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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