WEDNESDAY,
MAY 15, 1985
GEORGE:
Left the house at
11:30 a.m.
Steve Gosnell drove us to the airport in our car;
he will pick us up on our return. The trip from
K.C. to St.
Louis to L.A. went as scheduled: here, there and there, crowded and
not terribly comfortable. Arrived only a few minutes late in
L.A., and luggage also arrived. Then off to Alamo car rental,
where we were processed fairly fast (since they are now
computerized). Found
LAX Motel and arrived in time to take
advantage of the Wednesday late afternoon/early evening wine and
cheese party by the pool. It is hardly elegant, though we have
a nice room. The brochure makes it more elegant than it is,
but so what. It is remarkably quiet even though near the
airport. As I write this, the news is on the TV and we are
slowly settling down for the night. Tomorrow is going to be a
difficult day.
MILA:
Cool in K.C. Steve on time,
Richard in Adelaide's yard. TWA left on time—arrived
reasonably on time—had a ginger ale, only 35 minute trip. In
St. Louis transferred to a plane close by—45 minutes leeway on a
very large widebodied plane (two seats to a side) which was fine but
the seats were hard. Had a dinner, oriental beef & vegetables
& rice & small salad & fudge brownie—not great but we were very
hungry & wolfed it down. The staff was "efficient" but non-smiling.
At LAX airport only 10-15 minutes late. Got luggage faster
than I expected but God! I've taken so much stuff I can barely
stagger around with it all—five pieces of luggage in all.
Picked up by Alamo Rental Car trucker; our car is a Renault Alliance
(beige), comfortable—headed out around 5:15 for LAX motel which
looked like a modernized version of the
Garden of Allah (though the
manager claims it's 30-35 years old & recently remodeled). We
have a corner bungalow with its own miniature garden. They are
having their weekly wine & cheese party out by the minuscule
swimming pool (Robert Mondavi white & red & beer) & crackers &
cheese. Very nice! LAX motel #326, 1804 East Sycamore
Ave, El Segundo CA 90245 1-800-421-5781. Manager & wife are
middle-aged & easygoing—"they" (conglomerate?) have just extensively
remodeled the complex that used to be three motels—looks very
"dated" (thank God) to me. Sort of along the lines of Judy
Garland's apartment in A Star Is Born, or early Hollywood.
Anyway, it's nice in a funky sort of way—a king size bed.
THURSDAY, MAY
16, 1985
GEORGE:
Drove out of L.A. to
Lancaster.
Went to the hospital to see
Martha. Spent an hour there.
All things considered, she was better than I expected, but things
are not good. Also made connection with
Nick, after a French
farce of missing each other in waiting rooms, etc. After
lunch, went to see Mother. She was all dressed up, but is
clearly despondent (about Martha? about things in general?) and
though we had a good visit it was not like before. I hope to
visit with Connie Smith, the head nurse in her wing, tomorrow.
Perhaps she has some insight. After getting a motel in Mojave,
we had dinner with Nick in California City. Then I tried to
get back to Lancaster to see Mother again. Managed a very
brief visit, and arranged to see her tomorrow. Mila was a
real
brick in the visits today.
MILA:
Good night's sleep. Up before 7
a.m. (L.A. time). Breakfast occupied rest of early morning
since it involved "The
Jolly Roger" Restaurant that takes time in
doing everything, long time waiting (though "regular customers"
seemed to get seated earlier). Loud group of twelve
salesmen & one hapless woman (why do they have such LOUD voices?).
The time it takes to cook a breakfast is around twenty minutes per
customer—maybe
it's the atmosphere we are paying for? Meal not that great.
Trip to Mojave Desert, traffic not bad 9:15 during "haze." Sun
finally came out. San Gabriel Mountains, Escondido Canyon,
yucca plants (covering 3,000 ft. elevation) in bloom, also Johnson
trees. Rosamond—Edwards Air Force Base. Visited with
Martha 11:00-12:00, still in pain. Food in Love NY Deli.
Visited with Mom, Nick—saw Cluj. Dinner in
Italian restaurant
(spaghetti).
FRIDAY, MAY 17—SATURDAY,
MAY 18, 1985
GEORGE:
Slow (leisurely)
start today. Toured Mojave (quickly) and then went to
Lancaster, with a brief side view of Rosamond. Had a nice
visit with Mother, and had a good talk with Connie Smith, the head
nurse in the wing Mother is in. We will try to get Mother to
start up the
telephone calls again. After lunch and a walk on
several residential streets, went to see Martha. She was in
great pain today and rather out of it. They have reduced the
pain killers. We didn't stay very long in the room. Then
went out to visit with Nick. It is strictly one day at a time
for both of them. It was a very depressing experience for
me—total helplessness. I try not to be either optimistic or
pessimistic—just see what can be done, if anything. Then drove
into L.A. Got off 405 at Wilshire (in Westwood) to avoid rush
hour on the freeways. Saw a lot of the new architecture in the
area. Then headed south on La Cienega. Pulled off on
Manchester; at Sepulveda we parked. Walked around, saw a great
streamline moderne ex-movie house that is being recycled into a med
office building or some such. Took a photo. Turned in
the car after having a nice light supper in a coffee/tea sales place
near where we parked. We arrived at the
airport about 6 p.m., and
Singapore Airlines was not ready to
check in passengers. They were ready about 7 p.m. Then
things went smoothly. Of course we can't board until 11 p.m.,
so one just sits and occasionally wanders about. I plan to
shave about 10 p.m. Other than that, not much planned as the
great adventure is near beginning.
[Later] We boarded late,
actually after midnight, so this day began out of the tag ends of
yesterday. Singapore Airlines is great on service, especially
the charming "sarong"-clad women attendants who seem selected to
look extremely attractive in their "uniforms." The men
attendants wore jackets. Unfortunately, we were ten across and
believe me there wasn't enough room side to side or between rows.
And these are long flights. I was in the middle on the side,
so I was tucked in. And thus I worked on sleeping as much of
the flight as I could. Basically it was
five and a half hours L.A. to Honolulu.
An hour transfer of passengers and then nearly eleven hours to Hong
Kong. They served lots of canned orange juice and two light
dinners on the Honolulu run. I took the mixed grill [for] the
breakfast. Hot or cold washcloths appeared several times, and
these were a godsend. I would never try to wash up in an
aircraft lav. The space is not adequate.
MILA:
Drove by the
Casa de Gasa—Mojave
is quite a metropolis. Still nice weather—about 60°—over haze
that burns off when sun comes out in full. The mountains in
the sunset were quite spectacular—with the lights of Lancaster in
the distance. Our room in
Motel 6 ($24.00 with two double
beds, $1.39 for TV key) is near railroad tracks—trains hoot all
night long (literally at least once an hour)—not an easy way to
sleep—also has no room-darkening drapes, so room is drenched in
sunlight at 6:00 a.m.—not the best way to prepare for a long trip.
Ate in Carl's Jr. 24-hour joint (they claim it was an omelette—not
too great but cheap—$1.79). Today we plan to go to see Grandma
at hospital, [have] lunch, & then see Martha.
[Later] None was
satisfactory—Grandma's place was hot, the TV was blaring,
Grandma was being "brave" but vague, Geo was off with Connie the
nurse & an old man was moaning. Lunch was at Denny's in
Lancaster (French fries and melted club sandwich). Martha was
out of it & we didn't stay. I developed a bad headache though
all of this—lost it somewhere between the ride back to L.A. &
dinner. Saw Brentwood, Beverly Hills, & all the posh people.
Weather was great—cool in low 60's. Ate in the best possible
place for us: coffee etc. (sort of a
Classic Cup
setup). Had three cups of Austria Decaf (really marvelous!), cups of
homemade lentil soup, & shared halves of a large vegetarian sandwich
(avocado, cucumbers, sprouts, tomatoes on wheat bread) & carrot cake
(all came to $6.60). Really a treat after all of that
poisonous fast food junk. Went to turn in car at Alamo & took
airport bus in, driven by Luis.
Get to LAX
before 6 p.m. (plane departs 11:45) in order to get rid of excess
baggage. No one to receive them at Singapore Airlines booth
(which was supposed to open at 6:00). We have to wait amidst
much good-natured banter for the Singapore Airlines agents to show
up. They appear eventually with coffee cups almost 7:00
p.m.—small oriental gentlemen in white shirts, dark trousers & dark
ties with S.A. wings on them. We get booked through to Hong
Kong & say bye-bye to our luggage (or most of it). I've never
seen passengers for international flights so dressed up—women with
high, high heels, suits, hats, color-coordinated outfits, painted
nails. There's a bratty red-haired boy who is about to deck
everyone, pushing a cart (?) filled with luggage, & many
multi-generational Asian families all dressed up in suits, coats,
expensive luggage; a small child in red coveralls pushing her pram
(will she & boy collide?); a couple in heavy petting scene oblivious
to little children. LAX International Lounge is very nice—it
looks very expensive & new (both undoubtedly true), upstairs is a
big cocktail lounge & posh eating area, includes
prix fixe salad &
dinner buffet, dessert buffet, all in glittering splendor with
lights & flowers & big TV set (now showing a ballgame). We
finally go through metal detectors & after too long a wait,
they ask for couples with children, the elderly who have to be
helped, & the handicapped. The guy next to me remarked that
all of us would soon join the ranks of the elderly if we had to wait
any longer. "Form one single line" (HA! all bunched up
was more like it). Asians, of course, queue (British effect)
but their hearts aren't in it.
Flight to
Honolulu takes five hours thirty minutes. The time is spent
being waked up for (1) hot towels, (2) champagne, fruit juice or beer,
(3) a "light supper" consisting of too warm things with Paul
Masson wine, (4) refills of wine, (5) coffee or tea. I find out
too late that if you do not choose to be waked up, they put a little
sticker by your head. Geo does decline all—dozes
throughout. I try to eat but leave most of it. Luckily I
have an aisle seat so I can get to toilet reasonably easily (three
rows up in middle). Finally lights go out (no movie on this
flight, only thing onscreen is a film of a Singapore Airline hostess
doing the usual routine). They (the hostesses) are all
uniformly lovely & accommodating. They wear two-piece long
black uniforms. The skirts are sort of wrapped in a
sarong-like fashion, ankle-length, long-sleeved jackets, high-heeled
slingback pumps in batik patterns. Men wear suits with
bowties.
Change
planes hurriedly at 3 a.m. our time, dragging stuff off of one
airplane and onto another one. Repetition of same old routine,
only with cold towels this time, stir-fried beef, wine etc.
At 5 a.m. I see part of an Art Carney movie made in Toronto called
Undergrads, with
Jackie Burroughs playing an old maid English
teacher! Lights off again. Geo still asleep (Dramamine
tablets last twelve hours). Hostess asks if he is the
passenger who required oxygen! I doze off and on.
Breakfast (all we do is eat & use hot or cold wet towels), either omelette or mixed grill (Geo eats the latter)—it is all pretty good
(but not croissant), 15 hours in air. Everyone on
plane, squashed together, including babies & children, are very
well-behaved & good-natured. Pilot is as talkative as U.S.
ones—just announced it is 6:30 a.m. Hong Kong time. Long lines
at toilet since we will be landing in an hour and a half.
Attendants begin duty-free routine in back of plane (they even sell
Lancôme Singapore perfume!). Nice lady next to Geo the whole
time is from Philippines—has been in USA for relative's wedding.
We finally make descent—can't see much since we are, per usual, over
the wing!
SUNDAY, MAY 19,
1985
GEORGE:
Well, we managed to
arrive in Hong Kong on time. Customs was a walk through, which
was wonderful once we knew our luggage also made it. I changed
$300 US into HK $ and got a wad of paper plus a few coins. The
rate at the airport converted to about
17¢ per HK $. We then
went to find our means of transport. A few inquiries got us to
the "platform" where lo and behold, as they say in stories, there
was a person waiting for us. He took charge and the next thing
we knew we were in a white Mercedes limo being taken to the
Furama Hotel on Hong Kong
Island. At the hotel, we were expected, and
though fatigue added to our confusion over everything, we were told
in slightly strange English (dialect not grammar) it seems that we
are getting pretty much what we were led to expect. The room
(#920) looks out at
Victoria Park and has all sorts of amenities,
including a built-in hair dryer. I suspect we will really
sleep tonight. However, we do have a tour tomorrow a.m. early,
so we must be alert for that—I
trust the portable alarm will work.
We went out walking
once we unpacked. We wandered south and west of the hotel.
Saw the density first hand, and considering it was Sunday morning it
was rather impressively heavy. Tomorrow ought to be something
rather extraordinary, when I assume all will be open and at 'em.
Saw lots of construction, and even the high rise buildings are
encased in bamboo scaffolds, though not all of them. A giant
high rise near the hotel is without, but as I write this I can see
two examples, close and far. Some of these grids of poles are
then given a green webbing cocoon. I haven't seen one close up
to determine what role it plays. The nearest example is an Art
Deco, Beaux-Arts "oldie," which may be getting
tuck pointed.
Could it be a security net?
The day was hot and
humid, and so the walk, dragging my shoulder bag (with its
treasure)
was a chore. But we saw much and didn't get lost. I may
get a better map if one happens my way. The once I got has too
many names of streets only in Chinese. After tramping back and
forth, we took the funicular tram up
Victoria Peak. That is a
rather steep and spectacular ride which is not for the squeamish.
At the top we had lunch of
a hot dog and a coke. It tasted
very good indeed. We then walked on
Lugard Road
(really a
path) carved out of the face of the peak. Tropical growth
everywhere, but periodically there were spectacular views of the
harbor and the island—and
Kowloon. Then back to the hotel to rest, do a spot of laundry,
and to plot the next excursion. As I write this (on my knee) [in
margin: hence the scrawl here and throughout the journal] I see
Mila has fallen asleep.
We went to Kowloon
on the Star Ferry and thence into
Ocean Centre and Harbour City.
The urban mall to end all urban malls is in Kowloon. It has
the strange mixture of "Chinatown" and
Bannister Mall gone berserk.
And the people were there in droves. Outside, the people were
everywhere, and yet Kowloon as we saw it (near Peking Road and
Ashley) was different than Hong Kong. It is older looking and
more Asian rather than international. Tomorrow I hope to learn
more, on our tour. If not, I'll pursue it on my own as I can.
We also plan a harbor tour on Tuesday. On our way back to Hong
Kong by ferry, we sat weary and ready for bed. Got two apples
beforehand to split back at the hotel. From the ferry to the
hotel we saw in Statue Square all sorts of activity.
Chater
Garden, across from the Furama, is more sedate. But Sunday (I
suppose) brings out people to enjoy the open space and the greenery.
It is now nearly dark and still there are many.
I am so tired that I
suspect these comments made today will make little sense later.
But one impression stands out. Hong Kong is bigger, more
congested and more strangely "bi-racial" in its physical appearance
and the behavior of the people, than I anticipated. (Though
most people are Chinese.) Perhaps two more days will help me
sort it out. Now for some more water (I have had a sustained
thirst), and then to change for bed.
MILA:
Arrived & went through passport,
luggage & customs in easy fashion. I ask directions & we are
suddenly spirited outdoors by young driver to waiting
air-conditioned Mercedes to take us (just us) to our hotel & manager
who whips us through our paces: "this voucher is for
———," "this time
you must put on this pin," etc. etc. We're too punchy to take
[in] much of this, but look attentive. Go through Kowloon
"slums"(?) with high rise apartments with washing hanging out on
bamboo poles: picturesque but not pretty. Through tunnel to
Hong Kong Island & the Furama Hotel. (I'm very impressed—looks
like Wall St. area.) Everything goes very fast; whisked
through formalities & up to Room #920 where "boys" are waiting with
our bags, having gone on different elevators. Room is
interestingly Chinese, with "hotel" decor, with many
amenities—soaps, shampoos, bathroom phone, hairdryer. (In
comparison to Mojave, this must be heaven.) Two beds, two
chairs & table desk, TV stereo, another desk, but best of all great
view of architecture (Geo takes pictures). Our own personal
safe, refrigerator stocked with little bottles, a hanging lamp that
looks like a birdcage. On the floor is a shape of a foot—if
you leave your shoes there, the boy will shine them by the time you
come back. Outside our window in the mornings in Chater Park [sic],
large groups of people doing various things: swinging arms, martial
arts (lots of swords), Tai Chi Chuan (shadowboxing)—"Catch a
peacock's tail" [and] "Find a needle at the bottom of the sea" movement
sequences. I buy book on subject—originated back in 10th
Century [when a] Taoist priest sat for days watching a crane swooping
down to kill a snake. The snake twisted & turned & ended up
killing the crane. Tai Chi Chuan is essentially passive
self-defense, "meditation in movement" with beneficial effects
(including a cure for rheumatism to retard the aging process, high
blood pressure, digestive problems & insomnia). Another
exercise is called Li Shou (handswinging), shunts "the flow of blood
to the limbs, eliminating flow to head"—hence no headaches, &
achieving the meditative state. Everyone goes to work
invigorated/serene, as case may be. Absolutely fascinating to
watch all of them (luckily I have opera glasses in order to see it
all better). Above
toilet is a sign "Please note: owing to a permanent water shortage,
'Sea Water' is used in all sanitary flushing & sometime a
discoloration might appear. Thank you for understanding."
I only noticed it once & it was a nasty color.
Now around
9:30 a.m., in spite of fatigue & maybe jet lag, we decide
to go out, I equipped with touristy-information about a cunning
L-shaped little street lined with classy little boutiques within
walking distance. Geo ("has to have a map") got us there,
through incredible noise, confusion. (This is Sunday
but everyone worked.) Naturally the L-shaped street now
is perched on edge of an abyss (NO boutiques), surrounded by
jackhammers & earthmovers. Geo is tight-lipped. "Now,
what do you want to see?" Well, Victoria Peak would be
nice—have to take funicular. "How do we get there?" Hmm.
It is hot and humid (30°
[C]) & we are tired, but we find it & join the
queue of many families, including grandmas & many children, all
chattering in Cantonese Chinese (sing-song). This is Sunday,
remember. Trip up is quite spectacular, with many beautiful
views. The farther up you go, the higher the rents (excepting
the squatters here & there). Up at top we have "hot dogs"
(with mayonnaise?) & cokes; take in the many tacky souvenir shops
(buy nothing).
Back to
room to rest; then off to Harbour Ferry to go over to Kowloon side &
locate Hyatt Hotel where we would have stayed had not Joann
intervened. It is truly a bustling shopping site—lobby seemed
frenetic—glad we changed. Many shopping emporiums. Ate
in a "deli" (tuna fish on pita bread &
"white" tea—ugh!). Had
beer in The Brewery, that seemed to be inhabited totally by
Australians (who slumped at the bar). Went to bed very early
this night (8 p.m.).
[on
verso of tablet page:] Lots of construction going on—bamboo
scaffolding covered by green netting to prevent debris from raining
down on unsuspecting populace. Ocean Centre—Harbour
City—largest shopping area mall in world!?
MONDAY, MAY 20,
1985
GEORGE:
I lasted to perhaps
9 p.m. and then went to sleep. Managed to stay in bed (though
not always asleep) until 6 a.m. Finally felt rested.
Breakfast is part of the Singapore tour package, so we had hearty
American breakfasts, which go for HK $40 (or about $5.60 [US] plus
10% service). It is standard to leave another 10%, which I
did. [in margin: Later I learn it is not standard, so I
stop.] The service and the food were excellent, so we were
ready to face the day.
We had booked the
Kowloon and
New Territories Tour as part of our Singapore package,
and we were promptly picked up at 8:40 a.m. Then began a tour
of about six other hotels, on both Hong Kong and Kowloon sides.
Thus saw things otherwise missed. Then off on our extended
journey. I was on the wrong side of the bus for dramatic
harbor shots, but we booked (on our own) a grand harbor tour for
tomorrow, so I'm content I'll make up for it, and at the water
level. (Besides I have some harbor aerials from Victoria
Peak.) The tour was excellent. Although our guide had
pronunciation problems (with which I can truly sympathize), he was
very informative. I did get some (I hope) interesting photos
through the bus window. The new towns are remarkable.
Cities to house half to three-quarter million people in high rises,
complete with support facilities. I have to learn more about
this, and a later search in a rather good bookstore indicates that
while there are some books relating to these things, the material
wasn't suitable for me, or to cart about (deluxe picture books).
Once home I'll see what the literature is on Hong Kong etc.
architecture. Surely there is something. We saw other
than new towns (which are to decentralize the population into the
New Territories). What will China do with all of this after
1997? That is what the books concentrate on. We did get
up to Lok Ma Chau near China, and could see across the border.
We also visited Tuen Mun, where an old fishing village exists near
new town construction. Also went by the
Chinese University:
very mod architecture. We saw everything from squatters's huts
to temporary shelters run by the government, older period stuff, and
vast amounts of the new. The population density is very high,
but not so high that there is no rural. We saw some farming,
including fish ponds. All in all a satisfactory tour, and I
trust my photos will sample it, though bus window shots are always
questionable. We got out only at Tuen Mun and Lok Ma Chau.
After a wash up at
the hotel, Mila and I went out. We headed for lunch about 1:30
p.m., and after Chater Road turns into Des Voeux Road Central, we
found a place in a shopping arcade on the upper floors of an office
building. Called Gigi's, it was a charming if non-oriental
place where we had superb service and charm while eating next to a
fountain containing gold- (and other) fish. After lunch we
walked farther west and explored along Wing Lok Street East, and the
street (alleys) bazaars. Earlier we went through three floors
of high rise shops in a cubby hole arrangement. Some were 50
to 100 square feet. The same space was common in the street
"bazaar" stoa-type stalls. The difference is in clientele.
On the street one sees the lower class—and we were encouraged to
buy. In the "arcades" in office buildings or malls, we were
not solicited, and I cannot compare prices to know how much more
[they were].
The thing it that the two levels of commerce are close to each other
and the old is giving way to the new construction. Anyway, I
took photos of the old. The new is not picturesque nor
photographable so as to make sense.
We went then over to
the walk along the harbor. This is elevated and it could be
used in any river city if there was sufficient river traffic to
attract watchers. We sat a bit, then ambled over to
Blake's pier, from where we voyage tomorrow. We bought a beer from a
vendor (thirst is always with us) and watched harbor action from the
shade while we refreshed ourselves. Then back to the hotel to
bathe and get into fresh clothes. We got very sticky very
quickly in the heat and humidity. After cleaning up, went to Kowloon. For the second time in two days, when Mila tried to
use even change on the turnstiles for the Star Ferry, it didn't
work. Her aura? At least this time I added 10¢ HK and it
clicked. We went to the
New World Centre which is urban mall,
office buildings, hotels, etc. More of what exists everywhere
else, but with more restaurants. We ate in a Cantonese
restaurant. Unfortunately the protocol for how one eats was
not explained, so we improvised on a combination of what I've seen
on TV re: China and of U.S. Chinese restaurants. I did use
chopsticks successfully. Mila asked for a fork (and got a
knife too). We had to order separately the rice. The
food was good, but smaller portions than one gets in U.S., except
there was more rice. Afterward we toured several floors of the
mall—found half of the shops closed after 7 p.m. I took three
night photos, propping the camera on railings. One was of the
moon on Nathan Road, the other two were Hong Kong across the harbour
(should spell it ...our). It is remarkable how clean
everything is. There really isn't any litter. There are
some flies, but not many. There are, however, no seagulls.
Probably the polluted water. Perhaps the harbor [sic]
cruise will clarify this.
MILA:
Good long sleep, very quiet in hotel,
woke up alert at 4:30 a.m.! (What time am I on?) Had "free" American/Inter-Continental breakfast (you
pick from a menu) $40 HK ($5.60 [US]). I had my first (of
many) slices of mango, milk, scrambled eggs, ham & croissants.
We have to wait (with badges on) for tour in lobby (before 9:00)—I'd
really like to watch the exercises in the park. Rural taxis
green, city taxis red.
New
Territories Tour was conducted (free) by young lad in yellow
T-shirt, who lives in the New Territories. We pick up people
from all of the other hotels (ours seemed to be first)—slow but good
way to see the sights while in air conditioning. Some
passengers include: Mr. Griffith, a large bronzed New Zealander
(Jack Hawkins type in his heyday) in shorts who lives in the outback
there; a good-looking youngish German guy; a nice retired couple
from Wisconsin who live in Florida now, who were on a conducted tour
of senior citizens (some of whom complained because things weren't
the same as at home)—they'd been to Japan & Thailand & were going by
train to China); a quintessential NYC-type older couple—very loud-mouthed,
who came to shop and photograph and that's it. On one stop we labored up a very high hill to Lok Ma Chau lookout
[in margin: could see Red China border] in
very high humidity: halfway up stood a woman in native dress [in
margin: of the Hakka tribe, who wear Hakka hats, straw circles
fringed with black muslin, work like dogs in the fields] with a baby
on her hip. Her schtick was posing for tourists for $2.00 HK
(a nice little business),
but NYC female yelled "Harry, she won't make change!"
Our "rest stop" (to leak & take photos of polluted water & boat
people) was in fishing village with rather primitive lavs (Geo took
picture) & overpriced cans of soda.
Many of
the rehousing developments look like scenes from
Metropolis:
one of highest density areas in world. Tuen Mun New Town
Development Plan (rest stop)—polluted water with people living &
swimming in it.
Yuen Long Area (farming) "downtown." Un
Long flood plains. Lotus ponds (for food). Lok Ma Chau.
Sham Chun River—the natural boundary next to mainland China.
Sha Tin housing 600,000.
Prince of Wales Hospital twenty
stories high. Public housing must be signed up for years in
advance. 400,000 now (500,000 by 1990), 44% of total
population: $4,000 HK per month income. Red high rise
buildings for higher income families (homeowners): $7,000 HK for
family of three.
Ate lunch
at Gigi's (Connaught Centre—Kowloon) in a quaint bistro next
to fountain, served by lovely young girls ("Hostesses") wearing long
linen skirts & pink & white striped Victorian type blouses (quite
beautiful) on a low brass table where you had to rather
crouch down to eat, but the food was excellent: hot chicken curry
(me), pork chop with apples (Geo) with Ceylon tea & French bread,
very elegant, $107.80 HK. Ate dinner at Mitzi's Cantonese
Restaurant at New World Centre: chicken with walnuts, beef with
oyster sauce (I can't handle chopsticks still), very much non-tourist
trade. Chinese populace looked at us curiously. Back &
forth on Harbor Ferry—me messing up turnstiles that refused to
accept my coins as legit.
Various
local notes: (1) signs everywhere that say "Do not spit" but people
still do (clears system of impurities); (2) each side street in Hong
Kong Island has its own
specialty: [one has a] bird market, one has electronic equipment, one has just fabric,
another just food, one even had a barber chair doing a guy's hair; (3)
Cantonese dialect has got to be one of ugliest-sounding in world!—sing-song is
one way of characterizing it, when you get in huge crowd it can be
deafening; (4) this place is amazingly clean, there are street
cleaners, women in big straw hats with whiskbrooms and big straw basket bins,
[also] hose down plants—most people simply don't litter (obviously there is
all of the debris from the building materials but I don't mean
that). Kowloon is different from Hong Kong side—Geo says it's
a mixture of Paris & Manhattan & Chinatown with less boulevards—a
"shopper's paradise."
TUESDAY, MAY 21,
1985
GEORGE:
I slept badly, in
that I woke every two or three hours. I couldn't read the
little clock in the dark with any accuracy, so I was even more
bewildered than I should have been. I knew it wasn't 6-ish,
because no light filtered through the drapes, yet I kept reading it
as near 5 or 6 because I would reverse the position of the hands.
Well, finally it was 6 a.m. for real, and I began my wash up chores.
I discovered there was no power to my razor. The outlet is
dead. Shall have to call housekeeping soon. Another
mighty breakfast put away. Now, after skimming the courtesy
newspaper, I shall soon call Fiesta Tours to confirm our pickup
tomorrow morning at 6:45 a.m. Well, that should set me off on
wakefulness. I'll use the alarm on our travel clock. I
suppose I can also have the desk call me.
[Later] It is now long after
our day's adventures. The harbor tour did enable me to see
much I otherwise could not see. Once that two hours were up,
we transferred to the floating restaurant ship which, in fact, also
moves. We headed off on a loop in the harbor and eventually to
Aberdeen and back. On the way we had a "six" course Cantonese
meal. They kept
pushing the bar, the other American and the
two North Irish lads who shared our table, and we refused to buy
liquor. They proved to be pleasant companions. The Irish
were an accountant and his "helper," who worked in Abu Dhabi.
The American was a rep for electronic instruments. Aberdeen—where the
boat-living people are—is enormous in size and contrast. It is
a floating mobile home park, but one more self-contained.
Behind them were the ubiquitous high-rise public and private
housing. As an urban environment, it is absolutely
extraordinary. Much of the new construction is also on made
land. The situation and the resulting architecture has to be
unique. It was rather cloudy most of the day and in the
morning we ran into some rain. Life's little challenges.
We left the Jade
Dragon (or whatever its name was) at Kowloon and went to relieve and
refresh ourselves at Ocean Centre. We then began a walking
excursion of commercial Kowloon. This is a totally different
city from Victoria or Hong Kong. It is a mixture of Paris,
Manhattan and Chinatown—less boulevards and the sophistication of
the first. It is a shopper's world in that stores [and]
restaurants vie for attention in the outdoor street situation.
New World Centre, Ocean Centre etc. exist on Kowloon, but this is
different. I took pictures, and some comparisons should prove
interesting. We found a good big bookstore and there I bought
(for only $32 HK) the yearbook/report for Hong Kong. It should
prove illuminating re: facts (with which it is crammed). We
also confirmed our airport transfer tomorrow at the office in
Star
House. They acted surprised, and said everything was already
in place. I muttered to myself that I was instructed to do
this. But it is comforting to know it is done. We
finally edged our way back to the ferry, and returned quite tired by
the long day.
After bathing and
fresh clothing we went to the hotel coffee shop for dinner.
With that done, we stopped at the magazine/bookstand off the lobby,
and there I found a panoramic view of key business areas of both
Hong Kong and Kowloon. Splendid information at HK $20.
So I am equipped with necessary references. There are all
sorts of impressions buzzing around in my head. I have most of
three rolls of film shot, so about 100+ of the Hong Kong experience,
with the remainder of the preliminaries. I also have plenty of
cash left from the $300 I exchanged. Well, it is now time for
me to start packing for the morrow.
MILA:
Same breakfast—waiters seem to leave
you alone, even long after you finish, unless you signal them.
(Just this hotel or local custom? Sure is different from our
eager-beaver "serving wenches" at
Chi-Chi's who "hurry you out.")
Two large groups of Tai-Chi Chuan are out in force at 8 a.m., plus
some people with wooden swords & same[?] old man stripped to waist.
Everyone has his own space. It is overcast (surely it won't
rain on our boat trip?).
Today is
five-hour boat trip of Victoria Harbor—it did rain after about 1½
hour. Interesting ride on upper deck of pseudo-junk with odd
assorted group, narrated by bored, boring lady. We scurry
downstairs for cover but deluge soon over & it's stifling down below
so we stagger back upstairs to see sights. All at airport
landing area—see planes land & take off in rain. We never use
our two drink chits (I'm afraid I'll overload my bladder).
Transfer to large restaurant boat with indoor air-conditioned café
for lunch, which wasn't that great (seven courses—ha!): Chinese
petit fours, chicken with cashews & beef, soup (sour cabbage?).
Last course is tea which they almost didn't bring us at all &
strange little sesame dessert. The usual chopstick fiasco.
They are always pushing extras at you: extra drinks, "scroll
paintings" [with] your name written in ancient calligraphy, Irish
coffee, etc. etc. Our tablemates are funny & quite
diversified: next to me a Mel Gibson type accountant from Northern
Ireland who works in Abu Dhabi, and his blond friend who "helps" him
& reminded us of
Russell Parkinson—didn't talk much at first but
then began to chatter in almost unintelligible Gaelic accent.
Across the table is a handsome California male who deals in silicone
electronic something or other & has traveled everywhere (including
Jakarta) 30-40% of his time. Rest of time is spent in San
Jose, doing "he can't think what."
Trip
included extensive jaunt through Aberdeen & the boat people village,
which was quite illuminating since they literally live on the water,
have their own churches, hospitals, shopping areas, etc. We
bade farewell to our companions & got off on Kowloon side to check
up on next morning's pickup arrangements for airport, also paid
visit to the Brewery, still frequented by the inevitable
Australians. Had very long, long walk through streets
of Kowloon & then endless shopping malls. Very humid & warm
(32° C) & tiring, with lots of photographs & lots of people. A
group of giggling young schoolgirls ([aged] 10-11) in white uniforms
approach Geo with a tape recorder & reading from scribbled notes.
I answer most of the questions (some of which they had trouble
reading): "Are you a tourist?" "What do you think of Hong Kong?"
"What do you see?" "Do you think Hong Kong is a shopper's paradise?"
"I came to see
things, not to shop," said Geo. Giggle,
giggle, covering mouths. Geo took their photo [as] off they
went to "interview" other tourists. Saw kids on play
equipment, street signs. Trip back on ferry is endless.
Back at
hotel I take bath & collapse. Decide to stay in hotel for
dinner in coffee shop, which turned out to be quite good (chowder,
Greek salad, rolls & tea). People also there look like an
assortment from 1985 version of an Agatha Christie novel, plus
pretty Chinese waitresses (giggle). Due to some breakdown in
communication (I think Geo was signaling for check), he is presented
with a jar filled with toothpicks, & then a large glass of water!
(Giggle.) Out in the lobby another drama unfolds:
distinguished diplomat types appear,
John DeLorean look-alikes, plus
women in designer dresses, little
Clouseau type men, while a combo
in the bar plays, accompanied by a strange bearded drummer.
Once more,
back in our room, gremlins have been at work: lights on above the
beds, chocolates on pillows, covers turned back & a flashing
red light on our phone. Consternation! How Joann called?
They aren't in Asia? Geo went down for message which was "What
time are you leaving tomorrow?"—hmm. We pack (tedious)
& put in call for 5:30 a.m., since we are to be picked up at
6:45. Tomorrow is the 22nd! Will we meet? Will
they—she—be there? Will we get to our destination?
WEDNESDAY, MAY 22,
1985
GEORGE:
Another fitful
night, including strange dreams. Not unpleasant, just strange.
My alarm sounded off a bit late, but this was due, it seems, to the
clock running slow. But it was still early enough and before
the wake up call from the hotel. We finished our packing after
bathroom chores, and went to the lobby to visit on our transfer to
the airport. We sat in a prominent position, wearing our
orange badges. And quite close to 6:45 a man appeared, also
wearing an orange badge—quite large. He was our driver.
No Mercedes limo this time—a Nissan mini-van. We were the
only pickup and off we went to the airport. After a brief wait
we got checked in. There they X-ray all baggage, and signs
indicated film fogging would result. I was glad to have gotten
the extra shields to protect the film. Then it was to the
restaurant for breakfast. That was barely adequate, but we had
a marvelous window seat overlooking the apron and runway. And
about 8 a.m. we saw our plane land. Once aboard, it was my
usual routine and I slept a good portion of the flight. We
landed in Singapore only a few minutes late (traffic) and were
whisked into the fanciest air terminal yet. And it is a
shopper's paradise. Oh so tempting to buy this, that, and all.
I shall restrain myself, except to change my HK $ for S[ingapore] $ and get
some sort of Indonesian guidebook.
This is actually now
Thursday, but I'll conclude the day's adventures in this entry.
We arrive in Indonesia at
Jakarta's brand new airport, a rambling,
low-lying structure with numerous individual roofs of red tile,
which later I sense relate to a native village "skyline." We
wander first in open grill "arcades" in 92° F and high humidity,
then enter an air-conditioned hall for quarantine check, then as we
approach passport I see Joann with baggage cart waiting for us.
A wonderful sight! Baggage is there, we are confronted by a
sort of surly customs type, but other than a few zippers opened [on
luggage] we
are passed through, with papers scribbled on to release us, no
doubt, on our way out of the country. We then migrate into
utter confusion of the taxi area. Joann goes across the busy
road to alert her driver, and soon a car arrives with
white-uniformed chauffeur, and off we go in air-conditioned comfort
(still
right-hand drive). It is a long freeway toward town;
obviously it is a new road. We pass what I would call shanties
in marshes. Then a garbage dump (from the smell and
appearance) on which people are walking and scavenging.
The trip to the
Souliers's house is one with a cross section of Jakarta in [the]
process of converting from old to new on view. Finally we pass
high rise buildings, finished and under construction. The
technique of construction includes the Hong Kong scaffolding.
Then we arrive at this house behind a wall with a small but fierce
guard. [in margin: It turns out that he was not their
guard, but perhaps just visiting from the Philippines residence next
door.] There is a staff of small, youngish servants, all
dressed in white, as was the chauffeur. They wear the
Sukarno-type hat. By the way, the drive took us past and
through very heavy traffic. At one point I thought we
had a bus coming through my door as it changed lanes. We
missed by inches—perhaps two. In the house (to be described
later in bits and pieces) which is rented, we find flowers
everywhere. I know, as yet, only a large "living-reception"
room, our [bed]room with its attached bath/dressing room, and a dining
room one enters from a marble terrace. The last two (and our
room which opens as do other rooms onto the terrace) have a view of
a handsome garden (which I am looking at as I write this on the
terrace). The rooms are filled with flowers. It is all
very stimulating. The air conditioning inside, and the need to
unpack and refresh ourselves, is more inviting than the terrace (and
demanding).
Jean is not yet
home. But soon after we unpack, he arrives; and the bottle of
chilled champagne is drained amidst joyous exchanges. Jean has
a cocktail party to which he must go, but returns by 8 p.m. We
then go into the salle à manger to be served multiple
courses: vichyssoise, paté, lobster,
salad, wine with all but the crêpes, and champagne with crêpes.
Tea in the reception/living room, and conversation about all sorts
of things. We learn of ghosts [and] spirits; we talk about
Indonesia, Jakarta, Bangkok, Singapore, Hong Kong, the U.S.A.,
retirement, etc. Finally it is time for bed, and a most
eventful day is concluded.
MILA:
Up at 5:30 a.m.—packed etc. Met
(promptly, by the way) by a Nissan mini-van. To airport by
7:00—checked in by 7:20. Decided to get breakfast before
taking off. Finished three sunny-side-up eggs, one piece dry toast
that I attempted to spread with chunks of butter, ham & OJ.
We are overlooking takeoff & landing area, that strip of
reclaimed land that sticks out into the water. We see Air
India & Thai Air take off and then our own plane land (Geo takes
photo). Have
time to see sights outside: an "old" guy in a cap on a
bicycle is pedaling slower than anyone I've ever seen before—part of
the morning exercise regimen? He slowly maneuvers around the planes (no clue what his function is).
An old cleaning woman sweeping the floor with a broom has on a sleeveless smock,
the back says "Electrolux." This is not an elegant
airport or restaurant. Wonder why not?
Notes on
British Hong Kong: cars & buses drive on "wrong" side of the
road; steering wheels on right side; phones ring two times at a go;
horns & taxis "sound" British; an occasional (but not often)
Raj
type man or memsahib (he with a mustache, she with teeth); but they
[will] relinquish control in 1991 (?) & [then] Hong Kong becomes
Chinese.
On board
Singapore Airlines, flight to Singapore, we have the inevitable Indian woman with two small
children across the aisle (always well-behaved) & interesting
bearded man in suit & tie next to Geo. Singapore Airlines
gives one a choice of only juice, beer or wine (no hard
liquor)—then tea or coffee. Food: we had seafood
cocktail with prawns, carrots & broccoli & almond cake. Land
on time at Singapore Airport, everything that Hong Kong Airport is
not: clean, beautiful, elegant (discreet signs
say "no-smoking" or "smoking allowed"), waiting lounge even has a
piano—lots & lots of expensive shops. Everyone seems to be expensively
dressed, including children. Geo exchanges some money.
Plane on time, aboard a flight resembling the Love Boat (are these
people going on to Bali?): shrieking American students dressed
"inappropriately," an "ugly American" male type in shorts next to
me—really not a nice crowd! Arrive on time, landing in Jakarta.
Have to stagger over hill & dale (not much of it air-conditioned) to
get to passport control—see Joann just beyond it in a green silk
dress & heels, pushing a baggage cart. Get through all of the
necessaries okay, but frankly I think it would have been much nastier without her because
the crowds are awful & the customs authorities do unzip & pummel quite bit
(nasty guards).
Outside is
heat (92°) & pandemonium—Joann locates the driver,
"George," who
negotiates us through chaos of going-home traffic: boys selling
newspapers out in highway, packed buses, pollution, horns, marshes,
shanties, garbage dumps. Back to the residence of the
Ambassador with guards
(one fierce-looking one was NOT French Embassy guard but belonged to
Philippines next door). All windows have bars, all doors have
locks (which are used). Soon they will build a sentry tower.
We have a "suite" (though living room
is not really furnished—has a few
pieces of neo-Nazi furniture that Joann loathes—so we don't use it. Anyway, this
room faces out on street—noisy). Bedroom faces back of house
(next to garage) & garden, so is quiet & dark. Our bed has
embroidered sheets (white with coral) & coral mohair throw blanket &
beautiful coral damask bedspread with matching headboard—room has
oriental rug on top of carpeting—a few tables & two chairs, not much
else. Off of this is a hall with a wardrobe & woven basket for
dirty laundry, leading to bath. Two floor-to-ceiling
windows—width of one wall on one side & most of side on other, facing garden with French
doors lined with gold drapes. Very attractive. [Joann]'s put
books on Indonesia on one of the tables, which we Do Read!
Outside is marble terrace with white outdoor wooden furniture—deck
chairs with table & at other end, table & chairs where we
[will] have
breakfast. Looking out at yard we look through amazing hanging
foliage resembling mauve-colored Spanish moss (like a curved theatric
curtain).
Joann left
us to unpack & rest while she dealt with things (Jean detained).
When he arrived, we shared a whole bottle of champagne in a silver
bucket. I am rather jet-lagged after 4-5 hours from Singapore,
so all of the drinks don't go over too well. Dinner is really
something—we have vichyssoise, paté with toast, lobster on
half-shell, salad & crepes, all served by three waiters in uniform
(white nylon with black fezes, white gloves with black buttons [&]
occasional discolorations & holes) on silver trays or china with
Embassy logo in separate dining hall modeled on old
Dutch reception
hall. Table has little bisque figurines in shape of Cupid (?)
in center & huge masses of colorful flowers, including orchids.
Their house features basic color scheme of rose-coral-mauve,
oriental rugs, gold drapes, bisque busts, Chinese porcelain
and vases, overstuffed sofa & chairs. The buttons for
[summoning] servants
don't seem to work—electricity gives out occasionally.
"Things" have a way of going out or not working, due to spooks,
ghosts, spirits, magic, or just plain inefficiency. Joann
fears that they didn't have the appropriate ceremony to exorcise
evil spirits from this house (in it only a year) so
they will have
to move on. Old house was abandoned because of its proximity
to loudspeaker recordings of
muezzin chants (also had rats).
Also new gardener transplanted (uprooted) mango tree (an outrage to the landlady). Hence, "things" go wrong. They have
their own generator, but servants don't always turn it on.
They "forget." Two phrases in Indonesian
Bahasa are
most popular: "Not yet" & "I forget/forgot." (No
present-past-future tenses.) Souliers also have a new wine
with each course. I get so muzzled by end of meal, I can't
remember a thing about it. Slept OK but Geo is still restless. I get up at 4:30
a.m. to use john & hear strange sounds. (Muezzin?
No—guard's radio.)
THURSDAY, MAY 23,
1985
GEORGE:
Sleep was much
easier last night, though I still did a bit of tossing (strange
bed). Finally, while back into a sleep, I heard tap tap.
Then tap tap. It seemed unclear from where it came, except it
went on such that I realized it was someone knocking on the door.
It was a few minutes after six a.m., and there was the "house boy"
at the door. "Breakfast?" he said. I suggested 7 a.m.
was a better time. I then took a shower, shaved and got into
fresh clothing, and left the bathroom to Mila. Went out on the
terrace to write in the journal (this was about 6:45 a.m.).
However, my glasses fogged up. They, of course, were cold in
contrast to the outside, due to the air conditioning. Since
then, I've lowered the fan and thermostat readings. At 7 a.m.
the French-speaking house boy came out and asked if I wanted le
petit dejeuner. Yes, I said. He wanted to know
where, and I opted for the terrace. And soon it came and so
did Mila and we enjoyed the garden and our French breakfast
à la Indonesia.
Afterward I
read (inside) about Historic Sites in Jakarta. Jean said
goodbye on his way to his office. About 8 a.m.
Joan[n] turned
up and after some chatting, we went excursioning. We went
first to the
National Museum. This is in a former Colonial
(Classic Revival) building. The collection is extraordinary—all
Indonesian except for an amazing group of Chinese ceramics and a bit
of Dutch Colonial. The display methods are primitive, along
with the labeling, but there are some fine things, and potentially
very useful for learning about the heterogeneity of the country,
which is slowly being pulled together by a common language,
partially invented. English does seem to be a widespread
second language in that one sees a lot of signs of one sort or
another in English. From that museum, which did have local
people in it looking at things—most seemed to be students—we went to
the puppet museum. We were the only ones in attendance.
Some labels had partial English translations and from there, as well
as the Indonesian terms, once can see how much more diverse these
puppets are in form and character than first I thought. Some
are solid, others are meant to be partial transparencies, some are
three-dimensional. They are used (or have been) for
instruction as well as [to tell] the old stories. We saw a hell/heaven,
Jesus, Adam & Eve Christian group. Another dealt with the
struggle for independence. The museum was in a former old
Dutch house, and so we saw something of that form. Solid,
stone floors, high, high [sic] ceilings, a side court.
We then went to a
very modern international-type hotel for lunch. During the
driving in the morning I took pictures, through the windshield of
the car, of city views. One can see the different layers of
time and cultural significance side by side, or laterally layered as
the later displaced the older. The traffic for me was
horrific. From buses and
lorries to many autos (many all
small), varying in age and efficiency, to motor tricycles (like
little go-carts with cabins) to motor bikes to motor scooters to
bicycles. And pedestrians dodging through. Traffic does
not go in lanes, even where marked. Happily major streets are
separated into opposite lanes by canals or drainage ditches, so some
separation of traffic is enforced. Yet it is a constantly
weaving in and out with minimal spaces separating vehicles.
Jakarta has 7,000,000 population and they seem always on the go.
Pollution is very bad—you see it in the dirt coming out of exhausts
and in the haze.
I finally got some
money changed. It is basically 1,100 rupiah [rp] for $1 [US].
So for $200 US I got over 220,000 rupiah, mostly in 10,000 R notes.
Yet they also have 5 R coins. Here is an aspect of culture
shock as one grasps to handle transactions, which finally I began to
make. Next it was off to the harbor where the native
inter-island sea transport occurs. Strange jut-prowed wooden
vessels, with lumber as a major cargo, being unloaded (or loaded—I
couldn't be sure) by hand, two boards at a time on the shoulder.
Also saw rusted-out small steel freighters that seemed to deal in
other products. Confusion everywhere—yet order. We also
saw the fish market, but it was essentially closed down, it being
late in the afternoon. But most intriguing was the opportunity
to see lower economic classes in terms of their housing and shops.
Here the people looked different from center city, dressed in garb
more obviously from non-urban areas. Life was more on the
street. These peaked red-tiled roofed shelters were matched by
old Colonial-type warehouses, etc. So as one moved from place
to place one could see old Jakarta with exploited natives, to modern
Jakarta with a mixture of exploited and more upwardly mobile
natives. In the bank, the exchange consumed twenty minutes and
a lot of paperwork, and several people. Yet it occurred in a
modern facility with computers everywhere in use. In
construction one sees extensive hand labor from digging to whatever.
Yet a totally modern architecture and infrastructure is being
created by these and more modern means. This was once
marshland, and canals (often stagnant) are everywhere. We saw,
near the harbor mentioned above, areas that I think are being
reclaimed by using them as garbage dumps—to elevate the land. Well, more harrowing
driving took us to two shops away from the commercial streets and
glitzy hotels. Mila bought some batik work for a total of
about $23 US. I gather we will return, for there are replica
masks, puppets, etc.
Upon returning to
the residence we discussed our schedule for Jakarta, Borobudur and
Bali. Tomorrow reservations shall be made. I gather this
will be a five-day expedition. Tonight about 8 p.m.
we go out to dinner at a Thai restaurant. It is, for me, life
in the fast lane—as they say. The restaurant is in a very
modern apartment building. Jakarta at night is visually rather
different, in that one sees the modern and the bustle but not the
shabby. And driving in a chauffeured car has its advantages.
The restaurant was picked became the Souliers were in Bangkok for so
long, and there are no good Indonesian restaurants (though some
modern hotels serve some dishes). Jean ordered, and as best as
I can describe it we had a shrimp soup, grilled fish, frog legs,
chicken with spices, and fried crisp noodles. Most of the
dishes were "hot," but not too bad. The fish and frog legs
were rather gentle (since they were grilled). The noodles had
side condiments (as did the fish) which I skipped. We ended
with a tropical fruit whose name I cannot recall, and the taste I
cannot compare to anything except a kind of cinnamony apricot. Then it was back to
the residence. Jean was distressed that a buffet for some had
been put in at the Thai restaurant, for this changed the ambiance,
but on departure we learned that it was for Ramadan. It was
designed to assist the devout Muslims who at sunset could break
their fast—quickly.
MILA:
Next morning we have knock on door at
6:00 a.m. "Come back at 7:00," says Geo. It's a little
man with our breakfast on a silver tray. We ate outside on
terrace (a bit steamy, our eyeglasses steamed up)—had a glass of
canned grapefruit juice, two croissants, two pieces of toast, coffee
& tea in silver pots—on linen napkins with embroidery. Geo
wants to take photos but his camera fogs up too (contrast from air
conditioning to outside is extreme). Takes awhile—any
day—to get started. The car & driver have to be ordered.
This is "George" (whose real name is Mohamed), middle-sized with
moustache. He has lived in Belgium & driven for diplomats
there, I believe—is fasting for Ramadan—has five
children (where do they live)? By 9:30 or 9:45 we take off
to see the sights.
Went to National Museum, filled with students even though school is out for
Ramadan, all in uniforms of white tops, black trousers or skirts
(men with black fez).
Museum only costs 5¢ so everyone can afford it. NOT air
conditioned & not too well kept up, though they have many
fascinating things from all over Indonesia: shadow puppets, wooden
puppets, puppets for children, masks, dragon costumes, vases,
furniture, artifacts. To me, all seem in need of repair,
though guards are scrubbing cabinet doors with soap & water.
"George" always parks right in front of entrances (must "pay" a
price to do this), so we never walk anywhere. Streets
are busy, dirty—people seem unsavory-looking, everyone tries to sell you something. "You a student? a
collector? want to buy a Kris?" No, no, no.
Next stop is
Wayang Museum.
No one there. Admission: 10¢. All sorts of
gamelan
instruments, textiles, puppets in shape of Adam & Eve, Satan &
Hellfire, made by a preacher to illustrate family planning. This is
housed in 1930s rebuilding on old foundation (Dutch 18th Century).
Drive through old Batavia—reeking canals. Thinking of
The
Year of Living Dangerously. See several squares with huge
monuments in the center, old city is "Kota" & "Glodok" (outside of
the walls).
Ate lunch
in very elegant newish hotel, the
Mandarin: had croissant with
salmon, pastrami & melted cheese & iced tea. Went
to WC, bought & mailed Post Cards in hotel. "George"
(Mohammed) has disappeared & new driver [is] outside.
Name? "Zanni" (darker, smaller, does
not wear white uniform). He has had nine children (??!—two
have died), is older & is not fasting; he is a truly
aggressive
driver! We drive around, seeing many sights, including fishing
area, boat people, large sailboats that sail to islands with
goods—which they were loading (wood, flour, wine, metal stuff).
Drove to large fish market through horribly poor neighborhood—people
living on garbage dumps over fetid canals. Market closed—too late
in day. Had to pay 200 [rupiahs?] to go inside barbed wire
fencing to see area. Later we visit two ships—one modest,
well-stocked with variety of all kinds of wares from all parts of
Indonesia, large assortment. I buy some batiks, small
tablecloth for Mom & large spread for me—quite marvelous.
(This owner does NOT bargain.) Next ship: haute couture!
Designer stuff: gorgeous & very expensive things (makes own woven
fabrics). Air-conditioned, did not buy anything.
Back to
house & was amused by their security guard who never seems to be
around to open the gate. He is what Jean calls a "watch-puppy"
called Manisot, very young (looks like a 12 year old) with
innocent open face, ungainly walk (ill-fitting boots?), khaki
uniform & cap (often off) & small whistle used to halt traffic
(ha) when our car goes out of the gate.
He has wide innocent grin, likes to salute & listen to his large ghetto
blaster stereo, but doesn't really "guard." Joann wants a new,
more menacing one.
We [have]
beer & rest for two hours, then Jean takes us out to a Thai
restaurant—which features very hot food (selected by Jean—he loves
Thai things & wears Thai batik shirts for evening restaurant dining,
as do many other men). We have HOT shrimp soup,
Garoupa fish &
frogs legs (not hot, nice), chicken with peppers, marbleized noodles
& sweet strange fruit like apple-mango combo & tea. "Geo" is
waiting with car when we finish & creates scene of horn-honking when
one gate is closed at our return (no doubt Manisot is involved with
stereo). "Geo" vaults gate & falls, returns with guard.
(Other gate is open.) To bed at 11:00 with burning mouth &
throat.
[on
verso of tablet page:] At the Mandarin Hotel coffee lounge
they have page boys who carry little message contrivances with flags
on top with person being paged's name & a little bell that
dingalings (no one replied).
FRIDAY, MAY 24,
1985
GEORGE:
Once again I am on
the terrace, and either it is less hot and humid or I am
acclimating. Breakfast on the terrace, with silver service and
porcelain plates, and houseboys serving (in the sense [that] they bring
things out) is something one could get used to—except it is
complicated in so many ways. I had to resurrect my French and
I end up eating what is given me. The chance to make my own
food as I want, and precisely when I want, is not so easily
accomplished in such a routine. Also, one is always conscious
of the class discrepancies. I can see how one can shelter
oneself from the difference between servant and the served, but
there are little signs that there are social problems. There
are metal grills on all windows and doors. There is much
locking and unlocking of doors—many of which are not opened because
(in most cases it seems) there are two sets of doors (and locks) to
the outside. I was warned by a woman in the shop where Mila
bought the batik that I should be careful re: my wallet (which
carries, actually, little cash and no important documents).
Also I gather walking on the streets among the general population,
with something like a camera bag, is to tempt a mugging snatch.
However, we are always driven door to door. Nevertheless,
today I switch to my portfolio re: carrying money, camera etc., and
I shall do the same in
Yogya, Borobudur and Bali.
A slow day in
contrast to others. We started late in large part because
Joann was arranging the Bali, Borobudur, Yogya reservations (which I
gather takes enormous time in calling back and forth). But all
is arranged. We leave on Sunday.
Today we went to
Taman Mini Indonesia Indah, or Beautiful Indonesia in Miniature
Park. This is way out of Jakarta, and it is an
educational/cultural theme park. In addition to facilities
(including buildings for various religions—the mosque was active)
and a large theatre which shows one of those overwhelmingly
big-screen images movie of Indonesia, crafts centre, etc., there
are "compounds" for each of the cultural areas, with typical housing
of the native kind. These all surround a lake in which the
islands are displayed to scale, over which one can take a sky ride,
or buzz about in a small motor boat. Oh yes, there is also a
bird display and a museum. We drove around the perimeter road,
then parked and had a picnic lunch. We then went to the movie
(which was very well done). Afterwards, the car dropped us
near the cultural area and from there we went on foot. (Come
to think of it, we ate after the movie.) Throughout the park,
which was not heavily attended that day (the park is way, way out),
there were Indonesians of various ethnic stock and age. We
were among the half-dozen non-Asians I saw. The idea of the
park is to foster a single-nation identity despite (and retention
of) ethnic diversity. Since two-thirds of the nation's
population live in Jakarta, and all are not Javanese, the park does
reach (potentially) a significant number of people. The museum
had modern display techniques and was air-conditioned. While
not large, the collection stressed culture, the Wayang (puppets),
the Gamelan, costume, textiles, certain artifacts. There were
several "period rooms."
Upon return, and
after much reading, I had a chance to speak to Jean before he headed
out to a function. The national identity I saw being supported
by the park and the museums does exist. Bahasa, the somewhat
synthetic Indonesian language which is "official," helps. Yet
ethnic individuality is not discouraged. English is also
widely used (not much in the signage in museums, however) and
children were anxious to try out words, such as "Hello, Sir."
They seem truly friendly. But then we lead a rather shielded
experience under these circumstances. For example, there are
virtually no flies at the residence. I've seen one
cockroach-type bug in the bathroom one night, and a small
chameleon-type lizard. A few (actually many) ants and
mosquitoes. Yet surely in other areas there is more "vermin."
The squatters in their miserable huts, on or near dumps, must be
subject to all sorts of things.
In the evening my
reading got to a book titled Revolt in Paradise, by
K'tut Tantri.
This is a Manx-American woman who became Balinese by choice before
the war and ended up, after Japanese prison camp, a revolutionary.
[Her book] was published by Heinemann in 1960. Joann can't
find a copy of her own (this is the Embassy's copy). We shall
look in Britain/London and see if we can find one for her. [in
the margin: Alas, we did not make the effort.] The book is
fascinating, and I am turning to it now. It does not paint a
very nice image of the Dutch officials. I see a Masterpiece
Theatre-type series in this (after
Jewel in the Crown, they no doubt could do it).
The evening ended
with just the three of us having a lovely meal (Jean was doing
official duties), and after sitting and visiting on the terrace I
finally said I had to go to bed. And so did we all.
MILA:
Better sleep—only woke up at 5:30
(once). Cooler? My glasses do NOT fog up. Boy
serves breakfast at 7 a.m. on terrace, which is marble with series
of steps that lead down into the garden—can't see birds but heard
them—see butterflies. At one end is a rock grotto that
obviously once had running water—adjacent is dining room with pagoda
shape with tile roof.
I am still
jumpy. When we drove up to National Museum [yesterday] & I saw
young men on steps apparently holding guns, I got nervous—but they
were [holding] only carved wooden long things that [the men] were
trying to push. But apparently there are occasional mysterious
fires & explosions in town & two department stores are burned out,
at least one of them accidentally. Also the feet-high piles of
garbage along water (canals?) are disconcerting, to say the least.
Haven't been attacked by mosquitoes yet—only have seen two here,
very small, and one tiny crawling bug; all of which I killed.
(The servants use flit guns.) I think the density, noise &
pollution of the traffic is the worst of all—driving to places is
harrowing, but our drivers are ruthless—look like they would run
down pedestrians with no remorse. Have not seen one
accident, just lots of honking, waving arms, & pedestrians (many
with small children) running out across traffic to get to other
side. Many very small motor bikes (Joann calls them kamikazes)
darting in & out of traffic, many motorized rickshaws, many bikes
(kid in front of us carrying a basket filled with pigeons—to eat, I
assume). Our major encounters are with buses emitting horrible
black pollution that change lanes at will. "Geo" will not give
an inch (Zanni, we learn later, is even more ruthless).
We will
have a five-day trip starting Sunday, via
Garuda (Indonesian
Airways) to Joyakarta [Yogyakarta] (East Java) & Bali to see Borobudu &
Prambanan
temples. Joann is making the arrangements.
My,
Joann['s], & Jean's
horoscope for today in the Indonesian
Observer: "A splendid day is in store. Luck is very
definitely on your side, & success should crown all your efforts.
Some kind of prize or award is likely to come to you soon." It
turned out to be prophetic. We [went] about twenty miles out
of town today to brand new (nine years old) development called
Indonesia in Miniature Park. The word "miniature" is
misleading, since the Park is as extensive as Disneyland, featuring
apparently as many enclaves of buildings as there are islands.
It was opened by
Suharto in 1976 but still doesn't seem to be completely finished
as to interiors. There is a huge cinema amphitheatre where
from "VIP" seats we saw a "Sensurround"
film about Indonesia [on] a building-large screen [with]
rollercoaster-like movements: witnessing from above volcanoes
erupting, accidents in street (ooh, ahh), ballgames, dances from all
kinds of cultures, ceremonies (weddings etc.), kids in school.
Quite gorgeous (produced in California) & very popular. Lots
of people & bused-in schoolkids in audience. Joann paid for
Zanni to attend since he'd never seen it (he refused VIP
admission—"No, madam"). We even got out early enough to use
semi-nice WC indoors. Asian toilets feature pail of water with
which to "splash your privates"—results in lots of water on floor,
hence no place to put purses (no hangers in there either).
Drove around area in car. Had picnic lunch in play area:
featured (from cooler & picnic basket) paté sandwiches, cold
carrots, cucumber slices, beer or Perrier or red wine, pineapple
slices—great. (Zanni goes to "removed" area.) Went into
several compounds with Geo photographing madly—some remarkable
architecture of "native tribes"—many buildings on stilts (?)—some
from Sumatra that looked as though they were calico: carved in
several colors, red with little "mirrors" (like Pakistan), thatched
roofs clamped together with carved silver clamps & steep roofs.
It got pretty hot & humid, so we were glad to end up in gorgeous,
posh, AIR-conditioned Bali-type building that was the
museum
with wonderful displays (& WCs) of gamelan orchestras, shadow &
golek puppets, many
varieties of costumes, textiles, carvings, jewelry, on three floors.
Speaking of costumes, every day Joann has on a different dress
(mostly silk, some cotton), each one more exquisite than the rest,
that suit her coloring & slender shape.
Ride home
isn't too bad. I rest, wash hair, bathe, redress, & marvel
over stack of clean, pressed clothing, done by houseboy's
tiny grandmother (she looked 37 years old). Dinner:
soup, cream of avocado with caviar on top; coque au vin with vegs &
potatoes, assortment of fruits, brandy & lemon tea. To bed.
From Historical Sites of Jakarta by
A. Heuken:
Peci = headgear for Muslims. Half of all Javanese are
Santri Muslims.
40% of population are said to earn less than $520 a year.
Exotic fruits called
mangosteen
(manggis)
"most perfect of all fruits" &
jackfruit (nangka).
Rupiah - currency. (Cost to Jayakarta & Bali - $374 for two.)
SATURDAY, MAY 25,
1985
GEORGE:
I slept soundly
throughout the night; didn't rise even for relief. Woke
promptly at 6 a.m. Obviously I am now adjusted. The
morning was fragmented. We did get to the travel agent and
have purchased our airline tickets on Garuda, the Indonesian
airline, for Yogya and then Bali. Paid by Amex and this came
to 374,000 Rupiahs. That gives one pause until one realizes it
is less than $375 for the two of us.
We then drove up to
Puncak Pass, south of Jakarta about 75 km, to have lunch. The
ride is spectacular in its later (higher) reaches, but harrowing
given the traffic, the driving habits, and my sitting in the front.
I did wing off a few [photographic] shots at 1/500 of a sec.
While hardly off the beaten path, since the road connects Jakarta
and Bandung (the latter the third largest city), it is largely rural
and "hill country bungalow" terrain. Commercial activity in
small shops and stands string along the roadside. And one does
see more sarong-clad women, and even some men, then elsewhere in our
brief experience. Also more men carrying loads on ends of
shoulder poles. Lunch was modest but Indonesian. Finally
I could pay for something. Then leaving we were surrounded
densely with young lads hawking this that and whatever. I was
stern, and this was taken as bargaining, so prices fluctuated
downward—or perhaps sideways. I really didn't cooperate.
But we had to struggle into the car. The trip back to town was
white knuckle. Zani [sic], the driver, reached 140 km
on the freeway, and that is about 88 mph. Downhill it was
often 50 mph or more. I see no speed limits. Some stop
signs seem to be ignored. Lanes mean nothing. Vehicles,
halted with some malady, periodically appear on the almost
non-existent shoulders. There are no announced speed limits
[in the margin: later I do see some, which I fear mean little
to our driver]. Black fumes spew from all sorts of vehicles.
Sometimes it is a true smoke screen obscuring visibility for those
behind. In any case, we returned safe (but am I sound?).
Another note.
This morning we experienced a power failure and dropped water
pressure. The house staff did not put on the generator until
informed/instructed to do so about twenty minutes later.
Initiative seems lacking—perhaps to avoid errors, or to just avoid
work. Joann doesn't know. It is, indeed, another world. The routine in the
residence is interesting. Jean and Joann have their quarters
upstairs, while we are in a room, with bath adjacent, off the
reception room. Thus when we return from a trip or in the
early morning, we are isolated and could well be in a fashionable
old-style hotel with a staff which will bring you drinks etc.
In the late afternoon/early evening, I tend to sit and read in the
"hotel lounge" while Mila stretches out and reads in our room.
At seven tonight, the "houseboy" (what is he actually?) came and
asked if I wanted a drink. I pondered and then ordered two gin
and tonics. Service is slow, but always the silver tray, white
gloves, and a curious formality reminiscent of old Masterpiece
Theater programs showing us colonial life. At eight Jean
and Joann appear. We have animated conversation for about
twenty minutes, ranging across trivial to global subjects.
Then we adjourn to the dining room, where we have exquisitely
prepared evening meals. There was champagne added this night,
because this has to serve as
our anniversary party; tomorrow we
depart for other Indonesian parts. In the long dinner (because
of the conversation) I urge that they come to the U.S. and K.C. on
their 25th anniversary, so we can reciprocate (though hardly at the
same level of elegance). I point out that Jean then will be
free of official duties (retirement at 65 is mandatory, and he just
turned 63), and by then well settled in their house in France and
can indulge [in] a visit. I think I saw a look in his eye
which says that this was worth considering. Much later I
ponder what would be an ideal itinerary. I can see the
possibilities of showing him things he would truly find interesting,
and for Joann as well. In a wild flight of fancy, I end by
having a dinner/reception at the
Wornall House, to which I would
invite a variety of interesting people. This because on the
31st (I believe) there will be such an event [here] at the residence, with
a mixture of people both Indonesian and diplomatic. (The
U.S.
Ambassador, it turns out, is out of the country.)
Well, tomorrow is
Yogya and the day after, I think, Borobudur. The lessons and
the stimuli continue at full speed.
MILA:
Breakfasts have gotten more elaborate
each morning: today a tray of assorted fruits (the only
recognizable one being honeydew melon, also papaya & some from last
night's dinner). Yesterday at the bird park we saw a huge
vulture-eagle (?) they called a
Garuda
(which I thought was a mythical bird), parrots, toucans,
gouras (sort of teal
blue with pretty topknots) & small exotic types who waddled around [in
margin:
cassowary birds]. Speaking of getting around, last night
we had our tea & brandy out on terrace & I watched small pale
lizards (called "tjitjaks")
scurrying around the walls—very cute—they "sing"—only see them at
night (Geo saw one in our bathroom at 3 a.m., also large cockroach).
This
morning at 9:15 a.m. water pressure went down & all power went off.
Joann (who, with Jean, came back the day before we arrived, from
France) says now she really feels that she's back home. All
came back on at 9:30.
We go to
bank & travel agency to get tickets for trip. Then drove up to
Puncak Pass, highest point in mountain, with signs along road
advertising Kentucky Fried Chicken, guys selling paintings that roll
up, etc. This is sort of [a] resort area with unfortunately
lots of traffic—Zanni is determined to get ahead (88 miles per hour)
of slower traffic ahead of us; Geo (my Geo) is white-knuckling it in
front seat (L) next to driver. At lunch in Puncak Pass Hotel,
have strange mixture of brown rice, chicken, cucumbers, hot peppers
& crisp fried crackerbread (as in India) called
Krupuk—Indonesian
pretzel (looking like thin plastic). Trip down not so
harrowing; or "I forgot." Joann says many people like to have
weekend retreats up there away from heat & smog. Dinner
consisted of gazpacho (HOT with onions) soup, tournedos of beef with
tiny potatoes & broccoli, tiny ears of corn cut up into small
squares (served twice), chocolate mousse. Had chartreuse[?],
tea in other room. Very pleasant conversation until 11:30.
Not so good sleep; Geo restless, room warmer. Time to be
moving on—
[on
verso of tablet page:] Our bath has its own water heater,
hence hot water is boiling—blue ceramic toilet, bowl & tub (deep
tub which I fell into once)—provided on towel rack were various
heavy towels, huge robes of terrycloth—too heavy—never really dried
out (air conditioning didn't extend that far)—sometimes lights
didn't all turn on at same time. Window out to garage
area—noisy all night (guard's radio obviously contributed to it).
On sink was bottle of mineral water & two glasses. We use
[the] water for drinking & brushing teeth. Bathroom is "dark"
most of time. It gets dark here around 5:30.
SUNDAY, MAY 26,
1985
GEORGE:
It is our
anniversary—29 years. And it is a day of adventures. We
are to begin with Jean accompanying us to the Wayang Museum to
see/hear a performance. We are supposed to depart at 9:30 a.m.
No driver. Efforts are expended to find him (there was a
breakdown in communication last night apparently). Finally
after ten minutes he appears. We get in, Jean gives
directions—Zani doesn't know where the museum is, nor does Jean.
Zani disappears in order to find out. We finally leave fifteen
minutes late. Zani drives extra fast (agh!) so we arrive
almost on time. We enter the museum and Jean clearly doesn't
handle money. He can't figure out the tariff, so I (who read
the sign) finally pay, since Jean has given too big a bill and they
can't make change. We go up to see/hear the gamelan tuning (?)
up. It will be Wayang Golek today, the 3-D puppets. It
is rather interesting to see how they manage with the Golek.
We watch and listen until 10:45 a.m. Then we leave to return
to the residence. We go past the Embassy building (which Jean
points out is too small and not well suited to Indonesian climate).
The commercial office is elsewhere.
Then it is off to
the airport at top speed. Joan[n], Mila and I are off to
Yogyakarta. We check in, and since we have time (and we know
not what the airline will provide), we eat in the cafeteria. I
watch the luggage and send Mila to get things [to eat] for both of
us. With Joann's help, what could go wrong? Eventually
they return. We each have three [of] what I could call
souvlaki,
with a small side order of veggies (?), a roll, and a small plastic
bottle of mineral water. The roll turns out to have a sweet
cinnamony filling. The souvlaki are good, but highly seasoned.
So are the veggies. The bottled water is a blessing.
There are sinks at one end of the cafeteria for hand washing, but we
are given Kleenex to wipe our hands. Somewhere else (where?) [in
margin: the Beautiful Indonesian Park's theatre] I was given
several squares of toilet paper as hand wipes. We sit in the
terminal serving gate #6. I now recognize these structures as
having the form of a Javanese audience hall, using pipes instead of
wood columns and beams. We are called to our plane, and it is
a case of entering a bus first. Once aboard, we go through the
usual routine and learn it is a 50-minute flight. Before
flight we get a peppermint. Once aloft, we get a snack (we
departed at 1:30 p.m.). There are two rolls, one round, the
other ovoid. We have a carton of sweetened Jasmine tea, a
napkin and handiwipe. I insert the sharpened straw into the
tea carton to discover it is sickeningly sweet. I start on the
round roll to discover it is dessert; it has a hollow interior lined
with custard. The ovoid roll has a sausage in it. Yes, I
ate both. I then snoozed till we began our descent.
Yogya's airport is
very modest. Upon exiting we look for our van which the hotel
is supposed to have waiting. We wander about, and Joann
finally discovers the hotel rep who simply failed to spot the only
"European" trio on the flight. Anyway, we officially arrive,
board our van and off we go through rural and then small-town Java.
The hotel, the Puri Artha [in margin: Beautiful Palace], has
a cottage-type setup, with Bar, Restaurant, Reception in their own
nearby pavilion. The cottages are really more like old row
motel rooms. But each has two chairs and a table by the door,
and each "stoop" is separated by a screen with Wayang figures on it.
Once settled in, we hire a taxi to take us on a tour of the
Hindu
temples to the northeast of Yogya. We can put this charge on
our hotel bill, which I did. It was an experienced guide, and
though he did not actually instruct us, he had a sensible tour laid
out. So we went from one to another. No site had very
many people, and at some we were the only ones. I took photos,
of course, and some shots of views and surrounding agricultural
areas and villages. Some very picturesque thatch huts turned
out to be sheds covering drying brick and kilns. It was like
Turkey in the way these clay sites were exploited right there.
[In the margin: Later I decide this is a stage in making
rice
terraces: leveling and burning the clay-like soil.] There is
restoration work being done on several of the temples, and this is a
challenge given the fact that some ceased to be used nearly a
thousand years ago and so there is a considerable number of blocks
or stones lying about. However, there is also a logic to the
arrangement of these temples, so I guess an experienced person can
recognize the original location/use of many dismembered units just
by sight. I am surprised that as much survived as there are,
and not more of the stone got used as a quarry for the villages
nearby. Some temples are totally surrounded by
fields/villages; they are islands.
Well, we finally
have to return. At the
equator the
daylight begins about 6 a.m. and totally ends at 6 p.m. By 5 p.m., it is dark!
Once back at the hotel, we claim our free punch drink using the chit
provided. Then the Gamelan begins at 6 p.m. It is a
quartet plus a girl singer. It is not unpleasant music, but I
do not quite grasp the organization other than the extensive
repetition. As I write this, we are in our air-conditioned
room, waiting to go to supper. Earlier, teas and a sweet had
been placed on the table outside our door. This has sustained
me so far. Now, do I attempt the Indonesian buffet?
[Later] No, we ordered
à la
carte. I had sate (grilled) shrimp and nasi (rice).
Ordered a large beer, which proved to be a liter (but with Mila's
help, I managed). Finished with mixed fruit. The bed and
pillow are like sleeping on the floor with a block of styrofoam for
a pillow. It wasn't uncomfortable so much as resisting-undentable.
Sleep was thus less than perfect, and since the Gamelan had given
way to a couple and their electric organ, singing a strange
selection of western songs with much amplification, it was
difficult to slip off in our Asian wonderland. I should add
that the woman singer was absolutely dreadful, hunting for a
pitch/note and missing it and thus the tempo as well, hurrying to
catch up. But sleep I did, eventually.
MILA:
(Anniversary) Usual breakfast
on terrace. Outside this morning it seems hotter & more humid. We go to Wayang Museum to see a puppet show before we leave for airport.
Had trouble locating Zanni (his seven year old son was around)—then Zanni wasn't clear where museum was; & Jean was our
"host," but seemed confused about locations [and] price of admission.
Even though we were somewhat late, the musicians started even later, Indonesians take a long time to assemble & set up. This
performance was Wayang Golek—carved wooden puppets with realistic
faces & wearing batik sarongs. We only stayed 30-45 minutes, then
rushed home, took off for airport.
Consumed a
pickup lunch in "Kafeteria" in the airport, a kind of shish kabob on
a stick called Satay, hot peppers, cucumbers & carrots, onion "sauce,"
with some kind of rolls with cinnamon inside & bottles of mineral
water. This eating area has a series of snazzy washbasins,
boxes of Kleenex & hanging containers of pink liquid soap—looked
like a soda fountain. Strange but fun. Went to WC with
Joann & waited around for awhile. They provide free mints at
takeoff! Left at 1:45, on way to Jojokarta [Yogyakarta] on Garuda Airlines; had two rolls (one
spread with cheese spread, one stuffed with sausage)
& sweet jasmine tea in a little carton. Indonesian airline
attendants wear orange nylon uniforms, NOT elegant nor
pretty.
Met at
Jojokarta airport by Puri Artha van; hot trip to hotel—series of rustic
bungalows set amongst flowers & foliage. This place is long on
atmosphere & romance, outside at least: waterfalls, exotic growing
things (lots of orchids in hanging baskets), gorgeous converted old
oil lamps, batik fabrics, carved wooden headboards, Wayang screens
separating cottages; that's outside. Inside, it's no
wastebasket, hard beds & pillows, no washcloths, no hot water (water
turns off when supply dwindles), radio doesn't work, & whole room
smells of mothballs, which are kept in cupboards. They also
feature "American" breakfast in the outdoor eating area (sort of a
free-for-all buffet, fighting off all of the Dutch tour people), plus
outside eating at night with "LIVE" entertainment.
Not sure
what time we arrived (but about middle afternoon) so we hired a taxi
& driver (sort of a seedy team); went to variety of Hindu temples in
the failing light, including a biggie, Prambanan, through rice
fields, villages, oxen, roosters, dogs, cats, bicycles, motor bikes
& cute kids yelling "Hello! Hello!" & waving to us. Sign on a
house: "Agent CIA Office, Crazy House." It was a strange but
pleasant trip, trying to beat the waning light, but I must admit it
was more romantic & beautiful in twilight & hardly anyone else was
around. I made a mistake of not changing clothes & had on a long
Indian billowing skirt that "took off" in the wind when climbing
steep steps up to the temples. When we arrived back to parking
area at one place, our driver was nowhere to be seen. His
friend said he had gone down to "toilet," meaning the river.
Eventually he came back, adjusting his trousers & grinning.
Back to
hotel; had free fruit drink ("on the house") with shreds of coconut
in it, then conked out for an hour; on the table outside our room
was teapot & pastries on it. Had dinner in outside area (more
chicken satay & fruit) to accompaniment of gamelan orchestra, "for
your dining pleasure." Later on, [there] was awful live entertainment
with girl singer who never got the accurate pitch: her repertoire
consisted of country western & Burt Bacharach favorites ("Close to
You") [&] disco hits, sung in English, which continued until 10:30
(we had already retired) with "When the Saints Come Marching In"
clap/clap. The Dutch tour people loved it. We didn't.
(Joann complained to the management.) They bade ALL of us
goodnight. People still were having dinner & chatting outside
our door, but at least it was not amplified. Geo turned out
lights at 10:05(!) I tried to read a book about Java, to no
avail. George [sic] slept & snored ALL night!
[on
verso of tablet page:] Terms: Candi
(pronounced Chán-di) means temple. (Stone carvings of demonic
faces, overgrown with weeds & moss, peer out from walls.) Dokar - horsedrawn
cart carrying up to three passengers. Bemas - small trucks, can carry up to twelve
people. Andong - four-wheeled horse cart.
Interesting words:
Kamar Kecil - little room = toilet. Keluar - Exit.
Remark of Jean's a few days ago, in driving by one of the more
ghastly Russian-type
memorial sculptures, obelisks, etc.: "That's the
last erection of Sukarno."
[in
separate notebook:]
Wayang Kulit—ancient picture
show (shadow puppets made of buffalo hide or kulit,
parchment) dominated by a dalang, master producer ventriloquist
conductor puppeteer storyteller. Episodes from
Ramayana or Mahabharata, even on Radio Indonesia 6-8
hours! cuts into their livelihood. Wayang Golek (we saw) with
lifelike wooden puppets acting out tales from
Arabic menak
stories, more vivid & realistic, & less common (like human dancers).
Topeng dance.
Wayang Wong
dance dramas, when dancers do tale of princes & princesses & clowns.
Ketoprak,
form of contemporary drama akin to Western theatre.
Ramayana Ballet.
MONDAY, MAY 27,
1985
GEORGE:
There are a lot of
roosters about, and they all wish to make their presence known.
And early. And repeatedly. At least there are no donkeys
braying. But there were airplanes taking off, and seemingly
right over our room. The clock I carry said it was very early,
but later I ascertained that it was running more than an hour late!
Why? There is a new battery purchased in Hong Kong, and in
Jakarta it behaved absolutely fine. Does air travel upset it?
Or the spirits of Central Java? So we sprang up, realizing it
was 7:10 not 5:50 a.m. As I began soaping up, the water
pressure vanished. We must be at the end of the line, and a
tour group was getting ready to excursion and so toilets/showers
were all going at once. (Or not!) Finally water
returned, and we could finish our toilette.
Breakfast was
confusing. It is buffet, but one can have a "continental" from
the buffet. In contrast to last night, communication with the
waitress (?) was confusing, but finally straightened out.
Travel itself is fatiguing, but so are the other things, like
learning the "rules" of getting things. I managed to spill a
little juice on my cotton (thank goodness) slacks, and of course
this left big splotches. I have since washed them out and
happily, sitting here on the "stoop," they have dried out.
Today's plans are loose. I think it is the
Sultan's Palace (by
taxi) in the morning and Borobudur by tour bus in the afternoon.
[Later]
The Sultan's Palace (though in need of repair) was most interesting.
Admission was modest, 300 Rp (which Joann paid since I had no more
small bills, or not enough). Guides were based on language.
The one we drew spoke English quite well, and he informed me he had
studied it for three years. He wore [a] sarong/uniform, in this
case because his father had been one of the Sultan's soldiers. As the tour progressed, we learned he was
a Christian, 47 years old and married late, so had young children
(three) the oldest 17. When he learned our ages he thought we
were joking. He
simply wouldn't believe I was 60. Did I
take special medicine (to be young I presume)? "No—yes, for
blood pressure," I answer. The volunteer retired guards who
were present (they had the kris) were 60 to 85. And they
looked every year of it, plus. The guard drew a map of North
America in the sandy soil and asked me from where we came. I
pointed KC out, drew the Mississippi River and the Missouri.
He wanted to know if Buffalo Bill was "real," or true. And so
on. But this chitchat
occupied little of the time. We got an excellent tour and I
learned much, and even took a few pictures. It is surprising
how cool it is in the shade or under cover in contrast to the sun.
The emphasis was on open pavilions, marble floors, high ceilings.
The Dutch could have learned much from this, but didn't. Color
[was] used extensively. Also there was a fair amount of iron—I
gather much of what we saw is 19th Century. The present
Sultan
(#9) is 73 and active in the government in Jakarta. He no
longer puts any of his wealth (I assume he still has some) into the
palace, but into other things. Jean had said he was a good
socialist—or was it something I read? On our way out, the
guide asked my opinion of Ronald Reagan. I paused and said "Sometimes
I worry." He laughed and said, "I think Reagan better than
Jimmy Carter." I said, "Sometimes yes, sometimes no." [In
margin: Later, Joann said I gave Asian answers.]
To and from the
palace we went by different routes. Yogya is definitely a
sprawling, yet small city. Even in the heart, there are very
few truly big buildings. I saw some old Dutch houses which
could have been in Amsterdam or Haarlem. The Dutch just didn't
understand the sense of the native style of architecture. Here
in Yogya there are a great many
pedicabs (Becak) and not a few
horsedrawn carriages. I even saw a bullock-drawn wagon, which
I tried to photo through a dirty windshield. Traffic is dense,
many motorbikes and such like. Much activity is done in the
open. Well, it is time for lunch, and afterwards we go to
Borobudur.
[Later]
Lunch was a simple sandwich and some fruit, and then we investigated
the matter of the bus to Borobudur. We learned that a cab
would be cheaper, so we hired one (about $20 for four hours for the
three of us). It was the same driver as in the morning.
The drive out proved interesting, but it was raining so I got
virtually no shots from the car of the villages and dramatic
scenery. Then we arrive. We negotiate a carriage ride to
within 600 [meters?] of the Candi (pronounced Chandi) after stopping
about 2 kilometers away. They are trying to reduce pollution
(and I suspect terrorist attacks, since one occurred at the temple
not too long ago). We use a "dog cart," a two-wheel small
horsedrawn buggy. It was a real jerky ride, but agreeable
after the auto racing we have had to endure.
Borobudur is,
indeed, everything they claim it is. As we approached it, one
gained a true impression of the serene monumentality it has.
Then we learned we could not take any [hand]bags up—including purses.
You checked your bag, but could still carry valuables in a flimsy
plastic bag—more precautions against
bomb toters. I stuffed my
pockets and then inside the button shirt I happened to be wearing.
This freed my hands from an ungainly and flimsy plastic bag, with
hand loops only. Mila and Joann opted out of necessity for the
plastic. Then up, around, and up we went. I should note
that on our way to Borobudur, we stopped at the site called
Mendut.
We looked at it from outside the fence, and I made a photo. It
is not a stupa, but it is Buddhist.
We also saw the very
impressive active volcano
Gunung Merapi in the distance, with
a plume coming from its vent. Indeed, we could see three
peaks, one Merbabu. From the stupa of Borobudur one can see,
side by side, Merbabu and Merapi, and one can't help but wonder if
those didn't influence the placement and character of Borobudur.
I hope my photos illustrate something of this feeling I got of a
restful and sympathetic mountain (Borobudur) in contrast to the
austere but menacing cone of Merapi.
The restoration task
is monumental, but if the Indonesian people can bring it off, and
set up effective transportation to and from without adding kitsch,
it [will be] worth the trip. I made some duplicate slides for
Kenneth LaBudde, whose trip here was canceled when the
internal war
with the Communists in 1965 reduced his travel opportunities, to his
great disappointment. I have now completed seven rolls of
film, with Bali yet to come. I think I estimated fairly well
the amount of film I needed. I plan to get this batch
processed in London if possible.
As I write this in
the evening, prior to supper, I am sitting once again by the door on
our "terrace." The Gamelan is playing softly. There is
much charm in Puri Artha as the hotel is called, but as Jean would
say, it is also Asia. There are exquisite carvings and such
all over. Old oil lamps have been converted to electricity.
But then there is a lack of finish, or little things one might
appreciate tending to. The hose supplying the shower head
leaks. Hot water barely or doesn't exist. The
fascination last night with bad (and loudly amplified) pop music.
Etc.
We've run into
beggars, who either are indeed totally pathetic or marvelous actors.
The hawkers of rice spoons, postcards, Coca Cola (Pepsi country this
ain't), and whatever are more persistent than flies (of which we see
few). No one seems prepared to make [monetary] change, including the
hotel, yet they want to sell us things. We got together the
300 Rp for admission to Borobudur after searching our coins, etc.
This after being told—no change. Then the fool tried to sell
me a guidebook. I said, if you have no change I cannot buy the
guidebook. He looked puzzled. Was it the language or a
different type of logic?
We've seen people
doing Coolie work, and damned if some don't wear "coolie hats"—but
so do others. It is past and present in a crunching contact,
much like plate tectonics. We see Javanese culture and Western
(basically European) culture interacting. Plastic is used for
all sorts of things, but banana leaves are used to line baskets as
plates. There is a man scurrying down a palm tree carrying a
bamboo container containing a liquid (palm sap? what?) he has
gathered. And there are the hordes of bicycles and motorbikes.
Sarong and T-shirt are combined by some men. The full
spectrum, and age isn't the dividing line. It is more like
Appalachia vs. Urban America.
MILA:
BANG: next morning we were awakened
by roosters seemingly from everywhere, which started crowing in
sequence; then a plane took off from nearby (4:30 a.m.). Geo
didn't get up because his clock said it was much earlier than it
really was (apparently clock stopped, the first of several
times) so we didn't get up until 7:15 when Geo went to bathroom &
the water supply stopped. This is Central Java, folks,
non-modern, more rural, more exotic (more spooks?). Beyond the
wall at end of court beyond Joann's room, next door is God knows
what but sounds of clucking abound. Thanks to all the fruit I
eat, I am keeping regular.
We are
ready for another big day, [having] applied sun block to my nose,
antibiotic to my itchy ankles, anti-mosquito stuff to my socks.
[Wearing] jeans (so as not to elevate in wind), [taking] two big
sunhats (one for Joann should she need it), flashlight for inside
temples. Borobudur is this afternoon—huzzah! Sultan's
Palace is this morning—how exotic can you get? Have cleaned
sandals of [the] worst of dust, "done" [washed] my underwear, am wearing clean
clothes & am sitting with Geo on veranda of our room facing the
eating area (but blocked by a fence & trees, bushes, flowers).
Flowers here are lovely, big and numerous, lots of mimosa (pale
yellow with rose center), frangipani, orchids, wild poinsettias (red
& white), everything bigger than home—except mosquitoes which are
smaller. ("But they do the job anyway," says Joann.) The
Asian way is to be patient—things will change.
Trip to
Sultan's Palace (Kraton) was educational, yet funny. Only bad
thing was having to remove our hats (in deference to something), so
sun beat down on [our] poor heads. Our guide (whose father had been
a member of the Sultan's Guard & maybe he could be in time,
also) was small, deferential, seemingly "aged," but who spoke
English well (had been studying three years)—was a good, informative
guide—asked Geo about USA & Buffalo Bill (in connection with where
we came from). "You have children?" Children very
important in Indonesia. He had three (too few but he got
married late when he was 33) & was now 47! He seemed amazed
that Geo was 60. "You joke? You take some special
medicine perhaps?" No. No. [Also] that Joann was 54,
& that we [Mila and George] had been married 29 years—almost
unbelievable! We saw many things: sedan chairs, reception
halls, gamelan stuff, old photos of past Sultans & their large
families (27 wives!). Bade farewell to guide, & Joann tipped
him (he said for "more English lessons").
Back to
hotel. Lunch consisted of chicken salad sandwiches (with
pineapple?), chips & tea & chocolate ice cream (should I have ordered
it? Joann did, says ice cream in this place should be OK).
We'd planned to go on general bus tour of Borobudur, but desk clerk
said we'd save no money that way & would do just as well by taxi
(four hours for $20) on our own. Glad we did. We got our
same driver, Amin (?), as in morning, very nice & pleasant.
They were predicting thunderstorms, but we are intrepid travelers
with umbrellas and have to leave tomorrow—so forged on. Did
rain most of the way to Borobudur [but] actually it worked to our
advantage since clouds kept the temperature down & helped our
climbing up tremendously high steps going to highest point.
Getting to the temple was half the fun, as they say—since we had to
go through bullocks, rice fields, villages, people selling
everything from T-shirts to carved animals, swiftly running streams,
Kentucky Fried Chicken signs ("It's Finger-Lickin' Good"—the
Indonesians love fried chicken). Our driver said he'd
stop anytime [we] wanted so Joann stopped for film & Geo to
photograph still another "Candi." Our driver suggested we take
a dokar to the base of Borobudur, since he couldn't go any further
in a car & he'd wait for us. It's never clear what they do
when they wait for us: shoot the breeze? eat? (no, Ramadan), take
care of natural functions? rest? (all). The three of us
selected a particularly cute [and] sprightly grey pony who even
galloped? trotted? even though we weighed down the cart. (500
rupiah each way—50¢?) Walk to pay booth was besieged by
seemingly hundreds of children, beggars, old women selling things,
plus lots of skinny roosters, chickens, oxen. Saw goats &
sheep (?) grazing on grass on outskirts of Borobudur.
Due to
recent incidents (bomb etc.) one has to check all handbags
including purses, & only carry absolute essentials (valuables) in
small blue plastic bags (very flimsy). Police wear dark blue
uniforms & the usual high boots, but luckily for us there weren't
many sightseers except a large group of what seemed to be Chinese
students, & we weren't bothered much. Two Indonesian young men
asked Joann & me to pose with them & have Geo photograph us with
their camera. (Two tall Caucasian women with silly hats &
sunglasses won't look too good to the folks at home, I'd think.
But apparently the Indonesians like to have their photos taken with
foreigners, so we weren't
singled out after all.) It was very
pleasant, very impressive way up there, with the large fulminating
volcano Merapi behind it, ominously spewing out mist—we could hear wail of muezzin drifting up
to us. Also sight of stupas (many bombed but repaired) with
images of Buddha is rather staggering. I liked everything
about the experience except all of the begging etc. down below—a
sorry & irritating distraction.
Back to
dokar (who waited) & Amin & hotel, where I had a lukewarm bath (as
Geo says, "Maybe that's what they call hot water), washed out
my underwear & rested with usual free tea until dinner—which was
weird (I ordered it, yes): a batch of poached shrimp (tiny,
still with shells on [and] extremely long cumbersome &
feathery tails) & rice & some of Geo's beef shishkebab ("Sate Daging"—"ayam"
is chicken) & chocolate ice cream (AGAIN). [They] played only gamelan
music during dinner, thank God. Guitarist didn't show up &
Dutch group went out to dinner. (There seem to be two Dutch
groups, who eat hardboiled eggs with their Continental breakfast &
request cornflakes; a young English or Aussie couple with a small baby; &
some more
English—one that talked like
David
Weinglass. No other Americans, to my knowledge.) We talked over
the day's experience & Jean called (he ate a hamburger in Mandarin
Hotel). It is much quieter this night. Leave
tomorrow for Bali. Beautiful skies & sunsets, of which I've
seen two (have not seen any sunrise).
Geo just
paid bill:
two nights, all meals, taxis, etc.: about $145. We have to
leave here at 10:30 a.m. to accommodate their bus schedule, so we'll be
there a
tad early. Perhaps we can eat, or Geo can change some of his large bills. They
seem to be unable or unwilling to accept or change large bills in this
hotel or for admissions.
This hotel
keeps playing same canned music: theme song from Cats, "I Just
Called to Say I Love You," that Willie Nelson & Julio Iglesias
favorite "To All the Girls." It would be so nice if we just
had silence, but as Joann says "Silence is no longer golden, it is
tin." It's the one big drawback of this place (not excepting
the lack of hot water & wastebasket).
[on
verso of tablet page] Karaton Ngajogyarta Adiningrat [Kraton
Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat] where elegant
pendopos
reigned. Construction began in 1755 & continued almost forty
years during reign of Hamengkubuwono I. Innermost group of buildings
Probogyekso was completed in 1756. Still private domain of
Sultan & family, & houses the pusakas (sacred heirlooms).
Sitinggil
& Pakalardu[?] pavilions & buildings face the
alun-alun
lor. The glory of the Kraton is splendid reception hall Golden Pavilion
or
Bangsal Kencana, finished in
1752—received heads of state,
Queen
Juliana, [Queen] Elizabeth (?)—has a little bandstand rotunda, decorated with
images of musical instruments (Western: trombone, lute, recorders,
etc.—sweet). Time seems to have stood still here, with the courtly
retainers showing visitors around—a peaceful calm serenity prevails
there, with covered gamelan instruments (they have
instruction in gamelan there, even for foreigners, but not during
this Ramadan month). "Museum" room has old yellowed photos of
past Sultans, wedding pictures with groom carrying bride higher
than himself. We, too, are insulated on this trip (more or
less) from outside with well-paid people insulating us from nasty
aspects of life. [in
margin, unclear to which it refers: Now "seedy"—pavilion smells of bats.]
[on
verso of next tablet page] Borobudur, one world's
greatest Buddhist monuments (& one of
Seven Wonders of the World), built somewhere between 778 & 842
AD during
Sailendra dynasty (300 years before
Angor Wat &
400 years before work was begun on
Amiens, Chartres or Rheims). By 1100 AD power center was
shifted & BB [sic] was covered with vegetation. In
1815 Raffles
ordered site cleared. In 1907 [it was] found that structure
was in casing of un-mortared stone enclosing a natural hillock—seepage
within wholly exposed monument, became serious problem: chemical salts
were eroding reliefs & carvings. In Aug. 1973, with UNESCO
money & U.S. $12 million, task was begun to redo BB. Nine
stupa columns blown up in 1985.
BB, a classical stupa 41 km northwest of Yogya, is both a mountain (meru) inhabited by
gods &
a replica of all three divisions of Buddhist universe: Kamadhatu
(lower everyday world), rupadhatu (middle sphere of form,
spiritually superior to world of flesh) & arapadhatu (highest sphere
of total abstraction & detachment from the world). It was here
that the groups of students had encamped themselves screaming &
yelling.
Some
detachment! Originally ten levels can be shown in some of
the reliefs. Heads off of Buddhas—"a textbook on enlightenment," "glorification of
ultimate reality." Who knows?
[on
verso of another tablet page] Performances:
Gamelan orchestras can range from sizes of about 13 to 75 members.
(Bali gamelan orchestras are somewhat "brassier," louder than
Javanese.) Involves percussive instruments from large kettle
drums, resonating slabs of bronze, gambang (xylophone), rebab
(two-stringed lute), celempung (zither), suling (flute).
Employs a five-tone system (slendro) & a five-tone [scale] (pelog).
The music of Central Java is often called "soporific" or compared to
moonlight, flowing water & Debussy.
TUESDAY, MAY 28,
1985
GEORGE:
Today it is off to
Bali. We start slowly, so I read about Bali while waiting for
departure. We pay our bills, which for the two of us, plus
taxis, meals, etc. is a bit less than $145 for two. Joann and
I have a curious type of paying each other. She tries to buy
us too much, we manage to outreach her often enough to balance.
I try to pay for cabs, etc. Sorting it all out will have to be
a series of estimates. I trust I'll be able to persuade her to
accept our doing fully our share, plus. This comes to a head
in Bali. The hotel has listed us as Mme. Soulier and Party.
Thus everything re: chits will be in her name. It will
probably take the remaining time in Bali to sort it out.
Our Garuda flight
departs about ten minutes early. Why? We cannot guess,
the plane is hardly full. We arrive in Bali and are met at the
airport by a representative of the Sanur Beach Hotel (actually
Hotel Sanur Beach). What we see on the relatively brief ride to the
hotel tells us this is different from Central Java. The hotel
is designed to be a retreat and to cater to the sybarite side of
man's (and woman's) nature. Thus, each "half" has a bedroom,
and there is a large sitting room between. There is fruit,
refrigerators, you name it. Things at the hotel are spread out
over a carefully cultivated garden setting that ends at the beach.
There are convenient shops, a bank, airline services, so forth.
One can remain encapsulated, or hire cars, or go on tours.
They even have performances here, some free, which can provide
"Bali" for those too timid or tired to excursion out. We have
two full days for excursioning, so today I resisted going out and am
resting (as if I have need for rest—which I don't). But as
things turned out, we did excursion a bit. We had a late
lunch at the poolside restaurant, toured the grounds, saw the sea,
and returned for a bit of rest. Then at 5:30 we hired a cab
and went in to Denpasar (or near) to see the
Kechak dance (6-7
p.m.). The latter was interesting, but the seats were concrete
tiers in "stadium-style," so I was mighty tender by 7 p.m.
Also, the tourists were annoying with their chatter, their smoking,
and the flash photography.
We returned to the
hotel, had our free welcome drink (a type of wine punch in a bamboo
"glass"), and fled back to our room (because there is live music in
the two inside bars). After sitting on the balcony and
discussing strategy, we went back to the poolside (Tirta)
restaurant. We were the only ones there at 8 p.m., and it was
quiet except for occasional live
angklung music (including flute)
which was very serene. Then back to the hotel. Funny, we
all feel tired, and perhaps it is the lure of luxurious beds, truly
hot baths, efficient air conditioning, etc. that lures us [in]to want[ing] to
just loll about. The manager of the hotel is Swiss and the Souliers are favored guests. They get a rate, so it is Mme.
Soulier and Party (as I noted earlier). Thus our setup is
really rated at $190/day, but we are being charged $95. Also,
right now there doesn't seem to be too many guests (as far as I can
tell),
MILA:
Long wait in Yogya airport (not
air-conditioned)—do have fans (we carry fans in purses also at all
times). Has a pretty batik shop with very "dear" prices: $175
for length of silk, $75 for cotton. More Garuda Airlines food
with orange-clad hostesses, men in white shirts [and] blue
trousers. At Denpasar, met by hotel van. Hotel Sanur
Beach Bali is almost too overwhelming to describe. We have three-room
suite (for which they gave Joann a special half-price rate for $95) with two full baths & one half bath off of living room. We get
big bedroom with kingsized bed (large enough to sleep 4-5 Indonesians), desk, table,
two chairs, radio, with doors out to private balcony with two chaise
longues & wicker chairs. Bathroom
has attached dressing room with cupboards & dressing table.
Bathroom has sink,
WC, bidet, shower stall & huge polygonal beige tub that must
take half of the Pacific to fill to the top (naturally, I took a
bath in it).
Living room has couch, chairs, dining table & chairs, huge color TV,
huge basket filled with fresh strawberries & orchids, other flower displays, bowl
of fruit (persimmons, pineapples, apples, bananas, mangosteens,
hairy fruit),
French doors opening out to same balcony as bedroom. Joann has
bedroom with TV, twin beds, bath & private balcony. This is a
huge complex with all of the amenities; not only does it have beach
& ocean (with chairs & boats to rent) but a swimming pool,
bar by pool, restaurant by pool. Down the beach is another, posher restaurant, "the Sea Horse"
(plus bar, even posher restaurant
indoors, & coffee shop). The swimming pool is dominated by
huge hairy people (mostly Australian? or Dutch?). We eat by pool with heavenly
repast: charbroiled tuna, fries & salad. (All the "surfers" go
to Kuta Beach.)
Went (by
taxi) to village dance performance through town with lighted stalls,
etc.; a
rather strange & exotic experience. This was an outdoor (on
concrete benches) performance by a local group, performing the Kecak
(Monkey) Dance, originally a trance dance. Joann wasn't so
impressed with this, since she'd seen what she considered to be a
more elegant rendition. This was more "rousing" done by
village boys (some young) done sort of ritualistically by
candlelight. Back at "home" by pool, accompanied by angklung
music (Balinese: flute & two-man xylophone). At 8:30 had
chicken-bacon-tomato sandwich with chips. Really tired & listless (must be
humidity). Turned in early (10 p.m.).
WEDNESDAY, MAY 29,
1985
GEORGE:
Two weeks on the
road to many places. Once again my quartz alarm clock stopped
about ten minutes before six. Once again the day after a
flight. It didn't after other flights—why? Spirits?
More likely is [a] slightly loose battery which gets jostled, and when I
handle the clock at night for a better view, it breaks
contact—sometimes. I'll check.
We hired a car with
a very good driver and spent eight hours (admittedly cramped and
bounced about) on tour. I've gotten a copy of the hotel's map
of Bali which I have marked as best I can with the route. In
brief, we went to the great temple of
Besakih on the slope of Mount
Agung, the highest peak [in Bali] (and an active volcano). On the way we
had a beverage (and relief) stop at
Bukit Jambul. Our return
was largely by a different route and that took us to a small
restaurant literally in the clouds (we were fogged in at
Putung).
Then returned by way of the coast. We resisted seeing shops,
factories, galleries, etc. But we did see a goodly amount of
rural (and mountainous) Bali. At times the road really
vanished into a crumbled track. At one point we came to a
washed-out bridge and had to detour on the boulder-strewn riverbed
(since the river was way down). Of course then we crossed one
bridge (single lane) that was so rickety I quite forgot to
photograph it as I watched in horror the vehicle in front of us
doing what our car was doing. The bridge was of metal, but the
roadbed consisted of cross members of wood, truss to truss. On
the bed was a pair of raised "tracks" of longitudinal timbers on
which the driver had to keep his wheels. Those tracks were
badly worn (curious phrase) and loose.
But as to the
sights. Let us say we were in [such] sufficiently rural areas
[that] at
times that people stared at us. We began to see women,
admittedly the older ones, wearing only the sarong and no tops.
People were bathing in streams, and such. It was almost
exclusively agricultural. I could see residential compounds
(called Kampung, I believe), some with pole construction, thatch
roofs, and woven mat walls. Near the road there are walls
concealing these from passing view. The walls are largely of
mud brick on stone foundations. The terracing for which the
Balinese are so famous are astonishing engineering works, for they
are integrated with irrigation canals. Some rise right up
mountainsides (though in some areas they seem now abandoned).
Even in comparative flatland there are terraces, so rice and other
crops can receive rotationally their water shares. The rivers,
most of those I saw at least, were in deep narrow gorges or ravines.
The irrigation channels are thus diversions and ingeniously placed
to service the stepped fields. Most of this had to have been
done prior to the assistance of civil engineers. So how did
they figure it all out? Probably one piece at a time.
Over decades, perhaps centuries, the system was finally complete.
In any case it is a truly fascinating aspect of the island.
The work in and out of the fields is hard. Women do carry
large loads on their heads, often with an upraised arm to balance.
Men carry or push or pull huge loads. I saw on this trip only
one or two pony carts. Lots of motors and bicycles, but the
more rural the fewer. Children go to school wearing uniforms.
The distinction between them and non-pupils is thus quite dramatic.
As we were informed
in the various books, there are shrines and temples everywhere.
There is sculpture of a religious type at bridges, intersections, by
entrances. There are also, here and there, Stalinist-type
Indonesian heroes which provide ludicrous contrast.
Unfortunately I've not photographed any of the latter here or on
Java because I never can anticipate their appearance before me.
And since I am whizzing by in a car, it is poof, after an ugh.
But back to the
major experience. The great temple of Besakih is on the slope
of Mt. Agung. It is not only the tallest peak on Bali, but
also an active volcano (last eruption 1963).
[in margin:
The Hindu-Balinese temple of Besakih is called Pura Penataran Agung.]
The great temple is in a series of stages. There it is, in
black volcanic rock for the durable parts, forming a "Hindu"
counterpart to its volcano much as Borabudur did. However,
here the mountain is an immediate presence, and as one gets farther
up the path toward the temple, and then up the several levels, the
temple forms get bigger and bigger, as if to challenge the bulk of
the mountain behind it. It is a fascinating optical
experience, as if a direct challenge, in contrast to Borobudur's
quiet alternative. We went up in the rain, which happily
stopped by the time we reached the heights. We rented
umbrellas, using the good services of our driver as bargainer.
After getting back I discovered I had my umbrella in my portfolio
bag (which is all I am carrying on the Javanese/Bali segment when
out). We had to pay a fee and sign the book at Besakih.
I took that responsibility, as well as other fees today, and after
some confusion about the sum (the driver said 500 Rp but it was 250
Rp each, really not very much) I had to make notations in the
register re: country of origin, gender, number in party, and my age.
I wrote 60, and there were exclamations of "oh/ooh." Is this
admiration at my preservation? Will there be a wayang
character eventually based on the legend of the "sultan who traveled
in Central Java and Bali with two wives, one a brunette, the other a
redhead"? And he was 60 years old! We've gotten some
good laughs at this. I wonder how the hotel staff sorts out
our menage à trois?
Other random
observations re: the excursion. We passed saltmaking near the
sea. They use little canoe-shaped troughs. Saw
hand-threshing of rice in the fields. Saw brickmaking again.
I noted that opened coconut shells are used as fuel. Some
cattle and some pigs. The latter are most strange and
primitive in appearance. Saw ducks being escorted to and from
the fields in neat columns. And I saw how much of daily life
and work is done outside, and typically in groups.
The evening was
punctuated by a dance at the hotel. It was a carefully
programmed one-hour performance. While the title was different
from last night's dance, there was a striking similarity in plot and
characters. This, however, was more "professional" and had an
orchestra. One senses that we see what should interest
tourists—including
comic characters, etc. On our way back to the hotel in the
late afternoon, we saw a procession, and even later saw and heard
(briefly) a group in a temple. For themselves, the schedule and
the content must be different than when designed (?) for the
westerners. Nevertheless, the dance was quite interesting. Supper was late, 9-10
p.m. I really need to return to a more rational (for me)
routine of eating—both in time and substance. I've managed
quite well, but am slightly disoriented re: timing of things.
MILA:
Awoke at 6:35 a.m. Sleeping in
real supersized bed, firm but comfortable, is a treat with four
pillows. They even provide (unstamped) airgrams. Just
discovered [that the] toilet in unused WC off living room was
"turned off"—no one told us, until I already performed in it.
(Too bad for the management but they should have warned us the valve
was broken!)
Geo & I had
"American breakfast" by pool—quiche[?], bacon, tea, croissants &
juice. (Joann always has morning coffee etc. in her room.
She is on some strange diet—no fruit, no rice, no sweets, etc.)
Walked down to sea, with usual queries—"Good morning: want a boat?"
Collected Joann—living room is redolent of strawberry smells
already. She claims she was kept awake by "creature" in her
room's ductwork.
We set off
in "taxi," driven by Director of Hotel's private driver. (When
we finally met director he apologized for not greeting us on our
arrival—he was "dozing over his newspaper.") Driver seems to
be Practically Perfect in Every Way—sweet, charming & an incredibly
good driver. His skills include: driving expertly over
riverbed after bridge is washed out, up & down mountains, through
villages filled with cars, mopeds, people & animals, bypassing
stubborn dogs, droves of ducks, people carrying high containers on
their heads. (Note: [the] only barebreasted females are old hags.
Some younger ones wear bras, most wear shirts or blouses, some
T-shirts—American slogans prevail.) He even deals with hordes
of pushing children, each one eager to have us rent his or her own
umbrella (ours were yellow—big—with Kodak ads), arguing them down to
a reasonable price at Besakih, holiest of temples in Bali. Mt.
Agung volcano in misty distance—plus a religious procession, cattle
grazing by side of road (the natural grass cutters). He has a
grey Toyota Corolla with two windshield wipers & tan
pseudo-fur seat coverings (a bit warm but comfy), past many food
stands (warungs) & pyramid-offerings of food.
Climb north
to Pura Penataran Agung (Besakih)—thirty
temples? State temple for provincial & national
governments—revered by all Balinese as the "mother temple of
Bali"—up 900 meters [on] slopes of Gurung Agung through landscapes
of Bukit Jambul. Sanctuary here for over 1,000 years.
"Hello, hello," the children cry, everyone smiling. Everything
is on the road—nasty dogs let cars get up to about an inch from them
before they grudgingly move over to the side. Enormous
banyan
trees. Dusk comes at 5 p.m. No electricity in first
mountain restaurant we stopped in for drinks. At first temple,
Geo had to list his nationality & age. "60! Oooh"—with
two women? Lots of roosters, chickens, ducks, dogs, even a big
warthog. In second spot we stopped in to have lunch, wasn't
crowded (after we got rid of the Dutch tourists). The fog
slowly rolled in, eventually obliterating the rest of the
restaurant: magic!
This night
we attended a performance in the outdoor hotel pavilion of the
Ramayana ballet (dance training school). It was more elegant &
professional than previous night's "monkeys" (but who knows? maybe
it's from the same school?). Same basic plot:
Rahwana wants to
kidnap
Sita-Sinta. This one has an eagle in it named
Jatayu, a hero
figure, who tries to recapture Sinta but is killed (but seems to be
resurrected). We also have the sacred white monkey
Hanuman who, with
the help of other monkeys (tiny children in grey costumes & masks
who hop around), helps overcome evil. We have lots of
slapstick, Keystone Kops routines, with mock battles, swordfights,
chases, falling down, etc. One guy lost his wig (on
purpose?)—occasion of much merriment in orchestra. Comic
demons. Rama & Rahwana have big battle at end. It was
performed against beautiful background & lovely naturalness of palm
trees & candlelight. Made for enchantment for me. The
other tourists (mostly fat & Dutch) seemed more interested in eating
& taking flash photos. They'd just consumed an enormous buffet
dinner but kept leaping up for seconds or desserts. How can
the dancers put up with that & flashing bulbs? Apparently it
is "done" graciously. The ladies were presented with
frangipani blossoms (no: hibiscus) to put behind one ear. I
stood through most of it, so as to not be distracted, but I was down
so far & off to one side so I would see much of what was happening
offstage, with kids (of company) sitting in wings watching.
This group was accompanied by good-sized gamelan orchestra, some of
whom seem to be enjoying performance tremendously (big grins &
laughter). Very loud sounds (Balinese Gamelan). At 9:00
afterward at poolside, I had rarebit (tuna & melted cheese) & beer,
which was excellent. Retired & 10:30. Slept well (must
be the walk) with strange dreams (Durward
Redd).
[on
verso of tablet page;] Hotel is near Sanur Beach—holiday
resort seemingly for the non-swingers, old people & people with
children (the swinging set of divers, surfers, & bikini beach bums
go to Kuta). Statues of "demon" gods abound, stand at
intersections to ward off evil spirits, draped in sarongs of black &
white checks & flowers. Interesting names of towns: Kedaton,
Kesiman, Batubulan, Calul, Sukawati, Blahbatuh, Gianyar, Gelgel,
Klungkung, Kusamba, Bugbug, etc. Rice fields [with] little
bamboo shrines in them. Flowers stuck everywhere, especially
statues.
THURSDAY, MAY
30,
1985
GEORGE:
Mila and I chose the
coffee shop this morning, so we ordered
à la carte and had precisely
what we wanted, and for about the price of one buffet breakfast.
[in margin: Joann does not have breakfast as such.]
We launched
ourselves about 9:30, with yesterday's driver at our service.
Today was still dramatic but less complicated terrain to cover.
It was basically a Kintamani tour which took us up to Mount Batur.
Our first stop was an overhead view of
Goa Gajah, a sanctuary one
goes down to. We didn't, and I winged off two photos.
The real first stop was
Gunung Kawi, a remarkable site down in a
gorge (which finally I could experience and photograph). We
went down a long, complicated set of steps, got the necessary sashes
so we could visit the temple below. The site is mostly on one
side of the river, and it is partially rock-cut. There are
terraces all the way up on both sides. There are rock-cut
cells for monks, Candis, and there is a temple itself. [in
margin: It was part Buddhist and now Bali-Hindu.]
This is the opposite
of a volcano site, and equally dramatic. One way upward was
slow and fatiguing in the heat and humidity, though by the
Pakerisan
River itself if was cool. When we reached the top, we
refreshed ourselves with a Coca Cola, ice cold, sold by an
enterprising woman. There were other such places, but she
seemed least demanding and convenient. She also had a row of
chairs in her little (tiny) shop. From there it was up to
Penelokan, where we saw and photographed Lake Batur and Mount Batur.
This is a large crater with a cone rising from the center, the
"mount." The lake is in the eastern edge of the crater.
Penelokan is on the rim of the crater. Once out to photograph,
we were besieged by people trying to sell us things. From
there we went to Batur on a road that is very narrow, since it is on
the crater's rim. At Batur, on the way to Kintamani, there is
the temple:
Pura Ulun Danu Batur. Once again it is a
volcano-oriented temple. While hardly like the Besakih temple
(it is much smaller), it is still an impressive setting. Batur,
I discover in our later reading, is an active volcano, as is Agung,
and this temple is a rebuilding from a destruction some sixty years
ago. One can easily see the lava flow, which still supports no
vegetation, down the side of the cone.
On our way back
south, and I should note that since we are south of the equator it
is a sun that shines from the north during mid-day (giving me
problems when I use the shadows to orient myself to the compass
points). So we return to Penelokan where we have a nice buffet
luncheon perched high above ground level. We are at a corner
table so we can see east and south. As one glances about at
the scenery, one realizes that below are people hawking textiles,
carvings, etc. They carry their stock of textiles on their
heads (women peddlers) and as our eye reaches them, they whip out
and unfold with a flourish a sample ware. Using hand signals
they give prices and note finally their bottom offer. It is
strange, because they react totally to chance glances. Each
time a different textile is shown. Men sell carvings.
Children sell postcards, rice spoons of horn, other small items.
Needless to say, we are assaulted when we return to the car.
We purchase nothing, not even the T-shirt with design on front and
Bali on the back.
As we head south we
cross the Petanu River gorge, where we stop for a couple of photos
since the road across is lightly traveled. It is a dramatic
sight with the rich terraces on each side. And then farther on
we are at the springs at Sebatu, where there is a small temple and
places for men and women to bathe. We hesitate getting out,
though our driver/guide encourages us. It has begun to rain.
Should we, should we not, etc.? Oh well, I have an umbrella, a
couple of photos perhaps. The ladies say they will brave the
drizzle. So off we go. The site is lovely and most
serene. Only a few locals are about. The rain stops.
We slowly wend our way back to the car. Joann has gone up to a
few shops facing the spring from across the road. No one is
there except a few shop keepers (it is art work). Joann was
looking for a roll of film—no film, but there is carved work, etc.
No one hassles us. They merely stand and smile. A price
is mentioned quietly, with the word old or new. It is a
delight. Sebatu is not mentioned in the guidebook, and tour
buses do not come this way. It is quite dark, because of the
clouds, so I have to go outside to see each object. Finally,
in one corner of a shop, on a shelf, with dust on it, I see a mask
that looks special. I carry it to the light. It is a
dragon/bird mask beautifully carved. It does seem old.
The proprietor says "old, not new." How much? For you,
20,000 Rupiah. (That is less than $20.) But I've read my
guidebook; I know that the price is inflated. I look at other
masks. He brings out a demon, "old, not new." 35,000 Rp.
He shows me new masks: 2,000 Rp. None have the quality of the
one I want. Finally back to it, I hold it, inspect it, and ask
"how much?" "20,000 Rp" is the answer. I ponder, I say,
"I give you 15,000 Rp." No haggle by starting ridiculously
low, but a 25% reduction. He looks, smiles, says "for you,
15,000 Rp." We agree. I get the mask. Our driver
sees it and says, "Garuda," the mythical bird that saves people,
etc. I was right in my unvoiced assumption. Back at the
hotel we see it is a beautiful mask. I put it over my face.
One can see very easily through the mouth. It is a
real mask,
and I think we got something special. Mila is equally
delighted and Joann also says it is a good buy. Hooray for a
fragment of still largely untouched Bali, in a beautiful site off
the beaten tourist path. The experience was significant (not
because of the price, but the non-commercial transactions in a
sacred place).
As we left the rain
began, and in earnest, until near Denpasar. There we go to the
government licensed craft shop and Mila gets some textiles and
four
small "smiling" ducks. Once again reasonable prices with an
automatic discount. We return to the hotel, pay off the
driver, and while Mila washes her hair, Joann and I go near the
pool/seashore for a beer. The wind is up and it is actually
cool. We all intend to see the dance at 6:30 offered free at
the hotel. At 6:15 p.m. it begins to storm with much rain,
often quite heavy. There is a covered (thatch) pavilion which
houses these dancers in case of rain. We wend our way to it
under our umbrellas. Very few people are there as we get front
row seats. It is a charming show, children and one adult, the
latter doing two mask characters: an old man and a braggadocio.
After the dance (slightly deaf from the gamelan: Bali is louder than
Java) we go to the Seahorse restaurant by the sea. There,
somewhat shielded from the rain and wind, we have supper. We
return to our rooms at 9 p.m.—the rain has stopped.
It was a delightful
day, Joann is much her old self—the rest and tour have been good for
her—and we are all very tired. It is early bed tonight.
Tomorrow, we fly back to Jakarta.
MILA:
The manager (Joann says the director)
of this hotel is a French-Swiss named Albert G. Beaucourt. He
is 40-ish & good-looking, runs this hotel well & efficiently,
considering its complexity & size—does a good job of catering to
whims of large groups of tourists (Dutch & Australian, some
French—don't seem to be any [other] Americans).
Had another
lovely tour today with same driver, starting about 9:15, ending at
about 4:00 for about $35. He was very helpful in asking when
we wanted to stop, whether we wanted to photograph, making
suggestions, all in good humor. This trip featured a large
Chinese buffet in restaurant up in the mountains, plus a reasonable
WC—what more could we want? Even a container of liquid pink
soap, but with one dirty towel hung on a nail! It is high up
in the hills facing Mt. Batur, an "apparently extinct"
volcano—interrupted by loud group of tourists (blonds traveling with
Asians with hair in cornrows & short shorts). Outside
below, gathered people [were] selling their wares by sign
language—funny to watch! Gorgeous views, including sea.
We arrived
at another temple during a time when it seemed so threatening &
overcast that we almost didn't stop. But it seemed to be so
lovely & untouched & untouristy that we went on down. What a
treat, even in (because of?) mist & rain, just a few other people.
It was called Sebatu & it is Shangri-la (or Camelot, as Joann
says)—so beautiful & mystical. As we came back to the stop,
Joann stepped over to a few isolated spots to see if they had film.
They didn't but they had "treasures," one of which we bought.
We call him Garuda (for this is what out driver said he was—the
friendly mythical bird). Owner claimed he was "old" (maybe)—we
bargained for $15 (maybe worth less, but it's interesting & we
liked it!). Joann bought three things and fell in love
with a wooden birdcage (for ceremonies?) which they carried to our
car. We left, only to get into huge torrent of rain which
meant all windows had to be closed shut, & barely got to see some
gorgeous rice terraces (brilliant green) & people harvesting rice &
carrying huge bundles on their heads. (This area is called the
Ubud-Kintamani tour.)
One notable
experience this day was the trip down to Gunung Kawi across
River Pakerisan, which was steep but relatively easy and
lovely—running water, steep rice fields, fascinating caves.
But the trip back up the steep steps in all of the heat &
humidity was a killer. We barely made it, badgered the whole
way by a man trailing us, trying to sell "milk" from a coconut he
carried, plus a knife to cut it with. But lo and behold, a
stall with a women & her small child, with a refrigerator with iced
drinks (we bought Cokes) & straws. What a clever woman!
She let us sit down inside (possibly was afraid we'd collapse on the
stairs outside her shop & keep customers away?) and didn't even try
to sell us her other wares. Anyway her young child (next to
Geo) was quite upset, obviously felt fear for her life from the
"foreign devils"—but never did a Coke taste better!
Before we
went back to hotel, we paid a call to the Government Handicraft
Centre where I bought two sarong lengths of cloth [and] four little
wooden ducks for about $12. One could go crazy buying in
there, it's so reasonable—especially loved the handwoven fabrics
from Tibur & Sambra, but it's expensive, [though] not of course as
much as in U.S. Joann bought more things—she obviously felt
relaxed & happy. [Back at the hotel] Joann & Geo went off for
a beer; I stayed in room to wash & contemplate Garuda. This
night about 6:00 it began raining hard, so we sloshed over
(under two umbrellas) to free dances. We saw big (LOUD)
25? more? gamelan orchestra accompanying another dance group (some
little kids)—four dances, almost all participants were
children—dances of birds, baris ("warriors"), & two mask
dances done by their teacher (quite good): an old man & a drunk
(?)—great control & concentration. We had a front table, so I
didn't have to fight off tourists popping up in front of me with
flashbulbs (they did crawl & kneel). It was raining
through all of this, so they moved performance to covered
pavilion—wonderfully atmospheric with pounding rain. Once more
I could see lots of little kids watching from the wings (relatives?
apprentices?). Quite charming—lovely to see.
Really
strong rain ensued; even got wet with our umbrellas; ran over to
"the Sea Horse," had some Australian wine (sort of like Tokay) to
ward off pneumonia—this is an outside restaurant, remember,
right next to ocean. Had grilled red snapper, rice & salad,
excellent, but so much of it. We kept hearing the
pounding surf not-so-far in the distance, with bamboo blinds banging
& swaying back & forth & little shell chandeliers twinkling &
tinkling—very dramatic. We watched the sea for a moment or two
after dinner & then staggered back to rooms about 9:30, too
somnambulant from all the food, climbing, sea air & wine to stay out
any longer. Good night! (Not such a good sleep this
night. Too much food.)
FRIDAY, MAY 31,
1985
GEORGE:
A slow start since
it is back to Jakarta today. Packing and lazing is about it
until 10:30 a.m. I manage to get the chance to pay the bill,
which later I calculate at $394.51 for all of us, including the
meals we charged. Joan[n] insists she will pay me her share—in
dollars yet—but I shall resist. The hotel bus takes us to the
airport and we go through a security check that is a probe which sniffs
(?). They beat a bit on the bag and watch a meter. We
pass (I trust Garuda [the mask] is O.K.). Then we go through a
conventional X-ray and metal detector scanning. After a wait
we board an airbus which is going to Singapore via Jakarta.
This time Garuda [insert: Airlines] serves a hot meal.
Since the flight is only about one and a half hours, it is a bit
rushed. I must confess to being a wee bit tired of Indonesian
cooking; I really prefer my chicken cut up in ways where I can
recognize the parts.
We arrive at the
International Depot, even though we are domestic. We have
special passes attached to our boarding passes to show immigration,
and we manage to sweep past customs. Zani, the driver, is
there and finally we are on our way. [Then] on the freeway a
herd of goats suddenly decides to cross, in single file, in front of
us. Zani drives too fast, and a collision seems inevitable.
Yet with a screeching of brakes [and] much swerving we manage to
avoid all but one. At least I hear a thump. Zani mutters
something and keeps going, driving more slowly because, I think, he
worries about car damage. Upon arrival there is no visible
damage to be seen, other than a little smear on a fender. I
guess we—and perhaps the goats—were lucky.
Back at the
residence I sort of collapse; I am very tired. A nap helps;
Mila too rests. Then it is preparation for the evening's
dinner party. I finally put on a suit and a tie for my shirt.
Mila improvises a more elaborate dress-up. We were not really
equipped for fancy. Jean has invited a mix of diplomatic types
and Indonesians, plus a few others.
[Later] There
were about 24 of us all told. Suffice it to say, the dinner
was very good, elegantly served, with all sorts of niceties
including printed menus in French, and name cards and miniature
table setups with names so one could see beforehand where to sit.
[In margin: There are three tables in all.] I am at the
table with Jean; Mila with Joann at a second table. And
afterwards we return to the "reception room" for coffee etc. and
conversation. I shan't try to recreate what we talked about at
dinner and afterwards, but it is worth noting that I learned about
various things I did not previously know, including the discovery of
more explosives at Borobudur (after the original incident), a
munitions dump fire and explosion about six months ago.
Conversations included discussion of earthquakes (Jean also
described the great one in China); historic preservation in
Indonesia; Bali (especially by a Dutch-trained architect who is very
high on U.S. schooling); Javanese attitudes; etc., etc. At the
end of the evening I got into conversation with the "headmaster" of
the international school in Jakarta. An American recently
arrived, he is a professional in private school education.
(Previously he ran the school in Tehran.) So it turns out he
knew Roger Boocock, Pem-Day, Sunset Hill, etc. Small world!
Finally it is just
Jean, Joann and the two of us. We sit and chat, tell Jean
about the "Sultan and his two wives etc." experience (which he found
enormously amusing), and then to bed. It was by then a very
full day.
MILA:
Last day in Bali. (Too bad.
Who wants to leave Paradise?) I sat out on our private terrace
that has twin rattan chaises with lime green batik coverings, two
rattan chairs & table, watching the boy mowing the green, green
grass. Lots of flowers & palm trees & blue sky. Rained
all night? Ate a strange omelet [sic: previously
spelled "omelette"] for breakfast in coffee shop;
looked in hotel's little shop (bought more postcards, a cassette of
Bali music, eventually some woven Balinese purses). Joann & I
went down to the sea & watched people wade out waist-deep, & some
others "sunning" in mini-bikinis. Fun to shop with another woman.
Luckily we were already packed because the boy came determined to
remove all of our luggage at 10:30 a.m.—then Joann & Geo
couldn't decide who should pay bill (we charged it on our Amer Ex).
Shook hands with manager (most gracious).
Hot ride to
airport that was mercifully air-conditioned. Strange flight in
Garuda "airbus" with lots of Dutch, Australian, & Spanish? Italian?
tourists. Had hot meal of chicken, rice, tofu, tomato salad,
sprouts, shrimp chips, & that awful national treasure of desserts, "lepat
pisang"—fried banana turnover, which I just can't like!
Uggh. Arrive pretty much on time, but have an endless
wait to get out of aircraft, & an endless walk to exit
(unfortunately also the international flights exit). Much
pandemonium. Joann is getting nervous, since she has a 3:30
hair appointment at "Revlon House"; but we got out to find Zanni
awaiting & [his] hot Peugeot not too far behind. Only memorable
incident going in was on highway back to Jakarta where we were
speeding (per usual, he usually drove 85 mph) & ran into herd of
goats that somehow got past fencing. Zanni slowed down so much
he nearly avoided hitting all of them broadside, but one big one did
get nicked in the leg. But he [the goat] got up & limped back
with others to original side of the highway. God,
disconcerting is an understatement!
Left off
Joann at 3:20 (whew) & zoomed on home, just in time to be smartly
saluted by Manisot in two mismatched colors of khaki, who
blew his whistle to alert house staff who seemed surprised (they
were in "casual" dress) & scurried to unlock all doors.
Tonight is the BIG Dinner for us! God. I take
bath, unpack, Geo takes nap, Joann returns, Geo dresses, I read &
write, I dress (not "up" but imaginatively, HA). They seem to
be preparing four tables of five people each. What will the
evening hold? I'll probably be dressed all wrong.
Strange black cotton "mod" skirt (long even on me!) with pleats,
strange purple hose & blouse, with even stranger overjacket in
outlandish print & a weird gold pin. Well. I've always lived
up to the precept—do the far-out dress & you'll probably get away
with it. The horrible dark blue sandals are all wrong, though.
I should have brought the ankle-strap black ones my gay friends dote
on. I will be hungry by 8:00 & after [that] I may pass out
with the first drink. See you later.
[Later]
When the magic moment arrived, I [was] still unprepared for what was
to ensue. Talk about Agatha Christie "characters": the whole
array was worthy of at least two of her books! The
mustachioed French industrialist; the beautiful Spanish teacher of
languages in the International School—married to an exiled French
journalist (because he had written unpopular articles critical of
the government); the sturdy yet humorous British woman charge d'affaires [of the] British embassy; the toothy designer of boutique
batiks (even had [a] Dior show); the American charge d'affaires
(like a craggy
Sam Donaldson), loud & argumentative (soon to be on
leave for three months to Arizona); the intense but dull Swiss
ambassador & his wife; the exuberant Indonesian architect & his
petite exquisite wife in native garb (their daughter will go to
college in USA); [the] Indonesian woman curator of some museum; the
strange but loquacious American headmaster of the International
School who knows Roger Boocock (& who didn't bring his Indonesian
girlfriend, though he seems to have a wife & four children
somewhere); [and] a young couple I'm not too sure about, obviously
natives—she with bad skin & quiet, he looking like the hero of an
old Chinese fairytale.
The
protocol is unbelievably complicated: [there are] table
arrangements on round boards they carry around & show the guests.
(You have to be careful not to antagonize anyone or cause
international incidents. Poor Jean.) Let's see: what
else? So many of them smoked cigarettes & cigars (house soon
stank)—who was that strange gentleman with the moustache à la
Noël Coward who smoked constantly? (Jean's first officer.)
Hard on one's eyes in an unventilated room! Everyone was very
animated & good humored ("You must come to my house in Bali
next time"—this from the architect—"Bathing naked in my river is so
beautiful, so natural & wonderful"). Drink tray consisted of
fruit juice, Coke,
Kir (cassis and ?) cocktails, other mixed drinks
to order. No canapés.
The
houseboy tells Jean when the meal is ready (around 8:45) & we stroll
into dining hall where three (?) tables stand with eight (?) chairs
around them. Meal great, of course: consommé, paté, turkey,
new tiny potatoes, carrots, [and] what looked like Baked Alaska. In
living room we had coffee or
tisane (lemon) after-dinner drinks.
Our table was pretty lively—Sam Donaldson & the architect dominated.
(The lights went out during dinner, but eventually came back on.)
Mr. Howland, the charge d'affaires
of American Embassy, hated Year of Living
Dangerously, said it did a disgrace and lied about [the] 1965 revolution
against Sukarno. To him it was a glorious exciting event, an overthrowal of injustice. He finds Jakarta "dull" now, wants
to go to Beirut where the action is. He's
originally from Brooklyn, then mainline Boston; his son goes to University of Virginia, &
he has two daughters—he's a real character. Jean says
he is a brilliant diplomat & deserves to have his own embassy
somewhere, but to me he seemed bent on provoking me; refuses to see
The Killing Fields (which
Jean & Joann saw & liked but thought it much too tame & subdued,
considering what really happened). Howland knew all about (had
intimate friends in) Cambodia at that time, some of whom were
killed. (He had a graphic description of one man who put his
family on 'copter & was killed before they could take off). Then he
described in great detail the recent escape of
thirty prisoners, seven of whom were murderers, from a nearby security
pen. And then there's that ammunition dump that caught fire some
months ago & exploded, at same general time that the
two department stores caught fire, etc. English (?) Embassy was set fire to some years back—they now have an enormously tall
iron fence around the compound, or is it the American Embassy
compound? (What would happen here? Our little security
guard would no doubt run away!) And the American ambassador
rides around in bulletproof car. Mr. Howland is something
else!
Some people
left early (the dull Swiss couple); some stayed late: the animated
architect, the gorgeous Spanish teacher & especially the headmaster
who kept suggesting that we visit his school; stayed until about
12:30. [Then] we four sat up late (1:00-1:15) & talked &
laughed, unwinding, having MORE DRINKS. I'm so high I can't
sleep.
SATURDAY, JUNE 1,
1985
GEORGE:
We woke a bit later
than usual; after all, we went to bed c.1:30 in the morning.
I arrange for breakfast. I also begin to sort out things.
While writing up yesterday's entry, Joann comes in. We discuss
"today" and laundry. We arrange to get it done so we leave
Jakarta as clean as possible, and agree that it shall be a trip
today with picnic lunch to the botanical gardens at
Bogor, south of
Jakarta about 40 km.
Jean had a business
luncheon at the residence and Joann got restive in the arrangements.
Suddenly she disappeared (after returning from the bank, etc.) and
began checking up on things. As she later said, she was
running a hotel school for students who failed to remember
everything. Or as Jean said, "It is rubber time here."
Standard answers to questions re: assigned duties are two
Balinese
Indonesian words (I don't know how to pronounce or spell) which mean
"Not yet" or "I forgot," re: something that was supposed to be done.
So there went Madame Soulier, first to the left, then to the right,
etc. Finally we were ready. Earlier she had
called Singapore Airlines and confirmed our flight and hotel.
Sometimes these simple telephone calls can become a nightmare, as
earlier yet, Jean could not reach the embassy by telephone.
The connection just didn't get made.
The trip to Bogor
(which is 60 km I learned) was uneventful. The gardens are
lovely, and we bought a pass so we could drive through. We
finally saw a little picnic shelter (slightly decrepit and of
concrete, but with a nice view). There we ate lunch and Joann
could relax again. Lunch was leftover turkey as sandwiches on
French bread with a sauce of some kind. There was beer and
bananas. It was quite charming. After a bit more driving
we left the gardens, and on the way out of Bogor I took several
photos through the windshield. Bogor is different from Jakarta
(but everything is), but also different from Yogya. There were
a lot of jitneys as well as pedicabs. Once back in Jakarta, we
returned to the shop where Mila bought some batik earlier on the
trip, and she got a few more things for gifts to people as well as a
blouse. Then back to the residence. Suddenly I felt very
weary and took a nap.
About 6:45 p.m. I
went out to the terrace to read and discovered that it was cool and
there was a breeze. Mila joined me. Then came an intense
rain, about 7:00[?] p.m., and it was very intense and continued for
at least an hour. Joann joined us, and finally we returned to
the "reception room" where Jean finally appeared. We took
photos and had a pleasant rambling conversation dealing with travels
and adventures (our travels and their adventures), Even
Joan[n]'s three-color Chinese cat (a really strange creature) joined
us. Dinner continued the delightful evening and we then had
tea and cognac in the reception room, with more conversation.
Finally at 11 p.m. I insisted they (and we) go to our quarters.
I worry about their ability and opportunities to rest.
MILA:
Up about 8:15; breakfast (petit
dejeuner) about 9:00; we're supposed to go to Botanical Gardens (Bogor)
to picnic while Jean hosts a lunch for some journalists, but things
aren't moving too swiftly this morning! (Luckily washing
woman now has our dirty clothes in her possession—she doesn't work
on Sundays—but perhaps won't iron until Monday.) Poor Joann
(looking tense again) has so much to do: arranging luncheon for
Jean, having servants make sandwiches for our picnic (servants
unnerved from too much festivities the previous night), calling
Singapore Airlines to confirm our flight, going to the bank (for
money for Geo), endless details. Lights/power out again.
Phones go out or misfunction [sic]. Quote Jean: "This is a
developing country—I hope." [insert: "on rubber-time"]
Servants disappear, have no breakfast for him—"no cream; no
juice"—no wonder Joann is tense!
We get off
to a very late start (12:45) with Zanni. Quote Jean to Zanni:
"Don't drive so fast"; "No goats," says Zanni. Out through
haze of pollution, carts, buses belching black exhaust fumes, kids
on motorbikes, people selling things in stalls—go 60 km to Botanical
Gardens with lots of huge banyan trees, jungle-like forests (no
formal gardens). "Orchid houses" are closed to general
public—too much pilfering. Had picnic under a park "pagoda"
defaced a bit with graffiti. Lovely beer, Perrier (but no
glasses), three small turkey sandwiches apiece, bananas; very quiet
& peaceful & green, a few dogs nosing in wastebaskets. (Zanni
sits on his own bench away from us.)
Drove
through rest of park & came home by way of little shop where I spent
$12 on more assorted stuff. At 7:00 rain started [while] Geo & I
were out lizard-watching: there are three "adults" & one "baby"
about an inch long—they all look like plastic or rubber or those pet
chameleons I used to see sold as pets in my childhood. (Geo
saw a frog tonight.) Rain continued. Before dinner we
have interesting sparkling Alsace white wine (not champagne).
Dinner: consommé, French fish (strong Provençal taste), carrots,
beans, little potatoes, crème caramel, tisane & liqueurs as usual.
We take
photos of each other. Joann has a large, thickly furred,
three-color (calico) Peking cat with green eyes, who is afraid of
people, especially Chinese & loud things. She "talks" to
Joann, her tongue sticks out because she has a large tooth under it
that [is] displaced & sticks out also—very unusual and strange-looking sight.
She did come out into the living room (reception area?) &
prowled around & finally settled on Joann's lap & purred contentedly
until Geo made a sudden movement & she bolted & scurried away.
She stays upstairs mostly—goes out for a brief nightly run about 8
p.m. to chase lizards & the four
yard cats (who in turn scare & eat rats).
SUNDAY, JUNE 2,
1985
GEORGE:
I awoke at perhaps 3
a.m. and didn't know where I was. I had been dreaming complex,
realistic scenes associated with travel in Indonesia (I think), and
I felt I was in a hotel room—somewhere. But where? Where
was the bathroom, for nature's call had awakened me? Finally I
realized I was in Jakarta and thus knew where the facilities were
located. Thank goodness. Later, when I was waking up, I
discovered my razor won't work, whatever the outlet. Is it the
razor, or the transformer? I think the former. Ah well,
safety razors can be used. But then I discover there is a
pinhole rupture in the shaving cream and it has squished all over
inside the plastic bag in which it was placed. A dreadful
mess, but we will rectify it with spare and clean bags I brought.
I guess in Singapore I buy a new razor. Travel can be
exciting!
Our excursion today
is to the Wayang Museum again to see the performance. We
arrive at 10 a.m. and learn it is Wayang Kulit (shadow puppets).
Suffice it to say that at 1 p.m. it was still going on, and we left.
I watched from both sides of the screen but ended up with most of my
time on the "gold" side so I could see both the dalang
(puppeteer/narrator) and the gamelan orchestra. The "stage
business" is fascinating. It is true that the shadow side is
magical, but watching how it is done intrigued me very much.
To see how the clowns perform (with appropriate music) vs. the
demons or heroes is more fun than the story (which sadly I could not
follow, except it has good vs. evil and supporting members, great
battles, and long periods of minimum action with much narration).
This part of Java is Sunda,
and the Sundanese have a quieter and more melancholy sound than the
clamorous[?] Balinese gamelan.
On the way out,
there was a maker of the puppets (real ones, not the tourist
souvenir-type), who was at work and had some for sale. I check
them over very carefully. In the context of the museum
specimens and the performance just viewed, I can see at least
whether the technical aspect of their execution seems right.
And it does. We pick the smallest ones out, and of these the
most elaborate, and I buy it. So we have a mask and
a puppet.
We head back to the
residence for lunch. I should note that before leaving (for
the museum) Joann gave me $150 US. She insisted it was for her
share of Bali. I reluctantly accept. We will have to do
something special, somehow, for the Souliers [in the margin:
someday]. Lunch was simple and excellent. It has begun
to rain. After lunch we four sit on the terrace, which in the
intense rain and wind is delightfully cool. I ask Jean if he
does this often? No, he says, usually it is too hot and most
afternoons he is at work. He said the last time was in
Cambridge [MA], 1972, when they sat on a terrace and looked at a
garden. Of course we shared a week with them then, and yes I
recalled those quiet evenings.
Joann finds an empty
wine case of corrugated cardboard. Now after a rest, it is
time I try to fabricate a traveling case for
Narayana, our
puppet. [Later] Success. Our puppet is
shrouded in newspaper, plastic and thick corrugated cardboard.
The arms and their extended horn appendages are fastened down to the
main elements of the puppet with ties. Masking tape, more or
less, seals the package (which is very sturdy). Perhaps in
Singapore I will find a better tape to secure the flaps. The
package, however, must be hand-carried.
We dress, sort of,
for dinner (which is to be out, since the cook is off Sunday night).
I am in my suit (less jacket) with white shirt and tie again.
We have an aperitif (at home) and then are off to the Mandarin hotel
to eat "Sechuan"
food. All very elegant and finally I master the Asian, Chinese
eating protocol. We have "appetizers"—two different. One
is marinated cucumber slices/strips; the other, tiny fried
fish. There is soup, pork, chicken, eel, fish, rice and north
Chinese bread (wheat flour rolls, first steamed then fried).
There is tea, wine and water. All the dishes (except the rice,
steamed) is Sechuan (as they spell it). I decide (wisely) to
eat sparingly, since tomorrow we travel. Dessert is a bowl of
lichee nuts in
syrup. It is all lovely.
At the next table
are two couples who seem to know the Souliers very well. They
leave the restaurant first, and as they say goodbye we are
introduced. It is the Pakistani ambassador and his wife, the
Philippines ambassador, and one of Sukarno's widows, number three
Jean thought. A handsome woman about my age (ooh, ah).
Then back to the residence, a cognac, brief conversation, and to
bed—to sleep if possible; certainly to rest.
MILA:
A wonderful last day in
Indonesia. Awakened by tap-tap-tapping at door at 7 a.m.
"Not yet," we say. Geo's razor gives up the ghost, or spook,
as they say. We ate about 7:30-8:30 & tried to pack.
Took out
Joan Gilson's bag & packed it with bought things. (I hope
it holds up. It looks somewhat fragile. From now on I'll
underpack everything.) We plan to go to the Wayang
Museum today for Wayang Kulit (Shadow Puppet) performance.
(Note to
myself—I must write to various people & departments on air letters
in London, second day, to let them know we got that far. After
all, so many people were "in on" this trip, it's the least I can
do.)
Got off
just before 10 a.m. with Zanni again (Joann in charge this
time). Fascinating [Wayang performance]! Geo & I sat on
both sides [of the screen] (Joann stayed on shadow side). Geo
liked the "gold" side to see puppeteer & gamelan orchestra.
Stayed three hours (after 1 p.m.). I was hungry too! In
lobby of museum they make puppets & sell completed ones—the largest
& most ornate were about $75; we bought one of the smallest,
Narayana, at $27. Now we're going to have trouble getting him
& "Garuda" home!
We go back
to the house. It began to rain—Jean came down in a beautiful
Thai red shirt & we had lunch:
cassoulet
(sausage & white beans), red wine & pears. Sat outside
(!) [on the terrace] afterwards in almost cool stillness & most
dramatic watching a thunderstorm with pounding rain. Jean says
it's the first time he's done it since living in this house.
Rest &
pack. Had an incredible meal in the Mandarin Szechwan
Restaurant, causing severe burning of mouth & throat (joke); we were
seated in a booth next to widow (wife #3?) of Sukarno (who is not
"received" officially), the Ambassador to Philippines (good friend
of Jean's, they were together in Thailand), Ambassador to Pakistan
(who Jean says is "sharp-tongued & caustic") & his wife. Mme
Sukarno is lovely, in 60s, dark-haired & well-dressed in formal
gown. Much bowing & scraping & kissing. Had hors
d'oeuvre: HOT dried fish & peppers & marinated cucumbers, hot
sour soup (good), three dishes: eel, chicken, pork, with very HOT
peppers (instant FIRE), huge whole fish like carp with reddish sauce
(good), rosé wine, tea & tons of water (bottled), lichees for
dessert. Women got little boxes with two chocolates in them as
we left. Some young intense moustached man came up to us in
the restaurant to be introduced to Jean (an architect of the
Mandarin dining rooms? not clear). Caucasian, spoke French.
The dining room is called "Spice Garden"; the "Club Room" is across
hall—French food. The Mandarin Hotel is very elegant, refined
& quiet—lots of Chinese (no? not Chinese?) families, including
Gramma & kiddies, etc. Seem to have difficulty locating our
driver when we leave.
Do I want
to leave all of this for Singapore? As the Indonesian
architect said, "Singapore is a beautiful silk rose: artificial.
Indonesia (especially Bali) is a vivid live hibiscus."
MONDAY, JUNE 3,
1985
GEORGE:
Up at 6 a.m., bathe,
get ready too early, but this time I am ready for breakfast before
they "knock us up." We do little other than pack, read a bit
and hope our laundry appears. It does shortly before 11 a.m.
We complete our packing. Jean is returning at 11:30 to have
lunch with us. When he does, and we go into the dining room
for an omelette, salad and fruit (and a bit of wine) and then a
demitasse, we realize we are separating again. It is a sad
moment, and we toast one another. Finally we load up, I
embrace Jean and he sees the three of us off; Joann comes with us to
the airport. Finally we take our goodbyes of Joann and we head
through the various checkpoints with this, that, and the like, to
make it all official that we are off to Singapore.
In due course we are
on the airplane and ready for our hour-and-a-half flight.
Arrival in Singapore puts us into another world. We are in a
world of neatness, discipline and rapid-fire instructions. We
get our luggage quite early and thus are at the Singapore Holiday
desk where we are processed more efficiently than I was
when I was drafted and run
through the induction/reception center. We are given tags to
wear, our luggage is tagged for the hotel, we and the luggage are
sorted into groups. The luggage goes in vans, we go in buses
by hotels proximate to each other. On the bus we are given
intensive instruction about everything, including tours.
Actually the tours thing we already heard at the desk, where we
booked one free, one pay tour, exchanged money—all rapid-fire talk,
talk, talk. I desperately try to write key instructions down.
At the hotel, it is
more of the same. Rapid-fire instructions, with demonstration
using mockup, showing how to use forms, vouchers for breakfast, the
electronic key, etc. etc. Our heads whirl. The room is
O.K. but nothing exceptional. On the other hand, the cost is
most reasonable. We check out things, and go for a walk on
Orchard Road.
We try to buy a razor for me in
Tang's department store, but that falls through when I learn
they have run out of adapter plugs (to go from round prongs to
flat). Finally we eat at a McDonald's and totter back to the
hotel. Our room is near the elevators, so bong, bong, bong
each time an elevator stops. But again I remind myself, it is cheap!
Tomorrow we tour
from about 9 to 4 p.m. with [an] hour for lunch. The
instructions were staccato sharp, so I've set our alarm for 7 a.m.
so we can do everything in proper order. Two days of this
rapid routine should get us ready for London—I guess. It may
over prepare us.
MILA:
Breakfast per usual; pack & sit.
Jean came back for lunch to have one last meal with us (omelette,
tomatoes, fruit & wine). Sad to leave, toasting "To
Friendship." Went off with "George" (Mohammed) to the salute
of Manisot (who is about to be sacked, or rather
transferred); sad
farewell to Joann at airport (no doubt she's relieved). Had
"dinner" aboard Singapore Airlines: lamb, potatoes, "turnips," crème
caramel, red wine. Landed, on time, into another world:
now it's not "not now" or "I forgot," but "Immediately" &
"Remember." "Synchronize your watches."
Singapore: efficiency personified! Luggage came all in a
bunch, no customs, Arrived at Singapore Airlines
Hospitality Desk & [got] swept up into our first plunge into
Singapore Processing, to wit: "Here are the following items.
Follow me in this order—1st) the blue form (read them), 2nd) the red
form—this entitles you to— (follow closely) 3) wear these badges in
this order. Do you need money changed? I do it here.
I can give you better rate of exchange. Dollars, please, if
you have them, no traveler's cheques. And now please wait over
there until I call you. Wear this button now.
Tomorrow wear this badge. I have the following tours
available for tomorrow. This one is free. It will
go to—" etc. etc. George [sic] says he hadn't been
processed like this since he left the Armed Forces. They
herded us (baggage & all) out of airport to area near buses where
luggage was organized according to hotels, tagged accordingly, &
then we were processed also. We finally got on the bus for the
Hilton & Orchards Hotel. All the way into town, I missed the
sights due to the young girl's spiel: "Do not accept calls from
strangers offering to take you on shopping tours." "Look at
your vouchers & booklets." "Your luggage will be delivered
between half and one hour after you arrive." The
Orchard
Hotel has the same routine. "Please pay attention,
ladies & gentlemen, for a demonstration of your room key.
Hello, Mr. & Mrs. Ehrlich, here is your envelope. In it you
will find the following—etc." Everyone seems stunned under
this onslaught. The room (#915) is nice, but nothing like the
Hong Kong Furama—definitely underlit. We run around
outside, getting rather confused and go in wrong direction into the
strange world of disco music, bright lights, neon, fast food places,
& hordes of people. (Bob
Dean would love it.) Went to Tang's Department Store, in
which Geo tried to buy a new electric "shaver," but found they had
no adapter plug for it—so we sacrificed our special discount & fled.
I needed FOOD (per usual). It was 9:00 by then, so we ended up
in a McDonald's which is highly appropriate for Singapore.
Later that night, they are broadcasting Puccini's Girl of the
Golden West on TV. Singapore is warm & humid.
TUESDAY, JUNE 4,
1985
GEORGE:
Up and at 'em;
tour-day. Rose shortly before 7 a.m. (Singapore [time]) and
went through bathing etc., without eventful incident. Breakfast
is buffet by our coupons, and that was good enough, but it is still
a bit of the "keep the line moving" sort of thing. That was
all right since we needed to be ready for our tour by 9 a.m.
By the time we returned to our room, the maid had made the beds and
was nearly through with the bathroom. Tomorrow we need to put
up a do-not-disturb sign.
We and some others
are in the lobby at 9 a.m. wearing our stick-on tags. At 9
a.m. the bus arrives and we are checked off, loaded and instructed.
We go to the
Raffles
Hotel where people are sorted out by tour number (places to be
visited). Our morning tour turns out to be less than exciting.
We visit Mt. Faber,
a "batik factory" but it is really a sales house,
Tiger Balm
park (an absolutely zany assembly of concrete sculpture in execrable
taste: old
Riverview Park schlock, but in 3-D), a "cultural show" of native
dances, and so-called snake charmers (which had us helpless with
unintentional laughter—it was a Catskills variety show). We
then went to the botanic gardens to see orchids. Our guide was
a very intense Chinese girl who gave us instruction three to five
times about when to reboard and where. We did see parts of the
city, including the historic district and Chinatown. I am
quite surprised at how much greenery there is, and the relative
flatness of the island. While built-up, it is not so
astonishingly vertical as Hong Kong.
Mila and I are
disappointed by the tour; it was far less interesting than we hoped
for, and we saw less of the city than anticipated. But we
decide to hang on for the afternoon tour. That is our free
tour, to
Sentosa Island. We have an hour for lunch, and since we
debark (and reembark) at the Raffles, we have lunch in the Palm
Court of the Raffles. It is all very British and rather run
down. But there is a genuine charm to the place on the inside.
We have finger sandwiches and iced lemon tea. We then wander
about and see the several public rooms, a modest historical (photo)
display, and use the facilities. In the men's room there is a
cloth "roller" towel machine which advances a clean length by
placing one's hand in a cavity, and then you have exactly eight
seconds before the used part retracts into the machine.
We board our tour
bus. This time our guide is a very petite, smiling Malay.
She is less frenetic than the a.m. guide, but once again there is
the list of instructions given with great care. As things
turned out, the afternoon tour was splendid except for one foul-up.
We got a lot of information and saw more than anticipated. We
took the ferry to Sentosa Island (a "resort" and
recreational/informational island). There we saw the
coralarium, an
aquarium with live corals and fish, reef displays etc. We
also saw a magnificent dead coral and shells display (the latter
outdoors). We visited the historical museum with life-size
dioramas—really quite informative, especially re: the war years.
We took a monorail ride around most of the Sentosa Island.
Finally we took the cable car ride back to Singapore Island.
From this and other vantage points we saw much of the harbour [sic],
skyline, etc. The only foul-up (and it was a doozy, re: this
tour company): there was no coach waiting for us at the end of the
cable ride, nor did it show up for twenty minutes. Our guide
was most displeased, and made at least two phone calls.
However, we were given no explanation and when finally we were back
on our "schedule," the guide simply picked up the charm as before.
We are informed
about public housing, and this is somewhat like Hong Kong but there
is less of it. There is a lot of landfill on which things have
been built, and our guide tells us the low hills were leveled to
make the fill. The city, except for two small mounts,
is not level, but it certainly isn't hilly. And trees [are]
almost everywhere, to the extent that photography from the bus is
difficult. Housing developments are as self-contained as
possible, complete with shops, schools, factories for housewives,
etc. Our return to the Orchard is about 6:30 p.m. We
walk a bit, see the handicraft center near us (I am not
impressed) and the Rozee[?] Singapore, a food bazaar (where I am not
eager to touch anything since tomorrow we fly). Our dinner
later is a ham and cheese sandwich at Burger King. We watch
[a] BBC Jane Austin episode (Mansfield Park) on TV and conk
out about 10:15 p.m. Tomorrow is walking and shopping for
shaver and [camera] lens?
MILA:
Lovely sunny day & the efficiency
continues, with Geo & I reacting accordingly (both with a certain
amount of anxiety—"will we do things right, in the proper order?"
"Free" breakfast outside is in the same manner: a huge buffet: cold
cereal, fruits, breads, rolls, croissants, scrambled eggs
(lukewarm), bacon (ditto), fried fritters (ditto), sausages, cold
meats & cheeses, & some strange fish soup? Tea or coffee
(multiple cups)—we're rather rushed through, but lo & behold, on our
return to our room, it was already made up, before 8:00 a.m.!
This is really too much to take! How can they maintain this
pace & level of efficiency?
Geo reconfirmed our flight to
London & our being picked up at hotel. We rush
down to first of two tours today. We wait outside, with
appropriate stickers, for our tour bus at promptly five
minutes to 9:00. More organization—all go in one big bus to
central point at Raffles Hotel where they pair you off for
"color-coded" appropriate tours. We are on the City-West Coast
Tour, with "April" as our guide who speaks loudly & precisely
into microphone. "You will be seeing these things in the
following order. First—" There are mostly Australians
(on tour?) on this bus. We stop for 25 minutes at Mt. Faber
for photos, buying more souvenirs, using WCs (10¢ S[ingapore]—5¢ US) or
buying cokes. Next stop, observing batik making & buying same.
Such organization—you go through procedure with orderly fashion.
Quote: "People holding yellow cards are on our paid
tour & do not have to pay for the dancing. Those holding
pink cards must pay me $5.00 each since you are on free
tour. I will now pass through bus to take your money."
Consternation after batik tour: two people are missing!
Tension! As Geo says, these people wear permanently furrowed
brows. Next, a visit to Tiger Balm Gardens (huge park in
lovely setting with ghastly kitsch statues à la Disneyland, which
Geo says is elegant in comparison to this). Hot & humid with
many, many Japanese & Indian tourists photographing friends &
relatives. We had a cold coke. Gasp—sweet! Next,
the Instant Asia Culture Show—pretty strange—resembled one of those
40-minute prepackaged shows they used to have in
Crown Center Square
("direct from Athens, Yannis, international singing star").
The funniest bit was an Indian version of a Catskill routine: Buddy
Hackett-George Jessel snake charmers!—so funny that Geo & I can
hardly control ourselves. Next, the Botanical Gardens,
concentrating on display of many varieties of orchids. A
wedding party was being photographed (Geo did NOT photograph
the bride—people don't interest him). Sun is so HOT (I
try using umbrella).
We end up
at the Raffles Hotel, where we have a layover before the second
tour (we hope it will be better than first tour). We eat lunch
at the Palm Court, outside with fans, caged birds, orchids, looking
out to central court that has a swimming pool & chairs. It is
very pleasant, very slow, very languid, very welcome after all that
rush & push. We each had six little crustless sandwiches (mine
cheese & tomato) & iced lemon tea. The Raffles desperately
clings to past nostalgia (post huge tariffs for some rooms, i.e.
Writer's Suites e.g. Noel Coward #121, $200 double) & it is still
most charming in a sort of rundown, seedy, SLOW way—even had
a CAT begging at the tables! Took ages to be served & food
wasn't that great, but we enjoyed atmosphere & touring the premises
(even have an Australian "Tiger" Bar!).
Joined
second tour of day: the Sentosa Island Tour, bus #2071, with
"Peter" the driver (was late meeting us) & a very tiny pretty guide
(less tense than April) wearing long skirt & high-heeled backless
shoes ("slides") but managed to outrun us all. First went to
the Coralarium (gorgeous—all varieties of coral in lovely settings
in a park area, very impressive). Next, wax museum in a new
air-conditioned building with WCs, very expensive looking &
carefully narrated in a recorded upper-class Australian voice,
[about] the way Singapore developed—slanted against British &
toward "our brave resistance forces!" Anyway it was strangely
effective. On to Sentosa Island, using monorail, ferry & cable
car ride to get there, around there, & back to Singapore, all
beautiful. We have an interesting racial mix on this tour (for
once, we're not overloaded with Australians): many single older
women [who] seem to be brave enough to travel here; two sets of Indian
couples with children (all well-behaved); young Australian couple
with little blond son; and an older Dutch (?) couple, she quite
dark, he with a bald head & huge motion picture camera, who
photographed everything endlessly: the ferry ride, the
monorail, the cable car ride (which was fabulous),
even the inside of a flower! This tour was better, the guide
was less tense & strident, though she did get frazzled when—at the
very last stop—the bus didn't show up at the appointed time to pick
us up; she had to phone headquarters TWICE—unheard of!
What happened to the highly-touted efficiency?
Ended up
(again) at Mt. Faber & waited endlessly for bus. Got back to
Orchard Hotel about 6:15-6:30—washed and set off again, walking to
see what the other direction held. Handicraft Centre, which
was really a series of many shops, stalls, & general pandemonium,
including children in miniature cars driving around area, and large
areas of outdoor food stalls (smoke! gasp!) with the locals gorging
on all sorts of interesting but indigestible-looking concoctions.
We decided we could not risk tossing our cookies (or curry, as the
case might be) the day before a long flight. Ate in Burger
King (I seem to be hooked on chocolate milkshakes). Saw
interesting TV production of Austin's Mansfield Park.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE
5,
1985
GEORGE:
A hot and quite
humid day, but out we go down Orchard Road, looking for a razor and
perhaps a new lens for the camera. Electric shavers seem not
especially featured, but everywhere there are cameras, radios, etc.
But real photo supply places seem scarce. There is one I saw
advertised, and finally found it: A&P. They had much on
display, but [a] low-pressure, don't-give-a-damn salesman waits on
me and shows me one 28-70mm Sigma and stands pat. I'm not sure
what I want to do, so I simply look and leave. In and out we
go, into one shopping arcade or "stoa" after another. Finally
in one non-western multi-floor place I see a fairly large display of
electric razors. After much looking, thinking and friendly
sales effort (yet persistent) I get a Phillips deluxe,
self-charging, etc. I also get a free adapter for US. A
full charge should carry me two to three weeks. It isn't
cheap, but neither are they in the USA. Happily, Norelco
dealers can service Phillips. We continue walking, and I see
some [of] old Singapore. That city was basically two-story, with
shops below. The contrast to modern Singapore is startling.
One wonders how much of the old will remain by the end of the
century. As we head back, I continue to look for lenses.
I wander into a small place off the sidewalk, one cubbyhole among
many, but there was a large Pentax sign in the window. I
explain my interest in getting a wide-angle or zoom lens, and this
guy shows me two or three zoom. One is a brand I simply didn't
recognize. I fit it on the camera body and use it to zoom in
and out and focus. The salesman is persistent and almost
persuasive. The lens is cheap (about $85 US) but it is a
maverick brand, so I decide NO. The salesman is not informed
by me of my reason, only my decision. He works extra hard:
"How much will I pay?" I say I don't want to buy anything now.
"Name a price," he says. As I leave, he shouts "$50 US."
I walk away. We return to the hotel, where I use my new razor.
We finish packing and we check the bags with the Bell Captain.
We then walk out in new directions, largely the residential areas.
It is interesting, but the weather is beastly and finally we return.
The rest of the day is spent in idle activity, including a small
supper.
People are
assembling in the lobby; we wear our tags for pickup. Bags are
isolated, ready for bulk delivery to
Changi airport.
Everything goes as expected, very systematic and disciplined.
Baggage, however, is being stacked in a large open truck.
Eventually it will take the luggage for [passengers on] two full tour-size buses.
All the way to the airport, in a rather wheezing bus, the girl guide
and the boy driver (mostly the latter) have an intense discussion in
Chinese on [a] difference of opinion on how the operation should be run.
How do I know? Occasional English words that are used.
At the airport we get baggage carts and wait for the truck.
Finally it arrives and people from our group throw themselves onto
it and luggage goes left and right. Chaos. Whether there
was a plan to unload I don't know. It is the exact opposite of
our arrival. We gather up our bags. We get bomb-sniffing
security tags. We check in and get boarding passes. We
go through immigration and are up in the shopper's
wonderland/lounge. I've changed my Rupiahs to Singapore
dollars, and so off I go with a pocket full of S$. I visit the
photo shop and buy a Pentax 28mm lens for my camera. The cost
is only S$203, which ends up under $90 US for a quality lens, and it
takes my existing filters. I will need a new lens shade, but
will wait till US to get one. I also bought Mila a book on
Java Wayang and small statistical booklet on Singapore.
Suddenly I was worn out and just sat until time to go to the gate.
There I sat until boarding. It was crowded and boring—so what!
MILA:
Last day in Singapore, [at] the end
of which we fly to London. This day is exhausting.
Another ploughing through the huge buffet table, fighting off all of
the Australians who are always determined to EAT. Women seem
to dress very skimpily, bosoms bursting out of strapless bras under
tiny tops; men wear short shorts, have hairy legs and knobby
knees—some look like large versions of
Bunny. I saw one man
with two fried eggs on bread, a ton of bacon & baked beans.
I'm sure they think our taste in food is awful also. (Forgot
to mention yesterday the Japanese version of
Rose Ruhig, who fought
her way through crowds, leaped through aisles to place her umbrella
on two chairs "to save" for friends, & kept leaping up to take
photos of the cultural shows.)
We spent
morning "shopping"—Geo is determined to buy shaver—many "close
calls"—it is so frenetic & humid walking—finally end up with one
with attachments. Ate again in Burger King. Back to
hotel until 1:45 to wash & rest, change clothes (others were
soaked). We were supposed to assemble in lobby before 7 p.m.
when free "transportation" would take us to the airport. Of
course we were supposed to vacate our room by noon, but allowed to
stay until 2:00—still too long a time to kill in that heat &
humidity. After all, you really can't walk the streets all
day! Checked out & checked bags to be "chained" in lobby along
with everyone else's. (Shadow Puppet is placed on shelf.)
Out again in other direction to see some pretty sights—but it's so
humid I'm just streaming sweat & staggering after 1½ hours to
another Burger King for another Chocolate Shake. This trip is
more "suburban"—no shops—some interesting "hanging gardens" in a
building near Mandarin Hotel. Our morning trip was easier—near
shopping areas & "old" architecture, more interesting. I'd
have liked to have seen the Indian section & old City Hall section,
but humidity forbids our walking too far.
Back to
hotel for a leak but no rest—there is almost no seating in lobby,
but we managed to take over one sofa. (They have a so-called
"hospitality" room for customers who have checked out but need to
rest, use toilet, wash hands—maybe take baths or naps? But
they are "zoos"—people who get in first refuse to let others
in. [The Ladies's Room] was occupied & she wasn't about to let
me in—apparently it's first come, first served. So I went with
Geo to the Gentlemen's Room, featuring dirty towels & rumpled
beds—God!) Went to a bar at 5:00 for "free" drink: a pink
concoction of grenadine, orange juice, pineapple/grapefruit/lime
juice & free nuts & chips (hurrah!)—hostesses wore tight red
Suzie
Wong costumes with slits up to thigh. Went across street to
sidewalk café for satay & tea & bought postcards (I'd previously
bought a book on Raffles). Back to the Orchard for long
wait for airport bus. Got acquainted with two charming
Englishwomen, both of whom had been in Australia for three months
(they didn't know each other). One, middle-aged, was tending
her ailing daughter who'd had a miscarriage; the younger one [was] very
vivacious & fun. Gradually, more people & more luggage
accumulated—it took two big buses, & even then we stopped to pick up
even more people & luggage at the Holiday Inn! "Please, each
passenger must personally identify each piece of his own
luggage to see that it gets onto the truck"(!). Long trip to
airport on overloaded bus (it barely made it up hills).
Saw a smashed police car on way—hmm. Following the bus was what
looked like an overloaded open dumptruck filled with all of
our luggage, from about 150 people from two hotels. Driver &
guide in an intense discussion all the way there. Near
to the airport we saw hundreds of taxis waiting to pick up
passengers. The worst part of this wearisome day was the final
moment of disembarking at airport. "Each passenger must get a
cart & personally see that he gets each piece of his own luggage out
of the truck." Pandemonium. Some of the more agile males
(not including Geo) leaped up on to the back of the truck,
flinging around pieces of luggage, tossing down some. (One of
them looked like a silver-haired actor, an
Emlyn Williams
look-alike.) It would have been funny if I hadn't been put out
(bargain day at Orbach's basement). Rounding up the luggage
was not fun & not efficient—it was the one big
slip-up of the Singapore Airlines group activity. But [we] did get
all of our pieces & proceeded through usual endless red tape:
security check for explosives in luggage, seat assignments, luggage
tagged, immigration. "Up" to general departure lounge which
is still beautiful & pleasant. (Geo buys camera lens & books.)
Sitting with a hole in my right stocking where George [sic]
inadvertently stepped on my foot in the absolute chaos of
unloading our luggage. Go to bathroom several times—then on to
gate for boarding—left 10:45 p.m.
THURSDAY, JUNE
6,
1985
GEORGE:
The flight to
Heathrow is long and very uncomfortable. They crowd us too
much on the plane, despite the service. The stop at
Abu Dhabi
is brief, and the part of that terminal we see is a bad example of a
westerner's (?) version of Arabian Nights. It is a tiled
"tent" on two levels. Circular with a swelling center pier
coming up through a large circular opening for the second level.
It is blue and yellow. At least we can stretch our legs.
The entire flight, start to finish, is about sixteen hours. We
tottered out at Heathrow after an instrument landing (rough) through
rain and fog. We walk, and walk, and walk. Heathrow is
bigger and less attractive than any other airport in recent
experience. Luggage is finally gathered together. We get
on a red Airbus to Victoria Station: £3
each. [in margin: The windows fog up, so we see very
little on the bus ride.] At Victoria we totter through the
drizzle to the taxi queue. It is very long, but moves with
some regularity. Finally we are in a taxi, give our address
and off we go.
121 St.
George's Square is on a once-nice 19th Century long narrow square,
just north of the Thames. It had fallen on hard times, but
there are signs of renewal everywhere. Our quarters are
minuscule and not attractive (though from one window we can just
glimpse the Thames). However, we have everything promised,
including the private bath. And the location is convenient,
including shops, laundromat, etc. We go out, get more
[monetary] pounds (I did get some at the airport) so I can pay our
rent for the entire time. Our manager is Peggy, and seems both
helpful and sincere. We get unpacked, running into each other
in our tiny quarters and [also] from fatigue. We get out rain
gear and go out to shop. We get most on Warwick Way,
our old
area. Coming back, major fatigue sets in and we take naps.
There is an eight-hour difference between Singapore and London.
Once rested, out we go to look more systematically at the London we
once knew well. The intermittent rain and cold is combated by
a change of clothes (it is about 59° F). Many buildings are
cleaned, including Victoria Station. Much rehab and new
construction. We walk as far as Buckingham Palace and then
head back. I am wearing out. We stop for a pizza [in margin:
not very good, but such is our luck] (it is only 5 p.m.) and finally make it back to our quarters. All I've done since
is bring the journal up to date.
MILA:
An absolutely endless
day/night/day (I swear I saw the sun come up three times). It
becomes almost too much to describe: 15 hours in air, one for
fueling, more in waiting = 17 hours? We are on aisle and
second seat of middle [section] in "Big Top" Singapore airplane. Six
hours 55 minutes from Singapore to
Abu Dhabi—squashed together in
usual routine: eat, drink, sign forms, pass hot towels, cold towels,
flashing lights, movies, people moving up & down aisle. We got
off the plane at Abu Dhabi (hour's layover) just to get out of
crippling poses forced together like peas in a pod. Abu
Dhabi's airport terminal waiting lounge is almost too surrealistic
to bear—Geo: "a Westerner's version of an Arabian Night's fantasy
tent" with wild pseudo tiles. Used the nasty WC—one has to take
advantage of opportunities. Returned to plane to sit next to
"chatty" British girl who was so frenetically talkative her poor
husband Derek had his nose in a book the whole time; [he] tried to
pretend he didn't belong to her "whilst" she told me things I really
didn't want to know. From Abu Dhabi to London was seven
hours—another film? Yes, about a [horse? house?] (I didn't
watch but dozed & spilled fruit juice on my skirt instead).
Finally got to London—then the awful inevitable procedure of filing
out to immigration/passport control, collecting luggage (ghastly).
All of this took place in cold, fog, rain, 54° weather.
Finally got to WC, money exchange, dragging luggage (six pieces) out
to enormous red double-decker bus that limped & puffed through rush
hour (8-9 a.m.)—endless, up in second-story smoke-filled
interior, no air, couldn't see out: purgatory.
Culminated across street from Victoria Station, and was in a block-long queue waiting for cabs
in pouring rain.
Finally
flung ourselves into a taxi for Riverside Court, 121 St. George's
Square, across from Thames, on one side of a little 19th Century
park filled with grass & flowers—one part of which is fenced off in
order to walk the dogs. Sort of an awful shock when we saw the
apartment, a funny little "flatlet"—I call it a "garret," though there is a floor
above. After climbing
three floors (many series of steps) you go down a long hall to the
end (room is #14). Above the door is sign
"Emergency Exit." That's our room! Walk in & you're almost out
of it (about 8x10) especially since the French doors lead to emergency fire
escape. It's like a railway compartment or trailer—to the
right is a long thin mirror, to the left a wardrobe that tends to
lean forward in a precarious manner. It now contains all of
our clothing & shoes, a mirror at eye level, a shelf for hats &
bric-a-brac, & elasticized wire for ties. On top are our
deflated bags, the shadow puppet, etc. Our other two bags are
stacked on floor next to wardrobe. Immediately ahead is a
large double bed flat against right wall (I have to climb over Geo
to get out) with uncomfortable "armchair" at foot. On opposite
side is white table with two plastic black chairs. Here we
eat, study & write, & watch TV. TV is on a rickety table
holding books next to bed. (TV is an excellent color,
strangely enough.) Next to wardrobe is a four-drawer chest.
Next to that is door to "amenities": WC, basin with mirror
& some storage space, &
step-up (about a foot) shower stall with European handheld shower nozzle that
tends to spew—all modern yet appears seedy. Beyond that is miniature kitchen
with (stacked on top
of one another) small fridge, oven, & two electric burner unit.
Next to it is a sink with storage space above & below—above holding
assorted plates, cups, jelly glasses, saucers; in drawer, cutlery;
below, pans—also a plug-in teapot, which is very handy. Door to hall
[is] covered with instructions on WHAT
NOT TO DO, written by Mr. Walter Harris (supervisor—owner?—of
all these buildings).
We are
absolutely Dead [sic] & try to rest (sleep, in Geo's
case) when in comes "workman" to repair bathroom hanging bulb & lock
(didn't hold). We go out to investigate neighborhood which is
excellently equipped with everything one could ever want: groceries, liquor, veg & fruit sellers, bakeries, post office, pubs &
restaurants, laundrettes (it's not far from our old Warwick Way
stomping grounds). We are zonked but buy stuff anyway:
excellent cheddar cheese, crackers, dark chocolate, bread, bananas, apples,
eggs, margarine, tea/coffee, wine/beer, OJ, yogurt—which we
stagger back with, but it's nice not to have to eat all meals
out! And to not be ordered about (discounting the
Walter Harris instructions).
FRIDAY, JUNE 7,
1985
GEORGE:
It is perhaps 5:50
a.m. I am sitting in our one armchair writing this by the
morning light seeping in through the skimpy curtains. I
finally arose at c.5:30 after a reasonably good sleep that began
about 9:30 p.m. previous. Am I caught up? I doubt it,
but for the moment I feel reasonably put together. Mila is
still asleep.
I have been
pondering the experiences to date, and my various impressions.
It has been an urban experience from the first: L.A.; Mojave;
California City; Lancaster; Hong Kong/Kowloon; Jakarta; Yogya;
Kampungs, Java/Bali (I never really saw
Klungkung/Denpasar except
fleetingly); Singapore and now London. Walking in the West
End, in the rain and I had better say cold (after Singapore), I
sense how much of the old is still with us and not denied.
Indeed, there is pride in the past, with rehabilitation, or just
plain cleaning up of old buildings, while new ones are everywhere.
But the past (basically 19th Century) predominates. In L.A.
there is little "past." Hong Kong['s] past is more cultural rather
than physical. Singapore is implementing a plan for the future
with its past being mostly Raffles and WWII (and the
two
surrenders). London's future is indeed uncertain, but
there will always be an England, and London will endure without
losing its very special quality. I could even see it, I think,
through fogged-up windows of the bus to Victoria [Station]. Pizza Huts
or Burger Kings can look and smell the same everywhere, but not the
cities in which they are housed. Same with the people.
They look and sound different city to city. London is both
more typically filled with its special types than I expected and
more cosmopolitan in its inhabitants, from navvies to punkers to
businessmen with tightly-furled umbrellas, despite the drizzle.
Is Europe/London out of it as far as the future is concerned?
Can the Jakartas, Singapores, Asians grasp the lead as we were told
by a Jakartan architect? He included U.S. with Asia, but wrote
off Europe. Is it a "sense of self"? An essay on "sense
of self/sense of place" may be worth pondering. They certainly
are connected.
[Later]
Now, much later, the day's events were less frenetic than
yesterday. It began with making breakfast—even an egg for me.
It (cooking) works tolerably well, and once a routine is
established, it should be even better. I then showered, and
later repaired the shower head which had been clogged. Used my
nail clippers as a Phillips head screwdriver to dismantle the
plastic spray head. [in margin: I should buy a travel
tool kit for use in such cases.] We discussed strategy, and
after Mila called
Abigail Huffman (who is in London, and contacted us by note) we
made some decisions. Unfortunately it is still cold, cloudy,
and periodically raining.
We went to Victoria
Station and there activated our four-day explorer passes. Mila
noted the theatre schedules at the information center. I
should add [that] the trip to Victoria was roundabout; I was looking
for a color lab on Ebury Street. Well, the lab was a nearly
invisible basement place (so I skipped by that) but we did see an
interesting part of Chelsea not previously visited (I began at the
west end of Ebury). I did not even take the camera because of
the weather. When we reached Victoria, I went into a camera
shop re: processing. I left Roll #1, but learned it takes
three-to-five working days to get slides (yet color negatives are
overnight, with prints). [in margin: They urged
I think five days or more—working days.] That means cutting it
too close to get ten to twelve rolls back, even in a batch.
So, other than Roll #1, I will take it all back to the U.S. At
least I discovered a convenient place to buy more film if necessary.
We returned back to
the flat from Victoria, buying two meat pies at a bakery for our
lunch. Back at 121 St. George's Square we reheated them (they
were still warm from initial preparation), had tea and plotted our
next move. Our communication ('twixt Mila and me) is still
ragged [in margin: fatigue?] so there was some confusion
after we got to where I thought we were going. I thought it
was to the National Theatre, but Mila wanted a different one.
The former is by Waterloo Station; the latter by Waterloo Bridge.
Anyway, we got [tickets to] three different performances purchased
after using Waterloo Bridge to go from one place to the other.
Then we headed to Covent Garden tube station, and discovered the
revamped Covent Garden; it is now a people place. When we
return tomorrow to attend the performance nearby, I shall
photograph. Presumably the weather will have cleared a bit.
We then took the tube to Pimlico to go to the
Tate Gallery.
Explorer passes are great and convenient to me. We go to the
Tate because Mila arranged to meet Abigail there at 2:30 p.m.
The Tate is, as I now recall, extensively rehung, and in some cases
with considerable improvement. There is a Francis Bacon show,
which I shall see another time. [in margin: Didn't get
back.] Most intriguing to me of the permanent display, which
was "new" to me, were the
Walter
Sickert paintings. His dates 1860-1942 are such to make
him an in-between,
like Bonnard. I need to learn more about
him. On the other hand the
Rothko room was, for me, dreadful.
I fear he is much overrated. [in margin: A
reconfirmation.]
We left the Tate
after 5 p.m., and we tottered back to the flat. I had been on
my feet most of the day and I was feeling it. The cold didn't
help. Later we went to a nearby Indian restaurant for dinner.
I still have some trouble appreciating their cuisine, but perhaps I
have yet to find the correct curry or whatever. Chinese, on the
other hand, I find better across the board. Well, finally back
to the flat where we watched TV and got to bed at 10:30 p.m. I
think another day might get us into phase with Greenwich time.
MILA:
This room drove me bats after being
stuck on airplane so long. I felt like the place was "not
worthy of us" after all of the luxury etc.—also like being stuck in
a miniature stateroom or whatever. But at least it's in a
great neighborhood & location—we are 1-1½ blocks from Pimlico Tube
Station (good) facing St. George's Square (very pretty)—next to
corner house being redone. That house is next door to
Grosvenor Road—outside traffic very loud all the time
(major thoroughfare like
Troost)—beyond that the river where you can occasionally see (&
hear) barges & boats going by. There is a statue of some 19th
(?) Century
statesman draped in a Roman toga standing in park area by river.
(Very cold by river today!)
Had
breakfast prepared by our own hands—Geo had a fried egg on bread &
coffee; I had [Special] "K" with bananas, mango yogurt & tea.
Abigail Huffman is in town—she came by while we were gone yesterday
& left her phone number. I called—after breaking [the]
downstairs public phone—had to use Peggy's private phone (Peggy is
the "manageress")—agreed to meet at the Tate Gallery at 2:30 for
tea. Walked around neighborhood hunting for a photography shop
to process Geo's film (Wallace
Heaton is now working for the Arabs, it seems). It's cold
& Geo is freezing in his plastic coat (threatens to buy new warmer
coat); we validate our underground vouchers & buy meat pies in
bakery. Go home to eat them, along with apples & tea.
Out again about 12:15 to get theatre tickets, National Theatre &
Lyceum (total of three shows). I've picked up a comprehensive
guide to all theatres in town at Victoria Station, so I pretty well
know what I want. Run back to tube to the Tate Gallery to meet
Abigail—have a nice visit over tea & munchies (Geo goes off to see
exhibits) & Abigail & I have gabfest in lobby area. She's just
had second cholera shot & is going off to India to study next week;
she is apprehensive but confident that she will love it. She
leaves & I go to look at my beloved Turner paintings. especially the
later ones & most especially "Yacht
Coming Into Harbour"—practically my all-time-favorite!
Fantastic!
Home to
rest & combat cramps—out to rather disappointing local Indian
restaurant (Geo decides that he likes Chinese food better than
Indian). Walk around neighborhood, still a
hodgepodge/wonderland of funny, very eccentric people: a small kid
(3-4 years [old]?) & baby in stroller sit outside our restaurant—kid
says "Me mum's in there," trying to push in door, at which point a
young woman looking about 12 years old came bursting out of the pub
next door ("the Queen of Denmark") & yanked the kid away: "Didn't I
tell you to stay put?" Mum had been having a quick one, no
doubt. Afterwards we saw more kids running around pubs—dogs of
all sizes doing "walkies"
with their masters (even though there are signs all over about not
"fouling the pavement," there is plenty of foul stuff everywhere);
saw a very fat cat, lots of pigeons, & lots of true characters
straight out of a
1950s Alec Guinness film (especially
The
Lady Killers), most of whom are unintelligible.
SATURDAY, JUNE
8,
1985
GEORGE:
It is partly cloudy,
but the TV weather says 14°
[C] for midday. Ah me. I scrambled eggs for us, and even
made toast (using the grill unit of the oven). Even heated
(necessary) the plates. But it is an intricate maneuver given
the limited
working
space.
Since we have
11 a.m. tickets for
the Nativity section of the Mysteries series at the Lyceum, we
went to Covent Garden in the morning, this time armed with camera
and the new 28mm lens. It is astonishing what can be
encompassed by that lens; it is absolutely ideal for a place like
Covent Garden. I took a series of photos at about 10 to 10:30
a.m. Then after the performance and a spot of lunch, I took
another smaller group of photos with shops and stalls open. It
is remarkable how much of a magnet for people it is. This was
at 2 p.m. From Covent Garden we walked over to Leicester
Square. The district is not only theatres, but sort of part of
Soho. It seems to be all restaurants and shops. I didn't
take any photos along the way, but while waiting in the half-price
line for theatre tickets, I did make one photo across the Square
itself, with people in it. The weather is still cold, and out
of the sunshine (which did occur periodically) it was for me
uncomfortable. However, by now I've worn everything in my
wardrobe in layers and in combinations.
We took the
tube back to Victoria and shopped for supper. That occurred at
a dreadful time. The shops on Warwick Way were overcrowded, we
were overtired, and we didn't do too well in making selections.
Then back at the flat I made a mess of the potatoes (though we did
salvage them). Next time I must be more thoughtful in
shopping. Then out again for the theatre. This time it
was
Breaking the Silence at the Mermaid (the first time for us
at that venue). There, though the play was quite interesting,
I was bone weary and vowed to "go slow" on Sunday. Get up
late, be slow setting out, and not push too hard. The major
focus will be the National Gallery on Sunday, with a bit of
strolling, unhurried along the way.
MILA:
(The cramps last night came to
fruition.) It is "sunny" this morning and Geo gets up at 6:30
after twitching for an hour. He's prepared scrambled eggs,
toast, tea/coffee (I have a plum yogurt). Hope I can pull
myself together. Yesterday was a eye-opener on the
underground: lots of punk rockers, three of them were at the Tate
with the usual spikes, black eye makeup etc.; one of them had a kind
of Southern Belle outfit; one ghastly spaced-out guy got on
non-smoking train with reefer hanging in his mouth.
We run
errands in Victoria, sightsee in Covent Garden, see 11:00 a.m.
production of The Nativity (fantastic—see
notes). Eat out (quiche) in Covent Garden—now very
popular—huge amounts of people taking advantage of sun
(hurrah), [but] trying to avoid getting struck by the pigeons aloft.
Stand in half-price TKTS
line for 30 minutes—got two half-price tickets for Ending the
Silence. Shop (awful), go home & cook (worse—potatoes
stick & have to be dumped, end up salvaged—at least there are cold
cuts).
Went to
Ending the Silence at the
Mermaid Theatre in
Puddledock
Blackfriars (rather newish theatre in bombed-out warehouse, with
raked auditorium—didn't
Orson Welles
have something to do with a Mermaid Theatre?). We were in
seventh row way over to the side—interesting open set that could
move backward or forward—it moved backward as if the railway coach
were chugging away fast into a hostile "new world" (from
post-revolutionary Russia to England):
Alan Howard, Gemma Jones,
Jenny Agutter. Quite well done—new play about author's
grandfather who was trying to invent talkie movies (see other pp).
Got home about 10:30 & had wine/cheese/apples. Note: toilets
(at least the women's) in local theatres are unsatisfactory.
Almost
none of them flushes after one or two intermissions when all of
the women have to stand in queues.
SUNDAY, JUNE 9,
1985
GEORGE:
I do believe I'm
over my time changes. It is a slow start today as planned,
after a good night's rest. I've set up a
BritRail travel
schedule to Salisbury, York, Bath and Dunham. Portsmouth is
still possible, as are a couple of other places [in margin:
we didn't add any other places], but I think that will be the only
other addition.
It is past 10 a.m.
when we begin to walk. We migrate slowly toward St. James
Park. Along the way we see a very handsome Chinese takeaway,
which we note carefully as to address. Dinner tonight?
We arrive by the Guards Barracks just as they are going through
inspection prior to the changing of the guard at the Palace.
There, at the Palace, the crowds are already enormous, with more
arriving. At the barracks, relatively few are assembled.
Mila, of course, wants to watch, so we spend close to three-quarters
of an hour there. When finally they head out, I take a couple
of pictures. Then we continue our saunter to Trafalgar Square.
The day is mostly clear[?] with some sun, but it is still cold.
And there are sufficient clouds to make the periodic return of the
sun most welcome. At Trafalgar we confirm the hours for the
National Gallery, which is undergoing repairs to the roof.
A Wendy's is spotted
on the Strand and so we have a lunch and use the facilities.
However, when we exit I assume I'm on Charing Cross [Road] and head
the wrong way. The fact it rained while we ate might have
contributed to my confusion. Who knows? We retrace and
catch the tube to go to the
Barbican Centre. We exit at St. Paul's, since Barbican is
closed weekends. Happily we see signs to orient us to the
correct path. Soon we see the London Museum (it has been
relocated to this area) and a sign saying to follow the yellow line
to the Barbican Centre. I won't recount in detail all that
followed, but I should note we climbed stairs to reach a level above
the street—way above. I know nothing about the complex and
assume that the museum is a portion of it, and thus at the museum
level is the theatre. Well, we find the yellow line, but it
just goes on and on. Later I learn that the Barbican Centre is
only a section of a large redevelopment of a once badly bombed area.
It is thus a bit like going to Crown Center to find a part of
Hallmark (say the
Kaleidoscope)
and beginning with the BMA
or Hyatt and thus
wondering where things begin to stop. At Crown Center this is
easy to see. At the Barbican, the Centre is integrated into a
multi-level complex which occasionally reveals itself as to
organization, but is more like being in a strange city without a
map. At "street intersections" there are little signs with
arrows. I take one photo, from above, of the remains of the
City wall, and another of an open area by a large rectangular pool
of water. But for the most part it is running a maze.
Finally we reach the box office. Mila and I finally adjust our
schedule and we will see Henry V in a matinee. Now I
wish to exit to a tube station. The maze run continues.
I should add that we see virtually no people on the walks or stairs.
[in margin: It is Sunday.] I also get thoroughly
confused. When do we exit in order to get to a tube station?
We see signs with arrows, but when we go that way there is no
evidence for a next step—where do we descend? Finally we do
and hunt for Moorgate. After a few twists and turns it is
finally discovered, and we head back to Trafalgar, but not quite.
We exit at Embankment (formerly Charing Cross). This, since I
didn't want to wait and transfer to another line to go to Charing
Cross (formerly Trafalgar Square). These changes seem to
result from the opening of the
Jubilee Line.
Anyhow, we arrive at an area I recall, under the viaduct for Charing
Cross station, to discover that on one (bank) side there is a "hobo
camp" of derelicts. Men who are alcoholics (bottles much in
evidence) who have created a
linear camp
of cardboard, etc. It is depressing and unexpected.
Indeed, all over the area from St. James Park on, I see street
people, bottles, grubbiness. All are men, in what I would
guess are their 40s and 50s. The "camp" at Charing Cross
viaduct looks permanent.
Well, we exit into
sunshine and head to the
National Gallery. I haven't seen the collections since
1971, and there have been extensive reinstallations. It is
good to see some important old favorites. Of these,
Pollaiuolo's St. Sebastian is the one most impressive
since its great size enhances its effectiveness. Also, the
Arnolfini
double portrait is bigger than one expects, so once again a good
opportunity to judge scale. The gallery is very crowded, but
people are polite and orderly, so one can see the works. We
are not supposed to carry cameras, bags or umbrellas into the
museum. But they are so crowded, the cloakroom is full, so we
do carry things. And people do behave. We are very
tired, and so we begin to sit a great deal. Nonetheless we
manage a full tour (except for a couple of closed galleries—leaking
roof, under repair). Finally we exit, and it is raining.
We go back to Victoria and stop at the Chinese takeaway. It is
open, we order, hurry home and eat. It ain't that good, but
considering all things, it seems delicious enough. We are so
tired we start dozing around 9 p.m. So it is early to bed.
MILA:
Good sleep, almost to 8:00! Had
breakfast, went out & walked around in semi-sunshine to Buckingham
Palace Road for about half an hour to see part of Changing of Guard
(Geo not happy). They waited (HA) until the sun came out to
proceed out the gate of Guards Headquarters in true ceremonial pomp
& circumstance, to strains of "Those
Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines," with tons of people
waiting, tourists galore (especially Americans!) with cameras.
Walked around St. James Park (pigeons, pelicans, ducks, geese) to a
Wendy's for lunch & WC. Went down to Barbican Centre for
tickets for Henry V (all out of Richard III), a very
confusing place to get along in. Went for two tiring hours to
National Gallery. Bought take-home Chinese food & spent
evening "at home," eating, watching TV, washing & writing letters.
MONDAY, JUNE 10,
1985
GEORGE:
We began with the
plan to reconfirm our TWA flight home and to look for a more
substantial but still lightweight raincoat. So off to
Piccadilly Circus to find TWA on Piccadilly. This went fairly
easily and we are both reconfirmed and have seat assignments.
We are instructed to be at the airport no later than 12:30 on the
21st. From there we went down New Bond Street toward Oxford.
Before, though, we walked through the Burlington Arcade, and I took
two photos inside with the 28mm lens. As we exited at the
north, we entered a monumental traffic jam because of a couple of
illegally parked cars, and vehicles coming from two directions, a
lorry trying to turn, and no one could back up because of the
backed-up traffic. [in margin: I wonder what happened?
We walked away from it.] I took a very few photos on the way,
and we reached Oxford Street and the shops. I looked at
raincoats in
Debenhams, where we had lunch (after changing some money at a
nearby bank), [and] we found what I wanted. This was a trench
coat type that makes me look like a fugitive from an English mystery
film, topped off however by a stained Greek fisherman's cap.
But it works as intended, and is lightweight yet cuts the cold.
From Selfridges we
went to the
Wallace Collection. It has been since 1971, and thus
almost a new experience. Once again, a wonderful chance to see
works on use in class. I fear
Watteau still doesn't say much
to me technically. Stylist yes, but for the most part I don't
see the work as attractive. Some big
Bouchers are good
examples of the Baroque heritage and tendencies.
Bonington was
a delight. The collection of his work is outstanding, and the
little watercolors are exquisite.
Hals's "Laughing" Cavalier (my quotes) is indeed a
tremendous work. The combination of obvious brushwork and yet
the illusion of texture is incredible. It is a tour de force
of technical virtuosity. But then the Dutch in general show
that ability to see and translate. I guess I'm finally ready to
read
Svetlana Alpers's book on the Dutch.
We return to the
flat; Mila rests while I tackle the nearby
laundrette.
Afterwards we head to Waterloo and to eat at the National Theatre
prior to seeing
She Stoops to Conquer. The buffet is reasonable in
price and generous (but cold). [in margin: And not very
tasty.] Then we visit the bookshops (Olivier and Lyttleton
Theatres are neighbors
within the structure). She Stoops was not well
attended, which was a shame. It is a splendid production which
was much appreciated by all. The National Theatre itself is a
symphony (slightly cacophonous) of concrete, textured from the
wooden forms used in pouring. Also, the path to and from the
tube stop in Waterloo Station is less than obvious—a challenge at
night. Once back at the flat, it was clearly time to get some
sleep. Tomorrow promises to be cool and dampish—certain—by [sic]
cloudy. Wednesday is supposed to be rain[y]—and we go to
Salisbury. Ah, well.
MILA:
Got very tired today, but don't know
why. Started out with big grocery shopping expedition
(involving lugging many cans & heavy stuff); even found the
"misplaced" bakery we couldn't find Sunday. Came home & had
fruit & pastries—called Abigail & got letter from Kris. Went
out again to Piccadilly, had TWA tickets reconfirmed & got our seat
assignments. Went to Bond Street & looked at posh surroundings
& clothes. George [sic] bought a raincoat at
Selfridges, a very attractive Foreign Intrigue trench coat .
Ate lunch there and used their very nice "facilities" (no
"waxed" TP).
This was when I got tired—was it the crowds in the store? Was
it constipation? Dunno. Went on to the Wallace
Collection & rested on a bench in the semi-sun before going in.
While there, we were "looked over" very carefully by a very small
resident sparrow who seemed to find that space his own domain (were
we sitting on his bench?). It flew up to each of us,
then back a foot. The Wallace Collection is housed in an
elegant 18th Century townhouse, the
former home of a marquis & once the French Embassy (19th
Century), lots of Bouchers & ornate French furniture. From
there we staggered home & I "crashed" while Geo went out to do the
laundry with the locals. He got home OK & we changed & went
out early (6 p.m.) to Waterloo Station & the National Theatre
complex on the South Bank—had a strange "cold buffet": cold
quiche & assortment of mismatched cold salad vegetables (including
large hunks of cold pasta). In hunting for WC, ran into
Deidre Fudge
from UMKC/MRT—"Isn't it a
small world?" etc. Bought two books. Saw She Stoops
to Conquer (quite stylish) in Lyttleton Theatre. The guy
who played the pompous young
husband of Lettice in Flame Trees of Thika had the lead
of Marlowe. Very good. Home at 11:10.
TUESDAY, JUNE
11,
1985
GEORGE:
Began with activity
on seven-day explorer passes and our BritRail to begin tomorrow.
Learned that the
President of Mexico was arriving at Victoria and things were
being blockaded since the Queen was to greet him, etc. We
headed away gratefully. Went to Knightsbridge and walked from
there to the
Victoria & Albert, stopping at Harrods where I could
view again the food halls.
There is something special about that experience for me—why?
At the V&A we concentrated, this time, on British art and the
costume section. I also took photos in the two halls of casts.
We discovered to our great amazement that, behind the pedestal of
Michelangelo's David, on display is the fig leaf which was
used when people like
Queen Mary came to visit. That gave a
true sense of scale! We ate at the V&A, and as we looked at
this and that, someone walked by, stopped and turned and called my
name. It was
Catherine Lippert, the new Curator of Decorative
Arts at the Nelson-Atkins. The other day, Mila met an MRT/UMKC
student at the National Theatre. So finally the inevitable
happened: we each unexpectedly met someone from home. Changes
are going on at the V&A, and we will examine one next time, which is
the Henry Cole Wing, Department of Prints, Drawings, Photos and
Paintings, now separated into new quarters (was that where the art
school used to be?).
We then went out to
Hammersmith to locate the Lyric Theatre and get tickets for the
evening. This accomplished, we headed back to our area, bought
some food for supper, and then returned to quarters to prepare and
consume it. Today has been a dank rainy day, and it was rather
damp when we returned to Hammersmith. The Lyric auditorium is
still the old one, but it is
incorporated into a large modern
shopping complex, which provides the lobbies, access, etc. The
play was a 17th Century Restoration comedy which was off the
recorded boards between the 1790s to quite recently (late 1970s?).
It was a farce of amour and adultery called
London Cuckolds.
The production was nicely done, so it has been four of four so far.
We got back to the flat about 11:15 p.m. and so to bed.
Salisbury tomorrow.
MILA:
The dumb weather people on TV are
predicting dire weather for today: "cold lashing rain." Better
spend day in museums! Must activate our new Explorer passes &
Brit Rail passes.
[Later] It did rain but not
much or for long—perhaps it will wait for tonight? They are
erecting many barriers around Victoria in preparation for an 11 a.m.
gigantic parade (?) for President of Mexico—time to get out, so we
move on. Went to Knightsbridge to look in shop windows
& gawk at Harrods Food Halls—still a fabulous experience (whole
huge turkeys—everything mouthwatering—Geo says it's good we don't
live near there). Walked from there to Victoria & Albert
Museum, much of which is being remodeled, consequently many exhibits
are closed. They are currently working on a Theatre Museum
near the Lyceum Theatre, to be completed sometime in 1986 (or so
they say), so the Theatre Collection was closed. However, they
have a fantastic clothing exhibit on, endlessly fascinating &
well-mounted & exhausting. Geo photographed the casts hall,
including one of Michelangelo's David, in back of which is a
little display (in a case) of a cast of David's fig-leaf. This
[was] put on him when the "Royal Ladies" were visiting the museum (it
originated in Victorian time & ended with Queen Mary. I guess
Liz or "Queen Mum" don't shock easily)! Ran into Catherine Lippert, new Curator of Decorative Arts at KC Nelson Gallery—another
"small world" situation. I think V&A is my favorite London
museum—you could spend years in it & not see everything—the only
drawback is the present coffee shop, which gets more & more seedy
(all circa 1950, with sticky oilcloth, a roach on the chair next to
me, & weird looking people). Surely they can do better than
this—but no, I guess the problem is fiscal. I had cold roast
beef, ratatouille, tea, brie & French bread.
Went over
to Hammersmith (in rain) to get theatre tickets & found it charming,
a kind of proper little village (which it truly was in olden
times). The Lyric's facade is now gone (now modernized & ugly)
but everyone super cheerful inside. We are sitting in the
"circle" for The London Cuckolds tonight. Came home via
Victoria for buying frozen food in Plastic Bags [sic] (à la
Lean Cuisine), fairly good really. I had "orange chicken with
wild rice & nuts," Geo had "Bavarian hamburger with potatoes &
vegetables." Cookies for dessert—we also bought "coffee" ice
cream—strange taste but OK. Shopping at Warwick Way is
generally benign, but occasionally awful (SAT MORN) fighting the
natives in little grocery stores. They seem to open later &
close earlier than home, & of course pubs are still on licensing
hours (liquor stores also crazy & confusing!). Washed hair &
rested.
Went over
to Hammersmith (in rain) to see a joyous (joyful?) production of
The London Cuckolds in a strangely remodeled Art Centre for the
old Lyric Theatre. Luckily the theatre itself is not only
intact but obviously newly refurbished in shades of grey, beige,
ivory with silver touches. Seats are still red velvet—the
theatre is very small & sweet, with a curious high curved proscenium
arch (very high with ivory "lace embroidery" around edges), has very
small seating capacity. Our "circle" had only five rows, but
lovely environment. The performance was really excellent (see
notes). Rained hard—show over at 10:30, home by 11:15.
Up at 6:00 a.m.!
WEDNESDAY, JUNE
12,
1985
GEORGE:
Off to Waterloo
Station to take the train to Salisbury. The trip went off
without event, and in about ninety minutes, as the train slowed for
its stop at the station, I could see the tower of the cathedral.
We went to the cathedral first and did the interior since the
weather was still rather gray and windy. While impressive, the
interior is austere. The gray day outside didn't help me to
see (photographically), but it is the interior proportions which
prevent a coherent focus, though a view down the nave is impressive.
The cloister and especially the
chapter house are quite satisfying.
Unfortunately, no photos in the chapter house were allowed (an
exhibit of silver and manuscripts, including the Magna Carta, was no
doubt the excuse). The exterior of the cathedral, however, is
marvelous. I took photos, some with occasional sunshine, but
the direction of the sun was "wrong." I vowed to return in the
afternoon.
We then had a nice
lunch in a coffee shop (off the beaten path: curry) [in margin:
very nice!] and then sought out the bus station to discover a bus
was leaving for Stonehenge in about ten minutes. So off we
went. Stonehenge is less impressive than I expected, but this
may have been the circumstances. One is channeled to the site
itself through a subway, and past barbed wire (concertina wire as
well as fencing) and guards. Presumably this was because the
Stonehenge "free" concert was canceled to protect the grounds and
the monument. However, I also read somewhere that there was a
fear about terrorist bombings. [In margin: And yet
people were saying they would come for the [summer] solstice celebration.]
In any case, it was a defended if not actually a fortified site.
Then there was the fact that we were confined to roped-off walkways
some distance from the
dolmens. And the day was rather cloudy, very windy, and
even a spot of rain. A brief moment or two with sun did give
some added substance to the pile, and I may have captured that in a
photo. [In margin: No, wrong exposure.]
Stonehenge is an engineering and interpretive/archeological site as
far as I am concerned. Architectural ruin it is not (in the
sense of, say, some Greek site).
Then back to
Salisbury. We visited St. Thomas, a charming Gothic parish
church with wide aisles and wooden vaults. Also photographed
some Salisbury views, and finally back to the cathedral. The
sun was out and I got various shots (the 28mm lens absolutely
necessary). The massing on the exterior of the church is
exactly right, with the balance between the horizontals and the
dominant vertical of the tower giving marvelous effect. Almost
every vertical, if not actually old, have horizontal mouldings or
divisions to temper them. In the sun, the stone is creamy and
serene. In the shade or under clouds, it is cold and severe.
The effects were curious and instructive.
Back to London to
arrive during the rush hour. That is not for me, as a steady
diet. We picked up some Kentucky Fried Chicken and had a
satisfying meal [in margin: under the circumstances].
And then intense weariness sent me to bed early.
MILA:
Left (too early) for Waterloo Station
for Salisbury—had [a] pretty grisly Ladies WC. Took train to
Exeter, which left promptly on time at 9:10 (and left promptly to go
home at 4:20). It was a perfectly lovely day, even though it
was chilly with a very strong wind around Salisbury Cathedral & at
Stonehenge. England shows itself in its best light in the
smaller towns, such as Salisbury (about 1½ hours train trip from
Waterloo); lots of little shops in Tudor or medieval buildings.
The Cathedral itself, that "blonde
beauty" (Henry James), is elegant & stately, apart from smaller
surroundings. The Charter House [sic] is home to the Magna Charta [sic]
(two others in British Museum, one in Lincoln Cathedral) & house
other treasures (silver etc.) They've built an adjacent
building for WCs, bookshop & eating place—pretty efficiently run
too. Walked around & took photos; had chicken curry in a
little coffee [shop] (a tiny version of "Classic Cup"), also some
good dark chocolate & coffee. Went on local double-decker red
bus with some other tourists & locals with baby strollers, out to
Stonehenge (about 10 miles). Rather nice trip out, looking at
Salisbury Plain through some sunny skies & some menacing clouds.
"No, that's not rain, those are cumulus clouds," said Geo. It
rained briefly anyway.
Apparently
they were anticipating some kind of trouble, conflict out there.
I was never clear what this was about, exactly—they kept referring
to the "Festival people." In recent past there was
some kind of altercation—police had "battled with 400" of them—a
sort of British Woodstock? Later they referred to "hippies" &
Druids who congregate there once a year at Summer Solstice time for
"religious" experience. But last year, over 30,000 turned up &
they messed up the grounds, so this year police said no dice.
It was a bit grim with police cars, guard dogs, trucks, barbed wire,
high winds, COLD (a sort of bleak landscape naturally).
Notices all around, saying they (Authorities) have no choice but to
protect Stonehenge from
Yahoos. (Back in London I read newspapers & listened to
two newscasts & not a word about Stonehenge.) Not a religious
experience but sobering. Only took turn around large area
before cold drove us to area where there are WCs (down below),
souvenir shops (outdoors) etc. to wait for bus (same one) to take us
back. Went back to Salisbury for a short tour of St. Thomas
Church, dedicated to St. Thomas à Becket around 1220—very
Barbara Pym-ish.
The whole town gracefully accommodates itself around the Cathedral.
Medieval facades, 18th Century houses, red rooftops, flowers &
greenery, with Handel & Constable mentioned as having created art
there. Very nice indeed, sitting [on?] lawn outside Cathedral
& watching children play & eat. To home—bought Kentucky Fried
Chicken, slaw, chips, beer & ate around 6:30-7:30. Nice to
have a quiet evening of rest (a boat just went by on the river:
toot, toot).
THURSDAY, JUNE
13,
1985
GEORGE:
Slept late (for me).
It is important that one avoids getting too tired. We do a
great deal of walking, and much additional time on one's feet.
We also don't eat that much. So sometimes it is worth going
slowly.
After a bit of
shopping to replenish the larder, we went off to the Barbican Centre
and adjacent areas. Visited first the exterior of the
Smithfield market (meat and poultry). I saw enough to inform
me; then on return I spied
St. Bartholomew's Church down a narrow
alley and there we went. St. Bartholomew's is a much-restored fragment,
but with great physical charm. It suffered much over its long
history, and only a portion of its [original] quire (choir) remains, plus a few
other elements, with later additions. But its Norman origins
are quite visible. Inside (and that is the most interesting,
visually) there were students sketching, while someone was at the
piano rehearsing tonight's musicale. All very nice. From
there it was off to the
London Museum, now adjacent to the Barbican
Centre and built so that the remnants of the City wall are on
exhibit, in that at a key point, an overhead slanted window gives a
view to those inside at the Roman London section of the exhibits.
The museum has subscribed to the
didactic history display
philosophy, with much thought given to integration of signage,
artifacts, models, pictures, etc. In general it works quite
well except if you want to concentrate on the artifacts.
Labels were often at a distance, at times on the floor-level, or
nonexistent. Add the groups of children doing school
assignments
chattering away and working over their clipboards, and
one does find it less attractive than it actually is. All in
all this is a superior history museum for instructional purposes,
and in some ways I wish I could see it more slowly and more
privately. In contrast to its former location, this is very
good indeed. My major complaint is that it is designed as a
chronological flow which you follow all the way through.
Perhaps one can easily get to, say, Stuart London, but I'm not sure
how (from my one visit). Happily there are plenty of places to
sit. I made photos of the complex and surrounding areas before
and after, and on the way to the theatre. With more people
visible, the place is less forbidding, but still a maze (especially
inside).
The production we
saw was Shakespeare's Henry V, and as a first (live)
performance of that play for me, it proved interesting. The
theatre itself, and adjacent areas, is rather splendidly fitted out
in contrast to the National Theatre. And the production was
well attended in contrast to the Lyttleton's She Stoops.
Was it because of RSC or Shakespeare? After the show was over,
there was the repeated struggle to exit correctly and get to the
Barbican tube station. This was accomplished, but with reduced
elegance. This configuration is a weakness that signage
doesn't help. I suppose for those familiar with the layout, it
is easy but that doesn't reduce the complication. Something
more than yellow lines at the seventh level are needed for strangers
or infrequent users. Back to Victoria, pick up of supper, and
to the flat. Tomorrow is York.
MILA:
Slept until 7:45, so we must have
been very tired. Had breakfast & discovered we are once more
running out of things, especially fruit, so that must be taken care
of before we go to the theatre this afternoon. On way to
Barbican Theatre Centre, we checked out old Smithfield markets
(great globs of meat hanging down) & St. Bartholomew Church (Norman
style) with two young men rehearsing piano duos for an evening
concert & young schoolboys from an art class sketching inside of
church (talk about Barbara Pym!). All quite charming & better
still, unexpected. On to the 21st Century! Went through
new London Museum, quite fascinating, from Pre-Historic (including
examples of "living history" e.g. the remnants of the old Roman wall
outside the window) up to 20th Century. Unfortunately, the
inevitable hordes of schoolchildren were there too! Ate in the
museum snack bar (the usual horrible cold quiche, paté, cold ham
etc.). Went over to Barbican Theatre (1:45) & saw, to my
horror, more hordes of schoolboys—some of whom sat in back of
us & giggled every time "Chorus" spoke. (Grrr.) Henry
V was a stunning, sort of Brechtian production—Henry played by a
cute 23-year-old charmer (Ken Branagh). Out at 5:15 into
teeming crowd to which we joined ourselves—stopped by market &
bought pasta & spaghetti sauce & French bread (good for a change
from cold quiche). Rested & wrote & watched TV—nice night.
FRIDAY, JUNE
14,
1985
GEORGE:
It was off to York.
The Victoria Line runs to King's Cross Station direct, so we got
there earlier than I anticipated. This gave us time to go over
to
St. Pancras Station, a marvelous old pile in Victorian Gothic splendour [sic]. Despite its large size, it seems less
used than King's Cross next door. The reasons are not clear.
Anyhow I took photos, inside and out. King's Cross has a
one-story addition to the front which obscures much of the austere
quality of its simple double-arched facade, both from the street and
from within.
The trip to York is
[on] the same train that on Monday [actually Tuesday] will take us to Durham. [In
margin: Not so, but nearly so.] The York leg is about
two-and-a-quarter hours, and it went without event. We arrived
close to noon, so our first task was to eat. We struck off
through the city wall and up one street and down another. York
was crowded, including a large number of schoolchildren "marching
along" in approximately our direction. We tried to avoid them
and in so doing took another turn that took us to the River Ouse,
and as we crossed I saw a large nondescript building with "Riverside"
on a portion. In we went and found a very nice restaurant (and
facilities) and ordered a substantial hot lunch (grilled lamb chops,
etc.). Thus fortified we went to the
Minster. Repairs
from
last summer's fire still are under way, and thus the south
transept is closed. Also there is scaffolding here and there,
but that is inevitable for most old structures. York is a very
big church, but the vaulting is wood, not stone, painted to look
like a lierne decorated stone vault complete with ribs. Which,
of course, contributed to the fire hazard. We did the interior
fairly thoroughly, including the chapter house. All very nice
but no surprises. Then we went into what is called the
undercroft. That is the excavated space resulting from a major
program some years ago to stabilize the foundations of the Minster.
It was both an archaeological as well as engineering effort, and
there is a well-labeled display informing the visitor of what one
could see, ranging from Roman remains (about seven feet below the
Norman level, which obviously is below the Gothic). The site
was that of a
Roman garrison city.
From there we did
more of the outside and then went here and there in the city,
including the Shambles and the nearby market (in full blast) and so
forth. It rained for awhile, but happily soon stopped.
We walked along a portion of the walls, but that was not very
rewarding except that it gave us a splendid view of the Minster in
the distance. York has a fair amount of medieval remains, and
it was also a major location for Mystery Plays; and a book on this
in York, plus seeing the city, plus the play in London, made it all
work for me. All this was in direct contrast to our last
visit [today, to] the Railway Museum. [This] was not where our guidebook
said it was. An inquiry located it "behind" the station, in a
former roundhouse (actually a double). It was by then a long
haul to the museum, but for some of the items, well worth it.
I especially appreciated Queen Victoria's
Saloon car.
From there, it was
back to the station and then back to London We had a sandwich
on the train and soup back at the flat. A long day, but most
informative.
MILA:
To York. Got up very early, 6
a.m., had scrambled eggs & toast. Left about 8 a.m. for King's
Cross, taking tube, Victoria Line, all the way—FAST. We were
so early we went over to St. Pancras Station, a gorgeous old
Victorian building, to photograph it. They clearly have been
working on it. By the time we got back to King's Cross,
"they" already were queuing up for the 9:30 train to York, which we
joined—long wait, much standing—finally leaped aboard to get two seats together.
A fairly uneventful ride, punctuated by men going up & down aisles
selling food, coffee, tea (we did not buy). Not far
from York Station we found a great restaurant, Riverside, by the
Ouse (oooze) with nice "facilities." Ate a great big
lunch: lamb chops, roast potatoes, peas
& a pint of bitters each. Squished out to wander down medieval
twisty streets to
York Minster, still being worked on after [a] disastrous fire (Rose
Window especially). Much scaffolding around fire-damaged area
& display of letters from well-wishing schoolchildren. It's a
vast huge cathedral with lots to see in & out & underneath (the
Undercroft), showing areas & structures from earlier times.
Walked around street markets & the Shambles when it started to
rain
(lots of crowds everywhere). Instead of taking the train back, Geo decided to see new Railway
Museum (unfortunately he had old map & got lost—helped by
street cleaner, "You can't miss it"). New structure with many
fascinating features, including Queen Victoria's private railway
carriage (even peeped at her "loo"!), Edwardian train compartments,
etc. etc., very interesting but exhausting.
Stagger
back to station. Missed
first train, so we sat at the appropriate platform, only to find
we had to change platforms (up & down many stairs)—had to fight
our way into crowded compartments when train finally came, & sit
separately. George [sic] went off, got dubious cheese
sandwiches & cans of lemonade. It was very crowded & stuffy
for two hours & 20 minutes, with other trains going opposite
direction whooshing by at 100 mph & fields flashing by. Geo glanced up & saw a soldier at other end of car wearing a gas mask! I thought of
several groups of street musicians [we saw] in York, playing
classical or jig music in squares, very nice. Arrived
back in London (8:05) to be confronted by usual eccentric people,
including a screaming looney woman, two girls in extreme punk
costume & a man with bandaged hand.
Yes, "There's No Place Like London!" Streaked home via Victoria Line at 8:30; ate canned lentil soup,
French bread & cheese & beer, cookies & peaches. Tired.
SATURDAY, JUNE
15,
1985
GEORGE:
A slow start with a
walk to Sloane Square. On the way we near the Duke of York's
Headquarters (a barracks) only to see police and a crowd. The
troops (guards actually) in dress uniforms are about to march off,
and right by our corner—so we stay put. We learn later it is
the Queen's official birthday, and there is to be a trooping of the colours [sic], to which this group is heading. At
Sloane Square we go into the
W.H. Smith bookstore, and I get the
fairly new guide to London architecture. It is very good
indeed. Back to Victoria, where I pick up the one roll (#1) of
film. The plastic mounts are lousy and unnumbered. Also,
developed they are more bulky than a cassette. So it was wise
not to try to process more film here. Back to the flat for
lunch. There on TV we see the trooping of the colours with
meticulous narration by BBC, including the names and ages of key
horses.
We walk the
embankment to the National Theatre, and while I stop to take a photo
of the river and Lambeth, there is the "fly bye" [sic] for the Queen: four
(?) jets trailing colored smoke. So they are included in the
shot. We pause here and there. Westminster Palace
(Parliament) is being cleaned. The stone is café
au lait in color—remarkably different from the grimy dark
brown. At the National Theatre we see Chekhov's first play,
Wild Honey. Technically it is very interesting, and
the
lead actor is splendid (but the play is not that powerful or
effective). From there it is off to Leicester Square to wait
in the Tickets Line. We get the last two for Benefactors
at the Vaudeville on the Strand. Since there is time, we walk
a bit looking for a place to eat. We go (unplanned) through
Chinatown, and suddenly Chinese food is not attractive to me.
Asia still too recent? We end up in a fairly fancy Italian
restaurant near the National Gallery (north side). We have a
pleasant meal (our most expensive to date). We head for the
theatre along the Strand. The area, especially toward
Leicester Square, is jammed with all sorts of people. I think
the density is getting to me. The tourists (of which we are
two) do not help, but the grubby locals, especially the punkers
(which are very visible in this area) are not attractive. [In
margin: Of course punkers do not seek to be attractive to folk
like me.] Nor the exhaust fumes and traffic noise. It is
nearly time to leave London, and I really should.
The play was an
intricately woven text that dealt with two couples. The themes
were multi-leveled, but one that gave continuity was the building
(redevelopment) of a suburban tract, and one actor was playing an
architect. Set in opposition is a preservation-rehab movement.
While there was no preaching (the play is flashbacks to the late
1960s), it did become a new vs. rehab, architectural arrogance,
metaphor for England. It was all very interesting. It
was also a very late evening and tomorrow is Bath.
MILA:
Sunny morning! Decided to walk
to Sloane Square (en route to picking up Geo's film). Much
news of
hijacking TWA plane & lack of security at Athens airport—no
doubt we will
suffer from this incident. Today is Queen's
"official" birthday & they are "Trooping the Colours"—we
inadvertently got involved in part of it. Came upon small
group of locals & a street sweeper waiting outside Duke of York's
Headquarters, so we joined them until soldiers & band & police
stomped out, street sweeper cleaning up behind them (this was at
about 9:30). What we saw was funny—well, it's all very pretty
but what does it all mean? We did not join thousands at
Buckingham Palace Road.
Sloane
Square much the same [as before]; went to Smith's Bookstore & bought books etc.
(not much changed since 1971). Back home at noon for lunch &
watched the big ceremonies on TV for a much better view &
commentary. This is what BBC does best ([this] & some of their
legit drama shows). Their local news is lousy, much laughter &
silliness, & weather news is appalling.
Went over
to South Bank (National Theatre) on foot & saw jet plane saluting
the Queen with red/white/blue streamers of smoke. Saw Wild
Honey (or Plantanov: early play of Chekhov in new
translation/production).
Play weak & silly, but well-staged &
Ian McKellen was marvelous. (Play probably was not worth all
of time, talent & money showered over it.) We had terribly
funny threesome behind us in theatre—having a very funny
conversation.
Saturday
around the National is the day for strollers (some of the older
people still in court dress). Some had set up flea markets on
the South Bank, outside the National Theatre yet! Went over
bridge at 5:30 to Leicester Square to join short queue for
half-price tickets; got the last two for
Benefactors at the
Vaudeville (quite unusual & good new play). Had a good but
expensive ($20 for two) dinner at Italian restaurant (even had a
cover charge) near the Strand (chicken, spinach, white wine, apple
slice cake). Walking around through teeming crowds to P.O.
Bookstore & got two cheap books, 50p & 75p. Saw play & home by
11:30 p.m.
SUNDAY, JUNE
16,
1985
GEORGE:
Paddington Station
is dismal, both the underground and BritRail. Once there, it
was clear that the Sunday rail schedule I had was not in effect.
Finally we discovered a train to Bath leaving fifteen minutes
earlier, so quickly boarded it. The ride was uneventful but
slow at first, due to "essential engineering work." The
countryside seen from the train was lovely, and I saw quite a few
thatched houses and a few stately houses flash by. As we
neared Bath itself, the country became quite hilly and very
attractive.
Bath itself, the
historic part, is an extraordinary architectural setting in a
pale
yellow/ochre stone. A great many buildings have been washed,
so the light pervades, with mouldings and other ornaments sharply
revealed in the sunlight (which shone about half the time of our
visit). We did the Pump Room and Roman Baths first.
There is considerable effort to retain the late 18th/early 19th
Century aura in such places as the Pump Room. The Baths, the
site of recent and extensive excavations, are now a "living museum,"
so to speak. One goes through a carefully planned track and
everything is meticulously labeled. All very interesting and
informative. Then a slow walk up to the Royal Crescent, after
a rather ordinary lunch [in the margin: less than good!].
The Royal Crescent is absolutely right. It is truly impressive
in its site and appearance. Later we returned to visit the
interior at #1, which is set up as a Georgian museum. That was
most intriguing, since we could see the views from the unit
as well as the interior arrangements. We walked the Circus and
then went to the Assembly Rooms. That building houses a major
costume museum, which we toured with a curator/docent. Then we
went toward Great Pulteney Street, stopping at
La Silhouette
Patisserie for tea and a custard slice (for me). Very
civilized. From Great Pulteney, we walked along the river,
crossed by another bridge and went to the Abbey. By this time
we had been wandering and looking for about six hours and were ready
to head back to London. Once back, we had a light supper in
the flat and were soon ready for bed.
Bath was a surprise
for me. I hadn't expected the visual harmony, part to part, of
the central city. The photos I took I trust will show this.
[In margin: Not really, but that would require film or
video.] The city too is geared for visitors, both those on
tours and "self catered," as they say. There are tour buses
everywhere (too many, but it was Sunday) and there are excellent
signs pointing to key sites and at a great many intersections.
All together, a beautiful (though occasionally cloudy) day with a
handsome experience.
MILA:
Sunday—Father's Day—an absolutely
Super Day. To Bath. Sunny & warm. Train even left ten
minutes early from nasty Paddington Station. (Not the best-run
station in town. They even stamped some tickets "May 16th"!)
Nice trip there. Got to Bath about 10:15 & walked all over the
place (WCs easy to find everywhere & fairly good). This town
is picture postcard pretty: Pump Room, Roman Baths with whole new
archaeological area done in 1980, the Assembly Rooms, the marvelous
Museum of Costume (one of best collections in world) in such
perfectly preserved condition, even had a funny big wide tartan
dress of Queen Victoria. Had strange (oily)
cheeseburger & salad for lunch, served by sullen cheeky waitresses;
but later, to make up for it, had lovely Viennese coffee with
schlag & macaroon in La Silhouette Patisserie teashop (with
mouth-melting hand-dipped chocolates we resisted). Lovely
vistas everywhere—so Jane Austenish—especially a cricket game going
on. Golden Crescent, beautiful Avon River (boats on it, boys
fishing), beautiful restored Georgian home in Royal Crescent,
noble
old Abbey, smart shops, beautiful distant hills with more
crescents—all almost perfect. (It wouldn't have been worth it
to go on to Bristol & get depressed.) We left about 5:00 & got
back to London about 6:30, home by 7:00—prepared slap-up meal of veg
soup, French bread & crackers, beer, cherries & cookies.
Washed everything! It was a nice day!
MONDAY, JUNE
17,
1985
GEORGE:
Went over to Warren
Street where, nearby, one finds the
French's Theatre Bookshop.
There Mila had the wonderful opportunity to add to her collection of
scripts, including those plays we have been seeing. From there
we went over to Regent Park area, where I had a chance to see both
some superb 19th Century architecture and some 20th Century "sleaze"
in immediate proximity.
Chester Terrace is John Nash, 1825, and
[its] superbly elegant long facade [is] hidden from the street by a garden.
The Architecture of London guide states it was so rundown after WWII
it was considered for demolition. However, rehab occurred and
it is now very elegant. Directly behind it are postwar blocks
of no architectural distinction. There is a lesson then; it
had taken us a long time to learn it.
From there we went
slowly toward the
British Museum, partly by tube. The British Museum
is radically "rehung" since our 1976 visit. And work
continues, including the grand staircase. Could that have been
scaffolded [for] a full nine years, or is this something else?
We were selective in our visit. I spent most of my time
with Greece and Rome, especially the
Elgin marbles. I think I
got some good photos for class use [in margin: did indeed].
I also went through the Assyrian section and upstairs the Sumerian,
and Egyptian painting, and the
Sutton Hoo treasure. Since the
installations are so different from last time, it was almost a brand
new experience. One thing seems clear. They are reducing
the number of things on display, making it easier to see things.
Also there is some experimentation with color, though this is
tentative, for the walls. In general there is a retreat from
the attic storehouse I recall from my first visit nearly twenty
years ago.
Back finally to the
flat, where we rested and had supper. Then off to the National
Theatre to see
The Government Inspector. It was a
strangely conceived production in the large Olivier Theatre.
As far as I am concerned, they simply didn't unify the style, and
what was presented was too frenetic and slapstick for me.
Granted, there were some funny bits, but it was part silent films,
part Marx Brothers, part music hall/burlesque, part expressionist
drama. In general I was disappointed. But tomorrow is
Durham.
MILA:
Much news of hijacking. Local
morning TV news even includes astrological forecasts! To
Victoria to get more three-day Explorer Passes (you don't save any
money but it sure does save effort & hassle). Went to Theatre
Bookstore near Regents Park & went crazy looking & buying with help
of Monty Python-type bookseller. Walked a bit around lovely
Regent's Park (very pretty flowers) & sat on bench watching children,
dogs, old people & pigeons. Took tube to Oxford Circus around
11:30 [in a train] that was going wild (so was I, for a toilet!). Ended up
at Wimpy's (!) for usual junk & facilities. Oxford Street is
most unpleasant, with steaming exhaust pipes & too many people
(hated
Marks & Spencer). Went over to British Museum which is
still torn up, but with many new installations, & walked & walked &
got tired, of course—a horrible crowd. MOBS including a
group of extremely coiffed punks (blue is popular) waiting for train
(Central/District Line). After 15 minutes (due to
another "incident on the line") a train finally came & all the mobs
tried to push on, with legs, heads, bodies hanging out.
Needless to say we did not even try, but went over (with difficulty)
to Northern Line to wait (again, but only a few minutes) & transfer
to Victoria Line. Got off & shopped [for groceries] (!)—staggered home
to crash for a few minutes. Had canned spaghetti sauce with
pasta, wheat bread & cherries. Off to National Theatre to see
The Inspector General, which was TOO MUCH, our first
theatre disappointment: overblown slapstick, badly paced, with
"hero" played by
standup comic whom the audience seemed to hugely
enjoy. The director & author clearly were trying to make some
point about government corruption & the absurdity of human behavior.
Everyone applauded madly. We did not. Usual hassle
getting out of that area to Waterloo Station & home late.
Rained a bit. To bed 11:30-11:45.
TUESDAY, JUNE
18,
1985
GEORGE:
Off to King's Cross
Station to catch the 9:30 to Durham. It is a three hour plus
run, and it was a rather gloomy/cloudy day. At one of the
intermediate stops a young man came to join our pair of facing
benches, and he had a radio-controlled model helicopter. There
it sat on the table, a silent but sliding-about token of something
significant, I am sure—but what? Finally, as we neared Durham,
the young man (who was also debarking there) said I should look out
the right hand window for a good view of the
cathedral, and he was
right. The train approaches on high ground, and in fact on a
great bridge-trestle over the valley as it enters the station.
It was from the bridge we got the spectacular view.
Most of our time was
spent in and around the cathedral. We stopped first for
lunch—so-so but filling. Then made our way across the bridge
to ascend up to the cathedral. The site is spectacular, but
what hit me most forcefully was the great size of the church.
I had not expected the bulk. Also, there is a roughness of
finish which added to its formidable appearance. Inside we
found great organization. To photograph you pay a pound for a
dated sticker. Another pound permits a tripod. I used
the floor and other props for shots, for it was singularly dark
inside. It was a combination of cloudy skies and small
windows. There is a great deal of the Romanesque remaining,
even in the east end, but more interesting is [that] the fusion of
Romanesque and Gothic works so well. The shifts are subtle and
not awkward at all. Then I took it into my head to climb to
the top of the tower at the crossing. I didn't at Salisbury,
so here I decided to. We were warned: it is 325 steps.
But off we went, paying 50p each for the privilege. The number
of steps was not at issue (though it did require periodic pauses),
but the narrowness of the spiral stark walls. Also, up was
[also] down, which meant trying to negotiate ancient, worn, tiny
steps with people going both ways. Finally, at the top and
rather winded, I just sat. It was indeed the roof of the
tower. A few valiant climbers and lightning rods were my first
view. Would my innate acrophobia permit me to reach the
parapet to take a photo or two? Yes, but not many and with
caution. Then it was down. Faster yes, easier not
really. Finally we were at the bottom, and the two men in
charge turned out to be retired police and fire brigade members
respectively. They were discussing what one would do if
someone collapsed at the top or on the stairs. We got involved
for a few minutes and then I asked for directions to the loo.
Durham Cathedral
was/is tightly organized for visitors, and they even have a
restaurant. It was (is) a monastery church and so there are
attendant attached buildings which help support the crowds.
Nearby is a part of the University of Durham, which was the
old
castle. It is a dramatic site, but very crowded. One has
to cross the river by footbridge to reach other, newer buildings.
I decided to follow the guidebook and walk around by the other bank
of the river. I began correctly, but regrettably the streets
are largely without signs, so at a roundabout I headed wrong.
An inquiry directed at a passerby (who had some groceries) provided
a correction. Away from the
peninsula, the architecture is
rather ordinary, but there are some scenic, even wooded areas.
It is a hilly area with stamina-testing walkways. We did,
finally, see the views promised and soon it was time to return to
the railroad station (more climbing). The trip back to London
was punctuated by a wretched child traveling with a weary mother who
had also two other older children, who all together were messy and
noisy. Fortunately they left at York.
I think I'm ready to
call it a trip. Things are getting to me. Durham, etc.
are well worth it, but five weeks is rather long to live in an
improvisational way. Wednesday and Thursday will be less
frantic, and Friday is departure.
MILA:
Had a nice day in Durham, which is
three hours by "fast train" from King's Cross. We were smart &
got in line at 8:30 for a 9:30 train, so we got pick of seats & even
used WC in train before takeoff. A young man came & sat facing
us, & placed a huge radio-operated helicopter on table between us.
It kept slipping toward us, but he was sweet & quiet (apparently
from Durham). Lots of pretty scenery. Durham is very
scenic too (can see the Dales above). Ate lunch in a wine bar
(strange tough steak sandwich & "salad"—salad bar consisting of
lettuce, chunks of tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, slices of apple,
curried rice with peas, cold potatoes—ugh.) On a blackboard
outside a restaurant in town I saw "carrot & orange soup"! Went to the
beautiful cathedral & found ourselves climbing up the 325 winding
stairs to the top of tower!! (Crazy, no?) We tried to
"break" the strain by resting every 50 stairs or so, but it still
wasn't an easy task, especially during times when you had to shrink
against the wall to accommodate people who were coming downstairs at
same time. But we made it up to roof & the sun came out & it
was glorious, even HOT. The sight of seeing Geo dragging up
those medieval winding stairs in his Palm Beach suit, Greek hat,
Selfridges raincoat & shoulder bag was just too funny. Almost
all of the people on the roof seemed to be in their 20s! (but they
were shaky too). Came down, engaged in conversation with two
guards (one a former policeman, another a former fireman)—"Now if a
fire should occur on top," etc. We used WC & went to
bookstore. Took a circuitous route to see scenic spots,
including graveyard &
St. Oswald's Church, but they were the only
"good spots"—mostly uphill & new buildings for Durham University.
If we'd been less tired, we could have gone even higher up & seen
the Dales, but we got lost instead. Staggered back to Town
Centre, ate a sweet standing up on the bridge, had another dark
chocolate in station. Went back on 5 p.m. train with
strange group of people, including woman across aisle with three
screaming children. "Lord preserve me." Life on trains
is not always serene. Back to Victoria 8:00—not too terribly
tired. Thank God [we] had Kentucky Fried Chicken etc., &
watched TV show with the strange
Sylvestra actress in it
(AGAIN—she's HOT these days in England).
WEDNESDAY, JUNE
19,
1985
GEORGE:
No rush today.
When finally we departed, it was to get a matinee ticket for the
second part of Mysteries, the Passion. Then we headed
to "the City" to look at the
new Lloyd's building, still under
construction. This is a
Richard Rogers design of complex high
tech, etc. appearance (plus a touch of Crystal Palace). It is
big and most visible. Rogers also designed the new tallest
building on Hong Kong, also still a-building, which was near the Furama. Obviously he is someone I need to learn more about.
As we maneuvered from place to place to find views to photo (after
all, the city is very dense at this place and the street pattern is
still the ancient intricate one) we stumbled onto Leadenhall Market.
My Architecture of London guide tells me it is 1881, and the site of
a poultry market since the 14th Century, and initially the site of a
Roman basilica. It was a fragment of the past in the midst of
largely post-WWII anonymous office blocks. Utterly different
visually, not only because of the iron-glass architecture, but its
population and use. One could see a century back in time.
Turn a corner and one was in or out of the present.
From there we went
to Aldgate to take the tube, but there a chalked sign warned of
"extensive delays," so we went to Tower Hill. There I took one
quick shot of the Tower [of London] and we headed to Charing Cross.
Hunting for a place to eat, we ended up (my choice—sorry) at
Pizzaland on Leicester Square. Disorganized service and only
so-so pizza. From there it was to the
National Portrait
Gallery, a place I hadn't visited since 1971, and then (and in 1966)
rather swiftly. We decided to visit it until "show time."
It too seems differently installed than I remembered it last, so it
was largely a new experience. As might be expected, the
quality of the work varied, but it did expose me to a great many
artists (many British) whom I did not know. And some were
worth knowing.
So off to the
Mysteries. The Passion was (as expected) very different
from the Nativity. It was rather short (I think something was
edited out for the matinee), and less gripping despite the solemn
theme. My attention tended to wander. Mila was to my
right, and to her right was a very large woman. So when Christ
was crucified, she had to learn far forward to see "Calvary" at the
far right of the playing stage. After awhile she turned to me
and said, "Isn't that
Marilyn and Doug Russell at the end of our
row?" I leaned even farther over, stretched upwards, and
stared. Yes it was: our old friends down the way.
When the performance was over, we saw them beginning to exit away
from us, so I popped up onto a chair and called "Doug Russell"
twice. On the second sounding (and who expects to hear their
name under such circumstances?), Doug turned my way and there was
recognition.
We joined and exited
after much chatter and exclamations. We adjourned to Blake's
Wine Bar, which was not yet serving wine, for coffee and some eats.
They were returning to Stanford from Austria, and were breaking
their long trip by three days in London to see friends (here and
there) and they too were leaving (for New York) on Friday. We
had a long and pleasant conversation about everything possible, and
then parted company. They to the National Theatre and we to
get tickets for an evening performance of
Noises Off.
We added a Wendy's cheeseburger to our ad hoc supper, and saw the
play. It was an intricately structured comedy, played like a farce but subtle if one understood the theatre, for this was a play
about the theatre and the types and interactions among actors.
It was very clever, played at a fast pace and with incredibly timed
action. A complete opposite to the Passion in every
sense. The
Savoy Theatre, a rebuilding in 1929 of an old
theatre, was an Art Deco jewel buried below street level. We
then headed "home." One last day remains in London. It
will be "odds and ends" and packing.
MILA:
Had a very strange but unexpectedly
wonderful day. Paid a trip to the "City," to see & photograph
new construction, getting lost, being confronted with signs at
Aldgate Tube Station: "All trains subject to severe delays,"
so we went down to Tower Hill Station and saw the Tower from afar
(they've built up a kind of park-rest area, complete with "touts"
with parrots on their shoulders). Went to National Portrait
Gallery—the older stuff was much more interesting than "current"
portraits of Lady Di & Charles. There was a group of British
school kiddies in the 18th Century room with a male docent: "Name a
current actor." "Harrison Ford," pipes up one. "Well, if
you were living in the 18th Century, there would have been no doubt
who you would mention—David Garrick!" Hmm.
Decided to
go to 2 p.m. matinee of Passion of The Mysteries at
the Lyceum, which only lasted about 1½ hour—wasn't as impressive as
first one—I had to lean out to see Christ on the Cross. But
big surprise was that during the Crucifixion I spotted Doug &
Marilyn Russell at the end of our first row in the Stadium Section!
Such a joy & surprise! At the end of not too thrilling show,
Geo stood up on a chair & yelled "Doug Russell!" They looked
stunned. So we were reunited & tried to find a place for tea
or a drink of anything (the licensing laws caused bars to be
closed). We did find a Blake's wine bar that sold coffee,
bread & cheese & sweets—very funny conversations about all
subjects for about 1½-2 hours. By this time the "bar" had
opened so Geo & I drank wine & Doug had buffet (all looking like
cold suet). Used WC & fought off locals (reminded me of
Rumpole
of the Bailey). About 6:30-7:00 we went outside &
photographed each other. They insisted on taking our picture
in front of
Lyceum Theatre. An old drunk seated on nearby
steps offered running commentary: "Roller bowler ball," he
sang—a fitting climax to a memorable reunion.
We walked
across two roads to the street that crossed over to the South Bank
[and] the National, & we sauntered over & got tickets for Noises Off.
I think I saw
Ben Kingsley coming toward us—he looked like a small,
seedy, balding version of
Ben Gazzara, but he looked right at me &
there were those eyes! He (if it was he) is very
small, sort of grizzly grey. Of course he could have just been
another man on the street: they are all actors, in their own way.
Take those people driving in, or taking the train, to Ascot in their
grey morning coats & top hats & the women in their crazy getups, &
all to see some horse races!
Had a greasy
Wendy's hamburger & saw Noises Off, the perfect choice—a
crazy but brilliant farce (that Bunny later called "garbage," even
though he's going to be in it!) which everyone enjoyed immensely,
with a very jolly man next to Geo & a bunch of really "dumb"
Americans (kids & moms) in front of us. Funny
conversation—they referred to us as "You British." Home about
11:00 p.m.
THURSDAY, JUNE
20,
1985
GEORGE:
We went to see the
Banqueting Hall by Inigo Jones. I wanted to photograph the
interior. Well, I forgot how big it was, but also I didn't
recall the trees fronting it. I did attempt two photos.
From there we went to Kensington to see the
Henry Cole Wing of the
V&A. This houses the paintings, prints and drawings. We
did that fairly thoroughly, including a brief viewing of the special
exhibit on [heavily overwritten:]
caricature. (Alas, why is it that my spelling
disintegrates when traveling?) We then had lunch (a nice lasagne—that it is the way it was spelled) at Dino's near the
museum. Photographed the cleaned and colorful National History
Museum. Then strolled
Queen's Way (Gate?) to Hyde Park to look
at and photograph the
Albert Memorial. It is big, and since
the sun was out [I] should have some decent views. I've become
facile at switching lenses. From there we strolled in Hyde
Park. A lovely day and we covered a large section ending by
the pools and fountains at the north end of the Long Water.
From there we headed back to the flat. Before starting out in
the morning I made a call for a hire car to take us to Heathrow.
That seems to be the simplest, since it is scheduled to rain
tomorrow. Once in the flat we turned our attention to packing.
Decided not to tackle an additional museum or go to the
theatre. Went out to get some Chinese take home [in margin:
this time it was not good at all] and afterwards finished packing.
Then watched TV.
The tail end of any
trip is just that. Fatigue, dirty laundry, figuring out the
best way to pack, etc., compounds to reduce the pleasure of travel.
Yet this has been a good and rewarding adventure and I'm truly glad
to have experienced the things and sights. But home will look
very good.
MILA:
Last full day in England.
(Wasn't really a full day since we left the flat at 9:30 & returned
just after 2:30 to drink beer, eat nuts & pack.) It started
out lovely & sunny but clouded over & they are predicting heavy rain
& high winds for tonight & tomorrow (it figures). Went to
photograph Banqueting Hall across from the Horse Guards—of course
just at that moment (10 a.m.) they were changing mini-guard & two
horses came out [of the] gate toward us, one noticeably agitated (at
what?). I decided that we should get out of there, so we
crossed the street. Took tube to South Kensington & went to
new wing of V&A Museum, which was quite nice since we were alone
much of the time, seeing the prints, the
caricatures, the "reserve" paintings & using the loo. Went out
& had an almost-decent lunch of lasagna & beer at "Dino's" near Hyde
Park, Queen Anne's Gate, etc.—much better than cold quiche.
Geo wanted to photograph the Albert Memorial, so we went into Hyde
Park & saw the flower walk, the Round Pond with ducks, & all the
green grass with people laying on it in various stages of repose (&
undress), babies in prams, & many dogs & pigeons—even saw squirrels!
Some strange waterfowl in Kensington Gardens in a nest in the center
of a decorative pond, with six ducklings? goslings? Came back
via Lancaster Gate. In underground [there] was placed [a] chalkboard
apologizing for yesterday's delays on various lines—due to
"switching problems" at one station, "a person under a train" at
another, & "an incident on the line" at another! This is the
third time I've seen a notice about a person being under a train,
but these incidents are never mentioned in the newspapers—wonder
what happens to those poor unfortunate people?
Yesterday
we had a pizza (that took a half-hour to prepare) at Pizzaland—never
again. Frequented by groups of teenagers & giggling girls.
How can one louse up pizza? Went today to the Pimlico takeout
Chinese place at 7:30 & brought home some very unusual-tasting
food—sort of oriental sauerbraten, some chicken eggrolls & too much
rice, & beers. Ah well, it's a pretty-looking place: new,
white, clean. Food isn't so great. Packing is a bore
(especially all of those books—why do we load ourselves down
with so many?). It's warm & humid & I'm sweating (first time
in about two weeks). From 9:30 to 11:30 tonight there was a lovely
production on TV of Edna O'Brien's
The Country Girls with
heartthrob Sam Neill (yes, those eyes are blue!) playing Mr.
Pierre Gentleman (yes, that's the name) looking great, but a rather
lifeless thankless role (he deserts the young girl). Sat up
watching in dark while Geo slept.
FRIDAY, JUNE
21,
1985
GEORGE:
It is about 8 a.m.
as I write this. Our car is supposed to pick us up at 9:30.
We are packed, finally, and except for some additional tidying up,
we are (I guess) ready. The TV is on, and for still another
day the TWA hostage situation predominates. The issue is
obviously very serious, but it is a clear demonstration of how the
media are used and indeed exacerbate the tension by oversaturated
coverage, with it reported with silly analogies over and over.
What stands out, beyond the intemperate behavior of the Shiites, is
Reagan's inability to match
his words and action. He is a
sloganeer and critic who says things that sound marvelous to the
rednecks and the armchair warriors and their spouses. But he
demonstrates his lack of plan or decisive action in crisis.
Will this finally reveal him for what he is, a politician not a
leader? A leader is one who can carry out a plan he
conceived, and achieve something. Also, since this is the
summer solstice, there is the story of the security at Stonehenge.
The "hippie" encampment, and the host of "Druids" who are being kept
at bay by weather, police and barbed wire. Apparently last
year some 30,000 encamped at the monument and did damage to the
terrain (and thus [the] archaeological sites). It all adds to
the craziness of the situation. The day of rain may be the
best defense for a site finally fenced in after thousands of years
of accessibility. Now I shall set this aside to finish the
account after arrival at home.
[Later]
I am aboard the aircraft, somewhere over Canada as I pick up the
narrative again. Fortunately the aircraft was not crowded and
Mila and I had four seats to ourselves in the tail of the ship in
the middle section of seats; thus we could spread out, and I got
several hours of sleep. The consequence is a degree of
alertness. London time is 8:30 p.m. (or 2:30 p.m. K.C.).
We are due in Chicago at 4 p.m. Well, back to our actual
departure.
We got the bags
downstairs at 9:15 and turned in our keys. At 9:30 we looked
out the door to see a grey four-door sedan parking out front.
"Is that our taxi?" asked Mila. I saw no such indication, but
then a man got out and asked if we were waiting for Park Lane
service. Indeed, it was our transportation. So off we
went, in style and comfort. The rain was but drizzle and soon
stopped. We got an interesting and new view of London as we
headed toward Heathrow. The driver was nice and chatted us up
re: what we were seeing, and we talked historic preservation.
We arrived in good order and got our bags checked in and turned
around to see, in the melee, Doug and Marilyn Russell who were once
again caught unawares by the Ehrlichs. We adjourned upstairs
to have a bona fide orange juice and a chat until their earlier
plane was called. After seeing them off, we had a sandwich,
spent our change on some packaged candy and a
Punch.
(Regrettably, the tail section has exaggerated movement as now, and
writing is difficult at times.) Finally it was time for our
plane. We were not using a
jetway, so after a maze-like walk
about, we ended up in a too-small lounge. But at long last we
descended to buses, and then began a bus tour of the "undercroft" of
Heathrow. It was neither interesting nor informative. We
arrive at a plane, and there must wait. Cleaners are still
aboard. Finally they exit and we ingress. And we
discover space and comparative comfort. So it was eat a bit,
drink some club soda, and sleep. And read a bit. And
wait for Chicago and customs, and transfer to another flight to K.C.
[Later]
At Chicago we "parked" a considerable distance from the terminal.
Then there was a very long wait to debark and get on buses. It
was hot, very windy, and the bus was jammed. Then,
starting, we got a tour of O'Hare [Airport]'s backsides until finally we
arrived. Immigration was routine, but baggage claim was not.
When finally our bags arrived, it was nearly the end of the run;
very few people were [still] standing [there]. We then headed to customs, but
to our total surprise we were waved through. I suspect some
cabalistic signs on our declaration form entered at immigration were
the reason. Then it was rechecking bags at the transfer desk,
and trying to get to the correct terminal building. As one
person with us said to his companion, when there was confusion over
the elevators and which way we were to go: "Remember, regardless of
the confusion, we are back in America," or words to this effect.
We had a drink in the terminal, and then headed for our gate.
The plane was a bit late, and crowded, but it was the last leg of
our circumnavigation.
And then we hit very
severe weather. It has been a long time since I experienced
flying in such foul and turbulent conditions. Fortunately, my
Dramamine held out in my system (about twelve hours earlier I had
taken a tablet), and so I survived. Poor Mila almost did not.
We arrived about twenty minutes late, and in a rain. Very
gloomy and we were bone-weary (as they say). And then we saw
Steve and Mary Lou [Gosnell] there at the gate. Saved. I
could turn [off] whatever remained functioning of my mind. The
bags arrived swiftly, and through the rain we went to Mary Lou's new
Saab. The next three-quarters of an hour were spent in retreat
in the rear of the car until we got home. All was well at
home, though the drain by the basement door was clogged. Mila
washed her hair (the first good shampoo I guess since Jakarta), and
I made small efforts at sorting things out. I also went to
Milgram's to get a few things. By 10 p.m. or so, which was 6
a.m. Saturday in London, I tottered off to bed to sleep until when?
MILA:
The Summer Solstice—sun will set at
9:50 tonight here. Will the
hippies overtake Stonehenge? Will the hostages be released?
Will we get home today (or tomorrow) without being hijacked?
Will it rain on our parade? I think the answer to the latter
is yes. It is raining now (8:00 a.m.) so [the] more pertinent
question is will the taxi get here on time this morning? Or
can one sum up this trip at all—or even these last two weeks?
Certainly not in the early a.m. on a rainy morning in an attic in
Pimlico. Maybe months later? Certainly one can say that
home (USA) looks better from afar than it did up close.
Certainly we've been living in surroundings & cultures & ways of
life much different from ours at home. Here people seem to
settle for less than Americans would do. Americans squander
space. Everywhere we've been abroad, space is a premium.
So, though there is unrest of course (especially young people),
people seem resigned to living in tiny quarters with beds in living rooms,
tiny kitchenettes, hankie-size gardens, primitive plumbing. Uncomplaining
about having to change platforms, wait, join queues, tramp up stairs.
Today the morning news (awful) is featuring
"Chaulky" the
parrot who has "feather-rot" & is getting depressed about it.
The Doc says, "They are emotional little creatures." "He's a
little Punk" says rock-star
Toyah Willcox
(? never heard of her). Chaulky fell
asleep during exchange. Weather people are all supercasual: "Rain is
crashing into Europe, with brief patches of sunshine," vaguely
pointing at map filled with funny little faces & blobs of black
clouds & white
clouds. "Tunis at 32° C would be best place to be today," "dull
patches & bright bits." So vague—so uninformative. Oh, for
Dan Henry.
[Later]
8:30 London Time (about 1:00 p.m. Chicago Time) above Quebec.
I'm almost afraid to admit it, but the flight has been uneventful.
"Taxi"
turned out to be elegant clean grey Ford, driven by a nice
mustachioed man in a nice tweed suit (all terribly civilized). Arrived promptly at
9:30—got to airport at 10:00!! Didn't even rain much.
Drive punctuated with informative chatter. [Cost] £14.
Then—no carts in sight.
Dragged bags into TWA check-in area & got rid of the big ones right
away. Immediately saw the Russells (again—it's fated).
They were off in about an hour en route to NYC, so we went to lounge
for huge glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice (!) & more animated talk.
("Imagine seeing you again in Heathrow Airport.")
We were with them about an hour until they left for their processing
into a noon flight, carrying bags plus a large container holding a poster.
Then we had a light lunch (cheese sandwiches &
lettuce/tomato/cucumber called a SALAD) & tried to spend our change
on a magazine & candy. Waited in a row somewhat off the
well-beaten track. Someone said Heathrow was world's busiest
airport. They try to keep it clean (women with carpet
sweepers, etc.) but it's hard. After another 1½ hour we went
to Departure "Lounge" (HA)—waiting area for departing
planes. Had to go by buses out to
plane, that after all the fuss, they hadn't even finished cleaning. Left ½ hour late, only ½ full, mostly
large healthy Americans, the younger ones taking advantage of empty seats
& stretching out to sleep. "Hostesses" looked a bit
long in the tooth. Movie was $3.50,
Oh God! You Devil.
I did not indulge. Geo slept—I couldn't, not really tired—read Punch.
I was on aisle, ostensibly to get up & out, but there was so much
activity (including the selling in the back of the damned duty-free
stuff) I moved in a bit.
Much
later. I knew that it was a mistake to put down those fatal
words "uneventful flight." The
landing in Chicago was very bumpy, tossed back & forth
due to extreme high winds. A long wait to get out of
plane—remember, we were in the very back of the plane—had to crawl down steps in high wind to
plummet into waiting buses where we were squashed into very limited space with very little air. (Welcome
to good ol' USA.) Staggered into O'Hare—had to go through usual endless
routine of passport control, trying to locate all baggage on
turnstile [sic], having to pay $1.00 for cart to load it
onto, & then
dreading customs. But interestingly we were "passed on"—nothing was
examined. Up across to TWA desk & checked through [our]
big luggage,
giggling hysterically (relieved) & to cocktail lounge for
beer & gin & tonic—across from group of Central Casting-type
Russians. O'Hare is in process of being fixed up, hence a
labyrinthian maze. (In trying to unfathom [sic] the
maze of the Chicago airport, a traveler remarked to his foreign
friend: "Remember, no matter what happens, we are in USA!") Another long wait to get into very crowded
plane to K.C. (& back to St. Louis)—"It had to be cleaned
first." We were across the aisle from each other, I next to a
young ([aged] 11?) daughter & mother from Joplin (in from London
too—they were
very tired—had to stay in K.C. overnight). Since it was
only an hour's flight, everything was hustle-bustle, the
long-in-the-tooth attendants rushing the drinks cart through the
aisles & throwing dark rye buns with meat inside at us. I took
tomato juice (unfortunately, as it turned out). The drinks cart
took almost 45 minutes to get through the plane. By the time
the attendants got to the back, the seatbelts sign suddenly came on—no word
from pilot or attendants the whole rest of the flight! Much
turbulence, almost black sky outside, sharp flashes of lightning.
Rollercoaster ride—a most uncomfortable & frightening
experience, just as we were beginning "downward path" toward K.C. (I
was reminded of John Lithgow in that
Twilight Zone segment.) The kid
next to me was terrified & I'm scared of lightning & my stomach was getting
really queasy (that damned tomato
juice). After too long, Geo claimed he could see land.
Then the pilot said, "Ladies & gentlemen, will you please
return to your seats & fasten your seatbelts in preparation for
landing." The passengers roared with laughter (it was a very
jolly, carefree plane-load). Anyway, we landed & everyone
applauded. Limped out & were happy to see Steve & Lulu [Mary
Lou] waiting for us—Steve said, "I was surprised that they tried to
land that plane in
that kind of weather!" It
had been a deluge & [was] still raining. I was [still]
really queasy & wondered if I would toss my cookies all over Lulu's
elegant new dark blue Saab! It was still stormy with deep
water & heavy rain, [so] rather harrowing
trip home, but she is a good driver.
Home to
find all in order & good shape. Note from Matthew taped on
blackboard. Called Mom. [Home] looks wonderful
& so big! Good to have so much SPACE & all ours.
Apparently it had been mostly cool & wet the
whole time we were gone. Now it's time to get HOT.
SATURDAY, JUNE
22,
1985
GEORGE:
I awoke several
times, but at 3:30 a.m. it was time to get up, so I did. I
sorted what mail we had at the house, read yesterday's newspapers
while I had breakfast. Was the mail stopped at all? I'll
find out this morning. [In margin: It had been.]
It is now almost 6 a.m., and Mila is still asleep. She,
unfortunately, did not sleep very well on the plane from London.
I suspect I'll need a nap this afternoon. But all things
considered, we made the return in good shape. And yes, it is
good to be home!
THURSDAY, JUNE
27,
1985
MILA:
Last
entry: 7:30 a.m.
It did get hot & humid, but this summer has been different—every
time it gets hot, then it gets cool due to rain or something.
Today is cloudy & cool (60°) & cloudy—"they" say it should dip into 50s
tonight—hurrah. Geo just put Paul
onto a TWA plane bound for St. Louis (sound familiar?) so that he
can board a plane to go to Seattle! Tomorrow Geo puts Matthew
on a plane bound for Denver so he can get a plane bound for Australia
for five weeks! Such a business.
Our wonder
with our house & surroundings continues to amaze us—a real bonus
from our trip. Also have tangible memories, such as Garuda,
the mask; Narayana, the shadow puppet; batiks, little purses,
George's [sic] raincoat, lens, shaver, guidebooks, cassette of
Balinese music, & lots of mental & emotional memories of a unique
trip.
I tended to
like least the very new aspects of places we've been
in—the Singapore high-rises & efficiency, the Hong Kong pollution &
nightspots & shopping malls, L.A. (period), the "new" London of the
Barbican & National Theatre Centres & fast food joints (but liked
the toilets). Horrible, impersonal waves of the Future (plus
crowds). I liked best the old Raffles Hotel,
restoration of Edwardian London & its little parks, little English
churches & towns—Bath etc., Bali (fields, temples, Wayang shows,
dancers, art, people)—slower, more gentle, sweeter. Am I
getting (gasp) old? reactionary?
But a
slower pace does give a person time to absorb things.
Asia (old Asia, at least) encourages patience ("Not yet"), so maybe
that's the ticket, eh? Restoration is the key too—the British
& Asians are doing this too (though Singapore may end up tearing
everything old down eventually in their zeal to be [the
number two?] city in Southeast Asia!). On the other hand, I
like modern plumbing & hot water baths & pleasant hotel rooms, so I
guess one gives up something for others. Life is a compromise
& an accommodating process.
And so it
goes. End of the saga.
AFTERWARD
The George & Mila Show
continued taking its act on the road for the next two decades,
but never again did the Ehrlichs venture to Europe or Asia; indeed,
apart from three trips to Canada (one cut short by sudden illness), they
would remain within the borders of the continental United States.
Jean Soulier stepped down as Ambassador to Indonesia in 1986 and
retired from the French Foreign Service a year later, though he was called
upon from time to time for special "emeritus" duties. He and
Joann alternated between living in Paris and their country house in
Pouydesseaux.
Occasionally they traveled abroad, returning to KCMO from Oct. 31 to
Nov. 2, 1990. "We had a lovely time!" Mila wrote the present
author. "They had a rental car that they drove from Washington
D.C. & then back to NYC! Lots of driving, & remember
[Jean] had a triple bypass in Feb!" George had to leave midway
through the Souliers's stay for another
trip to California, but wrote that "your Mother and the Souliers
had a splendid visit (did my absence contribute?), which however did
start auspiciously [with] a Chinese dinner.... They are a pair
of very special people, but then so are your Mother and I (I hope)."
Joann and Mila maintained their correspondence through Jean's death
on Aug. 13, 2004 and George's on Nov. 28, 2009—though
increasingly they kept in touch by phone, as "long distance" got
absorbed into standard
telecommunication. When my brother Matthew (who inherited
our mother's
wanderlust) called on Joann in Paris in Nov. 2012, she phoned
Mila in KCMO while Matthew was there. Later on he would notify
Joann of Mila's death on Feb. 21, 2016. I contacted Joann in
March while compiling "College
and the Lively Arts," the first part
(completed, not chronological) of
Arrived Safely No Catastrophes Yet Love Jean; and she
replied that "from the first time [Mila and I] met, we became
friends and she was always part of my life... We wrote
frequently even from the days I was in NY and then from everywhere
else." Joann promised to send me a capsule biography of Jean Soulier, about whom far too little
can be found online; but I never
heard from her again, and eventually her email account was
deactivated.
* * * *
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