda stuff. It is a very small cafe on the first floor of our building, so small, the band is set up on the sidewalk in front. They had stopped twice for rain drops, thankfully the clouds have parted and the children are dancing. Music is a wonderus thing. I have found it a safe and exciting place to  hide for most of my life.

We had a wonderful night last night. We went to a blues club down by old town, had a great meal at a place some new friends work at, and finished up the night at our favorite little pub.

My heart always flutters when I first start down the stairs to our pub, hoping to see the beautiful Mirka behind the bar with her Great Dane at her feet. She is the kind of person who you hope to call friend. Friendly, kind, beautiful, funny and engaging.

Last night was special as she invited me to join her and two others in the local dice game I have been watching for more than a month, I picked up the rules quickly and  won 1, lost 4 games. Time spent with Mirka always flies too quickly. Sometimes it seems she can read my mind when it comes to the music she plays. I wish I could read her mind.

Honza is the other bartender at our pub. I try to hide the look on my face when I enter and see Mirka is not working, kindly Honza pretends not to notice, he knows I love him. He has come to be a good friend. A young Czech man with an easy smile, a big heart and a wonderful disposition. I have spent many hours with him behind the bar deep into the night. talking about life, music and family. He has a wonderful new girlfriend and we had the pleasure of meeting his mother. Honza has given me the gift of gypsy music. He plays it for me now even when he would rather listen to something else. It is music I have never experienced and will share with my friends for as long as I go.

No Butt Syndrome

A few observations / thoughts;

Hazel is loving life....she goes on three or more walks a day finding herself in in a wonder world of new smells, people, dogs and places. She is determined to smell and pee on everything, her only problem is running out of pee, which is not to say that deters her from squatting , hiking a leg and giving it the old collage try.... we must go thru the motions.

Czechs do like to drink and smoke. I believe their intake levels on both rank near the top in Europe. That being said, baised on the alleged fact that I may or may not have visited an unusually high number of their pubs and music venues since my arrival, for research purposes only, I can say that their are no fights, loud disturbances, there seems to be a respect of others and their privacy that i found seriously lacking in the US.

Like the magic kissing tree across the street, there seems to be a magic wine shop down the way. I pass it everyday several times, even driven by it in Uber’s, the Uber driver, myself, my friend and some others i have spoken to in the neighborhood, all agree that something is going on in there. It is a small narrow place, and at all times of the day, the shop overflows with every type of wine lover, 20 to 30 people on the sidewalk, you can drink on the street here. We cant decide what is up, but speculations abound.

Ice cream shops, jellato and so forth are also very popular...lines form with expectant happy children, suddenly on their best behavior, mesmerized by colors and smells as they wait their turn.

I must be missing a “football” match , or the hockey game, which is big here, I can hear the cheers from the beer garden in the park down the way thru my open window.

The weather is beautifu, perfect days followed by cool nights.

One thing I really do not like is that they use a lot of coins here, heavy coins, I hate having things in my pockets, drives me nuts, here I have no choice but to carry a pocketful of large, heavy coins around. And when you have a flat butt like me, with nothing for the pants to hang on, and you add a pocketful of coins....your pants keep falling down

more later

An interesting note that here in Prague, you may get a free piano or other larger furniture when renting or purchasing a flat. Most elevators are too small and light and hallways narrow. My friend moved out of his apartment and I asked him how he was getting the piano out, he lived on the 5th floor. He said it wasn’t his, it came with the place.

Apparently, unlike Arizona life, one should check the local forecast before going outside, Hazel, my friend and me were walking to a restaurant on a sunny day and in minutes a rainstorm hit followed by hail lasting a good 45 minutes. We huddled under an apartment balcony outcropping with a gramma with 2 small grandchildren. Finally realizing we were next to a small grocery, we all dashed inside to wait out the storm. There were about 20 of us huddled by the front door watching the collapsing umbrellas, wet dogs and humans as they forged on outside. One of us captives in the shop, a pretty young Czech girl must have had somewhere important to be. She bought some small blue trash bags and set about making her own rain coat. It was fun to watch. Hail, rain and a show all for free here in Prague.

It rained again today and more coming tomorrow, last week was a heat wave here with temps between 80-85 degrees.

Dogs, as they should be, are loved here in the Czech Republic. Every where we go, bars, restaurants etc, they all keep miniture vanilla wafer cookies for the dogs. Hazel, while pretending to not remember many things I say to her, remembers every person and location she has gotten these cookies. The beautiful Bohemian bartender in my favorite little dive bar, the old man who owns the Italian restaurant where we eat the lasagna from heaven, the old woman who works at the hospital, next to my pharmacist who watches for hazel and comes out to meet us with cookies in hand.

It is important to use coasters here and respect the wood. It is also frowned upon to pour the last of one beer into the new mug of beer you just got. One must respect the integrity of each individual beer.  A greeting to a neighbor or cashire is dobre den. Pardon, seems to be the best I’m sorry or excuse me.

We watched a car get towed last week. Interesting because it was like watching a giant klaw game that people play in bars in the states. Tow truck pulls up next to the car, the giant klaw swings over the car and just lifts it right up off the ground and onto the tow truck. We watched until the end just in case it dropped the car, but alas, no drop.

I was able to purchase a medium range health insurance policy here as a foreigner for 4 months including coverage in most of the EU countries for $150. I thought it important because a lot of the bars here, the dive type that I like anyway, are in cellars with crazy staircases going this way and that.

Life is certainly different for Hazel and me now. We have but one suitcase. It contains only 2 pairs of jeans, 10 shirts, Sox boxers etc. we sold or gave away everything else we owned before our journey to walk the earth. The upside is that we miss none of the possession, we are free to go where and when we choose. The down side is that Hazel refuses to do laundry, clean or even do dishes. It is a price to pay that I would choose to do over agin. We do miss all our friends and send love and light your way.

Wish me luck, i go now in search of soup.

I’LL NEVER ANSWER TO A SCHEDULE AGAIN

There is a farmers market that sets up in the park by the neighborhood church. The area is a hub of activity everyday. There is the never ending escalator to the underground subway system as well as a tram stop. The area is surrounded by shops serving every human desire. Restaurants, bars, cafe’s, ice cream shops, grocery shops and so forth. 

I like the farmers market. Small vendors hocking their wares, food and pleasantries. There are butchers, fish mongers, books, flowers, breads and pastries, beer stalls, wine vendors, cheeses etc. 

I have several favorites. I buy my cheese there. There is a friendly old woman the size of a linebacker with a face like a catchers mitt. Her smile drew me in. We share very little in the way of language, but our love of cheese overcomes. She happily carves samples of her offerings using an medieval tool her grandmother probably used, doing her best to communicate the nuances of each selection. 

The vendor I visit most is a kind man who sells the most delicious tomato soup I have ever had. He also has goulash, lasagna, quiche, and another pasta. I found him at the market while I was out walking Hazel shortly after I first arrived. My soup is always the perfect temperature. It is not to thick or thin, just right. He always politely asks if I want the spoonful of spicy pumpkin seeds, I say yes and he reminds me to take some fresh bread for dipping. The consistency is smooth and pure. Nothing chunky going on here which is the way I want it. Chucks of things unknown to me floating in my food is unacceptable. I eat it on a bench by the church and watch the humans go about their day, and Hazel watches me.

I have always hated schedules, you must do this and that, here and there, with him and her at this specific time. Hate it. When I retired, I told Hazel, myself and anyone who would listen, that I would never have a set schedule ever again. Once again proving what a fool I can be. 

I need that soup! I think about it as I wake a new day. I scurry down the sidewalk thinking of my soup. As I get close to the church park, I try to catch a glimpse of the vans that indicate the vendors are there. On several occasions I have arrived to empty stalls! I chastise my self for staying in bed till 3:13, I had laid around on facebook since 12:43, had they come and gone? The next day you damn well know I was there at 12:01, but I stood aghast as I once again viewed empty stalls. I have seen this market open at 10:02 am, 5:37 pm what in gods name is going on here. Why are they not open every day. What the hell is the schedule! I need it now and by god those vendors better stick to it, I must have my tomato soup. 

Schedules are important! We must have them to survive! There is that delicious bohemian bartender at POCO LOCOS who also apparently needs time off from dealing with the human creatures, ok I get it, not happy about it but I get it, So now I have to figure out her schedule as well and add it to my schedule....... she keeps a Great Dane in the bar with her. A massive beast, grey and slow. She loves Hazel and feeds her miniature treats. She will destroy you in darts and plays dice with the patrons with great gusto. Her hair is short and blonde, her body sleek as a gazelle. She is real, and kind and sweet, she lets me stay in when they put the closed sign up and drink and smoke with the chosen few. 

More later, going to get some soup and walk Hazel.

7 NINTHS OF AN INCH

The bar stools here all seem to be very tall, which makes little sense considering the fact that the Czech’s consume more beer per capita than any other country. Watch your dismount here folks.

Panty hose are a thing here. So there’s that. I can’t remember the last time I saw an American girl wearing them.

High cheek bones are also a thing here with the women. Not sure if they got it from the Czechs, Slovaks, Romans, or?

No one say’s bless you when you sneeze. Lot’s of people sneezing with everything blooming right now but I have yet to hear a “bless you.”

There is a girl, I hope it’s a girl, that has apartment kitty corner from me across the street. She has on display in her windows a bright pink unicorn, a flamingo, and a cactus with a hat on it. I must find a way to meet her.

I should never had said that about the fly, i now have one in my apartment.

There is an old man who Hazel and I meet on our walks. He lives just down the block. I would guess he is ninety three. He walks slowly and painfully with a cane. Each step revealing the struggle. He is a large man in every way. He has 5 dogs. One, the largest Doberman I have ever seen, is muzzled and on a leash, neither of which give me or Hazel much confidence that the creature will shake loose and devour anything she wants at any time. The other 4 dogs are small tiny creatures, unleashed, that run freely as he shouts at them. We have had three encounters so far. Each time I wave and respectfully cross to indicate my wish as to not inconvenience him. This seems to not make him happy as he then shouts at me me Czech and waves me back to where I started. I then stand and wait for him to cross the street. I hate, and yet understand this man’s attitude, I will probably be the angry old man telling some young whipper snapper that I don’t need his help, “why I have seen some things young man, if you only knew, etc”.

The city blocks are solid old cement and brick buildings. The colors and architecture are quite stunning. Most were built before elevators were a thing. They add the elevators onto the backs of the buildings and you exit between floors and then walk up or down one set of stairs. This keeps the noise down which bounces off the cement walls. My elevator, and thank god I have one, is about the size of a small phone booth, for those of you who are old enough to remember. They still have those here by the way. It allows me about 3/7 this of an inch above my head and barely enough room for Hazel. Hazel does not trust this elevator. My biggest problem with this elevator is my memory, you see it always stops about 7/9 this of an inch short of my mid-floor landing. I have tripped on it every damn time I step out.

We visit the small park around the corner every day. We have been accepted I think by  the usual suspects who find thier way here each day.

There is the group of four, three women and one man. They sit on the same bench each day in the same places, the youngest, a woman of 57 or so, sits on the end to the right. She is the most vocal with wispy black hair. Her hands rarely stop moving.

Next to her sits the oldest women, a frail thing with thinning white hair, always draped in a warm cloak, tonight it includes a belt of some kind that keeps her covering tightly about her legs. She does not speak often choosing to listen to the younger folk and smile.

Next sits a very distinguished woman I am sure her mother would be proud of her poise and posture, she sits bolt upright. She must be in her 70’s or early 80’s. She walks slowly with a black and gold cane, her stride tells of pain. She is always dressed with class, usually dark flowing clothes, her hair always covered with a scarf type thing. I assume she preferrs not to show the world some hair loss due to age or medical treatments. Her facial expressions and movements are few, yet when she does speak, the others listen. 

Last in line on the bench, to the far left, sits the distinguished woman’s husband. He carries her purse to the park each day, walking slowly behind her always impeccably dressed with crisp shirts and slacks and always a white hat atop his head. In 9 days of observation, I have seen him speak nary a word. He is content with his place on the end of the bench as he casually watches the humans and life pass by in front of him. He seems oblivious of the non stop chatter that fills

Hazel and I take the long way there  thru various neighborhoods and larger parks.

We enjoy discovering new routes. It allows us to stumble upon many wonders be they small vendors, new lunch spots, archeological creations, street art and of course the people and thier dogs. It is how we found the sweet Greek lady who does our laundry, our barber, a cute blond gal who is quite interested in me, or maybe just information on the USA, Hazels vet and beauty shop, our bakery and favorite bars.

SHE MUST HAVE BEEN A RABBIT HUNTER IN A FORMER LIFE....

So we flew into Amsterdam 2 days ago...... we have about 2 weeks left before we return to the USA to visit friends and family and then head to Asia.... I think.

I got a room at a hotel by the airport because I was not sure if we would stay in Amsterdam or venture into the hinterlands to explore more of Holland.

I think Hazel has made it clear that we need to stay put for a bit, enough of this willy nilly here and there. And we fly out of Amsterdam so....... who am I kidding ....... we reserved a room in the city central of Amsterdam tomorrow and will take it as it comes.

The airport hotel we are in is nice, beautiful gardens and flowers everywhere, walking paths, out door ping pong tables, very busy, full of flight attendants....

It started raining hard early this morning and did not let up until 18:00 or so..... Hazel refused to go outside..... she hates the rain. She is an Arizona girl. When we did venture out we were on a great walk...... when we turned the corner we came upon a rabbit couple..... beautiful animals.... they and I freaked out and Hazel, the sweet, calm dog I have known for 10 years went nuts.

The whole thing lasted seconds as the rabbits disappeared down their rabbit hole... but I had to drag hazel away from their lair....  now every time we go outside she immediately pulls me to that hole! She wants those rabbits. Forget peeing and pooping..... I have never seen her so captivated by anything.... except maybe that black cat the neighbor had who would walk along the wall of our joined yards.

Time to smoke...

PICK A SIDE

The weather here in Prague, has seen clear skys, rain, cloudy skys, windy, blustery, bone chilling cold, humidity, and sweaty heat...... and most of that was just yesterday.

For a boy who has lived in a desert most of his life, well lets just say it’s a challenge. Jacket? light or heavy, sweater? don’t even own one, umbrella? don’t have one of those either....... sooooooo load up the old purse with one of everything.... still don’t have one of those either. How’s a boy to survive?

Hazel and I are still learning, we are not an experienced walking team. She had a house and yard, me with a truck, who needs to walk.  Now that we are down to one suitcase we must adjust.

So we go for many walks,  I like it when she chooses the wall hugging method, this of course doesn’t last long. My relationship with Hazel is like all of my relationships with women, ex-wife and daughters included. I genuinely try to be good and help, give advice and guide, most of it falls on deaf ears. And they say we men never listen.

We will have a nice gait going hugging the wall and then out of nowhere she darts in front of me and switches to the old treelined / curbside method. I must adjust the length of the leash, double step and make sure she is not going after a  bit of broken ice cream cone some poor child has dropped.

She of course is in charge, letting me vainly think that I am in control. As she explores she will also go behind me as she switches methods causing me to either do a pirouette and spin around or attempt to switch lease hands, which is difficult as I am holding my lit cigarette, phone, pooper picker upper, etc as I have still not brought a purse!

And of course there is an endless combination of her methods. I believe she creates new strategies before we go outside.

I have met many interesting characters so far and life is treating me well, a lucky boy I am in deed. Prague is a wonderful and vibrant city I have just begun to explore.

I just wish Hazel would pick a side!

More later.

IT  IS  THE  SMALL  THINGS  IN  LIFE  ..........

Rain  in  Prague,  yesterday  today,  and  the  day  before.  Hazel  and  I  watch  the  clouds  thru  the  window  and  listen  to  the  intensity  trying  to  guage  the  right  time  to  venture  out.  Hazel  is  not  a  fan  of  the  rain.  She  is  a  desert  rat  like  me  and  she  knows  not  what  to  make  of  so  much  liquid  falling  from  the  skys. 

Wednesdays  are  busy  and  highly  anticipated  days  for  us  in  Prague.  The  farmers  market  returns ,  closed  since  last  Friday  as  they  close  Sat  thru  Tues. 

Every  other  Wednesday we  have  a  cleaning  service  that  comes  to  put  things  back  to  original  order.  We  of  course  must  get  up  early  to  clean  the  apartment  before  he  comes.  A  silly  irony  maybe,  but  this  is  how  we  were  raised.  He  is  a  very  nice  man,  Peter.  An  older  fellow  with  a  kind  smile,  many  mops  and  vacuums,  with  wild  long  grey  hair  surronding  a  mostly  bald  head. 

He  takes  an  hour  and  is  very  thorough in  his  work.

We  let  him  in,  and  then  rain  or  no  rain,  we  head  out  to  sniff,  smoke,  pee  and  seek  small  moments  of  memories  to  bury  in  our  brains.     

Today  during  our  walk  the  rain  was  not  letting  up,  we  headed  twords  the  farmers  market,  but  decided  to  find  a  place  to  shelter  us  from  the  rain  until  the  clouds  cleared. 

We  stopped  in  a  small  cafe  called  Boho.  It  is  a  welcoming  place.  The  owner  is  the  chef  and  we  believe  the  bartender  /  server  was  his  daughter.  Glass  windows  along  the  front,  with  a  seating  ledge.  Maybe  10  tables  with  another  small  room  in  the  back.  The  cafe  offers  coffees,  lemonades,  teas,  delicious  looking  baked  goods  books  to  read  and  a  small  menu  for  food,  beer  and  wine. 

We  peaked inside  as  we  walked  by  the  windows  and  saw  the  tables  were  full  and  almost  kept walking.  We  glimpsed a  spot  open  at  the  end  of  the  bar  and  were  forced  in  by  the  rain.

As  we  settled  in  and  looked  around  waiting  for  a  menu,  we  discovered  a  most  wonderous  thing.  The  occupants of  the  tables  turned  out  to  be  a  group  of  mothers  all  with  new  born  babies.  There  were  15  babies  by  our  count,  although we  may  have  missed  one  or  two.  The  mothers  exchanged  baby  stories,  took  turns  holding,  walking  and  loving  each  little  one.  I  can  not  begin  to  tell  you how heart  warming  is  was  to  observe  this  happening.

At  one  point,  the  mothers  picked  up  the  babies  and  started  walking  twords  us,  I  froze  as  they  glanced  at  us,  not  knowing  what  women  want  or  think  to  begin  with,  but  now,  were  Hazel  and  I  supposed  to  do  something?  Luckily they  took  a  hard  right  just  before  reaching  us  and  they  gathered  by  the  front  window. 

They  started  lining  up  the  babies,  side  by  side  on  the  sitting  ledge  in  the  window.  A  photo  shoot  ensued as  the  mothers  giggled  and  smiled,  all  makeing  sure  their  baby  got  a  spot.  It  was  a  special  moment  to  be  able  to  enjoy  and  observe.

The  rain  kept  coming  as  we  waited  for  Peter  to  finish  with  the  cleaning.  Out  of  the  corner  of  our  eye,  we  saw  the  chef  come  out  of  the  kitchen  with  a  bowl  of  soup  in  hand.  And  yes ,  it  was  in  fact  tomato  soup,  and  yes  we  did  partake.  It  was  quite  delicious ,  homemade,  nice  and  hot  to  shake  the  chill  of the  rains  from  our  bones. Again,  nothing  chunky  floating  around,      

just  notes  of  small  herbs and   love.  

Life  is  good,  Hazel  and  I  enjoy  the  little  things.  I  have  heard  there  is  a  castle  here  somewhere that  we  should  visit,  maybe  someday.

James Erwin

May 17, 2018

 · 

Shared with Public

Purseland

This is where Hazel has been camped out since our walk in the rain today. She does not like to walk in the rain. Who knew?

Much to my Chagrin, i think i am going to have to get a man bag, i have scoffed at the idea for years, loved the sienfield episode etc, but i must concede. When you do not have a car, and you walk everwhere, you need a way to carry your stuff for the day. iPad / coin’s / cards / phone / leash / papers / meds / chargers / cash / snacks/ water / umbrellas / chapstick / glasses / sunglasses/ cigarettes/ lighter / tram pass.... will this madness never end?

My dear mother carried my fathers things as well as stuff for three boys around the world in her purse... i want to thank her and my daughters ( except for my youngest who always refused  Bailey Erwin ) and all the women who have ever carried my stuff.

Europe is definitely a bag society, even a multiple bag society, everyone has them, at least one. Well, at least all the cool kids do so......

Beer / soda / leomade.... all cost the same here and make sure to use your coaster. Cigarettes are a dollar a pack but all come with horrific photos on them.

I am thinking i might do some actual tourist type thing in the next couple of days, a castle or museum, ill try to take some pic’s if i can get my camera out of my purse.....

more later

Introspective times  for  me.  Reflection,  appreciation,  sadness,  happiness,  inspiration, wonder.....  life  is  truly amazing  and  confusing  at  the  same  time.

As  I  contemplate  the  life  I  now  lead  and  have  lead,  the  complexity  and  unanswered  thoughts  that  flow  thru  my  brain,  at  times  exaust  me.

The  loss  of  Anthony Bourdain  today  leaves  me  once  again  bewildered.  His  embodiment of  life,  the  way  in  which  he  demonstrated  to  us,  that  humanity  is  important,  has  been  an  inspiration  to  me. 

His  joy  of  travel,  exploring  cultures,  thier  food  and  thier  people  was  captivating  to  me.  A  simple  meal  shared  between  strangers  in  a  simple  setting  can  bring  us  all  in  this  life  just  a  bit  closer  to  understanding  that  we  are  all  in  this   together  and  we  need  to  help  each  other.

Obviously,  I   can  only  speculate  in  the  dark  about  what  his  life  was  like.  I  did  research  him  with  great  interest  in  the  past,  and  have  seen  only  what  he  chose  to  show  us  thru  the  lense.

I  feel  that  I am  the  most  blessed  person,  I  have  lived  5  life  times ,  seen,  done  and  enjoyed  more  that  is  imaginable.  I  have  three  of  the  most  amazing  daughters  a  man  could  have.  Each,  give  me  hope  for  the  future  of  man  kind.  And  yet,   floating  in  and  out  of  my  consciousness constantly are  thoughts  of  unworthiness .  Why  me?  Why  was  I  not  a  better  father,  friend  and  human?  How  much  more  I  could  have  done. 

My  misson  since  choosing  my  new  path,  is  to  chase  happiness  and  spread  kindness.  I  work  on  it  a  little  everyday in  small  ways.

Last  nite,  Hazel  and  I  shared  time  with  three  new  friends.  We  had  gone  once  again  to  our  favorite  little  pub.  We  entered  around  midnight.  It  is  the  pub  that  the  beautiful  Mirka  works,  owner  of  the  great  dane.  Sadly Mirka   was  not  working.  We  chose  a  small  table  adjacent to  another  where  three  men  sat.

The  benches  of  the  tables  back  up  to  one  another.  Hazel  has  free  roam  in  this  pub  and  takes  it  upon  herself  to  do  as  she  pleases.  She  will,  at  any  moment,  simply  sneak  between  the  bench  seats  and  before  anyone  know  it,  she  is  sitting  in  thier  lap.  Her  personality,  and  the  Czechs love  of  dogs  allows her  this    freedom.

She  once  again  did  this  last  night  to  the  three  men  next  to  us.  And  as  usual,  it  was  to  thier  delight.  It  led  to  a  few  questions  at  first  and  then  a  frienship  we  will  not  forget.  One  of  the  first  things  they  spoke  about  is  the  joy  of  meeting  new  people  and  how  you  never  know  how  your  life  might  change,  or  be  enriched  in  any  small  way. 

The  three  men  were  from  a  mountain  region  in  the  northern  part  of  the  Czech Republic.  They  live  here  in  the  city  of  Prague because  they  can  earn  more  here  that  in  the  smaller  town  they  are  from.  One  was  a  man  of  the  construction  trades  and  two  worked  at  a  restaurant. 

We  spoke  of  life  and  travel,  women  and  Hazel,  work,  childhood  and  hopes  and  dreams.  We  drank  and  smoked  deep  into  the  night.  Somewhere  around  3:37  I  asked  if  I  could  buy  them  all  a  round  of  beers.  they  all  said  oh  no,  not  possible,  we  have  work  in  the  morning  etc.  then  the  contruction  worker  smiled  at  me  and  said  ok,  maybe,  but  you  have  to  call  my  girlfriend  as  he  handed  me  his  phone.  We  all  laughed,  I  declined  the  offer  and  then  I  got  the  next  round.

Deeper  into  the  night,  one  of  the  other  men  a  chef,  opened  his  backpack,  and  produced  a  bounty  worthy  of  any  human  on  earth.

He  placed  a  small  cutting  board  on  the  table  in  front  of  us.  Retrieving  his  knife,  two  links  of  sasuage  and  some  bread,  he  went  about  preparing  a  most  delicious  and  unexpected  meal  for  us  to  share.  Hazel  was  not  missing  a  beat.  She  stared  at  him  with  great  intensity  and  hope  as   he  sliced  the  sasuage  and  bread  for  us.

He  had made  the  bread  and  sasuage  himself,  my  only  hope  at  this  point  was  that  it  was  not  intended  for  his  family, because  we  devoured  it  all.  I  can  not  tell  you  the  flavors  that  penetrated  our  taste  buds  but  it  was  amazing. 

The  chance  mmeting  in  a  small  pub  leading  to  a  shared  meal  and  exchanges  of  memories  while  creating  new  ones  is  what  I  love  about  travel.  I  will  occasionally  tourist,  but  these  experiences  make it  easier  for  me  to  believe  in  the  joys  and  goodness of  life I  sometimes  doubt. 

Chase  happiness  and  spread  kindess  my  friends.....  life  is  short

I’LL NEVER ANSWER TO A SCHEDULE AGAIN

There is a farmers market that sets up in the park by the neighborhood church. The area is a hub of activity everyday. There is the never ending escalator to the underground subway system as well as a tram stop. The area is surrounded by shops serving every human desire. Restaurants, bars, cafe’s, ice cream shops, grocery shops and so forth. 

I like the farmers market. Small vendors hocking their wares, food and pleasantries. There are butchers, fish mongers, books, flowers, breads and pastries, beer stalls, wine vendors, cheeses etc. 

I have several favorites. I buy my cheese there. There is a friendly old woman the size of a linebacker with a face like a catchers mitt. Her smile drew me in. We share very little in the way of language, but our love of cheese overcomes. She happily carves samples of her offerings using an medieval tool her grandmother probably used, doing her best to communicate the nuances of each selection. 

The vendor I visit most is a kind man who sells the most delicious tomato soup I have ever had. He also has goulash, lasagna, quiche, and another pasta. I found him at the market while I was out walking Hazel shortly after I first arrived. My soup is always the perfect temperature. It is not to thick or thin, just right. He always politely asks if I want the spoonful of spicy pumpkin seeds, I say yes and he reminds me to take some fresh bread for dipping. The consistency is smooth and pure. Nothing chunky going on here which is the way I want it. Chucks of things unknown to me floating in my food is unacceptable. I eat it on a bench by the church and watch the humans go about their day, and Hazel watches me.

I have always hated schedules, you must do this and that, here and there, with him and her at this specific time. Hate it. When I retired, I told Hazel, myself and anyone who would listen, that I would never have a set schedule ever again. Once again proving what a fool I can be. 

I need that soup! I think about it as I wake a new day. I scurry down the sidewalk thinking of my soup. As I get close to the church park, I try to catch a glimpse of the vans that indicate the vendors are there. On several occasions I have arrived to empty stalls! I chastise my self for staying in bed till 3:13, I had laid around on facebook since 12:43, had they come and gone? The next day you damn well know I was there at 12:01, but I stood aghast as I once again viewed empty stalls. I have seen this market open at 10:02 am, 5:37 pm what in gods name is going on here. Why are they not open every day. What the hell is the schedule! I need it now and by god those vendors better stick to it, I must have my tomato soup. 

Schedules are important! We must have them to survive! There is that delicious bohemian bartender at POCO LOCOS who also apparently needs time off from dealing with the human creatures, ok I get it, not happy about it but I get it, So now I have to figure out her schedule as well and add it to my schedule....... she keeps a Great Dane in the bar with her. A massive beast, grey and slow. She loves Hazel and feeds her miniature treats. She will destroy you in darts and plays dice with the patrons with great gusto. Her hair is short and blonde, her body sleek as a gazelle. She is real, and kind and sweet, she lets me stay in when they put the closed sign up and drink and smoke with the chosen few. 

More later, going to get some soup and walk Hazel.

I FIGHT THIS BATTLE EVERYDAY

So, I only get my rooms cleaned, sheets and towels changed every two to three days. It serves two purposes, first I get to pat myself on the back for being a conservationist, and secondly, I always have to clean my room before the maid shows up, and I hate to clean my room. It’s like having visitors come over at home. Can’t let people know the real me, the chaos, the scattering of my life told by empty cookie bins and Coke Lite cans strewn about. Socks on the floor, phone chargers everywhere.

I fight a battle every day, part of me wants to lay in bed, eat things “they” tell me are bad for me, watch things on tv “they” say I shouldn’t, time suck my life away on Facebook, escape to dive bars and drink beer, wollow in self pity, hide in my self loathing deep dark hole and be the lazy bum.

Then there is that other guy, who wants to make positive change in the world. To be healthy, positive, and happy.

To be the guy who understands what an amazing thing this thing called life is. It’s a big bad crazy world out there and he wants to see and do it all. To chase women, climb mountains, snorkel in the depths, and meet amazing people.

He wants desperately to make a difference, to bring some light and understanding about the tragedies taking place around the world, and somehow, get people to spread kindness and help each other.

I often lose this battle to the guy in bed, I dread that he is the real me, and the other guy is just a facade that he creates every now and then to gain some attention. That it is all a show to simply get people to accept me, like me, love me.

The older I get, this feeling diminishes, because I really don’t care what “they” think anymore. I am closer to convincing myself that  as long as I try each day, to be a good human, a good father and a good friend,  that I can be ok with myself, in my head, when I lay awake late night, and my brain won’t shut off.

Why is it so hard to convince ourselves of this? Partly I think, is that we judge too much, we strive to be important and accepted. I think we should judge less, much less, and just try to be good humans, be ourselves and awash ourselves in those that are drawn to us. Who am I to judge anyone?

Go easy on yourselves my friends, life and death just keep coming at us and things can get difficult.

Much love on you all, chase happiness and spread kindness.

A person is rich in proportion to what he chooses to leave alone. 

The roots of history, traditions and comfort zones run deep. We must conform, live inside the box, do as society says, compete , judge, succeed, consume, develop credit lines, borrow money, toe the line.... keep the machine churning.

I put on a suit, a tie and the face that society demanded, for me to do my part and be successful. I grew weary and disillusioned. We cling to the past yet rarely learn from it. Americans, and others around the world, are not happy, we have everything at our fingertips yet are never satisfied. We tell ourselves that we are doing our part to move civilization forward, yet at the same time we are destroying our planet. 

Hate is flourishing, our children are being raised by systems and organizations that indoctrinate them into political armies from both sides that preach anger and uncooperative discontent. Consume, buy, produce and hate anyone who doesn’t agree with what the tv channel you watch, which is owned by the rich and powerful on both sides, and programmed to tell us what reality should be. 

We have made it difficult to step out of the box. It’s comfortable in there, our favorite pillows and tv shows, gold stars at work, a shoe collection and new car lease every 2 years. Change is hard and scary. But what of true freedom, we are not free, we are controlled and manipulated.

Farmers are required to grow apples that all meet exact sizes and colors so that they fit in the sorting, washing, and packing machines in the apple corporation, using chemicals that poison us. We throw away tons and tons of apples that don’t meet the “standards”, they have a blemish or aren’t the right size and color.

People are starving around the world, people are without shelter, children are dying everyday and all we talk about is Kim kardashians ass. Our children are drifting farther and farther away from nature and community. We are teaching them that greed, self interest, hating their neighbor instead of communication, love kindness and being earth conscious.

This is what our media wants us all to believe and they are extremely good at convincing us of this. I believe, that we as humans can stop. This rona thing is allowing us to breathe, to think and appreciate the simplicity of what real happiness is. People do care, they do love their children, they want to save the planet. 

The rich, powerful, political elite use the media to divide us. Generals, Emperors, dictators, kings have all used the divide and conquer tool. Rich vs poor, black vs white vs brown, republican vs Democrat, religion vs science. Cesars used this effectively with the distraction of Colosseum while the empires were looted and destroyed. 

They will not willingly give up their power and wealth. The machine has and will run smoothly as long as they keep us divided and hating each other. There is enough money, resources and food to help this planet, feed the hungry and provide shelter for all. The amount of money that is spent to fight wars, destroy the earth, to consume and indoctrinate the masses is staggering. One tenth of which would make a impact on real change. 

Until we stop fighting and hating our neighbors, and come together in a common united message, things will never change. The bombs will keep dropping and new ones will be produced. The rich will stay rich and the poor will stay poor. 

We will have to sacrifice. Are we willing to stand side by side with someone who believes and looks differently than us for a set of basic common goals. Will we give up the me me me need to get mine and have more? 

I know that we can do this, are uenwilling, this is the real question. Will we give up comfort and security for read freedom. Will we try a radically different path for a common good, for the benefit of future generations, our children and their children, or will we continue to set the example of greed and hate.

One of the great contradictions and ironies of life today is that, tho we live in the age of information and technology, we can’t believe anything we hear. Every message is bought and paid for by a political group or corporation to herd us sheep where they want us to go. In a second, we can access every moment live, or in the past, we can watch eagles nesting in mountains, or riots in Hong Kong. 

They keep us scared, divided and distracted to keep their machine rolling, to maintain their power and money. They will not give it up freely and things will never change until we come together to take our country back.

Life is a blessing, we have so much to be grateful for. People are good and kind. The world is a wild place full of mystery and beauty, why toe the line and struggle thru disappointment and a life unsatisfying, only to have a short time of freedom at the end. Read Walden by Henry David Thoreau.

We can do better, we must. There is no one way, no simple answer, we must resolve to find common ground and not fear the free exchange of different ideas and methods, how else can we truly grow in a healthy society. Do not fear your neighbor, help them. You do not need to buy another watch to be happy, forgive your past and look forward to making a real difference.

Bob Marley, Martin Luther King, Buddha and others spoke of love, kindness and freedom. They all had faults, we can criticize them and tear them down or we can accept that we are all flawed and yet all the same. Who are we to judge anyone. I believe 87.639 percent of humans are good and kind and want the same thing, to live the way we choose, for safety and food and good health for our kids and parents. 

Do we wait until we have no choice, when the really devastating tragedies happen? Every great and powerful civilization has fallen. We know we can live simply, cleaner, wiser, safer, and find true freedom and happiness so why don’t we.... there will always be rationalizations for reasons to wait and be concerned about it when we have time. 

I would say that I’m not trying to preach, or try to get you agree with me, but I do. I want to motivate you to think and share and love and spread kindness, to help one another more and judge less. I am as guilty as anyone, and fall short everyday but I am going to keep talking to strangers and spreading this message of hope. 

His Beautiful Daughter

I sit on the balcony, smoking, a light breeze cooling me in the shadows as I listen to the sounds of life below me in “The Old City” of Rhodes.

It is a city that has stood for thousands of years, fought over by the army’s of the Roman, Turks, Christians and many more. They have attacked the massive stone walls, towers and fortified gates which still stand today.

I can see the wall from the balcony, there are the small windows that were used for archers, guns, hot oil etc. They are currently occupied by pigeons and other birds. The birds have some kind of game going as they fly a few feet from one window to another.

There are steep paved passage ways winding this way and that all leading eventually to the main courtyard or main gates. Lovely passages lined with old doors, small shop keepers, cafes, colors, smells, and restaurants.

Beautiful Greek women and tourists from around our globe wander thru the shops. Old men sit in doorways, some on a small cushion, some on a small stool and watch the world walk by. I am sure that men have sat on these very stoops for thousands of years.

Speaking of thousands of years, Hazel is trying to decode all the smells as she pees on them to leave her mark.

There is a kind man, he plays the accordion. He sits every day against the ancient walls in the shade. He has a wide smile with bright white teeth that shine against his olive skin and great black beard. In front of him sits the most beautiful girl of 3 maybe 4, his daughter. Her dark eyes flitter between her father and the strange tourist that flow by in front of her. She wears the cutest little Greek dresses and has wild untamed black curley hair. Her face and those beautiful eyes always light up when she sees Hazel approaching. They are getting to be good friends.

There is an fragile old woman who sits on the edge of her bed in the open doorway of her home every day. The only times she goes out is to go 38 steps around the corner at the end of our alley to go to church several times a day. She wears beautiful Greek dresses adorned with colorful patterns and flat black shoes. She has poofy white hair and is quite small with beautiful dark eyes. She always smiles at Hazel and gives me a wave as we walk by. Alex, my friend, said that when he walks by she does the cross thing across herself, not sure what to make of that, lol.

More later

Family visit

We just had the privilege of spending time with my friends relatives. We were warmly welcomed into their home without notice.

The patron ushered us into seats around her kitchen table and went about preparing some deserts for us. There was a light creamy filled pie, a hint of banana with a delicious home made bottom crust that reminded me of my moms grahm cracker crust in her cheesecake.  This was followed by a honey marinated apricot plucked from a jar that could have held the same delicacy for 63 years.

Both were served on the family’s china. White porcelain with hand painted floral patterns. Pictures of granddaughters adorned the walls while the tv spoke to us from a back room.

The man of the house sat in his spot, I imagine, the same spot he always sits, slightly slouched over. The room warmed to thoughts and memories, with stories flowing back and forth between bites of sweet things. The daughter and son in law came down from the apartment up stairs and my friend FaceTimed her Greek parents back in the United States and the tears and smiles flowed.

More later

CIRCLE THE WAGONS

Hazel and I would like to thank you all for the out poring of love and concern for her wellbeing. She had her follow up visit with the veterinarian who did the surgery and she  was given the old thumbs up. I purchased a body suit for her so that she would not have to wear the cone of shame. she has to wear the suit another 5 days until the stitches come out. She developed a tumor that slowly worked its way out of her vagina, it was the size of a walnut and scared the hell out of me. She took it in stride as she does with most things. My friend Rosie was the first to notice it, I admit I do not pay attention to Hazels nether regions. Hazel is never sick and I take it for granted that she is a tough old gal.

I noticed that she started dragging her butt on the ground and had started leaking a bit over the last 6 months or so, a vet thought it was just her age, so I did nothing more. She is 10 years old. I assume that it was this tumor growing inside her all along.

When the vet here in Germany looked at it and said the tumor word, my heart sank. I was lucky to have my friend Rosie Bosch, and her husband John, with me she found a animal hospital, scheduled the surgery, stayed with me, and interpreted everything along the way, she is a German girl and a kind and caring friend. We were relieved when the vet told us that this is a fairly normal thing for an older female who has not been fixed and that it was not cancerous. He recommended that she have her lady parts removed during the surgery to remove the tumor and I agreed. I never let her date anyway.

Today during a walk she gave me the old switch back, circle the wagons, double back, cross over, fake right go left, and stop me in my tracks to drag me backwards as she happily smelled and peed her way around Heildelberg. I thought I was walking with a CIA spy during the Cold War.

Thanks again and much love to you all.

BUN SMUGGLERS

Leaving Heildelberg headed for Berlin on the speed train this morning. I have wanted to visit Berlin since I can remember. Such an iconic city, filled with history and pain. Hazel is next to me seemingly happy to leave the city of surgeons.

The trains all over Europe have been clean and timely. The stations themselves large structures of efficiency and entertainment. I learned long ago, traveling with my parents around this globe, that watching the human creatures would be a favorite pastime of mine. Everyone unique, yet we are all in the end, the same, filled with similar hopes and dreams and the desire to live our lives freely and to have some understanding of what we are here for.

I have finally abandoned the expensive cans of dog food from Sweden ( heavy cans ), the individual serve bags of gourmet duck and lamb as well as the dry dog food I have carried from Arizona. I know not what to do with my dog with the cast iron stomach. Her palette is fickle, why should it be any different from the rest of her. She ate all my German butter cookies, she turns her nose at fruit she loved last week, she ate half my schnitzel at the fancy restaurant, train station hot dogs ( frankfurters ) were all the rage until they weren’t.

Last night when we got home from the pub, I was worried because she hadn’t eaten all day. The hour was late due to there being a band and girls at the pub. We passed a  McDonalds. I ignored the no dog sign on the door and ordered 3 cheeseburgers to go. Hazel eyeballed the bag-o-burgers all the way home, missing some choice pee spots. I had already convinced my self that Hazel would get 2 burgers and I one, provided she did not turn up her nose at the first bite.

She inhaled the first cheeseburger before I could cut up the second. I was one bite into my cheeseburger when she turned and crept from her bowl to where I sat, her eyes moving back and forth from me to my cheeseburger. I love cheeseburgers, especially the late night post drinking variety. I will admit that I hesitated before I gave it up, but give it up I did after, one more bite, I also ate her buns ( the sides with the cheese and Ketchup ruminants).

I became a member of the inconspicuous bun smuggles gang for Hazel. I have had to read up on what human food dogs can eat. I made the unusual decision to include breakfast with my room charges at the hotel. Trying to eat that “best meal of the day” and improve myself. Of all the FREE breakfasts I have had access to in my many travels, I have actually made it to breakfast only once or twice. It’s just to damn early, They always end at 10:00, who can wake up let alone be hungry at this hour. And they start at 6:00, I have heard of these people, coffee drinkers, joggers, humans who jump out of bed and never have to set an alarm. They have always been alien to me, I am a creature of the night.

Back to the bun smugglers. Within this group of breakfast eaters, and the whole of man kind for that mater, there are those who dare to break the rules. They sit innocently in the breakfast room, attempting to look civilized, but you can spot them if you watch for them. They are usually older women, some alone, some with families. They bring with them large purses. They gather more food than they could eat in three sittings, not all at once of course, that would draw attention. They like to attack the line most often when the attendant leaves the room. They wait for these opportunities, they love whole fruit, anything thats not messy, small containers of yogurt, butter, jellies, and so forth. They alway grab extra napkins on the first pass thru the line to wrap up the messy stuff. Buns laden with meats and cheeses etc.

My mom was one of these bun smugglers, to her last day. She would have my daughters pilfer the jellies from the small containers at restaurants. She loved burnt toast and jelly. I joined the gang, in my defense, to try to get Hazel to eat some fruit as she was not eating much lately. I took a small apple and a banana. The apple, was not a good choice, way to obvious ). As I am still purseless in Europe, no man bag here, I slipped them into my newly acquired cargo shorts. Thats right ladies, the sexy shorts you all love so much. I looked up as I buttoned the pocket in my shorts to see the old lady next to me smile and nod, this was my induction ceremony into the gang I am sure. Btw, the attendants all know, and the other law abiding eaters all know, yet another game we humans play as we pretend and amuse ourselves.

Train will be pullin into Berlin soon, more later

SECOND TO LAST NIGHT IN BERLIN.

Yesterday was a funny day. We had set our alarms early, packed the night before and were ready to head to the train station. I was filling out the Eurail pass when I discovered that I had lost track of time. We were not scheduled to leave until tomorrow. One of the hazards of old age I guess.

We went down to smoke, walk and pee. Last night we had finished off our supplies, so carefully rationed for todays departure. Hazel was hungry as she always is in her own fickle way. She had had her fill of the fare from the surrounding neighborhood restaurants during the last week. I found a mall and food court. Chicken skewers from an angry old Chinese woman did the trick.

We headed back to the room for a well earned nap, we did rise at 9:30 this morning and were exhausted. Laying in bed, in that netherworld between sleep and full consciousness, I suddenly heard a blaring alarm. I dressed, grabbed Hazel and headed out the door. The elevators were off, could this be a real fire? We went down the stairs with the other guests and went out a back door. There were staff all around, some holding clipboards and badges. As it became clear that this was a drill, I started to visualize in my mind the signs in the elevators and in the lobby that had been been glaring at me all week, fire drill this, fire drill that. I guess we didn’t need that nap anyway.

ESCAPE ARTIST

I was invited to join my friends in Germany. She a German girl and he, an American Veteran who served here during the war. They welcomed me into their journey to visit the magical villages where she grew up, where the brothers Grimm created the children’s stories we all grew up on. This is the home of Little Red Riding Hood, legend says the wolves are still prowling the woods at night.

I was welcomed into the home of their friend Ilona, a kind woman with a warm heart and a sweet smile. My friends stayed with her brother a few miles away. Ilona, I, and Hazel sat up late into the night and spoke of life, and its many struggles as well as its many wonders. Ilona made us feel at home right away and the night passed as if I had been with and old friend. Ilona has worn a few hats in life, she has been a therapist for the elderly, she has been and is an artist, creating jewelry, paintings and sculptures.

The next day my friends picked me up to drive to Luberg, an fortressed old city surrounded by a moat. Their nephew joined us for the ride as his daughter lives in this town. It is a town 20 minutes from the Baltic Sea. We rented a beautiful 200 year old farm house with the most wonderful garden in a small village outside of town. During the days we toured the town of Luberg, cruised its moat, and drove to the Baltic Sea. At night we would sit in the garden and smoke, visit, and tell stories of the past. Anna, the thirteen year old daughter of Michael, the nephew, joined us. She was a delightful young lady, so full of hope and wonder. She floats between that time of childhood and adulthood, luckily for us a little more of the childhood. Her infectious smile and laughter was truly refreshing for this old man. I miss my daughters.

One night as Hazel, Michael, and I sat late in the garden. We started hearing noises. We thought little of it as we were surrounded by woods and farms. The noise came and went as we spoke of life. Hazel lay in a chair next to me motionless, enjoying the quiet and the cool night breeze. Micheal and I switched to music, a discussion we both felt passionately of. His brother was at a metal concert not far from us. 80,000 heavy metal heads attending one of the largest metal shows in Europe. It is the one that two old men escaped from the nursing home and were found amongst the crowds, you may have seen the stories on the web, they are quite popular now.

Suddenly around the corner from the back of the garden came an automated lawn mower. It is like the rumba vacuums we have in the states. Michael and I were captivated by the devise and passed jokes back and forth. I then glanced down at Hazel only to find she was gone! The little robot had scared the shit out of her and she had disappeared. We ran about the garden calling her name to no avail. I went down the side of the house to the front gate, which was closed, but had a gap at the bottom with enough room for her to escape. As I walked the streets calling her, 18 minutes in, she finally appeared from a yard down the lane. Silly girl reluctantly came back to the yard and sat in my lap, eye and ear awaiting the mowers return.

The next day she disappeared again unnoticed, until we heard a dog barking down the way. Hazel had just decided it was time for a walk. As i walked out the gate two ladies down the way asked if I was looking for a dog. I informed them that indeed I was, they pointed to the yard in front of them. I entered the garden calling her name, no Hazel to be seen, I turned back and asked the women to confirm that I was in the right garden and the pointed and assured me that I was. As i looked under bushes and behind trees, a noise erupted from the front of the house. The owners of the house, led by Hazel were exiting their front door. Hazel had entered their open rear patio door and made herself at home. I apologized and scooped her up, as the women and home owners all laughted and spoke of what a sweet dog she was.

more later

I have found the under belly of Berlin... sitting in a live music venue called Wild at at Heart... Elvis and Lemmy staring at me ... it’s dark and grimy as I like it... punk band preaching life... girls girls girls

ABBA

I have been wanting to go to a soccer match or European basketball game, a tennis match even or a badminton tourney like I did in Thailand.

I was denied in Barcelona as the World Cup was on there is like a 4 year waiting list to watch pee wee soccer. I thought of going  to the north of Spain to the Basque region, where they don’t consider themselves Spaniards. In the back of my head I was sure they play that basket handed game Jai alai. I then remembered talking all night whilst at my friend Fun Bobby’s house, to JD Pinkus, we swapped stories till the sun came up. I wound up giving him my father’s moonshine recipe when he ran shine in our garage in Saudi Arabia. Pinkus told me  he was touring thru the Basque Country when he was the bass player for the Butthole Surfers, or maybe he was with the Melvins at the time. I messaged him and asked if he had the names and numbers of those wild cats he stayed and partied with when he was there. He gladly supplied them and I thought I had a plan. I didn’t end up going north, I think is was because that would have put me too close to France, like right on the boarder, and we can’t have that.

When I was in Holland, the World Cup had called all the players to their tournament. Belfast it was the olympics had taken players and the local Rugby season was over. Poland the season hadn’t yet started and my driver ranted on about what a waste of time it would be to go, the team was shite, and no fans would go and he told me I couldn’t go so…

I sat in my pub.the one I have chosen to occupy my time in Split. It is small, about the size of a middle class American woman’s walk in closet. 

I had had a good day. I found a laundry service, some of the places I rent have washing machines, the current one does not. I don’t use them even if I have them as some are washers only, some wash and dry in one machine, I don’t travel with a clothesline and then there is the whole deciphering the setting in Vietnamese or Polish and so forth, you get it, I’m lazy. The feeling of freshly washed folded clothes, done by a professional, just satisfies me. The way that the old ladies fold the shirts, they separate the pants, shorts, boxers and so forth is just comforting. 

I live out of a suitcase, everything is either in there or my backpack. I will go days removing everything , feeling my fingers thru the pockets, the corners, the little zipped compartments and will still not be able to match a pair of socks. I only have so many socks and the suitcase isn’t that big. I often give up and wear mismatched socks. The fact that my socks come back from the laundress, not only rolled up in individual sets, but the are all matching sets, I really don’t know how they do it but I do love it so.

Anyway, as I sat in my pub, I asked the barman if a question. We had already closed this place together twice and had a comfortable thing going on. I explained to him that I had gone online last night to try to buy a ticket to the next football game on Thursday. I explained that I was unable to buy one because I needed a membership number and was unable to figure out how to become a member.

He is tall and thin, skin tanned and leathery as most of the locals who live here on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. His hands flopped about and in his deep eastern European accent, like you would hear on Saturday Night Live, shaking his head he explained that there was slim and none chance that I could get a ticket, and slim had left the building.

An old man sitting around the little corner of the bar from me jumped in. He also was tan and leathery but short and round with a half circle of white hair around the back of his bald head. He filled me in that the croats are passionate about their football. In the 70’s they won 10 championships in a row. Alas, it has been 19 years since they have won one, but this is the year! The stadium holds 30,000 seats and they sell out every game.

I expressed my desire to go again, I asked if it was legal and feasible to hang outside the stadium and scalp a ticket. This is illegal, not done and there are counterfeits I was told. All of a sudden, the barman, my fellow across the bar and the barman’s son broke into a discussion in Croatian, I sat back and watched knowing something was percolating. Finally my squat balding friend was chosen to explain to me. The only chance I had was to go to the ticket office on game day, 4 hours before the game and throw myself on the mercy of the ticket girl, if there was a single ticket left with an hour or two to go they might let me in without the membership.

So last night, I decided to take it easy, I strolled thru a flea market looking for a HAJDUK SPLIT team Jersey. There were plenty but as usual nothing in a tall, fat sweaty size. I saw a grizzled old woman with a small cart selling grilled and boiled ears of corn. I chose grilled with extra salt. She had a great smile, her husband sitting on the ground behind her shucking away at a box of ears. It was magnificent.

The sound of music down along the seaport walkway drew me along. I saw what was no doubt a stage and lighting indicating a concert of some kind. There was a music fest going on, quite a crowd had gathered along the port. They sang and played songs in their native language, although I am sure I heard an ABBA song, my old science teacher Mr. Archer from Arabia would have liked it. I took a few vids and decided to sit outside along the boardwalk and have dinner. I found a table about 40 yards away from the edge of the crown within sight of the stage. I was delighted to find tomato soup on the menu which of course I ordered with a bread and cheese platter, a Croatian beer and flat water. The soup did not disappoint, as I nibbled on my cheese, the music stopped and the crowd cheered as local Olympic medalists were brought onstage. I finished my cheese, beer and left. 

My plan was to stop at my pub for one and call it a night, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Between my apartment and my pub, I decided it safest to get a double scoop cone instead of the “one beer”. Salted Carmel and Blueberry cream was consumed. 

I was in bed early and up early for me, 9:37. I picked up a Danish and some tea, then collected my laundry. I returned to my apartment to rest up for the big game, it would be a late night, the game doesn’t start until 9:00 pm. I picked out my clothes, made sure for the 8th time my phone was 100% charged, showered and tried one more time to find a Jersey before heading to the stadium box office 5 hours early. I did find a ball cap, took it and found a cab.

The cab driver, as had everyone else explained that my task would be impossible. We went anyway, our conversation along the way became one of those moments that give me hope and allow me to believe in kindness. We discussed family ,travel, governments, people and the kindness of strangers. He told me he would wait for me because he believed there was no chance of getting a ticket and there would be no taxi’s there for a ride back. Then he parked and said he would go in with me to talk to the ticket folk to see if there was anything that could be done. No was the answer, come back tomorrow before the game and maybe there would be one ticket.

WAIT, WHAT? Today is Thursday, I was good and came home early last nite, I had clean boxers and a team Hat, I was 4 1/2 hours early !!!!! No my friend it is only Wednesday ………..all I could do is laugh. We climbed back into his cab and headed home. While he drove, he excused himself and began to speed dial several numbers, he was talking to old friends or family, you can tell if you listen closely and watch the expressions. I sat and watched.

When the flurry was over, he smiled and said “ my friend owns a bar, it was his father’s, a small place, his father and I were on the same water polo team, any way his son has a membership card and we will go and collect it and his drivers license and go back to the stadium and get you a ticket. Before I could say anything he detailed what section my should be, not in the north because that is to dangerous, maybe if I were younger. But the west very near the north, so I don’t miss the fun.

Chase Happiness and Spread Kindness my friends.

THOUGHTS

I have been back in Arizona for 2 weeks now and the weirdness is starting to fade. I have returned to my home of 30 years and yet find myself homeless. I look around me at so many smiling friends. I sit with my daughter and son in law as we sup together and catch up on time gone.

I am a man rich with kind and generous humans who offer genuine interest in me and my journeys, they invite me into their homes and jockey to sit next to me at our favorite bars, each warmly welcoming me back into the fold.

I sit now in the beautiful guest house of two special friends. Somewhere between Paradise Valley and Scottsdale I believe, there are desert and mountain view’s here that the gods of Olympus would envy. Hazel and I have our own little sanctuary here. It is a special place and one we needed, as the first two weeks, well, lets just say we went hard and heavy.

Time to assess, heal, and think. I returned to Arizona for several reasons. To visit my daughters, enjoy time with friends, and to finish up a few thing I did not get done before I left. I am not a planner or goal setter. I have always procrastinated my way thru life following a sense of right and wrong, and a desire to drown my self loathing hatred of failure thoughts, with live music and friends. I seek out the strange, dark and weird trying to lose myself in places that I hope I will fit in, yet at the same time hope I will not be noticed.

I am happy to be home and so very happy with the love and kindness provided me by so many people. I will be around for a bit and will be at all the shows.... hope to see you there.

Much love,

Hazel and me.

So I’ve been “home” for a month or so. I have haunted the haunts, supped with friends, relived the memories and formed new bonds.

Two amazing humans have allowed Hazel and I to hunker down in their guesthouse, sharing their home, love and kindness, asking nothing in return. They are as most of my friends, younger than I. They are the embodiment of the American dream and give me hope for human kind. You would not know it meeting them but they want for nothing, all earned thru hard work and determination. They started with nothing and working together have achieved their freedom. They are kind , generous, friendly, straight forward and most genuine.          

They have a son, a smart, polite, quite young man hovering between youth and manhood. He holds his own in most any discussion. His dog, Shep, a large dog with white accents to his black coat. They watch over Hazel. Shep sits outside the guesthouse waiting for Hazels release from the the darkness. Shep calmly follows Hazel about the large yard. They take turns peeing on each other’s recent spots. He is calm and patient with Hazel, always hopeful she will notice him and choose to suddenly bust a move and show some interest.

DARKNESS AND FEAR, AND A HAPPY ENDING

I, as most of you know, had decided to sell my home and give away my possessions to chase happiness and spread kindness as my dog Hazel and I walked the earth. We traveled thru Europe for four months, (Holland, Switzerland, Germany, Greece, Belgium, Czech Republic). We met the most amazing people along the way whose kindness and friendship will never be forgot.

We returned to Arizona in time for one of our favorite music festivals and to spend some time with my daughters during the holidays. It was good to be back to my home of the last 31 years. Everyone was so welcoming and inquisitive of our journey thus far. Almost as soon as we arrived, the question “ where and when are you going next” started ringing in my ears. My reply has been a constant mantra of “I’m not sure, got some things I need to take care of and at some point, it will just be time to go. “

While my response was in fact true, it was not full disclosure of why I came back. About a month before my return, I started having pain in my lymph nodes. This was a pain I was familiar with due to two bouts with melanoma cancer. My plan was to return home and meet with my oncologist. I had been told that once the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes the danger of it spreading throughout the body is eminent. This type of cancer is the quickest spreading and one of the fastest killers.

The pain came and went every day, the pain radiating thru my chest. The mind takes you to dark places. I had spent a year and a half, enduring six surgeries to ready myself for our journey. 

So I returned to Arizona, to try to figure out what I was in for. 

I had retired and so had no insurance. I found that based on my medical history, my only option was to sign up for the federal system. I had to wait 2 months to sign up and another month before my coverage was activated. Time can be heavy and cruel.

These were tough days and I did not want to burden my friends with my yet unknown fate. I attempted to distract my thoughts and the inquiries of why I was still here and when I might go, by loosing myself in live music and secluding myself from situations that would require much discussion. 

As we all know medicine is not an exact science and the journey thru the mazes of our healthcare system can be daunting to say the least. My fears were confirmed by two different oncologist that the nodes were enlarged and much haste be taken to consult a surgical oncologist again. There were discussions of chemo, radiation and surgeries. I flashed back to the times I would bring mom for chemo, as fate would have it, I found myself in the very same office that mom and I would sit and talk of life and death as the chemicals cursed thru her. 

I sit and listen to my new oncologist, a very kind man, tall and thin. he speaks clearly and his eyes do not waver from mine as he speaks to me of hope. He tells me of patients who live as much as a year, there are experimental drugs you see. He asks me about pain. I speak to him of the headaches, the knee buckling eruptions pulsing thru my kidney and gut. He can smell my fear as I have already convinced myself that the cancer has begun its final attack on my body. 

He cautions me that we really have no confirmation of this yet and speaks to me of radiation infused scans of the organs. His manner and tone comfort me like a warm heavy blanket on a cold nite, even better, that magical safe place in the arms of a loved one. So we fight the system to schedule the scans and wait. 

I wonder if I will live to see my youngest daughter graduate in three months, or be there to stand up for my friends wedding in two. Will I see a grandchild before I go, so many dark places the mind can take us. Sleep has been a difficult commodity to acquire, much like love on the inter webs.  

Another month later I sit in front of my oncologist again. He tells me we have great news, he thinks. The blood work shows no cancer indicators, and the scans of my vitals are clear! There are two issues, one there is a mass by my pulmonary artery but neither he nor the radiologist think it is an issue, just a cyst. The other issues is that this might not be my scan, as there are notes on the report that have nothing to do with me.

I leave the office with new hope, if this is my report I am one health boy, lungs, kidneys, nodes etc are clear and normal. While my heart wants to believe, the dark recesses of my brain laugh at me. This body, after what it has been thru, don’t be stupid, it must be wrong, right? The highs and lows are hard on the soul.

I wait another three weeks before the oncologist calls me with the clarification. He has reviewed the report with the radiologist and he once again tells me that there is no explanation of the mystery notes on my report, however he is confident that the report is in fact mine, just one more complete scan, the big one, the pet scan, just to make sure that the mass by my heart and the nodes are in fact clean.

I guess my behavior has foretold of my worries over the last 4 or 5 months, especially the last month when I was told about experimental drugs and such. I do so much appreciate all of you who asked even as I assured you that all was fine. I apologize for the vague comments and darkness hovering about me.

I do believe that I am going to be ok, spread kindness my friends, we are all in this together.

James and Hazel

Hazel and I moved again today. We are house sitting for friends gone for the holidays. We were greeted with a clean comfy home and freshly made tomato soup. Our hosts are visiting his family in Kentucky, he a graduate student, she, currently works for our friends who are musicians who masquerade as owners of an insurance agency. They are kind and generous humans, friends of mine for years, all of us brought together by the music community. He is a tall thin long haired country boy, laid back and genuine in every way and she, a tiny Asian girl with a big heart and a streak of red in her long black hair. The home is nestled in an old Tempe neighborhood, a stones throw from the campus of Arizona State University. A historic artsy student area full of cafes, bikes and youthful inspiration. Old trees and paths for Hazel to explore. My daughters are in town and spending time with them makes life have meaning. I keep seeking for meaning and it alludes me, I seem to be a bit lost. But the trip is strange and ever changing, blessings and new friendships continue to find us. Hazel and I wish peace and kindness upon you all during this holiday season , Merry Christmas to all.

Belfast was lush and green and beautiful. Meadow full of cows, sheep horses and castles. The northern coast, where parts of Game of Thrones was filmed was indeed magical. The Giant’s Causeway, studded with alien octangular shaped rock formations was well just that.

 I was visiting an old friend I knew from Arizona, we also spent a lot of time in Prague together. He has moved to Belfast to live with the sweetest, kindest little Irish woman. They invited me into her ancestral home where I stayed for three weeks. Her three children and 2 dogs, swept me into the family as if I was that strange, long lost uncle. We shared meals and stories between visits to castles, pubs, markets, and enjoyed a weekend of the Belfast Blues Festival. 

She has a beautiful little cottage in her back garden and spoils her guests with fresh eggs from her chickens, fresh juices / milk/ fruit and snacks. She spoils everyone but herself, tirelessly taking care of her grown kids, my buddy, airbnb guests, the two dogs and her friends. She is just one of those angels, always a smile a kind word and positive helpful attitude. She also impressed me with her knowledge of Irish and world history. 

I’m embarrassed when I think of Americans apathy towards  information about our own let alone world history. I was able to enlighten her about one thing though, which I must admit, made me feel good. The Giants Causeway she took me to is the photo on the cover of Led Zeppelins Houses Of The Holy. The Irish are kind, welcoming, helpful, funny and jolly. Which is amazing when you look at the suffering, wars and famine they have overcome. They were also brought to America and other countries as slaves. The treatment they received in America when they arrived as legal immigrants was atrocious. There seems to be mainly chippies ( tiny shops hawking fish and chips, amongst other fried offerings ) Chinese or Syrian kebab shops open during the best feasting times that is 9 to midnight. As I settled into family life with my friends, my buddy kept asking me where I was going next. Shireen nor her kids ever asked lol, so I started to contemplate where I would go from here. Back onto the inter webs. 

I realized that Wimboden was on tv, one of my bucket list items and I would never be closer.i spent two nights researching, places to stay and tickets to the open. I discovered that I could get a single ticket, rare, in the box next to the royal box whooooo, for $700 ….. for one day, would I break out the crowbar and dig through my wallet for that, maybe bust certainly not for the first rounds, I must see the finals or at least the quarter finals. A single ticket , not next to the hoitty toitty roalys for the finals would be $14,000, the semis only $ $8000. Could this old miser actually open * grand for an afternoon of turning my head from side to side while sweating my fat ass off in the sun……never gonna happen…….which is sad knowing this is an experience I have dreamed of since I was 5 years old. I was actually a great tennis player back in the day, oh well. 

I started looking for month long cruises when I saw a crew ship docked in Belfast. , messaging my friend who specializes in that. I wanted something that would take me down to Portugal and Morocco, which was my plan when I left Mexico, 6 months in each place. Ships aren’t going that way I was told. I always open a map of Europe and try to visualize routes that would make sense, countries I haven’t been to yet and the few I would like to return to.

Japan has been floating in and out of my consciousness for years, but don’t be absurd, I’m in Europe for christ sakes. Ok, buckle down, I do want to go back to Florence, really loved it there, looking at the map, I could stop in Barcelona on the way, really been wanting to go there so I dove in, Barcelona it is. Three weeks sound good, it was late and I may have been at the pubs earlier and I got sloppy when I picked a place to stay.I I wanted to stay in the Gotic area which I succeeded in doing however, apparently the beer had convinced me that I didn’t need air-conditioning, nor did I need an elevator, I could drag my excess weight paid suitcase along the cobble stone street to a small pension and up 3 flights of old stone stairs. Back pain, what back pain, the fact I whimpered and cried out every step or two just trying to walk was not something that seemed important at drunk 3:13 am when buying tickets. Three nights later, unable to sleep on a small hard mattress covered in sweat, I decided to bight the bullet, take the 2 & half week loss and check into a hotel for old sweaty people with bad backs for the next 18 days and thank god I did.

Beware the wet spot.Barcelona was hot and humid every second you were outside.it came to life immediately, Gaudi, Picasso, Dali, the churches, not to mention the architecture and museums

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Crystal blue 

Crystal blue waters of the Sea of Cortez lapping the shoreline in Rocky Point  Mexico. My friends laying down the beats from the stage in front of me.

Seagulls and pelicans are prevalent here. There is something that quiets the soul and sets you at peace listening to the ocean as the pelicans hunt. I understand the people who are drawn the sea.

I tagged along with my friend who gigs here in Rocky Point several times a month, it’s his birthday and he is a special kind of human. His friend and old band mate  has flown in from Los Angeles to back him up on drums.

We have been holed up in a beautiful Mexican style home provided by the owners of the bars he plays in. Sometimes it’s a home, a suite in a resort or something all together different.

The pace of life here is slower as life should be. Shrimps just plucked from the sea, cold cerveza, music and horse rides on the beach..

I have been listless, not sure where to drift next. I had been on my way to Portugal and Morocco, places I have never been, lands much easier on the nest egg than this land of ours. The cost of living in Vietnam spoiled me, I just don’t know how people can afford to live in the US.

I am in the in between. Not sure what to do and where to go. I have a few bench marks that ground me. My youngest finishing her masters, my middle finishing her P.H.D in Austin, Suns games with my oldest, 

I am to wed two of my closest friends in April, I have tried to talk them into getting someone Elsa to preside over the ceremony as i will cry thru the whole thing.  These are mile posts that dictate where I will be. A music festival or exhibit at a museum and funerals are coming at a faster pace.

My mind races as i contemplate how to contribute to this world. I never think in terms of legacy, i am but a grain of sand and my peace comes from the knowledge that I leave behind 3 humans who will impact the world with their kindness, compassion and love.

17 DAYS IN........ Balance

The flights were indeed long. We flew from Phoenix to Seattle, then to South Korea and then on to Bangkok.

Hazel is now a service dog, she flies on my lap as opposed to being in a small carrier under the seat. she got over the whole , why didn’t you do this on the way to and from Europe attitude quickly as she settled in with her blankly and toy.

The Asian airports are large, efficient and clean. And thank god they have smoking rooms. To our surprise, we were greated by two beautiful Korean lady’s holding up a sign with my name on it when we arrived in South Korea. A first for me as I am not a rockstar or of any import. I will admit I was surprised and excited. My excitement was short lived, as usual with most women who show interest, they were there for Hazel. They wanted to make sure she was ok and instructed us to follow them to animal control to check her paperwork.

Since Hazel is now a service dog, she does not count as my carry on bag and I can take a bag and back pack on the flight. Luckily I packed her travel crate in my carry on and had it ready as the Koreans required her to fly in it on their plane to Bangkok. As I dug out her travel crate and paperwork I accidentally dropped her leash. I was alerted to this fact as a guard caught my attention , he was pointing to the automatic doors 50 feet away from me leading back into the terminal we had just come from. The one that you are not allowed to reenter, I made a mad dash and caught her just in time, quite a sight I’m sure.

We arrived at 2 am after 24 hrs travel. We found the animal import office and were quickly issued Hazel’s Thai passport. As you can imagine the last 4 hr flight to Bangkok was the toughest, especially on this old mans back.

Bangkok is a very large and vibrant city, as with most cities this size, it is always alive and full of what ever your heart desires. We are here for a month aside from small trips into other close provinces. The pace of life, traffic and the Thai people seem to constantly be on the move, imagine if you will a honey covered ants nest just hit with a stick.

There are “lanes” on the road but they, and the speed limit signs seem to have been ignored for centuries. Every one accepts that if there is an open centimeter between your car or bike it is fair game. The scooters and motorcycles will literally do a double u turn the wrong way to get around your car and the next, to squeeze out another meter towards their goal.

To ride or drive the scooters, which are the main transport here, one must be brave, crazy or both. Lift and Uber are unavailable but there is an app just like it called Grab. It works for the scooters and private cars. I am amazed at the balance of the Thai women as they effortlessly climb onto the scooters, either straddeled or usually side saddle, they casually look at their phones and roar down the street, their only point of contact is their butt and one foot. Human contact is rare, unless you are getting a massage.

We sit in our breakfast spot, a British pub, Hazel likes their scrambled eggs. I smoke, drink beer and Hazel eats eggs. The staff here, as in every establishment we haunt here, is extremely efficient, friendly and attentive. The covered and fanned patio is dog friendly.  It sits in a alley off the main road, Sukumhvit which lies under the sky train, lined with small bars, Thai massage, a nice grocery, street vendors selling fruits, flowers, meat skewers, and a delicious smelling bakery. I look up from this tale occasionally to check the score of the Utah Jazz / Denver Nuggets game, to observe the constant flow of humans as they go about their day and to watch Hazel.

Life is good, Hazel and I are blessed.......chase happiness and spread kindness my friends.

Traveling With A Dog And A Little Help From my Friends.

So I am a procrastinator by nature. People are always surprised to hear that I don’t plan my travels / days and weeks. I simply pick my next destination when I start to get the itch. I give myself 3 - 5 weeks in each place to really get a feel for the culture and its people. I tend to just flow with what sounds good at the time.

Well this is how the last few days have flowed, and how I was forced to act like a responsible adult and plan some things out, even though my planning left much to be desired.

There is an amazing mall down the street from me. Shortly after I got to Thailand, I found a phone store there to purchase a local simm card. I had noticed that there was a travel agency next to the phone store.

Before I left the USA I had bought a ticket to and from Thailand and that was it. I gave myself 3 months to figure the rest out. Just after I arrived here I went on line and purchased a ticket to Cambodia a month down the road. 3 days ago I decided to stop at the travel agency and make sure all was ok, just in case. I have been putting this off for weeks because I had a month right? Turns out the agency can’t work with the airline I had bought the ticket from, and could not sell me tickets from Cambodia to Vietnam, where I thought I might go next. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy...... walk down the street and boom !, done...... not

So I retreated back to the hotel to scan the inter webs and find a local office for the airline I had bought the ticket from. I am old and have lots of technical difficulties and user errors, always have. The airline, in every way seems to be a partner with Thai Air, logo and all. I found the Thai Air office and headed there the next morning, and I am not a morning person, those of you who are confound me.

I explained that I wanted to confirm my flight, get a ticket from Cambodia to Vietnam another month down the road and then a ticket from Da Nang to Ho Chi Min city inside Vietnam and then a ticket from Ho Ci Min city back to Bangkok 2 months down the road.

Well, affiliated or not, the travel agent could not access my reservation. She also could not sell me tickets for travel inside Vietnam. I explained that I had a dog to really shake things up. She explained I could fly Thai air , with a dog into Cambodia, and from Vietnam back to Thailand, so I said “ let’s do it “. I decided to just not use the reservation I had already, $78 oh well, I would get me and Hazel into Cambodia and back from Vietnam in two months, we would figure the rest out later, Progress !!!!

After providing all of the paperwork for Hazel....... lots of paperwork, including her Thai import license vet papers etc. The travel agent dutifully pounded away at the keyboard, peppering me with questions. We finished about 42 minutes in, I thought. She told me the reservations were made but she could not issue my tickets because the soft sided airline approved dog carrier( in the USA ), that I had carried to the office that morning, was no good, when asked why, she replied that I needed a hard sided create because Hazel would have to fly under the plane in cargo. I had found this info on line, but hoped that Hazels service certification, my carrier, and of course my killer personality and charm would get her into the plane with me.

None of that worked, and the only other dog Friendly airline had the same rules. I relented and was then told I would have to come back the next day with the create and provide its dimensions, and the total weight with Hazel in it. I could then pay and receive my tickets. I agreed, took my small victories and left exhausted. I had a reservation to get me and my dog into Cambodia!

On my way back to the hotel in my grab ride(Uber), I was delighted to meet James, my driver. He was, as have all the Thai people I have met, very kind, attentive and happy. He was excited to practice his English. He was interested about my life and activities. When I told him about the bands I saw last night he immediately told me that he was a musician and showed me pictures of him playing a double necked dragon headed guitar he plays. He explained that he plays with a large group on the weekends at the Buddhist temple festivities. I asked him if he could show me videos as he had a screen in his dash. We were soon watching his group playing at temples all the way back to the hotel. I used my phone to record them. It was traditional Thai music and it was awesome. As I exited his car, I gave him band stickers and free music download cards from my fiends bands back in Arizona that I carry with me everywhere.

Back to the inter webs to find a create. Luckily I found King Kong pet store and hotel, a 33 minute walk from my place. I walked in and was greeted by a beautiful Thai lady who asked me if I needed help finding something for my cat. I replied that I had a dog and she apologized saying that based on my shirt, she had assumed I had a cat. You see I was wearing a band shirt from my friends Arizona band, Fat Grey Cat! We laughed and found an airline approved create as well as some food and treats.

That night I decided to celebrate my accomplishments. I had adulted, found a dog friendly airline , found a create, made reservations, functioned in the morning hours, and navigated the inter webs.

I bought myself a nice late dinner and beers, after a long nap of course. Getting back to the hotel from dinner, I was in a good mood and Hazel needed a walk, so we decided to walk a few blocks away to this crazy little sidewalk bar. I will tell you a story or two about this bar another time. We wound up meeting a wonderful couple, a man and his 40 year old daughter from England, more about them later as well. We got home at 5:33 am ...... you get the picture, I was celebrating!

I set 8 alarms for 2:00 that afternoon so I could make it back to the travel office before it closed at 5:00, with my dog create and documents to get my tickets. It was Friday and they are not open on the weekend and Monday is a Holiday. I think I finally fell asleep about 7:16, only to be awakened a half hour later.

You see, the doors in my hotel have this wonderful feature that starts beeping if you don’t close the door all the way. No...... it was not my door... but a neighbor 2 doors down had just left his room. One of those happy early morning people I’m sure, probably on his way to yoga and then a grass milkshake. I tried to ignore it, it wasn’t that loud, but it was driving me crazy!

You see , if and when I have a really late night like that, my body does everything it can to punish me for it. My head was pounding, elephant beer still flowing in my veins. After what seemed an eternity, I threw off the covers and walked out of my room in nothing but my boxers, luckily I remembered to flip that little arm thingy on the door because I hadn’t grabbed  my key. I walked 2 doors down as fast as I could and slammed the beeping door and retreated back into my bed. I laid there in misery, head pounding for another hour or so and finally drifted off to a John Wayne movie.

I awoke before my bevy of alarms of course, body cant let me sleep that long,head still pounding. Waves of regret flowing thru my body. I got up finally because I had to get this adulting done, the travel office was not open for the next 3 days and we were to fly to Cambodia 3 days later. I eventually got  Hazels  paperwork and new create gathered and ordered another grab ride. Sitting in the car I realized that it was already 3:55, office closes at 5:00 no problem because the ride took only a half hour yesterday.

We entered traffic and abruptly stopped, my new driver, explained that it was Friday, rush hour as people were getting off work and the schools were also letting the students out early for the holiday weekend. Panic and dread started to creep in. Did I mention that I am a procrastinator? As I watched the minutes fly by, I found myself in another wonderful conversation with my new driver. We discussed life, the joy and struggles of raising daughters, travel and more. I explained my plight as my headache  intensified.

He immediately asked if I had the travel agency’s phone number and before I knew it he had them on the phone explaining that we were on our way, could they please stay open for me. They explained to him that their doors electronically locked at 5:00. He then set his mind to finding alleyways and any other short cut he could, we arrived 14 minutes before they closed. Such a kind man, we are all in this thing called life together my friends, I run into people like this all over the world, stop the hatred, judgements and lets work together for a better world.

This tale must be over right? Oh no, you see my new agent had no idea what I was there for or how to deal with a dog, luckily my agent from yesterday walked by and jumped in to help. As the clock ticked minutes by, I prayed we would get it done. At 4:58 it was explained to me that I was required by Thai Air to have Hazel inspected by a veterinarian and get a health inspection certificate before she could fly.

This of course has to be done at least 2 days before you fly. Since offices are closed for the next 3 days and I fly on Thursday, that means I have to find a vet, get the certificate and take it to the airport by Tuesday. They did let me pay and gave me the tickets, which will be useless if I don’t get to the airport by Tuesday.

I left the travel agency by the back door at 5:07, the front doors electrically locked at 5:00. Back to my hotel and the inter webs to find a Vet.

I did find one a twenty minute walk from my hotel. I was on foot by 8:37 the next morning , a personal best by the way. Thank god I got home at a reasonable hour the night before. The vet and her staff were amazing and we not only got our certificate, but had Hazels nails trimmed, I can’t do that nail thing, and were in and out in 42 minutes at a cost of $ 34.

So now I just have to make sure I get to the airport and find the right office by Tuesday....... unless there is something else I don’t know about.

Wish me luck....... by the way for most of this debacle.... Hazel was sleeping in the a/c cooled hotel room on top of the bed, on my pillows where she knows she’s is not allowed, or nosing thru the trash can for treats....

THAI GIRLS PUT THE P IN PAIN

The last few days in Thailand were stressful and exhausting. I made two trips to the airport to check Hazels paperwork and  shipping create issues. I bounced from agent to information counters to supervisors and more in my quest to get Hazel on the plane.

Luckily I asked one last question. I asked if there was an actual animal export control office. I had been told I just needed to call them. I was then told by the supervisors supervisor that there was an actual office but not there at the airport, it was offsite. He was kind enough to write down in Thai directions for my lucky next cabby.

We discovered an office that took us in, completed a health inspection, reviewed our paperwork, much of which turned out to be unnecessary. They informed me they would produce documents to get Hazel out of Thailand and into Cambodia. One last thing though, it was lunch time so the documents wouldn’t be ready for 2 hours. I told them I would come back tomorrow.

Then things took an uncomfortable turn. I had two days before we were supposed to fly. I started having pain in my chest. I told myself not to worry, it was just residual pain from that last Thai massage, those Thai girls put the p in pain. I’ve been hurt by a lot of women, but no one can hurt you like a Thai girl. It is amazing how much strength those tiny creatures possess.

Then late that night I started having trouble breathing and was coughing. The next day was scary as the pain increased and breathing grew harder. This was the worst pain I have ever had and I have had cancer surgeries, total knee replacements, kidney stones etc. Late that night, I decided that if I could get a couple hours sleep I was gonna John Wayne it through the airport and deal with it in Cambodia. I had come too far to not get on that plane. My 30 day visa was up, I had a dog unsupervised, time sensitive animal control docs that would expire....... you see what I’m saying.

I woke up coughing several times in great pain. The last time I awoke, the clock read 4:57 am,  my flight was at 5:17 pm. I decided to “deal with it “. Next thing I knew I was ordering a grab cab to the hospital I found in my googlier  It was 6:03 I figured if I could make it out of the hospital by noon I could still make the flight to Cambodia.

I went straight to the emergency room and told them I thought I was having a heart attack. I thought it was the big one, “I’m coming for ya Elizabeth” like Fred Sanford used to say.

The cab ride to the hospital was as you could imagine. If I were a religious man, I would have prayed to my God. Which God is the right God? I did reflect on my life choices and was happy with where I am at, I try to make a difference, be a good human/father and friend. It has not always been that way, and I fail often, but I believe I come at life from a genuine, caring position.

I was raised Methodist, living in Saudi Arabia (keeper of the two holiest sites in Islam Mecca & Medina ). I was currently in Thailand spending my time hanging out in Buddhist Temples. I have visited the historical and religious sites in Italy, Greece, Pompeii, I have seen the mosques in Turkey and Iran. My job was to help families bury their dead for the Catholics. So again I ask which God?

All I know is that if your God requires me to hate certain people, and to accept injustice and chase money then Your God is doing it wrong. A few years ago I retired, sold my home and possessions and decided to chase happiness and spread kindness. I can’t change the world, but I can do small things to make it better. That’s as religious as I get.

So they rush me into the ER and get the IV going. Do an EKG, start blood work, nurses pepper me with questions “ Have you been to China recently “ is asked a lot. Then the doctor comes in , all this in about 43 minutes. They send me for chest X-rays and then I am back in the ER talking to the doctor about bloodwork and x-ray results, time lapse from entering the hospital approximately 52 minutes, I am going to make that plane!

The beautiful Thai doctor tells me that I have not had a heart attack! The X-rays show something in my lungs, an infection, and the lining is thickening. This is inhibiting my breathing and making me cough.  The pain in my chest and side are muscle spasms. She tells me I am not flying today and need to stay in the hospital.

I explain that this is not possible, I am flying to Cambodia today come hell or high water. I have an unsupervised dog in a hotel, my 30 day visa in Thailand is expired, non refundable plane tickets, paid for non cancelable reservations at an Airbnb in Phnam Penn, and the all the work I have put in over the last week to get me and Hazel on the plane will not be cast aside. I asked for more drugs, lied a little and said the pain meds they pumped into me weren’t working.

She said she would let me speak to a lung specialist doc and authorized more drugs. 16 minutes later I was sitting in front of a Pulmonologist making my case. She said she couldn’t be sure what was on the x-rays. I explained that I just had a total cat scan in the US, didn’t tell her it was about 9 months ago, and was totally cleared. No reoccurring cancer, clear lungs etc.

She asked if I had been to China, or thought I had been exposed to anything lately that could infect my lungs. I did not tell her that just prior to my onset, I had spent two days at an orphanage dedicated to the children living in the slums. It was truly an amazing experience. I did not think it would help my case.

After chastising me for smoking, not being attentive to my asthma inhaler, drinking beer, not eating or sleeping right and not taking Hazel into account with my life style choices, and no I didn’t smoke around Hazel, she relented and said she would give me a letter clearing me to fly. She said she would also give me a note to be wheel chaired to my gate at the airport. I promised to see a doctor in Cambodia and if things got worse, I would go straight to a hospital. She explained that the hospitals in Cambodia we not as good as her hospital but.....

This is where I drew the line, as I sat in the hospital wheel chair I had been escorted around in this hospital for the last hour and a half, I John Wayned my objection and said I could walk through the airport by myself thank you.

I made it back to the hotel with an hour and a half to spare, I rested, coughed, walked Hazel, took a shower and ordered a grab cab. I will admit I smoked half a cigarette.

I was able to navigate the crazy procedures at the airport and sent Hazel into the wild blue yonder, her sad scared eyes never left me as she disappeared into the bowels of the airport.

I will also admit that I upgraded myself into first class, after checking the price of course, I was exhausted and thought I had earned it. I posted some pictures of the first class section on Thai Air. The are know world wide for their unmatched service. Three course meal, champagne, hot towels and reclining/ massaging seats. There was also the unbelievable first class lounge areas, enough said.

UPDATE

I apologize to those expressing concern for Hazel and myself.  At times I wonder if I share too much.

I started writing sporadically last year while traveling in Europe with Hazel. It was a way to share my experiences and life with friends. To try to give them a glimpse of what I was seeing and feeling. If you have been following, I tend to hold nothing back, and bare my soul to whom ever might be in need of some entertainment.

I know nothing of writing, never studied it and rarely attempted it unless absolutely necessary. I have come enjoy it, it’s also a bit cathartic. It does also occupy time that may well be spent on less healthy and productive vices.

All that being said, Hazel and I are not concerned at this time with our imminent demise. The lung specialist, after learning that I was only flying to Cambodia and not internationally back to the USA, and reviewing my blood work, x-rays, ekg, questioning me about my medical history, physically examining me and chastising me while giving me the snake eye, did in fact determine that I only have a lung infection,  probably bronchitis, no chance of infecting others, and with proper meds and rest, I would be fine.

She told me that if things did not get better with meds and rest, and in fact got worse, that I should then see a doctor. I genuinely feel that I am fine, I have had bronchitis before, in fact about once a year. My coughing has much improved and I am at a pain level in my chest of about a 2.63 as opposed to a level of 17.36 when I cough, on a scale of one to ten. I swear every doc and nurse in the world just has to nail down that 1-10 thing. 

I had not had pain like that before, knee buckling, incapacitating, vision swimming kinda thing. It did in fact scare the hell out of me, made me think that this was a “wake-up moment”, the men in my family have a history of dying that way, my dad did.

The fact that I did in fact go to the hospital was the right thing to do, as hard as it was for me to actually do. I am a stubborn old man and have been lucky to have lived 5 or 6 lifetimes already. I have raised the three most amazing daughters one could ever hope for. They are caring, kind, loving, compassionate, hard working, intelligent creatures that will all help to make this world a better place. I have also buried brothers, sisters, and my parents. I saw death everyday at my employment.

I want to spend whatever time I have left not chained to a desk, home and possessions, but chasing happiness and spreading kindness. It is a big bad crazy world out there, and I want to see and do it all. If I die tomorrow, I will die happy and satisfied that I am one of the luckiest people I have ever know and have lived a life few will ever get the chance too, undeservingly so.

So again, thank you for your concern, I honestly believe I am on the mend and have now spent the first two days and nights in Cambodia in my room resting and taking my meds as I was told to do, and btw it is driving me crazy...... tomorrow I venture out!

Some thoughts

There are approximately 10 million people living in Bangkok. It’s people are truly amazing. They are kind, energetic, respectful and hard working humans. Many toil daily at back breaking, menial, repetitive tasks. I did not observe, in the month I was there, a people feeling sorry for themselves nor complaining. They are industries and positive smiling folk. Always willing to help a stranger in need.

There are 7-11’s about every 300 feet or so.

The Thai’s believe in massaging the body and soul and there are Thai massage shops every 100 feet or so it seems. It is a daily ritual for all.

My first massage was a 1 hr foot massage $6. I am not generally a massage getter, how ever, I am a great giver I am told ladies!

First you have to remove your shoes, then they scrub your feet with a salt like thing as you soak the footsies in warm water. The other Thai ladies giggled as I squirmed in my seat, my facial expressions broadcasting my pain, sensitivity and  inexperience.  This gal did things to my feet I did not know could be done. Sending waves of pain and pleasure thru me. I’m in a dimly lit room next to a row of about 8 other recipients most of whom are asleep or in a lost pleasure world in their heads while they got worked over.

Then she casually whips out this torcher stick, it’s like a short fat chop stick, and she starts to really go to work. Apparently the Thai gals don’t agree that the “foot” ends at the ankle. She didn’t stop grabbing, pushing, grinding and rubbing until she reached my crotch. Oils, hot towels and so forth. Then you sit and have hot tea.

My next massage was uneventful yet pleasurable, second floor small room, a head and neck job. No oil, shirt on and an old Chinese couple next to me. He kept snoring and then waking up to tell his wife that he feels so sleepy before going back to sleep. She just ignored him as she looked at her phone, both getting the foot job.

I was then ready for the big time, full body hot oil massage. I had built up my experience and courage, bring it on gals. I showered and put on slippers and loose fitting clothes.

I was taken up 4 flights of stairs in the back of the building, windows between the floors showed glimpses of the ally below where the other type of massaging is done. Groups of girls in outfits attracting lost souls. There were also small cubbyholes we passed on the way up filled with other masseuse waiting to be called up. Like pitchers in the bullpen at a ball game.

There were two small areas with pull curtains and elevated platforms with mats, dimly lit, quiet. I was told to undress I think, she didn’t speak English.

She oiled me up and went to work. OMG, if you have not had this experience you need to soon. Now, she’s got to hurt you before she helps you. This is not for the weak or timid, this is not a soft ruby thing. This is elbows deep stuff as deep and hard as you can take.

I guess they are not used to moaning and groaning while they work, luckily we were the only ones on the 4th floor, she would go in deep, I would moan, and then we would laugh. This continued for an hour, $15. I had my tea and floated back to the hotel.

I also experienced similar rubs with some kind of small hand held lava bag pounded on my body at the end.

More later.

The music community

I put a search in my gogglier looking for dive bars / live music / music venues etc, before I visit each city. These places never fail to welcome me as one of their own the minute I walk in the door. I meet real people here, local folk, musicians, artist and music lovers, it is where I feel comfortable and at home. There is no pretentious bs, no games or tourist agendas, just humans living together as humans do. Music brings together people from all walks of life.

I found a place in Bangkok that posting about a bluegrass session at a local place. I was able to find the place. Before I got in the door, I was being welcomed by locals, the staff, and my people, the smokers out front. I was surprised to see cowboys everywhere. Boots, hats, spurs, button down western shirts.... I could have been in Texas!

I saw the stage and band and moseyed on back, luckily I had worn one of my button down shirts too. There was a long table in front of the stage just to the side. One side of it was empty, about 8 chairs, the other side was full of cowboys and cowgirls. I pointed to one of the open chairs and asked if I could sit down which was met with a chorus of “ yes, yes “. The man in the middle immediately stood up and put out his hand asking my name in broken English. He called me Jesse James for the rest of the night. He made it a point to introduce me to the rest of the table, asked where I was from, and delighted that I said Arizona. He is one of the nicest people I have ever met.

About 6 songs in more of his friends showed up, I quickly jumped up and offered my seat, they sat me back down, insisting I sit with them, and brought more chairs. I was a few beers in and was getting hungry. I had noticed a small buffet on the way in. I had also looked at their menu, which had squids, fish heads and so forth. The buffet looked perfect for me, French fries, chicken nuggets, corn, rice etc.

I went to the buffet and asked a server girl if I could indulge. It took a few attempts before I realized that she was telling me that the buffet was for the musicians, she was pointing to the table I was sitting at! I realized at that point that I had plopped myself down at the reserved main band table and was now trying to eat their food. I sheepishly sat back down, pretending that none of that had just happened, forgot about food and ordered more beer.

Throughout the night, my main man brought other musicians from around the place to introduce me to. We took selfies together and communicated as best I could.The first band ended and my table emptied as my new friends took the stage. Somewhere, a few songs in, he introduced me to the crowd as Jesse James, from Arizona. He also insisted that I come up on stage at the end of the night when he had every musician climb on stage, he had to pull me up there.

The music was fantastic, pure bluegrass from back in the hills. When his band finished, the special guest band was introduced from Japan. What an amazing moment for me.

These folks weren’t just “dressing up”, they live and breath the life, connecting to the cowboy and Native American life style. They put on rodeos,  own horses, and understand the history and way of life.

This was a night I will never forget, filled with talented musicians, kind welcoming souls, banjos, mandolins, fiddles and more. Thank you to all who made me feel apart of your community.

So

So i am a procrastinator by nature. People are always surprised to hear that I don’t plan my travels / days and weeks. I simply pick my next destination when I start to get the itch. I give myself 3 - 5 weeks in each place to really get a feel for the culture and its people. I tend to just flow with what sounds good at the time.

Well this is how the last few days have flowed, and how I was forced to act like a responsible adult and plan some things out, even though my planning left much to be desired.

There is an amazing mall down the street from me. Shortly after I got to Thailand, I found a phone store there to purchase a local simm card. I had noticed that there was a travel agency next to the phone store.

Before I left the USA I had bought a ticket to and from Thailand and that was it. I gave myself 3 months to figure the rest out. Just after I arrived here I went on line and purchased a ticket to Cambodia a month down the road. 3 days ago I decided to stop at the travel agency and make sure all was ok, just in case. I have been putting this off for weeks because I had a month right? Turns out they cant work with the airline I had bought the ticket from, and could not sell me tickets from Cambodia to Vietnam, where I thought I might go next. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy...... walk down the street and boom !, done...... not

So I retreated back to the hotel to scan the inter webs and find a local office for the airline I had bought the ticket from. I am old and have lots of technical difficulties and user errors, always have. The airline, in every way seems to be a partner with Thai Air, logo and all. I found the Thai Air office and headed there the next morning, and I am not a morning person, those of you who are confound me.

I explained that I wanted to confirm my flight, get a ticket from Cambodia to Vietnam another month down the road and then a ticket from Da Nang to Ho Chi Min city inside Vietnam and then a ticket from Ho Ci Min city back to Bangkok 2 months down the road.

Well, affiliated or not, she could not access my reservation. She also could not sell me tickets for travel inside Vietnam. I explained that I had a dog to really shake things up. She explained I could fly Thai air , with a dog into Cambodia, and from Vietnam back to Thailand, so I said “ let’s do it “. I decided to just not use the reservation I had already, $78 oh well, I would get me and Hazel into Cambodia and back in two months, we would figure the rest out later, Progress !!!!

After providing all of the paperwork for Hazel....... lots of paperwork, including her Thai import license vet papers etc. The travel agent dutifully pounded away at the keyboard, peppering me with questions. We finished about 42 minutes in, I thought. She told me the reservations were made but she could not issue my tickets because the soft sided airline approved ( in the USA ), that I had carried to the office that morning, was no good, when asked why, she replied that I needed a hard sided create because Hazel would have to fly under the plane in cargo. I had found this info on line, but hoped that Hazels service certification, my carrier, and of course my killer personality and charm would get her into the plane with me.

None of that worked, and the only other dog Friendly airline had the same rules. I relented and was then told I would have to come back the next day with the create and provide its dimensions, and the total weight with Hazel in it. I could then pay and receive my tickets. I agreed, took my small victories and left exhausted. I had a reservation to get me and my dog into Cambodia.

That night I decided to celebrate my accomplishments. I had adulted, found a dog friendly airline , made reservations, functioned in the morning hours, and navigated the inter webs.

I bought myself a nice late dinner and beers, after a long nap of course. Getting back to the hotel from dinner, I was in a good mood and Hazel needed a walk, so we decided to walk a few blocks away to this crazy little sidewalk bar. I will tell you a story or two about this bar another time. We wound up meeting a wonderful couple, a man and his 40 year old daughter from England, more about them later as well. We got home at 5:33 am ...... you get the picture, I was celebrating!

AUSSIES AUSSIES EVERYWHERE 

Hazel is under the weather today as I found out when I stepped off the bed and onto the contents of her stomach this morning. I noticed she was sleeping on the small couch next to the bed instead of her normal spot under the covers. I had moved the couch there to make it easier for her to get into bed. 

She has been lethargic since we got here, not that that is unusual for her, and she has been eating / drinking and pooping so I wasn’t too worried. I have been carrying her in my backpack with her head sticking out due to her lack of energy and too many people for her to navigate through. My shoulders are killing me. 8 lbs my ass.

Back at our favorite pub, breakfast done.

I stopped at a pharmacy and bought some pepto to help her stomach. I spiked her eggs with it and she of course refused to eat them. I tried to bribe her with 2 small pieces of bacon, which she picked out leaving all else behind. I had discovered at our grocery a small bag of soft dry dog food which is rare. Thinking it would be perfect since she had 16 teeth removed a few years ago. She greedily ate it for 2 days. And left most of it on the floor of our room this morning.

There is a small fruit cart just off the patio, we watch as the old man and his wife tirelessly make their living. They each have there own tasks, in my mind, not because of societal pressures, but because it works best for them, each with their own talents  and preferences. They are here every morning, in the shade. As the day progresses they will move their cart to the other side of the small street chasing the shade. They make sure to sweep and clean up the street before they move, well she does the sweeping and cleaning.

She stands and greets customers always with a smile and the Thai greeting. Handing out small plastic bags of deliciousness with a small wooden stick used to eat with.

He sits on a small stool, large knife in one hand and fruit in the other. His is a labor of necessity and precision. Every speedy cut, made thousands of times, I am sure could be done blindfolded. Each fruit requires a different cut, depth and angle. He even picks out the seeds from the watermelon with the small stick, the same one they give you to eat with. The waitresses from the pub all buy fruit from them to snack on as the day passes.

This pub is a gathering place for locals and expats. Every morning a group of Aussies gathers at “their” table. They are old men, large saggy creatures, balding, tan and wrinkly. They loudly preach to each other how the world and its creatures should live. The beer and head shaking flow throughout the afternoon. There is good natured guffawing, boasts about the rugby teams back home, and bad old men jokes. I could be watching a group of men from any city anywhere in the world. 

Sitting around us are local couples, British and American men with Thai girls, and single folks all choosing this spot at this moment to escape reality, or in their minds create it.

Time to head back to the hotel, the afternoon heat and humidity drive us back to comfort and a/c. The maid will have the room ready for us. I need a nap and Hazel needs a shower, she stinks!!

Yo

Hazel and I spend a lot of time behind the hotel. We have the morning, afternoon and night shift there. The food delivery, laundry, beer trucks and so forth deposit their wares there. It is also the smoker space for the employees as well as a small room for the security camera analysts.

I take her there to relieve herself, away from the eyes of hotel guests. They sit in front and eat,drink and converse at a lovely street food area that the hotel provides. Small wooden stools and tables. Music is provided every night. Acoustic duets playing sappy cum by ya type American stuff. I hate it but not the spirit behind it nor the people who enjoy it.  To each his own.

I know when Hazel needs to go even when she doesn’t. I’m the one who feeds her you see. That doesn’t mean she is going to cooperate. Sometimes we work in perfect harmony. Sometimes she makes me work for it. 

We can both be stubborn at times. When I need to get to my favorite pub, the one where that beautiful Thai girl works tonight, who I just know is secretly in love with me, and Hazel hasn’t pooped in 18 hours, you know damn well she and I are doing laps around the back of the hotel until she gives it up. 

When she is being stubborn, it’s usually one of those mornings, after a late night out. She is pissed I was out so long, without her.....pay back time. I employ several strategies at these times. Sweet talking, telling her what a good girl she is and so forth. I even try to bribe her with an extra 36 seconds outside her favorite door, the one marked “wet garbage”,  it’s her favorite spot behind the hotel. Beyond this door are things dreams are made of for her. It’s always a tug a war to get by this door on our walks.

Thought I was having the big one. Chest pain started 2 days ago. The whole crippling pain that terrifies you. Shortness of breath, left arm tingling..... It was only really painful when I coughed... I was scheduled to fly to Cambodia in 2 days.... gonna tough it out. Last night I decided I was pushing it..... if I was able to get a couple hours of sleep and could fake it through airport security I would just deal with it in Cambodia. After everything Hazel and I have been through the last week to get her approved to fly, finding travel agents, veterinarians, animal export control centers etc, not to mention my 30 day visit period for Thailand is up, I have to fly today! I woke at 5 am unable to breathe, started coughing and saw the reaper... I looked up hospitals near me and ordered a grab ride.

Humans

Hazel and I sat in the small cafe of our airbnb. We sat on stools at the bar. The stools were the kind with backs on them, I like those, soft padded seat too.

Hazel had her own stool, we were the only customers at the time. We were talking to 4 staff members of the Airbnb, one was bar tending, one the cook and the other two had just finished their room service duties.

I had stopped by to grab an infused ginger, honey, lime and spice drink. I hear they are healthy for you. We were getting to know each other, they were fawning over Hazel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her. I turned my head towards her and watched her flow into the cafe.  She wore a white dress, her hair blond, cut very short, she had beautiful green eyes. She walk past me and stood next to Hazel, of course, as the staff and I turned our attention to her.

She asked if she could order lunch, the staff immediately jumped into action and I tried to concentrate on not falling off my stool. She was Australian!a goddess from down under

She is a licker, has been as long as I have known her. She licks me after I feed her, after walks, she waits for me to get out of the shower and then licks my leg as I towel off, she licks my owies, she licks when she’s happy or board, when I’m sad, when we wake up and when we go to bed, her stamina is amazing.

I give her leeway on this because she makes it clear that there is really nothing I can do about it, I have tried everything, and it really is her only vice, she doesn’t bite, bark or complain, no matter what crazy scheme I throw at her.

But this time I must stand firm. I am covered in OFF mosquito spray. I explain that it’s poison, in a firm voice. She just stares at me with those eyes, no licks? My voice rises as I fend off her attempts, each time I get the big sad eyes, I must have the licks.....She wonders what terrible thing she has done to be denied her licks.

I am at war with the flying demons. I thought the mosquitos in Bangkok were bad, Cambodia is worse. I was given an electronic zapper racket when I checked into my motel. Explanations about the canal  near by not being sprayed this year etc. Cambodia is an extremely poor country, trash is every where on the streets, especially in the area I am staying in. 

I have been vigilant in my attempts at eradicating the little bastards. I was a number two seed tennis player with the sweetest one handed backhand you’ve ever seen, I’m like a crazed Roger Federer when it comes to these bugs.

I carry this death paddle with me everywhere, I take it to the bathroom, to the kitchen, the bedroom, every time I put it down, to eat or feed hazel, the damn things start dive bombing me, appearing out of nowhere . They disappear as I chase them, just flat out vanish. 

There is an endless supply of these things, I will not give up, I sit covered in OFF, surrounded by bug strips, with some kind of bug killing juice wafting over me from an outlet plug in thingy. Their carcasses will line the chambers of my soul.

She is pouting in the living room, on the couch. Waiting for me to come out and apologize and beg her back to bed, with

I have hired a driver to take us to Siam Reap. It’s a six hour ride north east of Phnam Penh, thru the country side. We are on the out skirts of Phnam Penh as I write.

We take with us from our time in Cambodia’s capital, life changing experiences. I came to Cambodia for two reasons, first to experience the culture, its people and it’s history. Second to visit Aziza’s Place.

Aziza’s Place was founded by Amjid  Gore, to honor the memory of his lost daughter, and to help the children and their families, living in abject poverty of Phnam Penh’s slum neighborhoods.

Amjid’s family and mine grew up together in a small community in Saudi Arabia. His younger brother Hirath was with my brother Bobby when my brother died at age 10. The loss devastated my family, I was 7. It was one of the first if not the first, loss of a child in our Aramco community in Saudi Arabia. My mother wound up burying 4 children and a husband before losing a prolonged battle with stage 4 breast cancer at age 86.

My parents grew up poor by todays standards, their families coming out of the Great Depression in the American Midwest. Mom and dad were adventurous explorers by nature. They risked all to venture into the unknown world for a better life. My mother flew into Arabia by herself, knowing no one, to teach school at the age of 21, which she did for 40 years. My father met her 10 days later when he flew in to work in the oil fields.

I remember we lived in the mountains of Iran with a few other families, all in small trailers. My father worked for some oil company as a driller. My mom set up her own little school for the kids as well as local kids. She would develop film in the bathtub, grow her own food and hand wash diapers.  A small prop plane would drop mail from the outside world once a month.

One of the locals who worked for my father on the rig wanted to get married but had no money for the wedding nor the dowry for the wife’s family. My father paid the expenses and slaughtered a sheep for the celebration. I don’t think my father ever encountered anything he could not do. Mom and dad were fearless.

My parents buried an infant daughter in those mountains of Iran. I remember when they noticed the other graves did not have markers, they paid to have a cross placed on each space.

These are just a couple of examples of the legacy of kindness, respect, caring and giving back that my parents passed down to me. I will be forever great full for my parents.

I try to volunteer in every country I visit, my three amazing daughters all carry this legacy forward, as their children will. We are all in this life together my friends, and the knowledge that we as humans, are all the same, no matter where we live or our life circumstance. We all have the same hopes and dreams to live our lives as we choose, our children to be safe and happy and so forth.

Enough with war, hatred and greed. Have we learned nothing in the history of mans barbaric tendencies of seeking power and money? There is enough wealth to end poverty, it’s ramifications, and the misery it rains down upon humanity.

It was in this spirit of helping others less fortunate than my self and carrying on my parents legacy that I visited Aziza’s Place, where I also had a personal  connection.

The facility is a learning center and daycare for the children less fortunate. They come to the center after school lets out, they are fed, showered, taught and loved. The staff who run it are truly angles of mercy. The complexities and hardships to run the center are overwhelming to me, yet these angels persevere every day to bring light, hope and happiness to these children in a safe, clean, and loving environment.

You would not know at first glance what life has put these children thru. They find beauty and joy in the world. The smiles on their faces ......... some are mischievous, some funny and some shy, like children everywhere. The center provides karate lessons, swim lessons, yoga, and medical care. They tirelessly seek out donors in the community for assistance with these programs.

These angles think of these kids as their own and worry and stress about their home life that often includes violence, starvation and desperation. I am told that at times, some of the families, who also receive bags of rice and check up visits from the staff, take their children to the dumps to hunt for plastics and other needs instead of sending the kids to the center.

The kids have the opportunity to learn English, Chamoi, math and computers, as well as basic life skills. Children everywhere deserve to feel loved and safe like they do at Aziza’s Place.

Because Aziza’s Place posted on my Facebook page a thank you for my visit, I will share with you that to honor my parents legacy, Hazel and I upgraded their computer center, a small thing, that I hope will make a difference in the lives of the children and staff.

Commenting

ANGELS, THEY WALK AMONGST US

Hazel and I sat at a small bar watching the humans. I drink beer and smoke, Hazel breaths heavy, for an Arizona girl, she doesn’t like the heat & humidity. I heard a man ask, “where do you think their from ?” I glanced up to see a parade of 20 somethings walking by, I turned to the man and said, “ Alabama ?”. He laughed  and said “maybe South Carolina “. And so  began an inspiring conversation with him and the two ladies sitting with him.

He was in his 70’s, he looked it. His wife was a sweet but quiet woman, large with bushy white hair. Across from her sat a short round frumpy woman also in her late 70’s. When I asked her what had brought her to Cambodia, “ the war “ she said, and she waited for my reaction, she hadn’t really even seen me yet, she was eating and hadn’t looked up from her gravy fries, they looked great!

She went on to tell me that she had been a nurse in the army during the war, and had moved to Cambodia permanently 28 years ago to give back. The next 25 minutes, between bites of gravy fries, she told me of the war and the tragedies it brought to the Cambodian people and the American soldiers who served here.

Then she blew my mind, she had created a non profit and after years of fighting the government paperwork, had opened a free hospital for Cambodian women. She showed me pictures and this is no one room clinic, it was a huge 3 story full size hospital, it could have been sitting in New Jersey, well not New Jersey, who would want to be there?..... just kidding...  The hospital is run by the non profit and staffed by volunteer physicians. Bless this woman. ANGELS, THEY WALK AMONGST US

I was sitting in the little cafe of the Airbnb, in Phnam Penh, drinking my ginger, mint, honey thing that is supposed to save me. I was joking around with the staff, who I have come to love. Two young women and a crazy young man who teases them all day. The ladies cook and serve, he, a handyman. They are the ones who took me out to the clubs that night to get jiggy with it.

Hazel has her own stool at the bar as usual. The door to the cafe swings open and this stunner floated in, it was like in the movies where time slows. She came up next to Hazel and politely asked to order a steak and broccoli to be brought to her room. I almost fell off my bar stool, she spoke with the sexiest Australian accent.

I struggled to not stare at this beauty and to think of something to say. Hazel to the rescue! She licked the ladies hand hanging near her. “ Can I pet your dog? “. Ok ,enough about what was going on in my head, we started talking and it turns out she is a trauma counselor, living in Cambodia to help those not just with todays hardships, but obviously, the lasting nightmares lingering from the war so long ago.  ANGELS, THEY WALK AMONGST US , a beautiful one at that!

I had visited the floating markets in a province outside of Bangkok, the night before I had broken that little plastic nose bridge thingy on my glasses. I had put them in my backpack in case I found a floating optometrist. There were small shops next to the floating market and one of them was a glasses store, I am so smart!

There was one gal working, young and polite, she did not speak English nor I Thai. After a failed explanation, I took out my glasses, she smiled acknowledgment and went to work. Her small screwdriver and knowledge had fixed my glasses in no time. I stood in front of this tiny human, a large sweaty America wearing a  T-shirt from a friends band. I took out my wallet and asked what I owed her, she shook her head and waved off my offer. “ Free “ she said, I tried again and finally thanked her, bowed and left. ANGELS, THEY WALK AMONGST US

To be continued

We leave for Vietnam on Tuesday, today is Sunday. Last nite, I got an uneasy feeling about getting Hazel on the plane. I had taken all the documents with me to the Cambodian air office, they checked them and emailed them to someone, told me all was good, nothing more needed.

Just in case, I looked up veterinarians last night, ones that would be open on a Sunday. I found three, picked one, and was there when they opened at 8:00 am, look at me adulting in the morning ! A nice young lady told me that the vet wasn’t in on Sunday and they are closed on Monday.  She referred me to another vet.

We found the place, and were told the vet wasn’t in, but this sweet girl said she would call the doctor. He explained to her, and she, to me that animal travel permits in Cambodia took 10 days, can I reschedule my tickets? I begged for any chance to expedite the process, I will pay I say, I give her the sad eyes ( the ones I get from Hazel when I’m eating ). The doc says expedited takes 3 -5 days. I beg again, the eyes sadden more . He says he will call the government and try, she tells me not to get my hopes up.

She copies all my paperwork, sends it to the doc and takes my email, phone and messenger info. I leave with little hope I will hear good news.

By this time is like 10:32, its hot and humid. I walk back towards my hotel and decide to stop for a beer half way home..... I know it’s only 10:32 but hey man, I’m not a morning person and I was confused. I get a massage thru Facebook from the doc that says he has finally talked to someone in the government and they have agreed to make it happen if I can come right back to the vets office, pay $100 and have Hazel examined.

I finish my beer and cig and rush back thru the sweltering humidity to the office. I pay, Hazel gets the thermometer up the butt and the girl promises that the vet will do his best. I slip her a fiver and bless her for her efforts. I leave with high hopes and head towards home.

I am so proud of my lazy procrastinating intuitive ass, adulting early and making things happen, that I decide to stop for another beer. Somehow I miss the bar I am looking for ...... but in front of me in this little glass case on the sidewalk, are pastries that beckon to me. The wrinkled old lady behind the case smiles at me, she knows I want it and waves me over.

I am currently at a bar on Pub Street...... I came to eat dinner !   There is this cute couple, Dutch I’m guessing, next to me playing cards and drinking beer. She cheats ! Looks at his cards when he ain’t looking, I don’t think he minds.

UST THINGS IN MY HEAD

Fell asleep at 4:30 finally, Hazel wok me at 8 to go for a walk. It’s now 14:36 as I write. I just watched a movie called WORDS AND PICTURES. It looked like it was going to be a chick flick, and it was. I couldn’t stop watching, the writing, story lines and acting were amazing. I highly recommend.

Lunch consisted of Edam cheese, dried apricots, dried pineapple, Danish butter cookies ( god I love those ), pistachios, some hot chili Tteokbokki snack chips and a 7-up.

We have a new dog in the hotel. It’s a small white Pomeranian. It’s owner does not keep it on a leash, and he runs about peeing on the flowers and bushes on the front patio out side the cafe.

The dogs owner is a short round Russian with a big attitude, and very little hair. His woman a, tall, long legged creature, beautiful hair and green eyes, like out of a bond movie. I will never understand women, I do not know his whole story, but he acts like a creep.

The hotel owner has gotten all the vines that hang from the balconies to grow together. I was looking at one on my patio, how it grew out and commingled. I noticed movement, upon closer inspection, there is a army of tiny, tiny ants that use this as a highway. They exit the branch onto a cable in the railing and just keep going until they disappear around the building. Industrious little suckers.

It’s like watching a National Geographic show about the ants in the Amazon jungle. We are also visited by bees and colorful butterflies, it is a place that inspires me.

Hazel, sleeps the afternoon away, as she does, snoring softly, her favorite past time. Second only to eating whatever I am eating. She does not whine, bark, beg or even paw me. She just sit’s about a foot away, slightly shaking, and stares at me.

The traffic in Phnam Pen, Cambodia is out of control. I thought Thailand was crazy, they got nothing on the Cambodians. It’s like an attack scene out of a mad max movie. You just punch it and go, someone’s gonna swerve or loose their nerve and hit their brakes, no lights on 1/6 th of the vehicles, wrong way drivers everywhere, you got to be crazy or have huge cajones to drive there.

I was visiting a Buddhist temple in Bangkok when I exited, I saw a flash of orange to my right, I looked up to see two Buddhist monks in traditional orange robes and between, them hand in hand, walked a small boy of three wearing a spider man costume and a huge smile, a sight I will not forget.

I then heard some music around the back of the temple. I of course sought it out. There was a covered patio and in the front was a small stage. The patio was set up with benches and tables. School must have just let out as kids, grade 3 to 9, all in uniform, were overflowing the patio.

There must have been 70 -93 kids eating, laughing, singing and conjugating. The stage had 6 or seven kids all playing instruments, sound system, mic’s and all. Groups would take turns on stage as their friends encouraged and sang along, it was simply marvelous.

OUR STREET

We have a fairly quiet street, kind of a long open ended alley. Two and six level buildings line both sides, each with large metal gates protecting their cherished occupants. Old razor wire tops the gates and walls, I think these barriers are remnants of a past when their government came for them, a last chance to hold them off for a few more hours of freedom. What happened to these people was a genocide of unspeakable evils.... they also suffered thru the French, Americans and others threw out history . ....Ugh the French....

We have down the way, two ladies I would guess to be in their 80s, they sit outside the gate on our side of the street. One lives there and the other across the street. They always sit together in the same spot, it’s not a shade thing so I guess the one is somehow more dominant than the other. They sit, eyes missing nothing, as they whisper and nod to each other, I would love to be a Cambodian speaking fly on the wall. The things they have seen and lived through the last 80 plus years.

There is another old woman who sits by herself a few doors from the other two. Her face and skin have the consistency of a raisin that has been left out in the sun way too long. She is also covered in what look like large freckles. The scowl on her face leaves little doubt why she sits alone everyday. We met her on our first walk after we arrived. I saw her peripherally, and just as Hazel dug in her heels, I her the old gal grunt. I looked at her and she angrily waved at Hazel who had just started to poop in front of the woman’s gate.

I smiled at the woman and carefully unfolded my little blue plastic poop bag. I bent over, scooped the poop, tied it off and looked over at the woman. She turned her head away from me and hrumped. I hope she has grandkids who bring her light.

Then there is Engelbert Humperdincks long lost cousin. He lives about 2/3 the way down the road. Every Friday and Saturday he sits in front of his gate with a few friends, always shirtless. They drink beer and find their happiness, just like bro’s everywhere in the world do.

They sit on the ground which is customary. He holds a gold wireless karaoke mic and bares his soul for all to hear. He sings in Cambodian, with much emotion, slow meaningful numbers, the sound echoes off the cement walls.

I have learned that the Thai and Cambodian people are extremely astute when it comes to sports. I have seen Yankee hats, shirts, jackets and so forth. Old women wear them, kids, men on scooters etc. Now, I say this not as a a fan of the greatest sports franchise in the history of the world, just a simple observation. I have not seen a single Red Sox logo in almost 2 months, it’s been awesome.

I have hired a driver to take us to Siam Reap. It’s a six hour ride north east of Phnam Penh, thru the country side. We are on the out skirts of Phnam Penh as I write. 

We take with us from our time in Cambodia’s capital, life changing experiences. I came to Cambodia for two reasons, first to experience the culture, its people and it’s history. Second to visit Aziza’s Place.

Aziza’s Place was founded by Amjid  Gore, to honor the memory of his lost daughter, and to help the children and their families, living in abject poverty of Phnam Penh’s slum neighborhoods.

Amjid’s family and mine grew up together in a small community in Saudi Arabia. His younger brother Hirath was with my brother Bobby when my brother died at age 10. The loss devastated my family, I was 7. It was one of the first if not the first, loss of a child in our Aramco community in Saudi Arabia. My mother wound up burying 4 children and a husband before losing a prolonged battle with stage 4 breast cancer at age 86.

My parents grew up poor by todays standards, their families coming out of the Great Depression in the American Midwest. Mom and dad were adventurous explorers by nature. They risked all to venture into the unknown world for a better life. My mother flew into Arabia by herself, knowing no one, to teach school at the age of 21, which she did for 40 years. My father met her 10 days later when he flew in to work in the oil fields. 

I remember we lived in the mountains of Iran with a few other families, all in small trailers. My father worked for some oil company as a driller. My mom set up her own little school for the kids as well as local kids. She would develop film in the bathtub, grow her own food and hand wash diapers.  A small prop plane would drop mail from the outside world once a month.

One of the locals who worked for my father on the rig wanted to get married but had no money for the wedding nor the dowry for the wife’s family. My father paid the expenses and slaughtered a sheep for the celebration. I don’t think my father ever encountered anything he could not do. Mom and dad were fearless.

My parents buried an infant daughter in those mountains of Iran. I remember when they noticed the other graves did not have markers, they paid to have a cross placed on each space.

These are just a couple of examples of the legacy of kindness, respect, caring and giving back that my parents passed down to me. I will be forever great full for my parents. 

I try to volunteer in every country I visit, my three amazing daughters all carry this legacy forward, as their children will. We are all in this life together my friends, and the knowledge that we as humans, are all the same, no matter where we live or our life circumstance. We all have the same hopes and dreams to live our lives as we choose, our children to be safe and happy and so forth. 

Enough with war, hatred and greed. Have we learned nothing in the history of mans barbaric tendencies of seeking power and money? There is enough wealth to end poverty, it’s ramifications, and the misery it rains down upon humanity.

It was in this spirit of helping others less fortunate than my self and carrying on my parents legacy that I visited Aziza’s Place, where I also had a personal  connection.

The facility is a learning center and daycare for the children less fortunate. They come to the center after school lets out, they are fed, showered, taught and loved. The staff who run it are truly angles of mercy. The complexities and hardships to run the center are overwhelming to me, yet these angels persevere every day to bring light, hope and happiness to these children in a safe, clean, and loving environment.

You would not know at first glance what life has put these children thru. They find beauty and joy in the world. The smiles on their faces ......... some are mischievous, some funny and some shy, like children everywhere. The center provides karate lessons, swim lessons, yoga, and medical care. They tirelessly seek out donors in the community for assistance with these programs.

These angles think of these kids as their own and worry and stress about their home life that often includes violence, starvation and desperation. I am told that at times, some of the families, who also receive bags of rice and check up visits from the staff, take their children to the dumps to hunt for plastics and other needs instead of sending the kids to the center.

The kids have the opportunity to learn English, Chamoi, math and computers, as well as basic life skills. Children everywhere deserve to feel loved and safe like they do at Aziza’s Place.

Because Aziza’s Place posted on my Facebook page a thank you for my visit, I will share with you that to honor my parents legacy, Hazel and I upgraded their computer center, a small thing, that I hope will make a difference in the lives of the children and staff.

I 

I sit at the desk and write, looking out towards the garden and pool of the exquisite tranquility outside my room. Life is so good, I am blessed. The air is chilled and the bed calling me...... I can only describe as ..... decadent euphoria. I honestly have never before been wrapped in such comfort. 

I changed hotels today, I arrived yesterday and decided to try a hostel, brew house. I was ushered into a dark room with no a/c, a shower area combined with the bathroom. I wouldn’t have been able to shower without one foot on the toilet and one hand on the sink. I sweated it out for one night, the springs of the mattress poking my rib cage. Every time I rolled over I thought the slats under the bed would collapse. And then there was that one dead cockroach...... I don’t think Hazel or slept at all. It was only $8 a night, I guess this fat old man can’t hang with the young backpackers any more.

The hotel is situated just off the river that flows thru the city. There are sidewalks and grassy areas lining both sides of the river. Ancient trees hang sleepily providing shade and an escape from the afternoon heat. Hazel is in heaven as there was no grass to be found in Phnam Penh, and only one small strip, ( 2 x 10 ) in Bangkok. Solitary creatures sit on benches, lost it thought. Couples huddle and whisper secrets. Young girls giggle and take selfies, me thinks they speak of boys.

We walk, well I walk and carry Hazel, down the alley until we meet the river. There are tuktuk and rickshaw drivers that congregate in the shade of this alley. They all huddle around one vehicle. I see arms flailing and hear boisterous shouts of joy emanating from under its canopy. They are playing dominos, and having a damn good time doing it. They only stop as Hazel and I walk by to ask tuktuk? Then they get right back at it.

I am now close to “ Pub Street “ and the night markets. Dangerously close, I can walk there. The neon streets cater to the tourists who flock here to wonder the ancient ruins of Angkor Wat. There are restaurants, bars, massages and bazaars  everywhere. Every type of cuisine imaginable, interestingly almost all have wood fired pizza. I am not the most adventurous eater so this is both a blessing and a curse for my diet.

As I walk the street I come upon a 5 piece band of old men playing traditional music. It takes me a few moments before I realize that they all have artificial legs . They are all survivors of land mines from the war. They play for tips that go to the children of survivor families. What a legacy we have left in south east Asia.....

I have not escaped the Aussies, they are so close and tickets so cheap they flock here. they are a funny creature. Brits, hippies, Indians, Germans all come to this magical place... even the French...... ugh the French.

I found on my walk today, a small grocery, a phone store for a portable battery, and several choices for a haircut, I need one bad man. This humidity just messes with my sweet du, I just can’t do anything with it !!

There is one of those guys at the table next to me. He is a group of four that was seated in the restaurant 15 minutes ago. He saw on his way, in an occupied table up front, facing the street and it’s horde of humans parading by.

As soon as the table emptied, he rushed up to claim it, they had not the time to even clean it. It was seated for only three, he of course made them squeeze a fourth chair in. The host most gracious. 

He complains to his cohorts that it is not as comfortable as their chairs. He laments the fact that his chair faces into the restaurant and not onto the street, he has to swivel his head back and forth as he explains the complexities of the world as it passes by to his captive audience. He is an old man, thin with thinner white hair. Perched on his lip is a perfectly trimmed white stash, like a large hairy caterpillar. It twitches as he speaks and drives me crazy, I can’t stop watching it. It seem he is the only one to speak, they other couple and his wife seem to have accepted their fate. He drinks a dark beer of course. 

To my left are two 20 something German boys, one has ordered the pizza, damn it looks good, but he is eating it with a knife and fork !!! 

I think its time for me to finish my beer and move on.

UNEASY

We leave for Vietnam on Tuesday, today is Sunday. Last nite, I got an uneasy feeling about getting Hazel on the plane. I had taken all the documents with me to the Cambodian air office, they checked them and emailed them to someone, told me all was good, nothing more needed. 

Just in case, I looked up veterinarians last night, ones that would be open on a Sunday. I found three, picked one, and was there when they opened at 8:00 am, look at me adulting in the morning ! A nice young lady told me that the vet wasn’t in on Sunday and they are closed on Monday.  She referred me to another vet.

We found the place, and were told the vet wasn’t in, but this sweet girl said she would call the doctor. He explained to her, and she, to me that animal travel permits in Cambodia took 10 days, can I reschedule my tickets? I begged for any chance to expedite the process, I will pay I say, I give her the sad eyes ( the ones I get from Hazel when I’m eating ). The doc says expedited takes 3 -5 days. I beg again, the eyes sadden more . He says he will call the government and try, she tells me not to get my hopes up. 

She copies all my paperwork, sends it to the doc and takes my email, phone and messenger info. I leave with little hope I will hear good news.

By this time is like 10:32, its hot and humid. I walk back towards my hotel and decide to stop for a beer half way home..... I know it’s only 10:32 but hey man, I’m not a morning person and I was confused. I get a massage thru Facebook from the doc that says he has finally talked to someone in the government and they have agreed to make it happen if I can come right back to the vets office, pay $100 and have Hazel examined.

I finish my beer and cig and rush back thru the sweltering humidity to the office. I pay, Hazel gets the thermometer up the butt and the girl promises that the vet will do his best. I slip her a fiver and bless her for her efforts. I leave with high hopes and head towards home. 

I am so proud of my lazy procrastinating intuitive ass, adulting early and making things happen, that I decide to stop for another beer. Somehow I miss the bar I am looking for ...... but in front of me in this little glass case on the sidewalk, are pastries that beckon to me. The wrinkled old lady behind the case smiles at me, she knows I want it and waves me over. 

I am currently at a bar on Pub Street...... I came to eat dinner !   There is this cute couple, Dutch I’m guessing, next to me playing cards and drinking beer. She cheats ! Looks at his cards when he ain’t looking, I don’t think he minds.

MADE IT TO CAMBODIA BY THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH

The last few days in Thailand were stressful and exhausting. I made two trips to the airport to check Hazels paperwork and create issues. I bounced from agent to information counters to supervisors and more in my quest to get Hazel on the plane. 

Luckily I asked one last question. I asked if there was an actual animal export control office. I had been told I just needed to call them. I was told by the supervisors supervisor that there was an actual office but not there at the airport, it was offsite. He was kind enough to write down in Thai directions for my lucky next cabby. 

We discovered an office that took us in, completed a health inspection, reviewed our paperwork, much of which turned out to be unnecessary. They informed me they would produce documents to get Hazel out of Thailand and into Cambodia. One last thing though, it was lunch time so the documents wouldn’t be ready for 2 hours. I told them I would come back tomorrow. 

Then things took an uncomfortable turn. I had two days before we were supposed to fly. I started having pain in my chest. I told myself not to worry, it was just residual pain from that last Thai massage, that Thai girl put the p in pain. Ive been hurt by a lot of women, but no one can hurt you like a Thai girl. It is amazing how much strength those tiny creatures possess. 

Then late that night I started having trouble breathing and was coughing. The next day was scary as the pain increased and breathing grew harder. This was the worst pain I have ever had and I have had cancer surgeries, total knee replacements, kidney stones etc. Late that night, I decided that if I could get a couple hours sleep I was gonna John Wayne it through the airport and deal with it in Cambodia. I had come too far to not get on that plane. My 30 day visa was up, I had a dog unsupervised, time sensitive animal control docs that would expire....... you see what I’m saying.

I woke up coughing several times in great pain. The last time I awoke, the clock read 4:57 am,  my flight was at 5:17 pm. I 

BURGER KING

Found another gem. Dirty fingers is a blues bar on the beach in Da Nang, Vietnam. I sit and observe the humans, large portraits of B.B. King, Johnny Cash, Carlos Santana, Jimi Hendrix, and Keith Richards adore the walls and watch over me as I write.

The band has just finished, the rockabilly girl mural painted on the back of the stage is calling me, sexiest thing I have ever seen. Large space but not too large, pool table, darts, sports on 4 flat screens, patio over looking the beach, beautiful Vietnamese girls, beer....

So last night, I think it was last night.... they run together.... I found a great little open air bar with live music. The owners were a cute young couple. I had messaged them to make sure I could bring Hazel, they have three dogs and she brought Hazel food and treats all night, which I had no problem with btw.

It was advertised as a bar / restaurant. The only food they had was Spanish  peanuts. That constituted dinner, and I ate a bag of chips for lunch.

Sooooo the band kept playing and I kept drinking.... Hazel  was a good sport and stuck it out, thought she was gonna leave a few times.

When we did leave, I decided to forage for food. It was only midnight, when I do my best and worst eating. My favorite time , I have always been a creature of the night. I have survived on three to five hours of sleep a night since I was 14.

I just knew I could find a Burger King, I kept walking I was miles from home. I passed many small places selling fish head soup, eel and the like, I keep walking. Lights, dark streets, fellow night strangers passing, admirers of hazel flowing by.

I usually buy lunch meats, cheeses and bread to keep in my room, a trait passed down to me from my old man. The local mart stock them most places I go, but not here.

I had given up and decided to try one last mart and then order a grab to go home. They had Edam and Gouda cheese and one pig of hotdog looking “ German sausage “, score !!

So I get home and start slicing cheese while I cook me some sausage. I threw them in a pan and tried to figure out how to work the stove. I guess i turned it on high, as I ate my Gouda, the room filled with smoke and the sausages burned. I jumped into action and put some water into the pan, I’ll boil them burnt weenies, no exhaust fan anywhere.

I opened the slider onto my patio and waved a towel like the American flag on a windy day in Chicago. I sat and ate my delicacies and waited for the smoke detector to go off and the hotel staff to rescue me in my boxers.

I put the still smoking pan on the patio and felt bad for the cleaning lady that would walk into the aftermath of my feeding frenzy tomorrow.

Ok they just made last call here, guess I go hunting again. It’s only 1:00 !

There is a little hidden garden, on the balcony patio off my room. Hazel and I like to sit and watch the humans.

To be honest, she can’t really see them, her being almost blind. She senses the world, and the nose still works. Her head tilts occasionally for a sound, a breeze, or an intuition.

She claims to be hard of hearing also. I will admit that I have been 8 feet away from her, called her name, and she will look for me in the wrong direction. Sometimes, she doesn’t respond at all.

Now, that being said, I have plenty of experience with women not listening to me, usually for good reason. I swear she is just playing me, here’s why. She can be snoring, under a comforter, in bed, in another room and I can be tiptoeing, stealthily opening a slice of cheese, or any snack really, and by god, the second I turn around, she is “ blindly “ staring me down.

She almost always gets a share, never happy with the split, I have to show her my hands, like a blackjack dealer,  before she believes that the food is gone. Blind and deaf my ass !

Anyway, I digress, I was talking about the patio.

We are mostly hidden by fauna. Beautiful vines, flowers and banana leaf palm fronds. At lunch, across the street and down a bit to the left, is a small canopy under which sits 20 small plastic chairs and tables. There is also a large red igloo style cooler, thats it.

I hear laughing, shouting and slapping from this location.  Everyday at lunchtime, for normal people, 15 or so construction workers from a nearby building site race in on their scooters. White and yellow construction helmets all around.

They park, put their helmets on the handlebars and sit. I discover that they come to play cards on their break. They aggressively slap their cards on the table and with much bravado attempt to influence the other players. They also deal backwards, like the water going down an Australian terlit !

I love it, men are such funny creatures. The ways in which we choose to distract ourselves from reality, or maybe to create it. For me, anything to distract me from my inner demons.

There is one server woman who waits on them and then collects money when their break is over and they abruptly leave on their scooters. She then disappears and then nothing, ghost town until lunch tomorrow.

Last night as I smoked from my perch, I heard what sounded like a Macaw type creature. I searched the trees, not more than 30 feet away but could not find the bird. There is also the occasional cry or bark from Bo Bo, he is the house dog, a small curley, brown poodle. He is spoiled rotten and has the run of the place when he is not being carried around or fed by staff and patron alike. He has toys hidden behind the small reception desk. He is a sweet boy, such an attention whore.

I came down to walk Hazel and graze on the free traditional breakfast this morning to find a beautiful Macaw bird on its perch! I knew I wasn’t hearing things! The house bird.

Last night

What a great night. Enjoyed a rockabilly band on the beach under the red moon. I drank rum and ate pasta. It’s an upscale place, way to nice for the likes of me or the rockabilly band for that matter. 

The band had a group of friends show up to enjoy. They were old hippies, happy folks, you could tell that they have stories, vagabonds who fled the oppression and struggles of home to explore the world. 

They staff here is extremely attentive, as it is throughout Asia. There are 2 floor managers, dressed impeccably in silk suits. They stand, hands behind their backs and observe from strategic posts. They miss nothing, every detail is immediately taken care of as they instruct their staff to indulge us.

Girls danced, men watched and drank, I watched the girls. The ocean breeze shook the palm fronds and the worries from my mind.

I found this band, as I often do, because I met a guy in Cambodia, he was playing harmonica in a blues band. He gave me names of bands and music venues to catch when I was to go to Vietnam in a few weeks. The music community is such a blessing. 

I have horrible posture and I hate it, I’m a sloucher, a leaner, and a man spreader. Gravity is hard on this old man, I am..... let’s say...big.   Unfortunately in most of the wrong places. Especially this belly hanging, causes problems with my neck, shoulders and back. As a doctor once told me, the problem with my back is my front.

The band finished and I was invited to sit with them and their hippy friends. We went into the parking lot for a band meeting, came back and told stories. Turns out the bass player is from Colorado and has toured thru Arizona, played in many of the same bars I have been known to haunt. Small world. I gave them cd’s and music download cards from my friends bands. 

I left and decided to walk to dirty fingers, another music venue. I was disappointed to find it almost empty and the music finished, it was only 11 something. I sat down to have one beer and decide my next stop. There were two women at the bar, two seats over. One of them asked for a light. I love lightning women’s cigarettes, something intimate and calming, a few seconds of shared life between two strangers.

There is this family, who I am honored to call my friends. They grew up with one of my closest friends, a bass player, outside of Red Rocks in Colorado. They have this thing they do to spread love and kindness. They have printed up boxes of cards, like the boxes you receive when you start work at a new job. The cards have words of encouragement and community, given to people you meet, from “a passing stranger.”

As I left, I slid one of these cards and my lighter, behind the woman’s elbow on the bar without her knowing, I can be smooth at times.

I wandered thru some dark streets and alleys looking for human contact and a beer. I saw a light outside a tiny place that caters to locals, they have a food cart, meat carcasses hanging, and 2 small tables with chairs. I sat down at the empty table, expecting the owner to come out and serve me, Americans...... anyway after a minute or so, at the table next to me, a man yells into the doorway and the owner appears. 

I realize that the man who yelled is one of the managers from the Apocalypse bar where I saw the band earlier in the night. He asked me if he can help, what do I need? I pointed to his beer and he smiled in recognition and motioned to the owner. I asked if I could buy him and his staff member with him a beer and he flat out refused to let me. 

I pulled out a cigarette and before I could ask for a light he jumped up and lit my smoke. ......He then told me to keep the lighter....... he would not take it back. My mind spun..... not more than 20 minutes ago I gifted my lighter to another..... and now it has come back to me.

I told him I recognized him from his restaurant / bar, and he lit up and commented on me being that guy sitting by the band video tapping them. We carried on a conversation in broken English. I told him what a fantastic staff he had and how I enjoyed myself at his place. I told him I had posted about them on Facebook. He liked this, he is a man who takes pride in his work. We spoke of our children, Vietnam, the virus etc. 

He apologized, and said he had just taken a break to come to his friends place and grab some food, he had to get back to his club. We shook hands, he handed me his card and told me to stop by anytime for a free drink. 

I went into the doorway, to pay and found a closet size shop with shampoo, beer, chips and other necessities. There was a small mattress on the floor in the corner, on it sat a small boy watching tv with his father. 

The father jumped up and as I tried to pay for my beers, he explained that the manager from apocalypse had already paid for me before he left. I smiled and looked around for something I could buy, I left with bottles of water, some cigarettes and a chocolate bar.

Skate Dudes

My one mission today was to find a taylor. I want to have a couple shirts made. Vietnam is famous for its it’s taylor’s, amongst other things. You can have a custom made suit in two days for $200.

I want a small local old school mom n pop place. Finding one on the inter webs is most difficult. There are lots of shiny ones, impressive photos of manakins in silk suits, nice cushioned seating areas, tea service, maybe a cookie or two.

Not what I’m looking for. I want a small shop, just ma and pa, older couple, sweating over an ancient sewing machine, bolts of cloth stacked about. I don’t want dress shirts, I want old school traditional Asian shirts, I know they will get it.

I picked one with no photos and a name all in Vietnamese. It was perfect. But they were intimidated and unsure because we couldn’t communicate, even with the pictures I brought. It was in a local neighborhood, no tourist places anywhere. 

I just started walking. I found several small shops selling all kind of beautiful colored material, but no luck. These folks back here were not used to dealing with big sweaty Americans. Lots of smiles and head shakes.

It was a trek thru alleys and streets full of life, I posted some snaps in the group an hour ago. It is Friday and seems to be some kind of celebration, lots of offerings to the ancestors, flowers and food around everywhere.

It was hot and humid, my black band shirt soaking thru. I kept walking looking for a bar, with a/c. I just wanted to sit and cool down, drink a beer, there was none to be found. There were small shops, local vegetable markets, and food carts. People squatting with friends talking and watching the world go by.

I love these strolls, you never know what you will find and who you might meet. I caught a glimpse of the river front down an alley, it was about 4 blocks away. I headed down the alley, I knew they had beer and a place to sit on the river front. 

I got to the river and headed for a couple bars I had been to. Both closed for the virus. Several others just not open yet, it was 16:00. 

Then I heard a noise I had heard before, turning to my left I saw a group of young wippersnapers jumping off some steps on their skateboards. One after another after another, relentless. 

I crossed the street and stood with a small group of bystanders. We watched as they flew thru the air launching themselves fearlessly hoping to perfect their technique. 

I started video taping them, I moved in next to the small group of boarders resting as they watched their friends, right in the landing zone.The steps came down from the promenade that runs along the river. Beautiful trees, flowers and marble sculptures adorning it.  

There were two catchers stationed 16 feet from the steps to stop boards and bodies from going into the street. They also had a row of boards lined up on their sides to help.

Oh to be young again, well no not really, but the way these kids bounced right back up for more punishment was impressive. Bodies of steel these kids had, they were landing on marble and concrete, hard. They just keep coming.

I suddenly realized I had been watching for about 23 minutes and had forgotten about my sweaty search for a beer. I also notice that in the afternoon heat these kids were sweatier than I was. 

I noticed, I just happened to be standing next to a dispensary box full of cold water bottles and the like, available to anyone for $.25 a bottle. I put in a colorful Vietnamese bill, it was rejected only once, the universe just has to keep testing me. I bought 15 ice cold water bottles and lined them up on the top step out of the line of fire and went back to the video. I kept one for myself.

No words were spoken, but they had curiously watched me place the bottles there. Slowly and politely, one by one, they grabbed a bottle opened it, took a swig, smiled and nodded at me. 

When they were done jumping and I had turned to leave, one of them approached me, asked where I was from, thanked me for the water and held up his phone asking photo? He pointed to the steps where his friends were gathering with their boards, I smiled and said yes! I tried to take his phone so I could take their group photo, he pulled the phone away saying , no, you, and pointed to the steps. 

It is well know that I hate having my picture taken, but I joined them on the steps. They all individually thanked me and shook hands, man, life is good. What a great group of kids.

They Way In Which They Moved Their Hips.

Listening to Etta, BB and Muddy, at the Simple Man Bar. It sits on a corner, run by hip young Vietnamese kids, one has a shaved man pony thing on top of his head. 

They have a house dog, a small fluffy black n white thing, rarely stops moving. The place fills with expat and locals alike most nights. Open air, a pool table that gets a lot of attention. People gather to commune, smoke, drink and discuss the day. Scooters parked out front. I like this place, small, relaxed, great music and cheap beer, bottle of the local stuff is less than $1.

Murals adore the walls in and out, a message on one.... “ God made weed, man made beer, in God we trust, Da Nang is a laid back surfer town, kinda like San Diego 40 years ago.

They just started playing some latin Cumbia music, I love Cumbia. I had taken my oldest and youngest daughters to Uruguay, on the tip of South America, to visit their sister who was studying there. 

We took a boat over to Buenos Aires for a week. As per my usual, I had scouted live music. I discovered a Cumbia band playing at an obscure club, band started  at midnight.

We jumped in a cab, my daughters are all high level Spanish speakers, so we should have no problem finding the place right. Well, it turns out the club was deep into the ghetto, dark streets, serious looking people walked the streets, cabbie had no idea where to go. 

We eventually found the place, it was about 10:00 pm. The club wasn’t even open yet so we set about to find some dinner. We had a fantastic meal, I ordered a bottle of wine, thinking to share it with my daughters. My youngest smelled it, 17 at the time, the oldest had one glass. It was a deep, rich red wine and powerful it turns out. 

We made the club by midnight. It was a mid size place, not to big or small. Dark, with a large stage in front and a small bar to the side. Musicians and music lovers started showing up as the house played Cumbia over our heads thru the sound system. Folks started dancing, oh I remember the girls dancing, latin music and its people and dance are so sensual. I kept telling my daughters that this is why musicians play music as we watched the girls move.

Passion and emotion filled the room as the women swayed and moved their bodies. It was magical, It dawned on me how special life is and how lucky I am to be able to spend it with my daughters, in a moment like this.

The excitment was building and the beer was flowing, more musicians were showing up, instruments being tuned. The stage was large and it looked like it was set up for 15 or so band members. We all waited and the girls kept moving their hips, in that way they do.

This continued until around two when the last band member finally showed up. That’s when the magic, and my love of Cumbia began. Drums, Congo’s, trumpets, small tuba, trombone, shakers, strikers and others unknown to me,  passion and love spread over us. 

The crowd moved with the rhythm, everyone losing themselves in the moment, nothing else in the world mattered, just this moment. The singers let loose and grabbed your soul. They shook it and just wouldn’t let you go, dragging you deeper and deeper. It was so pure. They made that ghetto live until the sun came up.

They younger expat kids just showed up, music has changed to some guy named snoop dog, heads are bobbing. My battery runs low, just enough to post this and bid you good night, chase happiness and spread kindness my friends. 

I Had Not Seeped My Tea Enough

So I was out late last night. I keep running into this guy Bob, retired ex military cop from Alaska and Minnesota. He is tall, thin, shiny bald head, cheesy mustache . He knows his way around a pool table, likes to drink beer and talk about women. 

He’s 6-7 years older than me, he has retired and moved to Da Nang in hopes of falling in love with an Asian beauty and living out his days in paradise. He and I exchange notes about new haunts we have discovered, where we found a great cheeseburger, and of course the girls.

I came down to walk Hazel one morning to find Bob sitting on my hotel patio drinking a mango smoothie. I discovered that he comes here every morning, to visit this beautiful Vietnamese girl that works here. She is 24 and just the sweetest human, you know that saying about sugar and spice, she is the living embodiment. 

I know of his visits because I have become one of those morning people. Not in the jog on the beach, smiling, yoga kind of way. But for some reason Hazel and I now wake up between 6:43 and 7:57 every friggin day. We used to sleep till noonish, waking only when Hazel couldn’t hold it any longer and would start licking the back of my shoulder to wake me up.

When we come back from our walk, we sit on the outdoor patio, surrounded by trees and flowers. Colors, butterflies and BoBo the house dog.

Without asking, the girl appears with my ginger tea, this potion that will save me they say. It is boiling hot with shredded ginger and lime. So hot my mom would drink it, she is the lady who returns the bowl of soup at Denny’s because its not hot enough, even tho she instructed them before hand. When she leaves she sneaks the little packets of jelly, grape or strawberry only, into her purse.

The tea is strong and I have come to look forward to it, its a perfect  accoutrement to my morning smokes. I often have a second cup. The girl is the talk of the neighborhood today as she has cut her hair. It was long, straight and shiny black as it should be.

It is now short, just to her shoulder, it turns in a bit at the ends, a bob maybe? I know not of these things, and has a reddish tint to it.

Yesterday started the same except with the sound of young children playing. We exited the elevator and three young girls were delightedly surrounding the Koi pond in our lobby, the fish were also excited with the attention in hopes of food as their mouths opened and closed.

Children see the world differently, full of wonder, fearless, joyfully , they have yet to be tarnished. Their energy is endless, they scurried about here and there, smelling flowers, riding a small bike, petting dogs and emitting sounds only children do. Never staying long in one place.

They wait for their mother and her girlfriend to finish breakfast, I am always amazed at how much these tiny women can eat. They have traditional Vietnamese food as well as toast, fruits, cereal and pastries, quite the spread, free every morning. The girls ran and squealed. 

When we came back from our walk we sat to smoke and have tea, I never eat breakfast. The two ladies had finally finished eating, leaving stacks of dishes in their wake, and sat on the patio, a table 4 feet away from me. The girls were of course fascinated with Hazel and I was suddenly surrounded by these three little humans. 

They kept running off to take turns on the bike, look at the fish and bug their mom for snacks. One of them in particular took interest in me, children and dogs seem to like me. This little girl would look deep into my eyes and chat away in Vietnamese, I tried to explain that I only spoke english, didn’t faze her a bit. 

She had things to tell me, important things. While she talked, she casually reached for the teabag laying on the lip of my saucer, lifting it up, she began to dip it in my cup. Apparently one of the things she had tried to explain to me was that I had not seeped my tea enough. 

I have explained before that I have the man spread thing going on, knees wide apart as I sit, can’t help it. This little wonder would just slide into my personal space, rest her back against my inner thigh, tilt her head back over her shoulder and talk as she looked me right in the eye. I just couldn’t help but giggle, I would look to her mom who would just smile and go back to talking to her girlfriend. 

The feelings overwhelm me, that I somehow was able to connect with this sweet girl, that she and her mother felt so safe and comfortable with me to allow me into their world for a short time.

SCAR THEM FOR LIFE

I see a couple sometimes, when Hazel and I are walking the hood at night. They are Vietnamese and walk in the middle of the street, they flank a girl of 4 or 5, no doubt their daughter. Trying at the same time, to keep the world at bay, protecting her, and wanting to let her explore the mysteries that lay about her.

Being a parent is a most wonderous thing, it is also terrifying. You start worrying before they are born and you are never fully free of the feeling that you must protect your babies, shield them from the evil that you know lies in wait. 

The love of a child, your child, is pure and unconditional. Nothing allows you to think that you are here for a reason, that your life has meaning and purpose, more than watching your children’s happiness. 

You don’t just raise them, there are no answers, you just worry and hope, every minute of every day. I was the strict over protective dad. Thinking that I must prepare my 3 daughters for what lies ahead, make them tough and smart. 

I was afraid of everything, germs,( I wouldn’t let them sleep with the dog, not even into their rooms ). They couldn’t walk alone, I had to grill any sleepover householders, no ordering deserts, no soda and so forth. Windows always locked , no talking to strangers, on and on and on.

I made sure I walked on the outside of them on the sidewalk. They must follow life’s rules to fit in and be accepted, always to do the right thing. To work hard and be successful so that they might have a good life.

My daughters will control their own destiny and impact the world and humanity with compassion, grace and confidence.

I wish I had understood sooner, that is more important to just let them live, without so much structure. That I was able to step back from my fear and watch them flourish in their own way. It was not how I was raised, and that was the only guide post I had to follow. 

Some how, my little angels were able to see around my rough edges and create their own success stories. 

She rides a small pink bike with training wheels, a colorful basket on the handlebars. She chats away nonstop, her head on a swivel between her parents, and every wonder that catches her eye. 

She wears silk pajamas, a helmet that wobbles on her tiny head, sparkly tennis shoes every night for her ride. She seems to glow as she rides. She always stops to chat with Hazel, in Vietnamese, her parents hover, all of them wearing masks. She smiles behind her mask as she speaks to Hazel, they got something going on.

My shower has wooden blinds in a window that overlooks the koi pond , lobby  and small eating area where breakfast is served. It’s a beautifully tiled,  glass inclosed structure. 

It sits next to the computotron  terlit, dials, buttons, water jet tubes and so forth. There is also a butt gun on the wall in case you prefer that method.

The floor of the shower tilts twords the small drain on the floor that sits below the window blind. I just know that some morning, as I shower, I’m going to slip on the tile, reach out and tear those blinds down, and scare the shit out of the nice folks eating breakfast, scaring them for life, I’m on the second floor.

WASTELAND 

I am lucky. People around me are under immense pressure. The world is in chaos, airports are empty wastelands with canceled flights at every counter. The few ticket agents that are visible are lifeless, their eyes helpless. 

I have watched the madness unfold back home in the USA, from my lair in Asia. I had planned to fly from Da Nang to Ho Chi Min city for a 10 day visit to the old city of Siagon. I had already purchased a ticket from Ho Chi Min back to Bangkok where I would spend a week before returning home to Arizona. 

I have been contemplating what to do. Do I really want to go back to an American I don’t recognize? Life is good here in Da Nang, It’s a laid back surfer town that provides any and all one could desire. The people are kind and respectful, it is certainly less expensive than America.

I had mused of going deeper into Asia, or Australia, or even Europe until the dust settles back home. Nothing makes as much sense as to just stay put here in paradise. My flight from Bangkok to LA is not scheduled until April 15, which gives me a month to watch and hope, that the desperation and nightmare will subside, and it will be possible to fly back to an America I know.

It was with this vision that I decided to purchase a ticket straight from Da Nang to Bangkok, 10 days before my scheduled flight to LA and skip Ho Chi Min City. 

I have struggled with the decision, have put it off, and watched from afar until I felt the time had come. Anything can happen and there are so many variables that my future is clouded. 

For me this is a way of life, there are no certainties, nearly everyday is a mystery and simply unfolds as I go along. I am blessed to have it this way, as it is what I have come to love.

I watch the other humans, the normal ones, with homes, jobs, schedules and partners, dealing with fear as they try to make things work in this new world. 

I went to the airport yesterday to buy a ticket. I can’t do it online because of Hazel and the complexities she brings to navigating our travels. I always like to splain things to a real person and show them physically our documents, travel create etc. I can leave nothing to chance.

The airport was a ghost town as were the ticket counters. I found agents at 3 airlines and was told by all that my ideas were impossible. I was ready to give up when the last agent told me there was a Bangkok airlines office upstairs. 

It was difficult to find, up to the top level, down a small winding hallway, past signs that said authorized personal only, but it was there. In this office, I found another angel. She spoke excellent English, was caring, smart and patiently walked me tru the maze to my goal.

I left her office feeling real accomplishment. As unorthodox and unconventional as my methods be, I always seem to work things out. Now of course I wasn’t really done yet. She explained that she needed to confirm with the home office that Hazel would be allowed on this flight. Because of what was happening, it was impossible to call and speak to them and she would have to send an email and wait for a response.

She promised to call / email me the minute she heard back and if authorized, I could come back to pay and receive my ticket. She emailed me late last night we had been approved ! 

I went to pick up the ticket today to find another agent manning the office, full of distressed travelers, by herself. I patiently waited as she assisted two burley German boys, an American girl and an older Korean couple get home. 

She never lost her cool, and was an extremely professional young Vietnamese girl. The travelers were less patient. After I was done and looked at the others still waiting, I joked that she would miss lunch today. She smiled and said there was no time.Yesterday she didn’t eat until 15:30.

I offered to go get her lunch and she said no, thank you, she brought it from home. I slipped her some money which she refused, saying that she was only doing her job. I left the money on her desk. 

When I was about to exit the airport for my celebratory smoke down stairs and call my driver, I noticed a small traveler shop, you know, magazines, tourist gifts and the like. I bought a cold water bottle and a fancy chocolate bar and went back up the stairs to the office, I smiled and said “lunch” as I placed them by her and left.

Two days of adulting and decisions, I am ready to celebrate. I have stayed in the last two nights, pouting because my rockabilly band got canceled on St Patty’s day. I am going to find a new place to eat, drink some beer and hopefully find a new band and girls of course.

I now sit back and wait.

More later

CULLING THE HERD

Finally got to sleep in like the old days. Hazel didn’t wake me untill 11:30, and I needed the sleep, like a hobo needs a ham samich. This of course means I missed our now morning routine where we sit on the patio, smoke and drink my exquisite ginger tea.

They know us, for we are regulars, we have lived with these wonderful mortals for nearly 3 weeks. Others come and go, a few days, maybe a week. 

They don’t bring me a menu, the selections, provided free every morning, of wondrous local dishes, pho, rice, omelettes, spring rolls, specialty coffees, smoothies and this is just the menu. 

Then there is the buffet, cereal, yogurt, pastries, fruit, kimchi, boiled eggs, fresh veggies and fruits abound, it is quite the feast. People actually load up plates and absorb the edibles while they wait for the servers to deliver the menu items they have requested.

I have never been a morning person nor a breakfast eater. It just astounds me how much people can eat, especially so damn early in the morning. 

The normal masses that gather, full of vim and vigor, ready to take on the world. They drink their coffee, make their plan to achieve their goals. They do the things that make it possible for others to be different.  

As I contemplate humankind and smoke, Hazel next to me on the bench, my girl brings my tea. I have not requested it, I never do, she just knows. She takes longer to make it for me, she shreds the fresh ginger instead of just slicing it. It is always boiling hot. She brings me a miniature cup filled with pure granulated raw sugar instead of the sugar packets everyone else gets, and a tiny spoon. She adds a little local honey, again, for me alone. 

She makes me feel at home. She is an overflowing river of smiles, kindness, service and warmth. Her black hair always up in a bun atop her head, big glasses and deep eyes. 

She stops just long enough to apologize for taking so long, and to give Hazel some love before she runs back in to serve the others.

None of this happened today as breakfast end at 10:00. I walked Hazel and smoked and returned to the hotel around 11:47. As we approached the elevator to go back to our room, my girl appeared looking concerned. 

“ You did not have your tea “, she said, no, I explained that we had slept in and missed breakfast. She pointed to the patio and smiled behind her mask. Hazel and I took our usual bench, Hazel sat, I smoked and waited for my tea. I tried to pay for it because the free breakfast ended nearly 2 hours ago, she refused. She loved Hazel and went inside to her duties.

I noticed two older gentlemen , one I believe the owner, come from the garden with a large green mesh with two poles at either end. The kind that you would put up to protect your flower bed. They put it down by the Koi pond. 

The second in command of the project then went out and brought back a heavy chain they use to lock the scooters at night. He also brought in a styrofoam cooler, 24 pack size like you take to the beach.

I sipped my tea and watched as they discussed their plan, it was quite intriguing to say the least, I love stuff like this. Watching the human mind in action. They started at the far end, inserting the poled mesh into the water. 

It stretched out for ten feet or so and was four feet high. They had attached the heavy chain to the bottom of the mesh to weight it down to keep the sneaky fish from escaping. I quickly surmised they were herding the fish to the other end, not sure why, to remove them and clean the pond? 

This pond is 13 feet wide and 23 feet long, elevated 4 feet above the ground. It is surrounded by trees, plants and two columns. The second in command came to his column first, he was carefully tiptoeing between plants four feet off the ground as he wrapped one long thin arm around the column attempting to transfer his pole to his other hand.

He kept moving and now it was the other man, the owners turn, to navigate his column. The owner is a smaller man whose arms are not as long as his second in command. He struggled to reach his other hand, also having to navigate a pond side booth. 

I picked up Hazel and jumped into action, I held the pole in one hand, Hazel in the other, as he came around the column, the booth, Hazel and myself to retake command of his operation.  

They had them cornered now. The old man fought to maintain control of the pole, position the styrofoam cooler next to the corner, and reach for a scoopy net, a large one. He began to scoop up three to four of the colorful fish at a time. 

These things are huge, no way they will fit into this cooler. He also can’t lift it out of the pond because the net full of fish is too heavy. So I take command of the poles end, while I am videoing our escapades, I had to put Hazel down next to the cooler. Using both hands, he heaves the net into the air and flips it over our mesh barrier, releasing the fish back into the rest of the pond!

What the hell was he doing? Was this just a training exercise, was this all for not? He continues to heave net fulls of fish back into the pond. I bite my tongue and say nothing.

I begin to understand our mission as I watch the two men work. They point, here and there, back and forth as the number of fish dwindle. They keep talking as they point, we are getting closer. The smaller man then drops the large net for a smaller one, I continue to film and man my pole. 

The smaller net resembles one of those wind indicators at an airport. Like a sideways cone on a pole. He deftly nets his target while holding the small end of the net upwards. I quickly find out why. The end is open and the fish slips out this end into the cooler, smooth as can be.

He then points out to me, that the fish has a skin disease of some kind, ugly spots and the top fin eaten away. He is explaining important fish things to me in Vietnamese, I nod may head.  We were culling the heard to save the rest of the school of fish. They carefully transferred him to a smaller pond in the garden.

Sometimes it pays off to sleep in and miss breakfast.

More later......

THE RUSSIAN 

So this guy moved in a week ago. He is shady, I don’t like him, not one bit. If there is one thing I have always been good at, is reading people, not that he’s a hard read. He is as transparent as the jelly surrounding frogs eggs. The fact that he is Russian is as obvious as the disdain on his face.

He knows he is not a popular man, he doesn’t care, writes it off to jealousy and his own superiority. He is short, soft and wobbly. He dresses poorly and my guess is that he comes from money. Trailing behind him is a tall long legged wisp of a girl 15 years his junior. One of those Russian girls you see in the movies. He has a small white dog, never leashed. 

Every other dog here is leashed. It runs madly about without direction. It runs thru the breakfast area pawing at people while they try to eat, pees on the patio where we sit to drink and smoke, because he refuses to walk it around the block. It has dug up the hotels garden. 

It is a sweet happy little thing and I pity it. He leaves it in his room for 4 - 6 hours at a time and it howls, cries, and barks until he returns. He does not deserve this creature.

Remember Benny Hill? I loved that show. There was a character on that show, an older man, short, bald, glasses I think. Benny used to pat him repeatedly on top of his head, I like to do that to Hazels butt. 

I ran out of doggy poop bags for Hazel. I couldn’t find any and wound up buying what looked similar at a grocery. They turned out to be trash bags, folded so many times that unfurled, were the size of the black bags we used when we raked leaves. 

I found this out the first time I used one, in the street, in front of an old security guard. He just stared at me, like women do to me in bars sometimes, I stared back and calmly scooped the poop. I did this with the first 3 bags until it finally dawned on me to cut the bags in three and tie them off at one end.

I had originally bought a ticket to fly back from Asia mid April out of Bangkok. As the madness has unfolded around the world, I have had several hard earned travel plans and flights canceled on me over the last few weeks. Thailand has shut its boarder. International and domestic flights have been grounded. 

Worse yet, my favorite dive bars have closed and I assume that quarantine rules will come in the days to come. Things are very fluent, and change daily. 

I went down the coast 40 miles or so last week one night. Returning to Da Nang about 10:30 pm, my driver was pulled over at a military check point, I was asked to get out, fill out a form with my info, asked what countries I had traveled to, been around anyone with the rona, and finally had the thermo gun put to my head before I was let back into the city.

The supermarket won’t let me in without a mask and a temp check. My tv is interrupted periodically with a high pitched noise followed by a message in Vietnamese. I can’t read it, but I think I get the jest. It lasts too long. My phone is bombarded with Viet messages that I can’t read and ignore. I asked the pretty simm card lady to make sure my messages would show up in English, she assured me they would, her bad.

All that being said, I move freely about, walk, shop, beach, restaurants and so forth, for now anyway. I like it here and with all the uncertainty, I prefer to sit it out and see what happens from my lair. 

I have started buying food for the room, this is becoming a real problem. I kept very little food until last week, I don’t eat breakfast, a small snack for lunch and eat dinner at bars, if I remember. Now I have all kinds of food and I am constantly eating, all the weight I lost climbing thru temples in Thailand and Cambodia is coming back in spades. I don’t like it.

I realized that my Vietnamese visa would expire in about 10 days,  I am unable to fly out before that. The google said that Vietnam is not issuing or renewing visas for expats, so.... what they gonna do....arrest me? I find out tomorrow when I go to the immigration office and plead my case. Wish me luck.

The Russian is starting to worry me, have I mentioned that his room is next to mine? As I sit with my ginger tea and smoke on the patio each morning, grab delivery scooters appear, they bring packages, always for him. No one else has had a package delivered. It started with just one or two everyday, today he received 15 packages! 

They are different shapes and sizes, what the hell is in those packages? He never tips the drivers, treats them with little appreciation, just like he does the hotel staff, dismisses them with the wave of his hand. I really do not like this guy.

I hear him arguing with the girl at night. He has rented a scooter from the hotel. Everyone parks their scooters to the left of the patio in a nice straight line, away from the patio entrance. He always pulls up in front of the patio at an angle, leaves the hotels helmets on the handlebars instead of storing them under the seat like everyone else. I really do not like this guy.

What the hell is in those packages? He shaved his fat head today, what’s up with that, is he done assembling whatever the hell is in those pkgs and is now ready to enact his evil plan? I can hear them arguing thru the wall now.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just board cuz my dive bars are closed and am reading too much into it all. I’ll keep an eye on him and update you later, wish me luck at the immigration office tomorrow 

More later

Our street

We have a fairly quiet street, kid of a long open ended alley. Two and six level buildings line both sides each with large metal gates protecting their cherished occupants. Old razor wire tops the gates and walls, I think these barriers are remnants of a past when their government came for them, a last chance to hold them off for a few more hours of freedom. What happened to these people was a genii idea of unspeakable evils.... they also suffered thru the French, Americans and others. ....Ugh the French....

We have down the way, two ladies I would guess to be in their 80s, they sit outside the gate on our side of the street. One live there and the other across the street. They always sit together in the same spot, it’s not a shade thing so I guess the one is somehow more dominant than the other. They sit and watch as they whisper and nod, I would love to be a Cambodian speaking fly on the wall.

WOMEN IN THE HOOD

My buddy Bob, who I haven’t seen in a week because I have stayed home from the bars, showed up today for his mango smoothie, and said he heard the bars are closing tomorrow. 

I told him that I have been so far, unable to renew my Vietnamese visa. My hotel manager had just messaged me that her friend might be able to help me and extend my visa for 3 months, $350. He told me of a visa office he had used in the past.

Since it is Friday here, and a shutdown may take place tomorrow, and my visa expires in 5 days, I decided to go meet Bob’s visa person immediately. Jane was very knowledgeable and professional, she helped me fill out the forms and apply for the extension. I ordered a two month deal for $130. She took my passport to send to the government and sent me on my way.

The guests in the hotel have had some turnover, but also some stability. Unfortunately the Russian is still here, still receiving packages, and showing no signs of leaving anytime soon. 

Then there is an intriguing family of three, a beautiful, distinguished mother, about my age and her teen daughter and son. I have watched them at breakfast for a few days now. 

By happenstance, Hazel and I were walking the hood at the same time this family was returning to the hotel with water supplies. We stopped and spoke, I told them of a supermarket close by. 

They have been in Da Nang for 3 months, and planned to stick it out here until the madness subsides. We agreed there are worst places to be, and it’s not like we can fly out. I’m glad they will stay here with me.

They are from Germany, at least I assume from the accents. I will definitely do more research. I always play a game with myself to see if I can determine where people are from based on their accent, before I ask.

Our street is a fairly quiet strip. On our side of the street is our hotel, a small 2 story villa, three gardens, and 3 other small restaurants that cater to the Korean, they are closed. 

On the other side of the street is a massive structure. Surrounded by a wall. It consists of 5 large buildings 3 - 6 stories tall. It takes up the entire square block. There is a sign above the entrance around the corner that says Diocesan Pastoral Center. Not sure if this is a  modern day monastery. My Catholic friends will fill us in. 

The buildings are all empty except for one. Hazel and I like to imagine what is going on behind their walls. The only glimpse we get is thru the large gate. The men come out to play a rousing  game of volleyball every nite at dusk. No women in sight.

There is no taunting or boasting, just religious dudes having fun competitively. We always stop to watch, they wave to us, we wonder what life is like behind the walls, in these tall empty buildings. They are beautiful architecturally. 

We do know that there are no women in there, we have looked. My guess is that there are only 25 men in this complex, and no women, anywhere. The only other activity we know of is that they sing every night. I am assuming these are hymens. They are quite good singers, certainly better than Hazel or myself. No female singers can be heard.

There is a younger Asian couple who arrived two days ago, very quiet, except for when he chooses to play the piano in the lobby, he is very talented and I hope he will play more often.

There is an older couple on my floor, they are on the other side of the Russian. They plan to stay for at least a month. He is in his 80’s I would say, his wife is Thai in her late 60’S. He moves slowly, painfully, a hand always on her arm. He has a shock of white hair, always unkempt. He is deeply tanned, and puffy like an over stuffed pillow. He likes to sit on his patio without a shirt.

New to the crew today is a young European couple and their beautiful little girl of about 2, Croatian is my guess so far. He wears a New York Yankee ball cap so I know they are good people.

I have seen a middle aged expat woman walking down our street walking a silky terrier dog. Until now we just wave. We finally met today while both walking our dogs. She is from South Africa, attractive and very sweet. She is concerned about her 86 yr old father and her daughter back home. 

She came here to teach English a month ago, rented an apartment around the corner, and has been laid off and her school closed. Her daughter has insisted that she stay here as things in South Africa are bad. She is burdened with guilt as her daughter is funding her stay here now that she is unemployed. I am glad that we are neighbors.

Word on the street is that the Vietnamese government will close all bars and restaurants tomorrow in Da Nang. No one knows what will in fact, happen. Will they close all non essential businesses? Will they close the beaches? Will they order a stay home quarantine? Will I be able to walk Hazel in the hood? Will I be able to get my haircut, this and trimming my nails must be done every 2 weeks or it drives me crazy. 

I did accomplish extending my visa so they cant arrest me and I paid for another month here at this beautiful boutique hotel, $620, $20 a night, crazy man.

More later

UNKOL, UNKOL !!

I sit on the covered rooftop patio by the pool, overlooking the ocean on one side, and the monastery on the other, as I write. Between the pool and patio is the rectangular open atrium that rises the 5 floors of the boutique hotel, up from the Koi pond in the lobby. Six rooms mark each floor in a rectangular pattern, each beautifully anointed with its own patio and garden.

Vines that start at the pool level, cascade down the different levels, each intertwining with vines from each rooms individual garden, till they reach the Koi pond below. Each rooms garden is a carefully maintained sanctuary of green fauna, trees and beautiful flowers. 

Each patio has two hard wood chairs and a thick, round natural wooden table, made from a section of a tree trunk, the rings spiral outward to the edge, each telling a tale of history. If we would only leave the greed and hatred behind us and learn from history......... but alas, it is not in mankind’s nature.

It is a cloudy day, with a nice breeze coming off the bay here on the roof. I can see down into the monastery, behind its walls, still no women there. 

There is a small corner coffee shop at the beginning of the next block. It is advertised as a coffee place for the tourists, as I have seen only tea consumed there. It is the hangout for my driver and other grab drivers. All waiting for a ride request to come in. They sit and wait for long periods of time these days.

My driver picked me up the second night I was here, I had researched, grocery stores. He speaks broken English thru a mask, and is very excitable. I thought we would arrive in 10 minutes or so. Twenty minutes into the ride, I asked if we would arrive soon, he replied, 15 minutes more. I began to wonder where we might end up as we began to travel thru small streets in a poorer part of town. He began to wonder too, unfamiliar territory for him, but he was diligent.

We finally stopped at what I will describe as the smallest neighborhood convenience store. The clerk was very surprised to see me, he smiled and watched me survey the one small row of commissary.  He was in his twenties, rather tall with dark hair. 

This is definitely not a popular shopping spot for tourists as it was all local stuff. I did manage to leave with some water, soda, chips and a knockoff chocolate chip cookie sleeve. I smoked a cig with my driver and the clerk before we left. He and my driver laughed about my research skills that landed us there. 

During my ride, the driver talked about the Rona, China, Korea and other countries and their affect here in Vietnam. He kept saying“no money, no holiday “ as he described how he must work every day, he has a young daughter and son.

When we got back to the hotel I was not sure what to pay. I had set up my grab account in Thailand and Cambodia to auto pay from my Amex card. There was a message that that would not work here in Vietnam, when I had ordered this, my first ride here. I assumed cash only. It did still tell me what the fare was, but only one way. 

When I asked him how much, he pointed to his phone and said “grab.” And told me the price shown, I tried to explain that that would only be one way and did not include wait time or the ride back. We went round and round a few times and I finally gave him $20 dollars and asked if that was ok? 

He was shocked and tried again to explain the grab system to me. It was late and I was tired having only arrived in Vietnam yesterday. I assured him it was ok, I wanted to get to my room, relax and eat those cookies. 

From that point on, he has become my personal driver, I am now known as Unkol , I don’t need to order grab, which, btw, I have since found out, does do the auto pay,  I just call his personal phone and he will appear. 

I discovered the coffee shop, as I discover most places, on a walk with Hazel. We were walking by and a shout of Unkol ! Unkol ! Filled the air. He insisted I sit with him and the other 4 drivers and drink tea. I explained that I did not bring money, I was just walking the dog. From then on, he watches for us, and shouts for us to stop and sit. He and I argue over who will pay for the tea.

I enjoy our stops there. It is run by a Vietnamese family quite lovely. There is the gramma, always smiling and holding babies. She wears colorful silk outfits. The grampa who tends to his birds and observes the goings on, a quiet man. The daughter who serves us and the drivers who dip in and out. It is a small patio that leads thru on open door to their home. Children run around, gramps watches  tv programs in the afternoons.

It is covered and surrounded by small trees, bushes and flowers. Hanging from the covering and sitting on the ground are 8-10 bird cages, all with different magical creatures singing away. It is a space I will not forget.

The drivers play poker around noontime. The cards slapping the table and boasts float thru the air. It’s fun to watch. One driver always sits with his leg bent, foot on the seat beside him. The cuff of his pants folded up, its where he keeps his money. He grimaces each time he reaches into that cuff. 

The Canadian guest and his Thai wife just came up to the pool area. She climbed into one of the full body massage chairs next to the pool. He came over to share notes with me about any changes going on. He told me that the great supermarket I turned him on to was closed today. He also said he and his wife were called into the lobby by government folks and tested for the rona today, swabs and viles already labeled with their names and info. 

He noticed my menthol cigarettes, quietly asked me if he could have one while looking over his shoulder to see if his wife was watching. He stashed the smoke on the other side of the patio, smiled at me and then went to sit by his wife at the pool.

Time for a nap

MY NEIGHBORS 

Hazel and I continue to be blessed. The weather here is quite temperate, cool evenings, breezes off the bay, warm days. Our little community in the hotel is an eclectic mix of personalities. 

Hazel and I are usually the first to arrive downstairs each morning, arround 6:30. We take a walk to smoke and pee and return to sit at “our” table on the patio. I smoke, drink ginger tea, and lose myself on the inter webs, occasionally taking time to enjoy the beauty around me. Hazel sits next to me on the bench. Colors displayed before me, the sky, flowers, trees, butterflies and the natural wooden table and bench where Hazel and I take up residency.

We are soon joined by the older couple I mentioned before. His wife is a quiet, attractive Philippine woman 25 years his junior. He, a man of 70 or 80, slow moving, with a shock of white hair. He is a large man, with great ruddy jowls, like a bulldog. They used to sit inside, but for the last few days have come out to sit at the table next to me. I am glad that they have made this change.

I have learned that he is a Frenchman. I do not hold this against him as he is a man of great experience and colorful stories. I struggle at times to understand him, he speaks quietly and with a heavy accent. Forty years of live music has definitely done damage to my hearing.

He has run businesses in the Philippines, Tunisia, Thailand and more. He uses his hands when he speaks, like a Greek or Italian. His facial expressions are wonderful, his great jowls puff out when he is exasperated. I like this couple, and look forward to seeing them each morning.

I had the pleasure of talking with the woman I mentioned before, who resides here with her two teenage children. She really surprised me, she, like Hazel and I, has chosen to free herself from worldly possessions, and walk the earth to seek enlightenment. 

I have not had the opportunity to sit and speak with another human, that so freely and naturally connects with the world and its wonders. I was truly inspired and am rejuvenated to continue my path to chase happiness and spread kindness.

Hazel and I sit on the rooftop patio when the room is being cleaned. Twice now we have been joined by a beautiful young Vietnamese woman who stays here with her American boyfriend of about 50. 

Today she had displayed around her, a large variety of paints, brushes, markers and colored pencils. She was sketching a woman with a flowing gown, like you would see on a fashion runway. She is very talented and we spoke of her love of color, material, and art. I told her of the Van Gogh and Rembrandt museums in Amsterdam and her eyes lit up. It was nice to learn that there is another fan of art in the house.

I grow weary and will sign off for now, much love my friends...

I COULD NOT HAVE EXPERIENCED A BETTER DAY

I have been staying in my room for nearly three weeks, venturing out only to forage for food, walk Hazel around the block, or to sit on the patio or rooftop.

I used to walk everyday, exploring new neighborhoods. I would visit provinces outside the city, and lose myself in history, temples, and the random people I met.

We are on the official third day of the fourteen day stay at home notice from the government. I started early on my own. Hazel and I decided to push the envelope tonight.

Our hotel sits on a street just off the main drag that runs along the beach. Hazel and I have walked this main road several times to gain access to a location on the beach that has umbrellas, lounge chairs and beer service. 

Tonight we walked the other direction for the first time, towards the giant statue of the lady Buddha that overlooks the bay. She is lit up at night and watches over us, she comforts us.

To our surprise, the walkway opens up to an unobstructed view of the beach, no resorts or restaurants blocking the eye for miles. The path is wide, lined with small benches, palm trees and sections of a two foot tall wall on which to sit and watch the waves.

The path was filled with people enjoying the cool breeze, watching the waves, exercising and enjoying time with family and friends. Children rode bikes, daughters walked with mothers and grandmothers.

There were couples who sat on the beach, just at the waters edge, entangled in each other’s arms, canoodling, oblivious to everything but each other. 

We came upon a family of six sitting along short wall. They caught our eye and ear with movement and laughter. There were two young girls, maybe 5 and 7, a father, mother, daughter and grandmother. The father and two young girls took turns at what I can only describe as a dance off.

Hazel and I sat and watched this beautiful expression of life, love and family. It was silly, fun, spontaneous and we loved every moment. I wish that I had been as free and confident as this father, when my daughters were young. He shook his booty, sang and danced away to the kids delight and squeals. The kids were equally as imaginative and free. It is one of those moments I will not forget.

I love the beach at night, just to sit and listen to the waves crash the beach and then watch the invisible hand pull them back out to sea. Every night, you can see evenly spaced out lights coming from the fishing fleets when you look out to sea. I feel at peace with the world when I sit late into the night on the beach.

I received a video hangout with 10 friends back in Arizona this morning, it was good to see the faces and hear their voices, I do miss them.

I was also blessed with time spent with my French neighbor and his wife at breakfast, very enjoyable couple. 

Andrea, the Swiss woman I mentioned before, and I, had a chance to sit and speak of life. I feel a close connection to her spirit and the way in which she lives her life and guides her children. She is a wise soul that has inspired me to view the world and myself differently. I very much enjoy our conversations.

Hazel is quietly snoring on the bench next to me as I write, she will sleep well tonight, she is not used to such long walks anymore. She is a sweet girl and I love her.

To top off the day I just had tacos for dinner!

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends.

ICE SKATING

I told you of my driver in a story weeks ago. He calls me Unkol, his mantra is ” no money, no holiday “ and he is my personal driver. I spoke of the corner coffee shop where we would sit amongst the flowers, trees, and birdcages, while we argued over who would pay for the ginger tea. 

He had taken me to the supermarket about three weeks ago. We would go there often. The supermarket is now closed by the government, it was a great place to shop, many international products.

I was especially fond of the loafs of fresh French bread. Crispy crust, soft on the inside, airy, and would last for days without getting hard or moldy. There was also a nice selection of cheeses and sliced ham. And of course, sleeves of Oreos and stacks of 7up.

The supermarket was housed in a 4 story mall. The top floor has a small food court and an ice skating rink, and a one screen movie theater. There is a Starbucks on the first floor. The other floors have your usual suspects, luggage, jewelry, clothing, baby, book, home improvement, electronic stores and the like.

I would like to mention here two important things, First, I still have not had a haircut and it’s really starting to drive me nuts. 

Secondly, I would like to let the world know, that I had two cans of Campbell’s tomato soup for dinner. I ate the soup out of the pan I heated it in, because I am a man, and I am to lazy to wash another dish. 

I crumpled up 12 saltine crackers and tossed them in the pan. The most amazing thing about this story is that I ate the entire pan of soup LEFT HANDED ! I know, right, can’t believe it can you?

I was about to eat when I was reminded that I am trying to improve myself whilst quarantined. Like the online Spanish course I have started. I have tried in the past to brush my teeth or unscrew a cap with my left hand and just can’t do it. Weird, how one hand can do everything, and the other, nothing.

But it was like a Disney movie where I had a superpower, I will include a picture of the front of my shirt, not a drop spilled. You may now call me “lefty”, if you wish.

Anyway, back to my original reason for writing tonight, my driver and our trip to the supermarket. I had spent a lot of time with him over the previous month. I became his Unkol and he, my friend. I knew of his family, and he mine. I did not tell him of my true reason of our trip that day. He thought I was going to buy more 7up and Oreo cookies. 

What I did, was to shop for his kids, he had told me once that his kids always ask to go to this mall, and his response would be “ no money, no holiday “. I wanted to spread some kindness and bring a little joy into his kids lives during these tough times.

I rarely am able to just buy a gift, I like to look and think, trying each time, to give something to match the personality. I had  seuptishishly been mining him for his children’s likes and dislikes over the previous week.

I wound up in a bookstore for his daughter. I asked for help to find something an eleven your old Vietnamese girl might like. We struggled to communicate but soon got on tract. At first they brought me yougeeo and Pokémon stuff to which I said, no. I walked out with a book of short stories that contained delicately detailed illustrations, a book of poetry and an extremely soft pillow in the shape of a dog.

For his seven year old son, I found myself in a toy store. I kept going back to the car section. During our rides together, my driver took great pleasure in pointing out the different makes and models of vehicles we would encounter, especially the american made ones. He had told me his son shared the same interest in cars. Once, when we passed a hand pulled cart, he told me that that was a Vietnamese manufactured vehicle. He’s a funny little man.

I settled on a remote controlled race car, a Shelby Mustang, American car. I made sure to but the batteries for both the car and remote. It was bright yellow, with black racing stripes and sweet rims.

I only tell you this now, because as I was thinking about making my soup, I received a text from my driver. He was asking about how Hazel and I were doing. We have not seen each other in about a week. When I asked how he was, he replied “ no money “ with a laughing emoji. He then sent videos of his family, playing with their gifts, they waved and thanked me in English, his wife blocked herself from being filmed with a foot to the camera, we all laughed.

To have a man reach out to me, and share his family, especially at a time when people are under stress is a truly wondrous thing. It once again reinforces my will to chase happiness and spread kindness.

The world, and the life we are given is a magical thing, we are blessed to have each other. Let us focus on how we can help each other in little ways to make the world a better place for us all.

Much love my friends.....

LOVE

Hazel and I count our blessings today and everyday. We are surrounded by an eclectic group of personalities. Each providing us with food for our soul. Spirits continue to be high, people greet each other with a smile every morning. 

Bonjour, to my French neighbor. Chow boo sang to our Vietnamese hosts. A nod of the head and slight bow, to the older Vietnamese woman who walks home from the market with bags of vegetables every morning as she passes our patio. There is a couple from Brazil I think, I am waiting to try some of my newly learned Spanish with them.

I will not describe it as sadness, just a longing for things past. 

I had spoken before of the monastery across the street, the men would come out and play volleyball just before dusk each day. Hazel and I would stop and watch them thru their gate. This has stopped since the the quarantine. 

Yesterday, I was walking Hazel and heard what sounded like our friends playing volleyball. We went to look thru the gate to find three men playing hacky sack with a homemade bag. They played with great skill and dexterity. You could tell it was a game they enjoyed with each other often. They were construction workers who had arrived yesterday to build things in the monastery.

We have also been missing the sweet BoBo, the house dog at our hotel. He is a fluffy little brown poodle that is loved by all. Guests take turns walking him and spoiling him with love. He has been sick and gone to the vet. We have all been anxiously awaiting news.

Last night we were happy to hear he is well, and will return to our hotel soon.

We have this beautiful house parrot. Long tail feathers, deep blue on the body and wings, bright yellow chest, green crown, and a head of white and black. He lives most of the time in the basement. He is brought out during the afternoon to sit on a perch outside. 

He is chained to this perch and tries to free himself with his beak. There were two parrots, one flew away, hence the chain. I noticed one of our hosts seemed sad. When asked, she told me the parrot would be leaving. The parrot is lonely and squawks loudly on the patio. I enjoyed the squawks, reminding me of life and nature. Not all guests felt the same.

When I told her of my sadness she suggested that this is a positive thing for the parrot. It will be sent to a family that has other parrots, that can spend more time with it and care for it properly.

At times, I miss my friends and family their voices, faces and physical closeness. 

Then as I look around, I am reminded that not only am I surrounded by new friends, and some I now think of as family, but those back home are still with me everyday in my heart and mind.

It is easy sometimes to slide into sadness and depression, especially at times like these when we are isolated and away from our comfort zones. Try to remember that things will always come and go in life, with every reason to be sad, there is a reason to be happy. And that we are never alone or apart from our loved ones.

Chase happiness and spread kindness

BOLL WEEVILS 

Hazel and I went for a walk to find some smokes. As we often do, we walk with no specific destination in mind. Knowing that the universe will direct us. It was around 4:00 pm, people who still go to work, were now on their way home to their families, scooters rush by us. Sometimes close and Hazel will flinch.

We walk parallel to the ocean several streets inland, knowing that when we come upon what seems to be the right place, we will stop for smokes. Once acquired, we will turn and head to the beach. We found a small open air shop that serves their surrounding community. We were greeted by a lovely middle aged woman with a warm smile.

Her shop is not unusual here, a mishmash of everything and nothing. You never know what you might find. It reminds me of the shops in the Arab towns of Saudi Arabia when I was a boy. It was almost like Christmas when my mother would drag me thru small villages looking for what might be found. 

We lived in a small company town in the desert, populated by mostly Americans, with our own commissary. The Arab villages allowed the prospect of new discoveries, different products from what our store offered. To be honest, my mother just loved to explore, and to haggle with the shop keepers. 

I can remember these sessions of price wars. It was a way of life in the Middle East. There was never a set price, it changed by who you were and how sharp your negotiating skills. I clearly remember the old Bedouin women in the market laughing and telling my mother that she pinched her pennies. 

I remember being so excited to find a new candy, or a name brand American cereal. I often chose the cereal by the advertising and toy on the box. The anticipation grew on the bus ride home, women were not allowed to drive in Arabia at the time. You had to have patience with the cereal, first to get to the toy in the box. Beyond that, mom would make us pour the milk and shake the bowl before we ate, to see if boll weevils would rise to the top.

We arrived at the beach and strolled along the boulevard. We stopped to listen to the waves. To watch the people who were out to exercise and breath fresh air. 

There was a family of four. Father, mother, boy and girl of five or six. The parents were teaching the children different exercises, old fashion calisthenics, like Jack Lalane kind of stuff. Arms

helicoptering, knee bends, hip swiveling, it was like a game to the kids, lots of laughter.

We walked further along and stopped again. The breeze was strong, almost blew the Yankees ball cap off my head. Movement on the sand caught my eye. There was a thin top layer of sand that danced and flowed like a flock of birds in the air, moving in unison. 

The waves flowed and crashed to their own rhythm and the palms trees moved with their own energy. We then noticed, as the light faded, the green vine like bushes that grew from our position on the walkway out towards the sea. They created intricate patterns and designs each their own.

As darkness arrived, the bright lights of the fishing fleet, just off shore, were being illuminated, reflecting off the waves. We took some side streets on our way back to the hotel and took pictures of shadows cast by trees against the walls. 

I still have not gotten a haircut, madness will ensue. I plan to shower soon. Hazel has taken up her post beside me on my writing bench. I would say that she is on her fifth or sixth nap of the day, but this is the good night slumber, she snores gently.

I have started a hotel guest group on Facebook, we share info on visas, restaurants that still deliver, photos of our dogs and so forth. If someone needs something we can lean on each other, as we are all in this life together my friends.

For more stories, follow Hazel on Facebook in our “ Travels with Hazel “ free Facebook group.

Chase Happiness and Spread Kindness my friends.....

A VISIT FROM JEFF AND TIME WITH AN ANGEL

A movement caught my eye. I wasn’t sure if I had seen it, just that weird feeling in the periphery of my consciousness.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

I looked down to discover the largest snail I have ever encountered. It had come out of the garden behind me and was exploring our patio after the rain. Just as I centered my attention on this creature, it felt my presence and froze in place. 

It retreated into the giant shell it carried with it. We acknowledged each other’s presence, and it soon came out of the shell to continue it’s exploration. Hazel, as she does with all animals paid it no mind. She has little interest in other dogs or cats, they interest her not.

It moved with a beautiful rhythm, thousands of tiny toe like hairs all moving to their own beat, propelled it slowing along. The snail it self, and the shell, were a combination of earthy browns. The shell and it’s camouflage of color providing protection to keep the predators at bay. 

It wandered about in no discernible pattern. I have decided to name him Jeff, after a friend who moves thru life with the same pace and sense of non direction. I hope Jeff returns again to visit us.

Jeff turned several times towards me, I would gently move my slipper to the side. Jeff seems to have no fear of my size 13 slippers and wound up doing several trips around my feet and under my bench. Then as my friend Jeff often does, simply decided it was time to go, and retreated back into the safety of the garden. It was 12 wondrous minutes I will not forget. 

It is 7:00am Monday morning here in Vietnam. It rained last night, Easter Sunday. The rains have brought a coolness to the breeze, and a cleansing rejuvenation to the spirit. The staff here at the hotel have been preparing the gardens, old and newly created, to receive the spring time bounties. 

Every home and hotel keeps gardens year round here. The abundance of trees, flowers and color are everywhere. It is a place of respect, calmness and love.

I look forward each day to visit with my friend Andrea. We walk together and sit on the patio to speak of life, conscious, kindness, love and awareness. Her presence has a special aura, and has allowed me to let go of some of my shame and guilt. 

She sees the world clearly in such a beautiful way. She, like me, sold her home and possessions to walk the earth with her teenage son and daughter. They spend their days in nature, pagodas and wonder with no set destination. They simply flow thru the world in search of love, knowledge and mindfulness, appreciating each gift  life brings. 

The wisdom she shares and her ability to get others to look into themselves, to find the love that is already in each of our beings, is a special gift. I am so blessed to have experienced such a beautiful creature of compassion. It is as if she was an angel sent to me to help me heal myself. She and her children will be with me always and I feel privileged to call them family.

Poirot

Hazel and I are especially happy today. One of the rare treats she gets from me is strawberry yogurt. Aside from this, the only people food she gets, is something I’ve accidentally dropped, or or when she sneakily eats something disgusting off the ground, before I notice, while walking the neighborhood. 

I mix the yogurt into her dog food. The market I shop at most frequently, has sometimes these cups of yogurt. I always look, and am a bit disheartened when there are none. 

I know the fate that awaits me when I return empty handed. She approaches her food bowl with great expectation, only to turn her head and look at me when she finds no strawberry goodness.

It is a look of disappointment I have seen many times on the faces of women who I have encountered in life. 

It is, in a way, much worse, at times, when I do return from the market and under Hazels watchful gaze, produce a small yogurt container. 

I make a big production so that she sees me open it. I am carful to pull the foil slowly at the very last point of connection to the vessel, so as to not sling a glob of the delicacy against the wall. I always lick the foil.

I have already prepared her bowl with a mound of food. I make a hole in the middle in which to put the yogurt. Like you do with the mound of flour and the egg when making dough. I then make sure she sees that I have scraped the container clean, after the proper amount of stirring of course. 

If I don’t mix the food and yogurt, she will simply lick the strawberry and leave the food. She circles my feet as I place the mixed preparations on the ground. It is at this point, when she sticks her nose into the bowl, at which the greatest disappointment comes. 

This is not strawberry yogurt! It’s blueberry, or worse yet cherry! The look is one that, even tho I know it is coming, still makes me feel like a scheming failure. I know that she will begrudgingly eat it under protest, and later pout for an hour or so. 

I again explain that I am not in charge of ordering and stocking the market but alas, my pleas fall on deaf ears, very large ones. I find myself telling her things like “ blueberry is better than no berry “, and “ for someone who doesn’t do dishes, you can be picky at times “. 

My happiness today, comes from my discovery of Poirot, the British detective series, on YouTube. I love these British detective series, Moorse, Sherlock Holmes, and many others like it. 

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends.

OLD EL PASO REFRIED BEANS

Last night was peaceful. Dinner was tacos with actual Old El Paso retried beans. I had found them at the market, another unexpected surprise. It was late, and dark in the small lobby when I descended to ask for a can opener. 

The young man on late shift explained that he did not have a can opener. He then asked for the can, and lifting a large butcher knife,he began strong short strokes, working his way around the lid until the beans revealed themselves to us. 

The giggles erupted from the young girl, his late night counterpart that I have come to love so much, as she and I watched his handiwork. We both cautioned him periodically to be carful. He is a skilled young man who takes great pride in his work. The staff here is so wonderful.

After dinner, I took Hazel for her last walk of the night. We had just turned onto the sidewalk that runs in front of the hotel when Hazel abruptly stopped. 

She usually drags me straight to the flowers surrounding the trees. I looked down to see Jeff, the large snail incarnation of my friend back home, slowly working his way to the flower bed. I had just been messaging with him not an hour or so ago. He had more to share with us. We spent a few moments in the dark breeze with him and then each went our separate ways.

I awoke at 5:00 this morning, I checked my phone to find out what time it was, the darkness still ruling the world. I had received an uplifting message from a new friend. I immediately shared my gratefulness. What a great way to start the day. 

I could not go back to sleep and sat on my patio to smoke and watch the day unfold. Hazel still snoring under the blankets of our bed. Families walked by enjoying the cool morning hours together. I listened to the roosters crow. Why do they crow and not rooster? I also heard what I believed to be monks chanting, it was bliss, this morning, what a great feeling to be alive, here at this moment.

I sit now as I do every morning, drinking my ginger tea. The old woman walks by, to and from, her morning journey to buy vegetables. The lean smiling man stops by and shouts into the lobby so as to display his small bag of fish he has to offer from the sea today. 

He then disappears on his bicycle to the next prospect. The neighborhood dogs run their daily routes, always stopping here and there to smell, pee and gobble up others discards.

I have chores to do today, I need to put money on my phone account. I need to find a pharmacy that carries my special pills. I need to find a pet store and find the food that Hazel will eat. I desperately need a haircut and I have one other task as well. One more cup of tea and we are off.

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends. 

More stories can be found on my free Facebook group “ Travels with Hazel “

GIVE ME A BREAK

Another great day here in Da Nang. For the first time in weeks,  I adulted. I was a productive responsible human. My driver picked me up late morning and we spread away into the the world as it exits today here in Vietnam.

Sweet Hazel  always been a lean dog. I have been a believer in the free feeding method when it comes to her eating habits. I fill her bowl when it’s empty and she eats when it suits her. I don’t generally eat at set hours either, and I never eat breakfast. I just flow along and eat when it happens.

This stay at home thing has changed these habits. Hazel eats a big bowl, mixed with strawberry yogurt in the morning, I eat a late lunch and actually cook dinner around 7 or 8 in the evening. I clean my small kitchen and wash the pan, plate, bowl and silverware every night. She eats another large bowl when I eat dinner.

This is unheard of, and quite surprising to myself for  becoming such a domesticated creature of habit. I hate doing the dishes, but Hazel refuses to do them. I did load a mean dishwasher back in the day. Some of you folks have no clue when it comes to proper dishwasher loading technique. I have had to actually reload the unit after watching people do it wrong.

Anyway, I am getting fatter and Hazel, for the first time in her 13 years, has developed a belly. It’s really quite remarkable to see. I will admit that I tease her about it. I shop everyday and bring home all all kind of consumables. Today I actually found a box of Kraft macaroni & cheese! 

I haven’t had a beer in over 5 weeks but the croissant to beer trade off on calories seems to be working against me. Pissing me right off it is. So much for my idea of getting fit by quitting drinking.

Anyway, back to my adulting, our first stop was a pet store I found on the inter webs. The harness I use for Hazel, which has hung loosely on her thru many countries, has become a little tight, much like my pants. They had three sizes of harnesses, I chose the middle one. I also acquired a new bag of food, one that she has approved of, a bag of treats, a new flea collar and a brush.

Hazel only sheds one time a year, and this is it, my bed and clothes are covered in hair. I am hoping the brush helps, I bought the one with little protective balls on the ends of the spikey things. 

Our next stop was to find a large pharmacy, the small local one in our neighborhood doesn’t carry my stuff. The men in my family die young due to heart problems. I have been taking pills for blood pressure and cholesterol for 30 years attempting to change this ancestral history. 

You don’t need scripts here in Asia, I carry a script from my doctor in Arizona with me anyway, it’s for 3 months of pills and has all the exact info so I don’t screw up my order. I also buy inhalers for my asthma, I smoke too much.

We then tackled a task I have needed to accomplish for two weeks. I will speak more of this task in another story.

We then went to the American style grocery store, I have not gone there in awhile. I bought things to help push the seems of my pants a little farther, hence the Kraft Macaroni & Cheese. 

I had a nice conversation with my friend Andrea this morning before I left to adult. I always feel better about life after our conversations. She is a very kind being.

Tonight on a walk with Hazel, I ran into my Canadian friend. He is a guest at at the small hotel where I reside. He looked distraught and I asked to walk with him. He is always full of energy and on the move. He and his girlfriend had come from Thailand, her native home, for a vacation in Vietnam. They have been stuck here ever since, Thailand has closed its borders. 

He is a kind man, tall, muscular, bald and deeply tanned. He has lived an interesting life all over the world. We spoke of relationships, family, the rona, and many other issues life presents. We stopped at a stall he frequents for the local Banh Mi sandwiches. We sat on tiny plastic chairs and smoked and talked as the lady made sandwiches for him and his girlfriend. The stress he first showed seemed to have lessened as he returned to his room. 

The last walk with Hazel every night is at 9:30 just before the hotel closes. The young girl who works the night shift, loves Hazel. We always stop to talk with her on our way back to the room. She is the embodiment of the Vietnamese spirit. Kind, loving, giving and helpful. She struggles with her english. She loves to practice with me, and it is one of my favorite times of the day. 

Tonight’s topics covered  phrases that are currently a little confusing to her, like:

• cost a fortune 

• Give me a break

• Ain’t

• How to pronounce the X in Texas

• Way over there

• Startled

•  

She is so sweet and full of life, we both laughed about our inability to understand Australians at times.

It’s midnight and I grow weary, time to climb into bed with Hazel and watch some shows. 

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends...

More Hazel stories can be found at our free Facebook group “ travels with Hazel “

AN EXTRA PAIR OF GLASSES.

Hazel and I have just returned from our nighttime walk thru the neighborhood. The humidity of the day still hanging in the night air. We approached the hotel soaked with sweat, to see the young girl who is the night manager, sitting at a table on the patio out front. 

I sat down in the chair opposite her, Hazel on the ground between us. She explained to me that she was tired, it had been a long day. 

We launched into our nightly English lesson straight away. She stretched her arms above her head, tilting her head back. Tonights topics : 

-stretch

-bend

-spread

-throat

-in

-on

-at

-with

-other  

-another

-others

-bad

-badly

-can

-can’t

-can not

-could

-couldn’t 

-yell

-yelling

She is so enthusiastic and sweet. She would giggle as I grasped for an explanation, or sentence to use the word in, staring into space, struggling myself, to make sense of the language I have spoken for over 50 years. 

She excitedly writes down everything I say, stopping only to occasionally look something up on her phone. 

I wish my youngest daughter, currently working on her masters in English, was here to help this girl and me, understand the nuances  of this crazy language called English.

Motivated by my friends posts about cleaning their homes, I decided to do the same tonight. For me, who currently lives in a small boutique hotel with daily house keeping available, it’s a little different. 

Everything I own in this world is contained in one large suitcase, one small roll on suitcase and a school size backpack. One would not think this would be a difficult task. 

I have never been an extremely organized, detail person, more of a “ big picture “ kinda guy. I have a general idea of where things may be, and try to group like items together, and under pressure,  I can always find a way make things happen.

It took me over 2 hours to, cluster travel doc’s together, separate my favorite boxers from the ones I hate to wear, organize my socks, reminisce over my few keepsakes, gather all of those cords and chargers into a single drawer and so forth. 

I was rewarded for my efforts with several good lighters, 3 pair of nail clippers ( I can never find those damn things when I need them ), an extra pair of glasses, a new toothbrush, a back scratcher my oldest daughter gave me and a wireless phone charger stand. 

I filled my small kitchen trash can with old receipts, empty pill boxes, socks with holes and expired airline boarding passes.

I have updated my little black book, used to write down all my passwords because I can’t remember a damn thing. I organized my small pantry, put all my meds in one place, even punching the pills out of their individually packaged holders and putting them into empty pill bottles. All of Hazels toys, jackets, treats and leashes are in one corner. 

Hazel is snoring beside me on the bench in our room. I have eaten a bit of Dutch chocolate, drank a bottle of pomegranate juice laced with chia seeds, and finished off a bag of taco flavored chips. The day is done, now hours into the new morning, I will smoke one more cigarette and climb into bed.

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends

I MISS HUGGING 

The much anticipated Taco Tuesday was a big hit at Casa De Jamie tonight. Ground beef, taco seasoning, onion, Australian shredded cheese, refried beans and soft flour shells. Followed by a slice of apple pie from my friend Bob. 

It was a partly cloudy day, holding the heat down a bit, a welcome breeze flowing thru the trees.

We make our way thru our neighborhood to the beach. Mothers keeping an eye on children riding bikes, kicking soccer balls and running free. Men siting on tiny stools around small tables as they drink a beer, smoke and tell tales.

Hazel and I are becoming regulars on the beachside promenade. We walk there after dinner most nights. Tonight was active, masked humans enjoying a stroll. Moms and dads letting the little ones run off some energy. Young lovers getting out to breath and recover. 

Groups of women walking and talking, stopping to rest and watch the other humans. Everyone seems to be exercising, swinging arms,  squats, knee bends and hips a swiveling ( my favorite ). There was one couple, an old man, white hair and glasses massaging his wife’s feet. 

We notice other regulars, the four old men who sit together on the same bench each night. That one family who always stops to pay attention to Hazel. The sleek young Vietnamese woman who walks her terriers. 

I miss hugging, my friends back home didn’t shake hands, we hugged. I would hug my way into every home, music venue or dive bar I entered. Asia is not a hugging culture, people respect each other’s personal space and most affection takes place in private. 

I will not stop hugging, when in cultures where it is acceptable, although I fear there will be connotations associated with the practice going forward.

I just smoked the last cigarette of the night on my patio before I join Hazel in bed, and damned if I didn’t find myself swiveling my hips, and doing some knee bends.

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends. 

SHE REFUSES TO POOP IN THE RAIN

The official lockdown was lifted two days ago here in Vietnam. Everyone still unsure what to do or what the exact rules are. Restaurants, businesses, some bars, government offices awash in happy customers. 

The beaches were a gathering spot for the humans excited to explore the sand and waves again. The beaches here in Da Nang do not get crowded on the busiest days. Less so now that tourism is so low, especially from China. You see maybe a 53rd of the size crowds that you would experience in Miami. There are surfer dudes,  worshipers of the sun, and children playing. The sand is the softest I have ever felt on a beach, it is white and extremely clean. Everyone is respectful.

I went out to dinner with a new friend on the first night of freedom. She is an American who has lived in Peru for the last 6 years. It was wonderful to “be out” and feel “normal” again. I ate the schnitzel with red cabbage and fried German potatoes, she, a cheeseburger and fries. 

Patrons were asked to sit only two to a table. We met a great couple from England and exchanged travel stories and histories. We drank beer, my first in over 5 weeks and it was good to not cook, clean and eat by oneself again. To converse with strangers, one of the things I love most about traveling. So many interesting people, stories and ideas. 

The restaurant was one I knew well, it sits in a neighborhood two blocks in from the beach and is lined with small streets offering little eateries, hostels, shops and massages. There are also many dive bars that I may or may not have frequented on occasion searching for music and tales. 

The rains came yesterday, letting up only for brief periods and then returning strong. It felt as tho it was a cleansing to wash away the last three weeks of semi isolation. Spring is abloom everywhere with smells and color. It also brought a refreshing breath of cool air off the ocean. 

It will only get hotter from here on out in Vietnam. I am used to the heat growing up in the deserts of Arabia and then living in Arizona for over thirty years, I am, and will always be a desert rat. The humidity is what will challenge me, but as with everything, Hazel and I will cope, life is good and we are blessed.

I feel that I was meant to be here at this time. I have met interesting new friends who have helped me see the world differently and to grow as a human. 

The small boutique hotel I reside in caters to our every wish. They are extremely kind and attentive. They have become family to Hazel and me. The owner has struggled to keep afloat. During the lockdown, hotels were not allowed to accept new bookings. Not that there were many travelers who would be in need. They needed at least 10 rooms booked to break even and we have had only eight guests. There was talk of closing the hotel and laying off the staff. I will be for ever thankful that he stayed open and cared for us even as he lost money. 

The hotel started receiving new guests immediately. New personalities to discover and enjoy. They received a one day booking for six rooms from a group of older Vietnamese celebrating a birthday. They came in with a flourish. Excited to be out with their friends. They took over the rooftop and partied for hours. Singing, boasting and celebrating the birth of their friend. It brought new life and energy to our lives. They are a very talkative group, even now as they eat breakfast, I observe them from my bench, occasionally glancing over my cup of ginger tea.

I was happy to see the street mostly dry when I woke this morning at 6:30. This boded well for my walk with Hazel. She is not a fan of the rain. The first walk is always a long pee and then she poops, having been in the room for eight hours. 

This changes when it rains, she will sometimes pee but refuses to poop. She will stubbornly just hold it no matter how many times I explain weather patterns to her. To make it worse, she will often just lick the rainwater off the ground and not even pee. I explain the health hazards of licking the ground but alas, she does as she pleases.

She never goes in the room and has an amazing ability to hold it. This morning’s break in the rain allowed her relief on our first walk. It soon began to rain again and continues now as I write.

I think I will venture out to the dives bars in search of adventure tonight and a cheeseburger from Bikini Bottom, Da Nangs best!

STIR FRIED RICE

My metamorphosis continues. I have always been a creature of the night. It is quieter in the wee hours. I would enter the world around 10:00 pm to slide in and out of my favorite haunts, to listen to a friends band, or secretly sit and observe the humans as they interact with each other seeking common escape. 

I would find myself welcomed into the homes of varying musician friends after the music venues closed. It is a place of comfort and love for me, a place without judgement, only love, guitars, beer, creativity and kinship. Even in these small gatherings, I would pick a spot just away from the group to smile and watch. 

Members of several different bands would sit together and before your eyes, songs, new ideas and passion would flow out of these beings. I always felt so privileged to observe this process, I could never get enough. I miss it so.

I spent thirty years required to show up to work by 8:00 am everyday in a suit and tie. My nightly adventures ending between 4-6 am every morning meant I never was truly awake or coherent. I certainly did not feel hungry or energetic. I have always pondered the early riser, the “ morning “ people who wake refreshed and full of vim and vigor. 

I have found myself at a Waffle House or Denny’s at 6:00 am, my head yet to dent my pillow, wondering how these people can willingly put a cup of scalding liquid to their lips and not yell out in pain. They eagerly eat their favorite morning meals. I slowly work my way thru half of a patty melt, the other half and cold fries will accompany me home to sit in the fridge.

I now wake every day before 6:30 am. I sit on the garden patio and drink steaming hot ginger tea each day, welcoming the lava liquid to my lips. I am joined members of the hotel as they awake a new day. The house parrot is on his perch 20 feet from me waking those who have slept thru the roosters. A boy of ten, from a Japanese family of four who arrived a few days ago, spends his time between petting Hazel as he slides in next to us like an old friend, and gazing intently into the parrots eyes, quietly talking to it and mimicking it’s movements.

The young Vietnamese girl who works the morning shift, brings me my tea and each day encourages me to eat breakfast. I explain each day, that I don’t eat breakfast. I love her creativity as she tries to nudge me a little closer to conversion, explaining that Vietnamese people feel it is the most important meal, vividly trying to entice me with culinary images of the daily offerings. We smile at each other with this exchange every morning, she is persistent.

Yesterday I took Hazel for a long walk on the beach. She dipped her toes in the ocean for the first time. She was unfazed, nothing riles this dog, she is content to block out the world as long as she is close to me. She has no interests beyond smelling and peeing, hoping for dropped food, and squeaky toys.

We stopped at a small food stand owned by a local family before we started the long journey home, it had become warm and Hazel needed a breather. The family was eating lunch from a shared pot of seafood and noodles. Mother, father, a young boy and girl. There were umbrellas covering six small tables. The man watched me sit and spoke to his wife. She started to rise and I motioned for they to finish eating and I would order when they finished. We exchanged small head bows and smiles.

The chubby young girl sat closest to us and watched Hazel as she ate. Hazel and I watched the ocean. The wife arose and cleared the meal. The husband brought me a menu. I ordered a mango smoothie, my go to drink now, having replaced my favorite Diet Coke three weeks ago. 

I noticed fried rice and was told no fried rice today, he offered hot dog, I accepted. It arrived on a bun with tomatoes, a fried egg and a brown sauce of some kind. The bun was a small French baguette, popular here since the occupation. Fried rice is a favorite of mine, no meat, just small diced, ( a must ) veggies and some soy sauce. I always find it a safe order in that it is made consistently throughout the world without the vile weed cilantro. Except in America of course, where you cant even order ice cream without it arriving with a big pile of the stuff on top.

I was smoking on the patio with friends and mentioned the fried rice story. I was told the hotel had an excellent fried rice by a fellow hater of the vile weed. I decided that I would order it the next morning, smiling to myself at the thought of the young girls face as she took my breakfast order.

She arrived with my tea and I smiled and asked for fried rice. Instead of surprise, she frowned and apologetically informed me there was no fried rice this morning. Her smile returned as she knew she had me. I had committed to eat breakfast and she was going to make sure she came up with something I would accept. We settled on an omelette and she joyfully ran to the cook to place my order. 

I am now one of those morning people who mystified me for years. I rise early, eagerly await my healthy lava liquid. I cook dinner between 5-6 , eat, do dishes and then take a walk along the beach each nite. I return and am in my hotel room only to exit to take a last nights walk with Hazel, just before 10 when the hotel locks up for the nite.

The lock down, bars and music venues closing has molded this behavior. I have also been able to spend time talking with a friend who has me looking at life differently. 

I no longer put sugar in my tea, I am smoking much less, I don’t drink the magical soda six times a day, and now I have eaten breakfast to my hosts delight. I know not how long this transformation will last, but for now, it pleases me. I still surf the net, write and watch mysteries until 2-3 am. I will start to venture out to see a band, or play pool with my friend Bob, and tip a few back as the three week lock down has now ended. 

I received an email from the US embassy in Honi that Vietnam airways has arranged to fly interested Americans back home, direct  from Ho Chi Min to either San Francisco or Wash D.C. in a couple weeks. I have no desire to head back at this time, it seems a chaotic place, unfamiliar to me. 

I feel safe here in Da Nang by the sea. It is beautiful, and the locals kind, and generous with their hospitality. There have been no deaths and only 270 virus cases with over 250 recovered in the entire country. Only 8 cases in Da Nang, Vietnam’s third largest city. 

The omelette was delicious, I am pondering my new day, My passport with the new extended visa has arrived. I am going to order a mango smoothie, smokes two more cigarettes and do some adulting. 

Chase Happiness and Spread Kindness my friends.....

More tales at our  free “ Travels with Hazel “ Facebook group

SPOONS

It was the light that caught our eye. We walked the boulevard along the beach as we have each nite for over a week. The light came from a spot far down the beach normally dark. It grew brighter as we traipsed along. Our pace interrupted now and again to smoke, smell or pee. For such a tiny little dog, she can abruptly stop me in my tracks, literally pulling me backwards when she smells something she wants to eat or pee on. This of course always brings a chuckle from anyone observing nearby.

We were drawn to the light, different explanations of it’s presence bouncing around my head. It slowly revealed itself. Thankfully I had remembered to wear my glasses. There were strings of lights displayed around a white teepee, the sides of which had been pulled back. The teepee was 8 ft tall, with poles coming out of the top, crossed, just like in the westerns. A photographers lamps on ither side

Standing in front of the structure on a blanket, a bride and groom held hands and seemed to exchanged vows. The bride wore a delicate white dress complete with a flowing vail. The groom wore a casual white suit. Both were barefoot, as were the 10 or so guests who sat together on the sand a few feet away.  

We arrived just in time for the big smooch. Those of us voyeurs who had stopped to watch, all got deep into the feels at this point. The ceremony took place half way between the boulevard and the waters edge. 

Hazel of course ignored all this as I voyeured the voyeurs. Old women whispered to each other smiling and laughing at the future ahead of the couple. Young women gazed expectantly into their boyfriends eyes as their partners tried to assure them of their true intentions.

This all took place a few days after the lockdown was lifted and the mood was festive. I realized today that I may have been pushing Hazel to hard. There is a line between  healthy exercise and exhaustion. I think I may have crossed it as Hazel had a little limp on our walk after dinner tonight. 

I will let her rest for a few nights and lesson the distance when we go again. She is 13, something I tend to forget because she is always so healthy and agile.

Tomorrow starts a 4 day holiday weekend, international Labor Day. The lockdown ended a week ago and everyone is ready to celebrate, hoping that the rona is gone and will not raise it’s ugly head for another round.

My friend from South Africa is happy as school will open next week and her source of income can now resume. She is also excited to see her classroom of kids. She is the one who walks a little terrier in our hood.

You know how when ever you wash a spoon, you know for like the 337th time in your life, and the spoon shoots the water back at you when you rinse it, ya well, that happens here in Vietnam too, fyi.

I have a notification from a local band that has befriended me, stating that they will be playing a dive bar down the beach tomorrow night. I am looking forward to some live music and all the accouterments it brings. 

My new two month extension on my visa will expire in 5-6 weeks. I can extend it again for up to 3 months, but I will have to make a quick trip to the Laos border to have my passport stamped to show I left Vietnam and returned. Foreigners are only allowed to stay in country for 3 months at a time. 

I can also choose to flow to another destination, a new adventure. I will keep an eye on countries that may open up their boarders, airlines that accept dogs who have started to fly again and weather patterns that Hazel and I find favorable over the next few weeks.

If and when we leave, everything will start anew once more. New beds, foods, friends, smells and knowledge. Change has always been part of my life, raised a nomad from the deserts of Arabia by parents who were adventurous explorers of the world. Searching for  enlightenment and scholarship, never truly able to quench our thirst. It’s a big bad world out there my friends, full of wonder and amazement. I will continue to flow in my mission to chase happiness and spread kindness.

Much love my friends.

GERMAN DELIGHTS

Another relaxing day here in Vietnam. The days have been in the high eightys and the lows in the 70’s. Although humidity hovers around 80%, the breezes off the South China Sea make the mornings and evenings quite pleasant.

I did go out to celebrate the lifting of the lockdown last Friday, that was three nights ago. Sudden freedom has inspired me to stay at home. I am however, excited to head to a favorite bar tomorrow night for their Cinco De Mayo party. The place is called Dirty Fingers, great food, live music, pool table and beautiful women, right across from the beach.  

I left Hazel at home when I went for the walk tonight. Her limp is gone as I have shortened the route. I wanted to push past the place we usually turn around and was able to do so without my sidekick. I took a left where I usually go right and found myself deep in local neighborhoods on my way to the beachfront. 

It is on my walks that I usually discover unique little shops, dive bars, bakeries and so forth. I found none of those tonight but did find myself standing at what must be a temple, it sits at the ” T “ intersection end of a neighborhood street. Ancient trees, intricately carved columns, dragons and pagodas hidden behind walls and a beautiful open gateway. 

I stood in the shadows and smoked as I took it all in. I observed women in Buddhist like robes moving about. It was 8 pm and my guess is they had just finished a ceremony, they started to leave slowly, some staying behind talking or sitting by a tree. I wanted desperately to go inside and explore, to learn what mysteries were hidden inside, I didn’t, as I saw no men inside the walls. The women leaving did return my smile as they continued on their way. I will do some research and return another time if I learn that it would not be disrespectful to enter. 

I headed for the beachfront and found myself farther down the beach than Hazel and I had ever been before. I kept going for another half hour before turning to head for home. I got Hazel out of the room for the last nights pee and sat with my english student for a few minutes before calling it a night. I feel good, having sweated off my dinner of tomato soup and a cheese croissant.

I am writing and watching Bob’s Burgers as Hazel has retreated to a spot beneath the comforter on our bed. I told my daughter yesterday that I have been thinking about getting another tattoo, she still hasn’t gotten over my first one and said....no. I have made a list of things to do if I ever feel like adulting again. I’d like to have some local shirts made, the Vietnamese tailors are known for high quality and low prices. Maybe some new glasses and I might break down and buy a real camera again. 

I did some research on Laos, a country that boarders Vietnam,  it is about the 3-4 hour drive away. It looks enticing, I may visit there next when my visa expires here. I also want to explore more of this wonderful city, Da Nang. I have found on the webs, new bars, an interesting place that has improv comedy and music, and a German restaurant/ bakery/ butcher that looks heavenly.

I am going to smoke and then join Hazel in bed now and dream of margaritas and tocos at the Cinco De Mayo fest tomorrow night. 

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends.

FREE PEANUTS

Had dinner with some new friends last night. A barbecue place, Easy Pickens. Carolina style pulled pork, pickles, okra fried to perfection, not soggy or oily..... just as it should be... fresh coleslaw and southern beans like mom used to make for dad with ham hock and onions. 

It’s a small place with a little bar. We sat at a picnic style table, six of us a couple from South Carolina who had just come from 7 yrs in China, my buddy Bob, and an American businessman and his new Vietnamese wife. It was a nice communal sup. We swapped travel stories and drank some beer as we let our carnivorous desires loose on platters of goodness. 

Wound up later in my favorite little dive bar. Welcoming hip Vietnamese owners who play great music, cater to younger expats from around the world and serve free peanuts. I always sit at the bar, Hazel on the stool next to me. 

I was approached, or I should say Hazel was approached, by a beautiful Irish gal. She took an immediate liking to her and after a time, she noticed me too, and we found ourselves deep into a conversation about life, travel, beer and more.  

She asked if I played pool, I put us on the board,and before you knew it we had taken all on comers and walked away winners of 4 out of 5 games. Another spontaneous night and new friend.

TWO NIGHTS LATER ON THE BANKS OF THE HANN RIVER

I went outside to smoke as I waited for my pie, I heard a rustling noise coming from the trees alining the street. Before I knew it, thousands of bean pods escaped en mass from the tree. Each one, a small round bean, green in color, attached to two brown leaves, 2 inches long, that arched away from opposite sides of the bean. 

They individually danced in the breeze, helicoptering down around me. I wasn’t sure what was happening, my mind flashing between  locusts swarms on the discovery channel and large flakes of snow slowly falling about me. I stood motionless, head tilted back and took in mother nature’s transformation. 

The sound they made spinning in the wind as they rained down around me is indescribable. When I thought the tree had finished, I looked about me to find everyone walking by had stopped and watched in awe of this special gift. 

People started to move along and as my pie was still not ready , I lit another smoke. It’s an old habit, a trick, an old wives tale, folklore if you will, that if you are hungry, and have been waiting what seems a long time for you food to be delivered, just light a cig and the food will immediately appear.

My pizza did not materialize, but I was rewarded with two more pod releases from the magical tree. 

I went back into the 7 Bridges craft beer bar to await my salami pizza. I came here because I had searched “pizza Da Nang” on the inter webs and their pictures looked good. It was a nicely appointed place as craft bars go, huge menu of fancy beers written on the wall in chalked out perfect penmanship. Listing names like,fruity nutball fire breathing lizard lips..... of course followed by the percentage alcohol, the name of the farm worker who individually picked the hops, and the name of the iguana who’s poop was used to fertilize the specific plant. Each beer served in its own special glass, my friend Alex would be in heaven.

The 7 Bridges bar sits on the banks of the Hann river, which flows thru Da Nang, separating the city from a long strip of land that runs along the sea. My hotel is on the peninsula just off the beach. There are a series of bridges that connect the city and the peninsula, the most famous being The Dragon Bridge. 

The Hann river is very wide and there is a large dragon head on each end of the bridge connected to a long scaley dragons body that lights up and changes colors at night. At exactly 9:00, allegedly, each night the dragon heads breathe fire and smoke. 

I was done eating and forcing the fancy beer down my gullet and noticed that it was 8:52 pm. I walked the short distance along the river to the dragon head. People where lined up along the bridge and were gathered under the bridge on the path that ran along the river. 

Families, couples and friends all anxiously awaiting the dragon to come alive. Food vendors with small rolling carts served all kinds of local delicacies. Children ran amuck paying games even they did not understand. Girls watched boys and the boys watched the girls. Old men sat on small stools as the women gossiped and grandmothers hugged the babies.

I picked a spot, taking into account the river, the angle of the dragons head, street lights, and most importantly my proximity to the other viewers. I am not a small man, even more so here in Asia. I have always tried to position myself with an awareness of those around me, not to block their views at concerts and the like. I always seem to be in the way no matter where I stand.

I stood, balancing a small pizza box and a bag holding a ball cap from the fancy beer bar, trying to focus my camera phone and occasionally adjusting my shorts so they wouldn’t fall down. The minutes ticked by. What happened to Asian precision? No one was upset, they waited patiently. After 20 minutes a man in uniform gave us the news that the dragon would not come alive that night. Again no one displayed annoyance, they simple faded slowly back into their lives. 

This city and its people continue to share their secrets with me. I will be forever thankful.

YOU ARE SCOOPING TOO DEEP !!!

The streets of Da Nang are wide and smooth, I left Hazel at the hotel tonight, I wanted to walk off the left over pizza I’d been eating all day. I headed deeper into the neighborhoods. I try to push farther each time I venture out. You never know what you might discover. Hidden pockets of delight and wonder reveal themselves when you might least expect it. 

The streets grew dark and narrow the deeper I got. I noticed that the usually straight streets began to bend and turn the farther I ventured into unknown territory. The streets became dirt paths and alleys, the pavement ending a half hour ago. Some of the alleys I could stretch out my arms and touch both sides. 

I like to stay in apartments or small local hotels in neighborhoods, to live and learn from the local people what daily life is like. I rarely stay close to tourist areas in the big hotels. I can always sneak into those areas for some live music, a museum or the chance to meet a girl.

I have never had a problem safety wise in my travels, even tho I find myself where most won’t go at times. I have two rules, be observant , pay attention to who and what are around you, and secondly and most important.... don’t be a dick.

I have always had a great sense of direction. It’s a trait I got from my dad. He would occasionally let me come out and stay with him on the drilling rig he was working on. We would climb into his company truck, a red Chevy, Fords were blacklisted in the Arab countries, and leave town to head out to the drilling rig.

All the company trucks were red and had the oil companies name on the side doors. The old man always had a good spare tire and a big round silver igloo water cooler. He also had a jack, a shovel and some wooden planks in case we got stuck in the soft sand. The temps in the deserts of Arabia could reach into the 140 degrees in the harshest areas.

The oil rigs were obviously out in the middle of the desert. They would create a hard pack road of sorts off the few real roads back then, to haul the rigs, trailers and other machinery to the drill site. 

Now when you are a ten year old kid, riding in the old mans truck, and he immediately leaves the road after getting out of our town and takes off into the dunes, you begin to wonder just how crazy your dad really is. “ just a shortcut “ he would say. 

To some kids this would seem like a great adventure, it scared the shit out of me and he knew it, trying to toughen me up, I was a quiet boy who had lost a brother 3 years before and was unsure of many things life threw at me. 

He always got us there but I swear to god I always had my doubts. He would drive for 2 hours over and around huge sand dunes, hard salt flats, brush and who knows what. There were very few smooth spots and my small frame would bounce around the truck cab, we didn’t wear seatbelts. Worse, I would get car sick in the oppressive heat, this would produce that look of disappointment from dad, one I saw many times over the years.

One year the old man was working one month off and one on in the Rub’ al Khali. An area know as the Empty Quater. It is the largest continuous sand mass in the world with mountainous like sand dunes that rise 1000 feet from salt flats, once ancient seas. The sand is a uniquely deep red color. The area boarders Yemen, Qatar and Abu Daubi in southern Arabia.

It is a barren land where only the few, the strong, can survive, there are no roads, no infrastructure, the oil rigs are brought in on giant trucks with tires the size of double decker buses.

This area has been romanticized in films and books throughout history. Many famous novels are set here. Star Wars The Force Awakens, the Oceans Of Fire horse race in Hidalgo, and others filmed scenes here. The Freman people in Dune are said to come from the nomadic Bedouin tribes here, PlayStation 3 used this desert in many of it’s games and The Men in Black International created a huge canyon by setting off an alien bomb here.

Let me tell you about the “ romantic “ memories I have of the Empty Quarter. Like I said, Dad was working down there and it was Christmas time. The company my dad worked for agreed on let our family come out and stay with him for a few days. I have no idea how my parents pulled off the shit they got away with, but it always made life interesting.

So again no roads, thus we found ourselves on a crew change plane. A two hour flight on an ancient Russian cargo plane, no insulation on the walls, no a/c, just 50 seats bolted to the floor. No snacks, pillows or cart service if you can imagine. The work crews would fly down there and spend a month at the drill site and then another crew would fly in to relieve them.

Mom and us boys stuck out like porcupines at a nudist colony. The plane was full of hardened Arab and Egyptian oil field workers, heading into one of the harshest places on earth, and there we were all dressed up with bags of Christmas presents in the holiest land of Islam, Arabia, the protectors of Medina and Mecca.

Now imagine if you will, men who’s first priority was not showering, bringing with them everything they need to survive a month. There are no grocery stores, just the company mess trailer. I kid you not, there were loose chickens and goats roaming this plane. The small plane was like a ship at high sea as it bounced about on the 140 degree heat waves rising off the desert floor below. 

Visualize being a small lad with motion sickness issues in a hot plane with little goat pebbles rolling under your feet and chickens squawking, in a plane full of smelly old men. Life was never boring with my parents, painful, exhausting, confusing and dangerous.... but never boring. 

My last memory of the Empty Quarter is kneeling down on the lava temperature sand dunes, the middle of the afternoon, with a teaspoon in one hand and a coffee can in the other. As I have mentioned, mom liked to collect memories, and I told you about the red colored sand unique to this area. Well, the deepest colored red sand only went down about a half inch, so she insisted we use the teaspoon, not a tablespoon, no no that would scoop to deep, to gently scoop the top layer of sand off the dune and into the coffee cans so that she could keep them in her garage in Arizona 50 years later. I distinctly remember being chastised for scooping too deep.

Btw I always get a kick out of reading my friends complain about what a terrible flight they just had. OMG, we were delayed for 2 hours in this airport as we dined on steak and drank at the bar........bawhahahah.

Normally the old man would work two weeks on a rig in the Arabian desert and have one week off. We saw him one week out of three. Mom would teach kindergarten, run the house and chase 3 boys at home. 

I don’t know mom stayed sane. Dad would come back into town and just kick it at the house. He ran a still in Arabia for 37 years, Saudi being a dry country. Seemed like most American dads had one, we all called the moonshine Sadiki,  meaning friend in Arabic. There are so many stories associated with this practice and it’s consumption that I will  leave for another time.

In the early years we would adventure out into Arabia. Visiting small Arab towns, exploring historical sites and go pot picking ( not what you are thinking ). Somehow my parents knew of old sites where you could become amateur archeologists. 

We would hunt for buried treasures. Sometimes coming home with geodes, petrified wood, sand roses even hedgehogs or lizards. Our favorite discoveries would be the arrowheads, fossils, casuma diamonds,  spearheads, interesting stones, different colored sands, beads, pieces of bracelets, coins, tools, grinding stones and pieces of pottery. 

Mom had a rock polishing machine, it was the size of a small microwave with a round cylinder that would rotate around and around. It seemed like it took hours for the grainy potion you added to the rocks to wash away layers of time and bring to light the beauty of the stones. 

Mom would polish the pieces of broken bracelets and take them to a jeweler in Al’ Khobar, a local Arab town about an hour away. The jeweler would cap both broken ends of each small piece and then string a small length of gold chain between each piece to creat a new bracelet, thus bringing back to life these beautiful, intricately detailed, stories of the past.

When mom died a few years ago, it was left to me to go thru her things and donate etc. I found boxes of fossils from when we lived in Libya, cans of different colored sand, ancient grinding stones, wooden water wheels and more, she kept everything. 

It’s a hard, strange thing to save, donate, give away and sell your parents memories. Especially when you are trying to get rid of all you own yourself, to freely walk the earth. It is a cathartic process, one that brings joy and tears. Luckily I had my daughters with me to share the experience, and help carry the load.

My mind wanders, I started telling you about my walk last night in Vietnam and wound up taking you into the Empty Quarter. 

Time to walk Hazel and have a smoke.

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends....

SILK JAMMIES

I am not a fast walker, not slow either, kinda a long striding shamble, occasionally interrupted with moments of an upright toddling strut when pretty girls walk by. Old men are funny aren’t we, when a woman is near.

I adulted a couple days ago. Found a tattoo artist and he is working up a design for me. Four young Vietnamese dudes, hip studio down an ally in a Local neighborhood. Small house dog with a big attitude, a clean space and years of their work laid before me to help me decide. It’s gonna take 12 hours, broken up in two sessions. 

The one who spoke English had long straight hair and round John Lennon specs, he negotiated with me over the costs, took my measurements and assured me I had found the right place. The other three dudes hovered around genuinely curious about what this big sweaty American might want. They spoke back and forth to each other, smiling, and stroking Hazel. One of them finally reached over and slowly lifted my left arm to examine the work I had done in Cambodia.

Been listening comedians all day, Gallagher just rolled onto stage on roller skates... got me got me chuckling.... you know why birds are ugly guys?.... you’d be ugly too if your pecker was in the middle of your face. Robin Williams... wow man, such an interesting brain... different comics have different speeds... Robin goes a mile a minute, Chappelle is slow and smooth and George Lopez was killing me.

I went into the night to lose myself in wine women and song last nite. One of my favorite bars here in Da Nang posted a music jam on face book. Now, you never know what you’re going to get when you invite a bunch of musicians to randomly show up and jam together. 

These are not people who regularly play together, most of it is just jamming, no songs or set lists. The music just flows out of these cats as they feed off each other. The sledge o’ matic just took out the watermelon. Red fox just rolled in. Anyway these musicians just kept taking the stage and blowing me away. Better yet the women just kept coming thru the door, they do love the musicians. 

Every one of the folks added another layer of magic. The talent level was wicked. They threw everything at us until the cops shut us down about 12:30. Blues, Cumbia, reggae, rock n roll, jazz and everything in between. The women were beautiful and the place was shaking. 

Somehow I always wind up friends with the owners at the little clubs I hang out in. This place is no different. The owner is a energetic 40 something Vietnamese guy, his staff of 4 young men are hard working professionals who, while taking their job seriously, find a way to do it that makes you feel welcome. 

Many a night when they lock up, I have found myself sitting with them till the morning starts to peek its head up, telling tales and doing shots. The owners favorite is a rum from Nicaragua, it’s smooth and potent.

I was telling you about my adulting, and the tattoos, after that I went and got some new glasses. Yes, I lost a pair again... anyway. I found a place on the inter webs. It was a small place with a nice man who spoke English. 

I did not pay attention to labels and I always have a difficult time choosing. I never think anything looks good and I have a wide head....... which limits my selections. Bottom line, is I got two pair, one regular and one pair of sunglasses with all the things...scratch this and uv that. No charge to figure out the vision numbers. He said they would be ready in an hour and I told him I would be back tomorrow. 

When I pick them up I was surprised to discover I had one pair of ray bans and the other pair came in several fancy boxes and were Mercedes shades..... hey now.... anyway the scripts were perfect and 2 designer pair with everything cost me $ 123 US. Would have been over $1500 back in Arizona. 

I got home at 4 I think from the jam. So I have been laying around today being a bum, Hazel has too, it’s hot and we just don’t got it together today. The tv has been spewing jokesters at me and I finally decided to make dinner. The supplies are low and I needed something quick and easy.

I settled for some pre cooked rice. I threw two of them bowls into a pan with a little oil to heat them up, did you know that rice can fly? That shit started popping out of the pan like popcorn when it hit the hot oil. I was excited because I had been looking for teriyaki sauce for weeks and finally found some. I filled a big bowl and drenched the rice with this liquid potion. It was everything I desired, this teriyaki was thick, dark and sweet.... straight from Japan in a funky soft bottle. That was dinner, it’s all I could muster and it was perfect.

Somehow, I actually got up enough energy to do the dishes and decided I better go for a walk before I sat down or I’d never get back up. I needed to do something today. Hazel wasn’t having it, so I took off alone and made it to the boardwalk along the beach.

Like I said I’m not the fastest walker but I usually keep up. Tonight,  I struggled to make it about a third of the normal distance and finally gave up when I got passed by two sets of grammas. I’m talking old grammas, bent, grey, saggy grammas. Very disheartening. I do love the old gals who walk at night, almost all of them wear these colorful patterned silk jammies.

A person is rich in proportion to what he chooses to leave alone. 

The roots of history, traditions and comfort zones run deep. We must conform, live inside the box, do as society says, compete , judge, succeed, consume, develop credit lines, borrow money, toe the line.... keep the machine churning.

I put on a suit, a tie and the face that society demanded, for me to do my part and be successful. I grew weary and disillusioned. We cling to the past yet rarely learn from it. Americans, and others around the world, are not happy, we have everything at our fingertips yet are never satisfied. We tell ourselves that we are doing our part to move civilization forward, yet at the same time we are destroying our planet. 

Hate is flourishing, our children are being raised by systems and organizations that indoctrinate them into political armies from both sides that preach anger and uncooperative discontent. Consume, buy, produce and hate anyone who doesn’t agree with what the tv channel you watch, which is owned by the rich and powerful on both sides, and programmed to tell us what reality should be. 

We have made it difficult to step out of the box. It’s comfortable in there, our favorite pillows and tv shows, gold stars at work, a shoe collection and new car lease every 2 years. Change is hard and scary. But what of true freedom, we are not free, we are controlled and manipulated.

Farmers are required to grow apples that all meet exact sizes and colors so that they fit in the sorting, washing, and packing machines in the apple corporation, using chemicals that poison us. We throw away tons and tons of apples that don’t meet the “standards”, they have a blemish or aren’t the right size and color.

People are starving around the world, people are without shelter, children are dying everyday and all we talk about is Kim kardashians ass. Our children are drifting farther and farther away from nature and community. We are teaching them that greed, self interest, hating their neighbor instead of communication, love kindness and being earth conscious.

This is what our media wants us all to believe and they are extremely good at convincing us of this. I believe, that we as humans can stop. This rona thing is allowing us to breathe, to think and appreciate the simplicity of what real happiness is. People do care, they do love their children, they want to save the planet. 

The rich, powerful, political elite use the media to divide us. Generals, Emperors, dictators, kings have all used the divide and conquer tool. Rich vs poor, black vs white vs brown, republican vs Democrat, religion vs science. Cesars used this effectively with the distraction of Colosseum while the empires were looted and destroyed. 

They will not willingly give up their power and wealth. The machine has and will run smoothly as long as they keep us divided and hating each other. There is enough money, resources and food to help this planet, feed the hungry and provide shelter for all. The amount of money that is spent to fight wars, destroy the earth, to consume and indoctrinate the masses is staggering. One tenth of which would make a impact on real change. 

Until we stop fighting and hating our neighbors, and come together in a common united message, things will never change. The bombs will keep dropping and new ones will be produced. The rich will stay rich and the poor will stay poor. 

We will have to sacrifice. Are we willing to stand side by side with someone who believes and looks differently than us for a set of basic common goals. Will we give up the me me me need to get mine and have more? 

I know that we can do this, are uenwilling, this is the real question. Will we give up comfort and security for read freedom. Will we try a radically different path for a common good, for the benefit of future generations, our children and their children, or will we continue to set the example of greed and hate.

One of the great contradictions and ironies of life today is that, tho we live in the age of information and technology, we can’t believe anything we hear. Every message is bought and paid for by a political group or corporation to herd us sheep where they want us to go. In a second, we can access every moment live, or in the past, we can watch eagles nesting in mountains, or riots in Hong Kong. 

They keep us scared, divided and distracted to keep their machine rolling, to maintain their power and money. They will not give it up freely and things will never change until we come together to take our country back.

Life is a blessing, we have so much to be grateful for. People are good and kind. The world is a wild place full of mystery and beauty, why toe the line and struggle thru disappointment and a life unsatisfying, only to have a short time of freedom at the end. Read Walden by Henry David Thoreau.

We can do better, we must. There is no one way, no simple answer, we must resolve to find common ground and not fear the free exchange of different ideas and methods, how else can we truly grow in a healthy society. Do not fear your neighbor, help them. You do not need to buy another watch to be happy, forgive your past and look forward to making a real difference.

Bob Marley, Martin Luther King, Buddha and others spoke of love, kindness and freedom. They all had faults, we can criticize them and tear them down or we can accept that we are all flawed and yet all the same. Who are we to judge anyone. I believe 87.639 percent of humans are good and kind and want the same thing, to live the way we choose, for safety and food and good health for our kids and parents. 

Do we wait until we have no choice, when the really devastating tragedies happen? Every great and powerful civilization has fallen. We know we can live simply, cleaner, wiser, safer, and find true freedom and happiness so why don’t we.... there will always be rationalizations for reasons to wait and be concerned about it when we have time. 

I would say that I’m not trying to preach, or try to get you agree with me, but I do. I want to motivate you to think and share and love and spread kindness, to help one another more and judge less. I am as guilty as anyone, and fall short everyday but I am going to keep talking to strangers and spreading this message of hope. 

ROLLING THE FRIED MEAT ROLL

It has been a cloudy day. A welcome rain came in the late afternoon. My hotel suite smells like tacos. I was shopping in one the small markets that caters to foreigners a few days ago. It immediately became a frequent stop for me from the moment I found Campbell’s tomato soup there, a comfort food for me since my childhood in Saudi Arabia that continues today.

Travel forces you out of you comfort zone frequently, something I have come to welcome. You constantly have to adapt and try new ways of thinking and doing. You learn new ways of living and new ways to make mistakes and learn and grow from them.

In America, milk and eggs are found in refrigerated sections of supermarkets. In most parts of the world, they are found on shelf’s next to the other consumables. I had never tried brown eggs before, nor had I had the guts to try warm milk off the shelf. Brown or range free eggs are always more expensive in the USA, I would always buy the cheap white eggs, and milk is always chilled and pasteurized. Once in the fridge for a while, I can’t tell this milk has been sitting on a shelf and the eggs are great. Hazel gets scrambled eggs one in a while.

I was coming home late one night from a place I had gone to see a band. As I often do while I wait for the grab driver to come and pick me up, especially if it’s late, I will stop in a small market to grab a late night snack to consume back at the hotel. 

One of the things I bought was what looked like a plastic container of doughnuts in a row. I popped that sucker open and pulled one out as soon as I got home. I was coherent enough to recognize that is wasn’t a doughnut by the weight and density. I wasn’t coherent enough to put it back in the container until tomorrow, I figured it was maybe a dense fruitcake or hard packed sugar thingy. It was not a culinary delight, buy any means but hey, I’m in Vietnam. 

I have racked my brain several times, with no success, to remember what isle I bought this stuff in. What was on the shelf next to it? I worry it might be a urinal cake, it the right size and consistency, but they don’t really have urinals here. Anyway, I have like 9 of these mystery pucks left, I keep trying to get up the courage to go ask the young girl downstairs at the front desk to read the package and tell me what I bought, it’s been over a week now.

Last night I went to dinner with new friends at a small Mexican restaurant. The owner is from Mexico and imports his ingredients from home and uses his grammas recipes. The food was great and we had an eclectic group. A huge Canadian who works for Exxon who is building a massive natural gas facility off shore from China and Vietnam. He came with one the the most beautiful women I have seen, a delightful gal from Brazil who represented a shoe company. There was Carl, the owner of a German restaurant that I frequent, my beer drinking buddy Bob, an older Australian guy and a retired American. We drank Corona beer and ate tacos, enchiladas and nachos. The communal sup with friends is a special thing. The sharing of lives, food, energy and stories is one of my favorite experiences. You learn of fascinating places others have discovered, the best ways to get there and what to do and how to do it best and you put that knowledge in the back of your head for the next time you feel like hitting the road.

I have seen for months in front of these tiny stands along the roads, a water bottle right out front, filled with what looked like a green liquid. You would have a food cart selling all kinds of grilled meats, fish, the local sandwiches on French baguettes and so forth. 

Behind the carts will be a small dwelling that serves as a home and shop. They have snacks, water, cigarettes, fans, ice cream, badminton rackets, toilet paper, bug spray all spread out in a mishmash of organized chaos. 

They are very industrious and hard working folks here, and make the best of the small spaces they have available. They will have small air pumps and tubes to help the desperate scooter drivers on his way to a big date or a kid on his way home from the beach who have a flat tire.

Anyway, next to my Campbell’s tomato soup market is one of these small stands. I have walked past this place 57 times over the last two and a half months and each time, this lone green water bottle. Today was the day I found out what this bottle was for. It advertises to the scooter people that they can get their tank filled up with fuel. The tiny old woman shopkeeper, cook and snack monger will grab her little funnel, and her green bottle, and fill up their tank, hoping they might also grab a sammich or ice cream before they scatter off. They don’t have gas stations on every corner here. Another mystery solved, these things just need to be explained for my world to continue. 

I will close now, I need to take a shower before I head out to a new music venue tonight, my favorite local band here in Da Nang is playing tonight for the first time in a month and I have been anxiously awaiting their return. Hazel is already snoring. 

Lastly, I mentioned that my place smells like tacos. I had been at my little market and saw what looked like small flour taco shells. They turned out to be “ Rolling The Fried Meat Rolls “ , similar to pot sticker or wanton thingys. I bought them off the “sale” rack at half price, mom and my daughters would be so proud, they are frequent scavengers at the clearance racks. I plan to make small rolled tacos and fry them. Taco meat, potato, veggies, even fruit.... I will be so creative and domesticated. I bought three packages..... it’s been days and I don’t want them to get hard and unusable, so I got as far as making the taco meat and potato stuffings today, tomorrow, I hope, I will stuff and fry them, wish me luck and please offer ideas. Hazel has been under foot in the kitchen all day waiting for things to drop.

Chase Happiness and spread kindness my friends. More stories on our Travels with Hazel Facebook group page.

0% ALUMINUM SALTS

The girl who works the night shift at the desk downstairs, the one who is my occasional English student, had a day off. She went back to her hometown, a fishing village along the sea about 2.5 hours south of Da Nang by scooter. It was for the 13th memorial of her mother’s death. 

She shared with me that She was worried, not because of the long drive on a little scooter, but she was afraid of being stopped by the police. I asked why and she informed me that she didn’t have a drivers license. She is like a daughter to me now so I was flabbergasted, and when I asked her to explain to me why she didn’t have one I became more so. 

She said she just didn’t want to hassle with it. She then went on to confess to me that she has gotten 3 tickets already at a cost of 1,000,000 dong, ( $50 ) for each ticket. This is a huge fee to pay for an average Vietnamese person. She then told me that the cost of a license was 500,000 dong, I gave her a good fatherly talking to and then we laughed. It gets better, she explained that her father is a policeman and her ex fiancée is also a cop, and was the one who gave her her second ticket. Kids these days man! 

She returned today and when I asked her how everything went, she explained that she was exhausted, she is the only daughter with three brothers which in Vietnam means she had to clean and cook the whole time while her father and brother stared at their phones. She did make it back safely and without a ticket but is now worried everyday because the police have announced a month long crack down on traffic violations here in Da Nang and are making their presence known. 

The South Koreans have arrived. The My Khe Beach here in Da Nang, Vietnam is a favorite of the South Koreans. They flock here for the famous beach, the inexpensive shopping and the seafood. 

A large group of them checked in to our hotel a few days ago and threw a big party on the rooftop patio by the pool. They had a big barbecue, drank deeply and sang karaoke, the hotel was rocking.

There are two hotels at the end of our street that have been closed for months, apparently they cater to the South Koreans because they are now open. I passed them on my walk tonight, a large group was having dinner on the patio in front one of the hotels and it was like a high school football game with cheers and slogans being shouted back and forth. I guess they have been granted a 14 day visa as a first step at allowing foreigners into Vietnam. 

The ones staying in my hotel two doors down are making me look bad with the cleaning ladies. We get our laundry done free daily here and I noticed that my neighbors fold their dirty laundry when they put their basket out to be washed. At least I clean my room before the maid comes in.

I mentioned a month ago that I was excited at the prospect of having brought with me the perfect amount of deodorant to Asia with me. I had visions of returning with nothing but a small sliver of the stuff left and even said I would buy a round of drinks if I pulled it off. Well, I have been nursing the last two sticks and 3 days ago I opened the last stick to find it unusable. 

I have been on a mad hunt for deodorant for 3 days, this might not seem that big an issue unless you like me, have sensitive pits that react in a breakout rash from 86.37% of all deodorants. They all contain aluminum and other metals. I have been to two large grocery stores, umpteen convenience shops, mom n pop shops and pharmacies. I have made sure to check the ladies sections for the more delicate, lotion isles and clearance racks, nothing but aluminum as far as the eye can see.

I had given up and was so desperate that I almost bought some AXX body spray ( of course the have that here ) and drench my whole body everywhere except the pits. This would go against everything in my man code, but I was that unglued. Today while shopping for a camera, I noticed a tiny shop as I smoked and sweated outside the camera place. On a whim, I went in and was ecstatic to see some Addis brand deodorant with the rare words 0% aluminum salts on the can! I bought every can they had. 

The smallest things can become big issues when traveling. Please note I had planned to travel Asia for 3-4 months and had brought 8 sticks of aluminum free deodorant with me. Anyway crisis adverted,  which is good as Hazel was starting to cover her nose around me.

You are always taking chances and trying new things while traveling. I have given up soda and continue to try different beverages, mango smoothies, ginger tea, fruit juices, colored waters with small bubbles containing basil seeds and the like and others I honestly don’t know but looked healthy and tasty. 

My last attempt was a lime green colored brew labeled Aloe Vera Drink Homemade, it has 2 slices of the cactus floating in it along with some seeds and chunks of translucent stuff. Now normally, I don’t drink or eat things with chunks of things unknown to me floating in it, but like I said you try new things while traveling and I’m trying to be healthy. I couldn’t even finish the first mouthful, I nearly spit it out, can’t like everything. 

The visa laws continue to change frequently, sometimes daily, my visa is set to expire in a couple weeks but it seems as tho I get a free extension thru the end of June before I have to jump across the boarder into Laos to get a stamp and then I can reenter Vietnam for as long as 3 months, I might just stay in Laos for a few weeks depending on the rona, it looks beautiful and I’ve never been. 

It’s time for one last smoke and then I will climb into bed with Hazel and watch some shows. 

Chase happiness and spread kindness my friends

More stories on our Facebook group page Travels with Hazel.