The Lexicans

May 18, 2026

This was a trip I had been eagerly waiting for the last year. Specifically, I wanted to see what was on one stop – Komodo island in Indonesia.

40 years ago this December, I had been fired from a job and I figured getting another in December was unlikely. And, I always wanted to see the South Pacific and a travel agent friend of my parents knew of a great deal from QANTAS airlines. For $1200 I could get a ticket that would let me map the route – up to 21 stops in the Pacific – I just couldn’t backtrack to the same place.

So, I started with Tahiti – staying at the Club Med on Morea Island for 2 weeks (just 11 miles across a channel from the capital, Papeete. I took probably the world’s shortest airline route there (11 miles across the channel – it was that or waiting a day for the ferry).

In New Zealand, I went with this youth group touring mainly the South Island. Towards the end I was a bit tired and while a tour of the North Island of the Bay of Islands was offered, I didn’t go.

And I regretted that for the last 40 years.

After New Zealand I flew on a nearly new QANTAS 767 to Melbourne.  I befriended not only a Melbourne couple who invited me to stay with them (the husband worked for the Melbourne Age – one of their 3 newspapers), but the QANTAS pilot, who invited me to the cockpit! (This was pre-911 of course). At the time, I was an active pilot with the vast experience of 200 hours, and after talking with a flight attendant about flying about 20 minutes later I got the invitation. I sat in the jump seat behind them for about half the trip talking with the flight crew (and knowing when to keep quiet). The pilot invited me to his home in Sydney for a BBQ when I got there.

When I got to Queensland, I landed at Brisbane and worked my way up the coast to Townsville, then took a bus for 24 hours to Alice Springs in the middle of the Outback. You learn what desolate really means traversing the Outback.

Then I flew to Cairns back in Queensland (on the northern side). I wandered around Australia on my own for about 6 weeks, then, as the money was dwindling, a stop at Fiji for 3-4 days.

When I noticed at the beach in Fiji by my hotel had old tires in the sand, I figured it was about time to go home. Besides, if I recall, there was a coup there at the time. There has always been friction between the native Fijians and the Indians who the British brought in to harvest the sugar cane. The natives wanted no part of that and who can blame them? The Indians proved to be good at business so hence the friction.

After Fiji, a quick stop in Hawaii to visit some friends and then it was home. And along the way a couple of very strange coincidences. For myself, I’ll put it up to God with a sense of humor.

If you want a record of those travels in 1986 here it is –

Tahiti

New Zealand

Australia – Melbourne

Melbourne, up the Queensland Coast

To the Outback & Alice Springs

Alice Springs To Cairns

Cairns, Part II

Cairns To Sydney

Sydney to Canberra

Sydney to Fiji

Fiji to Hawaii

The cruise started at Auckland, then went 124 miles north to the Bay of Islands, then Sydney, Townsville Australia, Cairns Australia, Darwin Australia, Komodo Island Indonesia, Bali Indonesia, and finally ending in Singapore.

I learned some interesting things along the way and had a few memorable interactions with local people along the way.

I’d like to share this with you.

Auckland – Mile 0

I flew in a day early to decompress from the long flight – a United 777 from SFO. The first thing I did was take a walk down Queen Street by my hotel – if not the main shopping and business street, at least one of them. It’s a mixture of small shops, older Victorian buildings, and modern commercial high rises. Bought a hat at one of the shops as I managed to leave my ever-present hat at home. You have a “head of hair” like mine, and you want some protection!

And about a mile down the boulevard was a huge demonstration by Iranian expatriates demonstrating against their regime.

They were all too young to remember the days of the Shah – who was rapidly westernizing the country. No burkas but bikinis at the lakes, and women in universities. I told them that it was a different world. The music was stirring…I spoke with one and wished him the best, hoping that their country would see freedom again.

Another thing that caught my attention in New Zealand was the absorption of the Māori culture – most street signs had the names both in English and Māori. The Māori ’s were fierce warriors, and I will never forget this moving ceremony – a Haka – a New Zealand Army unit gave to one of their fallen comrades, killed in I believe Afghanistan.  

I visited the Auckland War Memorial Museum which was impressive both in the exhibits and the building, which was built in the 1920s.

Lots of names were on memorial walls, and I was reminded that during the dark days of 1942, how worried the people of New Zealand and Australia were about a Japanese invasion. I took a “hop on hop off” bus to get a view of the city highlights. More on that later.

I found a “home away from home” – another Shakespeare’s pub just 100 yards from the hotel. This one was a bit older than the San Diego namesake. It was New Zealand’s first pub. I wonder how many “Shakespeare’s Pubs” there are in the English-speaking world?. Had to have a bangers and mash, and of course a Guinness (for strength!). I told the bartender that if I lived here, I would be a regular.

Bay of Islands – 124 miles North from Auckland.

After 40 years of regret not seeing it when I had the chance, I finally returned. I could see why it has an international reputation. It was named by Captain James Cook when he stopped here in November 1769. And I asked the question now as I did 40 years ago in my South Pacific travels: “Was there any place in the South Pacific that he did not visit?”

Picture a bay with deep blue water and 84-85 islands. Our guide was saying that to be considered an island there it must have its own vegetation. There were a lot more bare rocks sans vegetation in the bay. 

One of the more famous islands is the Hole In The Rock. At the shore there is a charming little town that reminded me a bit of Carmel – Paihia.

Australia 40 years ago and Now

Sydney – 1,158 miles from the Bay of Islands  

We were at sea about 2 -3 days. I awoke and had breakfast at the stern of the ship and was treated to the city line of Sydney. Forty years ago, I spent a good 5-7 days in Sydney, and this time I was limited to a tour of the Blue Mountains outside Sydney. I had been there 40 years ago but decided to return to see if they had changed .

And while the linked picture shows a clear day, generally in those mountains there is a bluish haze cause by droplets of eucalyptus trees. Those 3 peaks are the famous “3 Sisters”. Today there was an addition of more tourist facilities, such as Scenic World. According to their website, they have been around since 1945 but 40 years ago they were either much smaller or I just completely missed it. Our tour spent a lot of time here and they had both a small train and large gondola. Along a path we saw the remnants of an old mine.

Forty years ago in Sydney real estate was expensive and it had only gotten higher. The median price of a home there today is $1.8 million Australian ($1.3 million US). Because of this a lot of Sydneysiders have bought homes in the outlying areas with a 40-60 mile commute, just like our Bay Area or the Los Angeles area.

What is a mystery to me is that even in Townsville, about halfway up the Queensland coast on the east coast, the median price has jumped to $600,000 Australian. One thing the Aussies have is empty land, so what is causing this outside the large metropolitan areas?

Sydney has to have one of the world’s most beautiful harbors. Not only is there the main harbor but many smaller tributary harbors. I remember 40 years ago taking a harbor tour and going by one of these tributary harbors – with a pier and a beautiful home (that obviously was about the above the median). The guide was saying that the owner dove off the pier and never came up, leaving it to our imaginations as to his fate.

There are 2 main beaches in the Sydney area, suburbs Manly and Bondi. Manly still has the famous shark net to keep out those Great Whites. They remind me of the LA area beach towns like Redondo Beach. To get to these beach towns from Sydney proper one can take a harbor ferry.

Townsville – 1,097 miles from Sydney  

To appreciate the vastness of Australia, it was almost as far sailing from Sydney up the Queensland coast to Townsville as it was sailing from New Zealand to Sydney.

Admittedly once I got to Townsville this time, I was limited to seeing what my Australian tour guide showed me. I had signed up for “Townsville’s military history”.

My impression was the same as visiting my old school in Charlottesville, VA a few years ago. I left it in 1972 as a “big small town” and when I returned 54 years later it was a “small city”.

So it was with Townsville. There were a lot of multi-story buildings. At first I thought that many of the old 2 story buildings I referred as the “Queensland architecture” were gone. They all have a veranda going the circumference of the 2nd story. The hotel I had 40 years ago though, The Great Northern, is apparently still there.

Apparently, they are still all there in the city center. Our local guide took us to 2 military museums, one dedicated to the Australian Air Force and the other the Army. The owner or the manager of the Army Museum was a personal friend, and although the museum was closed that day, he opened it just for us.

He was a retired Australian Army major who was a Chinook pilot in Afghanistan. He told me that a Chinook, with those huge rotors at each end, was actually easier to fly than a conventional helicopter.

I learned some other things that day.

I knew that the Japanese had bombed Darwin to the north (in the Northern Territory province), but I did not know that they bombed Townsville at least 6 times from their base in Rabaul.

Consequently, the US 5th AAF was sent to Townsville and stationed there.

RAAF Base Townsville

The 5th Air Force of the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) was a major combat command in Australia from 1942 to 1945, with RAAF Base Townsville serving as a critical hub for its operations during World War II.

Historical Context

• Strategic Importance: Townsville was a primary staging area and forward operating base for USAAF units, including the 5th Air Force, which played a vital role in the South West Pacific campaign. 
• Operations: The base supported extensive air operations, providing logistical support, maintenance, and launch points for missions against Japanese forces in New Guinea and the Solomon Islands.
• Commemoration: The historical significance of the 5th Air Force’s presence in Townsville is commemorated annually, with events held at locations like RAAF Base Townsville to honor the alliance and contributions of American and Australian forces during the war. 

After the museum visit, our guide took us to a moving monument with both the American and Australian flags commemorating that association.

Every 6 months both flags are exchanged for new ones.

The museum had wonderful displays from the Boer War to Afghanistan.

Australia became a country on January 1, 1901. Before that time, if I remember correctly, each province had a Governor-General (a representative of the British Crown). This poster interested me in recruiting Queenslanders for the Boer War in the late 1800s.

I mentioned to the Major that Australia and New Zealand are probably unique in that through WW1, they were put together as Army units, the ANZACs (Australia New Zealand Army Corps). He said that the “British would lump us together”, but there is a kinship baptized in blood for the 2 countries. He said that their finest hour was at Gallipoli, not for the battle itself which was a disaster from the onset, but the tactical way they extricated themselves.

I came to understand the genuine fear Australians and New Zealanders had in those early dark days of WW2 about a Japanese invasion. Most of their men were in North Africa and Americans came in to fill the vacuum.

Outside of this trip, a late neighbor of mine was a Marine veteran who told me a funny story of his time in New Zealand. A New Zealander told me that they usually assembled around Wellington. But the Marines would assemble in New Zealand prior to going to their Pacific Island campaigns.

Cairns – 155 miles North from Townsville

40 years ago, I spent a lot of time in Queensland because I wanted to spend some time diving at the Great Barrier Reef. This extends over 1,000 miles and being south of the equator, the further north you go the more tropical it gets.

At that time, I flew into Brisbane (in the southern area of Queensland) and worked my way up to Gladstone, which was south of Townsville. I had wanted to spend a few days at Heron Island, which was then owned by the P & O Orient lines. I had brought my scuba regulator, fins and prescription mask, and wanted to do a bit of diving on this southern part of the Great Barrier Reef. It was also the first and only time I got seasick. From Gladstone, there were 2 ways to get to Heron Island. By a scheduled ferry that was a boat 60’ or so, or pay $200 and ride a Bell Jet Ranger helicopter.

I took the boat and it was either the wave action or the sight of all these other passengers passing barf bags that I finally went to the railing and chummed the fish. I was the last holdout, and I remember to this day the captain looking back at me from the bridge with a big grin. Apparently getting seasick on that route was pretty common.

I am wondering for all of you old Navy salts if any of you had gotten seasick? I believed that it was the wave action combined with the relatively small boat.

I did some diving there. I left my mask on the boat and when I came back to retrieve it someone had taken it. Which I realized that once they realized it was prescription tossed it, so it was a meaningless act that ruined the rest of my dives.

They also had a govt run turtle hatchery, and if you were willing to get up in the middle of the night, see some turtles come from the sea to lay their eggs. Which I did, seeing a mother turtle laboriously take 45 -60 minutes going out of the water and up thew sand to lay her eggs.

I remember walking around the island which took all of 45 minutes.

At the time, there were about a half dozen island resorts along the Great Barrier Reef. I thought at the time it would be fun just to just to stay at these resorts – getting more tropical as you went north.

I learned a few years ago they had a cyclone or 2 (hurricane to those of us at least on the West Coast) and according to a local, some of those resorts are gone. Heron Island seems to have been repaired and according to their website a lot of new buildings that weren’t there 40 years ago.

Personally, like my experience attending my nephew’s wedding at Lake Louise in Canada some years ago, and finding the hotel at the end of the lake about 2x-3x the size I remember, the area at least to me loses some of its charm. The size of the tourist facilities begins to overcome the surrounding natural beauty.

But what do I know?

At Cairns, I chose to take another tour of the GBR, and the tours have certainly changed. (sounding like the OF I seemed to have become). At the time, to go snorkeling we took a catamaran and went to a designated spot, where the boat dropped anchor and we went snorkeling.

Wherever we wanted to snorkel.

I remember to this day seeing a giant clam, one of what was 2 but I was told at the time Taiwanese fishermen came in the night and took the other one. When I say “giant” I mean a 5’-6’ diameter. The water was, in pilots’ terms, CAVU (Ceiling and Visibility Unlimited), with a blue hue like being in your swimming pool. Water was warm enough to not require a wetsuit.

The coral was a whole range of vibrant colors.

The way things were today was far more organized. We left Cairns on a similar catamaran, but there were opportunities to rent an underwater camera and personnel who were dedicated to helping people enjoy themselves. We even had “snorkel supervisors”!

The biggest surprise between “then” and “now”?

All of the boats go to a central location that has as the main attraction a permanent platform with light food, beer, and under-the-water viewing platform accessed by stairwell, and a “submarine” where all of the seats are underwater with viewing windows.

Those wanting to go snorkeling (which was most of the tourists), were required to wear supplied wetsuits. Which I felt strange given that the water temp was almost like a bathtub. I was told they would protect people against being cut by the coral.

Oh, and the area one could snorkel was delimited by buoys and lines.

I had no intention of going snorkeling because I was not feeling all that well, but got most of the experience that day looking through the underwater windows.

It was just as well, because the water that day was pretty murky, given what I remembered years ago. I think there was a recent storm.

And the coral was not nearly as spectacular. This they said was because of the cyclones. But we were also given a talk about how the coral regenerates itself. The most interesting thing I learned that day? A coral is part animal and part plant.

I can see why they changed so much. Of course, having a nice local beer on the water was great, as was  using the underwater vantage points without jumping in the water.

And the restrictions? I can certainly see why they wanted to protect the ecosystem and not have boats dropping anchor every time they visit. And given the huge influx of tourists, undoubtedly some would have to touch the coral and draw blood – hence the wetsuits.

When we got back to Cairns, the entire crew disembarked before us and all 20+ of them lined up to thank us for choosing them as we were walking by, which I thought was very nice. I wish I had gotten their picture.

Darwin – 1200 miles from Cairns

We were at sea at least 2 nights going north from Cairns, around the Cape York Peninsula, then over to Darwin in the Northern Territory province.

Australia is a big country.

Forty years ago while traveling in Queensland, I became fascinated with their salt water crocodiles. They can grow much larger than our Florida and Louisiana alligators, and I believe far less hesitant in attacking humans.

While there 40 years ago I heard of one that was captured at 26 feet long. I learned at this trip that it was years ago and nobody verified it. However there have been plenty over 20’ long.

If you look at my account of Cairns of 40 years ago, I’m at a brackish large creek or river outside Cairns standing under a sign warning people of these monsters. People have been killed standing or sitting by the shore when they leap out of the water and grab them. That scene from “Crocodile Dundee” is based on fact. Maybe not as dramatic.

A story I always remembered in the intervening years was of 2 fishermen in Darwin. One of them is standing up in the boat and extending his arm to cast, and at that moment a croc leaped up and grabbed his arm.

He had the presence of mind to pull his arm out of its jaws at that moment, before it could lock around the arm.

So at Darwin, I signed up for the “jumping crocodile” tour. This YouTube video is better than any of my photos, and it was probably taken at the same location. When we got on the boat we received the standard talk about where the life preservers were. And with my warped sense of humor, I am imagining 30 people in the water infested by crocs knowing that the boat brings meaty treats.

Our guide was saying 2 things that stayed with me – that a few hundred yards from the boat dock a croc got a fisherman on the shore. And to the locals “wherever there is water, assume there are crocodiles”.

This location was about 25 miles from the town, and the town looked similar to Cairns, with multi story buildings. I had never been to Darwin before, and the bus ride gave me only a brief look.

I knew that during WW2, the Japanese came several times to bomb Darwin.

Komodo Island – 703 miles from Darwin.

In the morning, first thing I did, seeing that we were anchored about a mile off Komodo Island, was to open the sliding door to the balcony. The heat and humidity came over me like a sledgehammer. Can you believe that my glasses fogged up in a second?

A tender took us to the dock, and I noticed a lot of jakung boats off shore. While nobody outside except probably the park rangers live on this island, many locals set up their tables to sell the tourists drinks, T-Shirts and trinkets.

I was told that the Indonesian government allows no more than 20,000 people a year to visit. We formed our group and began what was probably a 2-mile trek through the forest. The rangers would stop periodically and talk about the local plants, and in one or 2 places, point out a Komodo Dragon nearly hidden in all the foliage.

We finally came to one of their watering holes, and we saw a large one – a good 10’ long – just laying perfectly still.

For those of you familiar with alligators you know what I mean by “still”. I can remember years ago walking on an asphalt path in the Everglades National Park and seeing an alligator perfectly still by the path. Even his eyes didn’t blink.

We learned that while these Dragons aren’t poisonous, they have about 64 kinds of virulent bacteria that will make one wish they were dead, if they survive the bite. One look at this big fellow and I think one bite would sever a limb if not kill you outright.

And unless you have a weak stomach, look at this one eating a goat. They apparently will try to eat anything.

Look at this one on YouTube trying to eat an electric eel, to his surprise.

The narrators on YouTube are saying that their bite is venomous, while the park rangers told us that it wasn’t, but they had some nasty bacteria.

Guess it depends on how one defines “venomous”.

Given the heat and humidity, I wasn’t surprised to see an elderly woman ahead of who had collapsed from a heat stroke, with people applying water-soaked rags.  I guess there were 3 people so affected, as a tender came for those specifically to take them to the ship’s infirmary.

I was thinking that the cruise company should have warned people of this.

A memorable interaction with a local

At the end of this walk, I was ready for a drink and a family had a ice chest full of drinks.

I asked a girl who must have been 8-10 “How much for a Diet Coke?  She lit up and said “$5! No, $3! No, $2!”   

I gave her the $2 and to see her face smile and light up – I think that was the best $2 I have ever spent. Maybe I was her first sale.

There was on this tour also a trip to Pink Beach but I was spent – heading down the dock for a ride back to the ship. I had seen what I came to see.

Bali (Benoa) Indonesia 272 Miles from Komodo Island

I am including this because it was one of the scheduled stops but truthfully, I just stayed on the ship to recharge. We were docked in a bay and off in the distance I could see people parasailing, and an interesting Indonesian boat sailed past us. Had I been feeling better I would have signed up for a tour.

Singapore – 985 miles from Bali

This was the end of the cruise, and we spent the last night on the ship before disembarking. Truth be told I had a 2nd thing I just “had to see”, but I would have to make my own arrangements in Singapore. I enjoy military history, and during the dark days of 1941-1942, the British had their own Pearl Harbor at Singapore.

Meanwhile, on February 8 and 9, three Japanese divisions had landed on Singapore Island; and on February 15 they forced the 90,000-strong British, Australian, and Indian garrison there, under Lieutenant General A.E. Percival, to surrender. Singapore was the major British base in the Pacific and had been regarded as unassailable due to its strong seaward defenses. The Japanese took it with comparative ease by advancing down the Malay Peninsula and then assaulting the base’s landward side, which the British had left inadequately defended.

I had no idea if these facilities even existed today, but started an Internet search to see if there were any guided tours.

I found somebody but on the one day I could go he had other commitments. But this is what he would have shown me:

Full Day Battlefield Tour

0900hrs – Hotel pick-up

Your tour begins with a pick-up from your hotel.

Sungei Buloh Wetland Reserve/Lim Chu Kang Road

Our journey starts along Singapore’s northwest coast – the site of the Japanese

landings on the night of 8 February 1942. Here, elements of the Australian 8th

Division mounted a valiant defence against overwhelming odds. Standing on this

tranquil shoreline today, we will examine the terrain and reconstruct the battle,

gaining insight into the challenges faced by both attackers and defenders during

those critical hours.

The Causeway

On 31 January 1942, Malaya Command withdrew across this final link to the mainland,

marking the end of the Malayan Campaign. From this vantage point – near positions

once held by the right flank of the 8th Australian Division – we will view the Straits of

Johore and compare it with period photographs to better understand the strategic

realities of the time.

Kranji War Cemetery

We continue to the Kranji War Cemetery, maintained by the Commonwealth War

Graves Commission. This solemn site offers a moment for reflection as we honour

those who fell in the defence of Malaya and Singapore.

Lunch (at own expense)

We will stop at a nearby dining area offering a range of local and international options.

Former Ford Factory

This historic site marks the location where British forces formally surrendered to

the Japanese on 15 February 1942. Now a museum, it presents a compelling

account of the Fall of Singapore and life under Japanese occupation.

Changi Chapel and Museum

This museum shares powerful and personal stories of Allied prisoners of war and

civilian internees held in Changi and its surrounding camps during the occupation.

1700hrs – Return to your hotel

Alternate sites can be substituted or added upon request. If you have specific

interests, let me know, I’ll be happy to tailor the tour accordingly.

Price includes

1) Fully guided tour of all locations visited

2) Private transport, pick up and drop off at hotel

3) Bottled water on demand

4) Entrance fee

It would have been just what I wanted but it was not to be. Which is not to say my stay in Singapore was wasted.

I was reading a bit on the Japanese occupation today at Singapore and I was surprised to learn of some of the prisoners they executed.

I took one last tour through the cruise line for an overview on Singapore. And I learned quite a bit about this fascinating city-nation. I guess that this and the Vatican are the only two entities that have this distinction.

For one, they have no farms – all of their food is imported (presumably from Malaysia). They became independent from Britain in the early 60s, like so many other commonwealth countries. I could not help but contrast the old British administration buildings here and in Nairobi, which I saw back in 1983.

In Nairobi they looked a bit worn and shabby, but in Singapore they were immaculate. They are proud of their British heritage, and a local told me that they revere their first Prime Minister, Mr Lee Kuan Yew.

“Everything we are today, the way we are, is because of him”, a local told me. I remember during his long tenure I thought of him as a “benevolent dictator”. Spitting on the sidewalk, chewing gum, were all crimes punishable either by caning or jail time. And don’t bring drugs into the country. You might end up on the gallows. A local told me that if that is your fate, they cane you 25 times before hanging you.

While this might seem harsh to some, the flip side is at my observation Singapore has a very low crime rate. I guess one of the shocks was in trying to find some remedy for my coughing, went to a local pharmacy chain, Watson’s. And right by the register are instructions for paying if there is no cashier around. Can you imagine that in any other store in the world?

I did not see one piece of litter on a street, or any graffiti.

They are very proud of their British heritage. After all, what could be more British than the Singapore Cricket Club? Their building downtown was impressive.

The city was founded in 1819 by Stamford Raffles. He found the perfect location for shipping being at the entrance to the Strait of Malacca.

The tour stopped at a museum – the Asian Civilizations Museum – that I believed would hold no interest for me, and it turned out to be fascinating. The highlight for me? Exhibits from the wreck of the Tang, which sank in the 9th century. It was a glimpse into life in the 900s.

It reminded me of another fascinating exhibit from the wreck of the Arabia in Kansas City, separated by 950 years.

When I arrived in Singapore, I was struck by how many high-rise buildings there were. And my guide said that 80% of Singapore citizens are in public housing. Even the public housing buildings were beautiful high rises. And of all of the high rises one stands out all over the city. It is a casino, The Marina Bay Sands,  owned by a Las Vegas entity.

Another thing that was different for me – the inside shopping malls. Other than one I visited that had a Tesla dealership inside (a large center called the Millenia Walk) , most have a fairly nondescript entrance with dozens of shops inside.

In looking for a cough and sinus remedy I knew there was a small pharmacy near my hotel – but I walked by twice before I saw the entrance – with dozens of shops inside.

I took a tour of Fullerton Harbor near the Sand’s Casino. Take a look at the Apple Store right on the water!

Raffles Hotel

Another place that held my curiosity for years was the Raffles Hotel. Can you think of anything better that symbolized the British Empire in the Pacific? Our tour stopped there and I got some more revelations. For one the hotel is more of a complex that takes up a city block. Hotel rooms start at $1000/night.  There were specialty shops, 2 being a Rolex dealer and a Patek Phillippe dealer. The bus let us off here to wander for 45 minutes, and I had to have a Singapore Sling.

So I chose my 45 minutes to have one. I was seated at an outdoor bar (Raffles has a number of bars) and waited….and waited. Was it because I was an obvious tourist fresh off the bus? Or they were shorthanded? Or the heat?

Probably a bit of all 3, so after 20 minutes of waiting I had one back on the ship. Which was just as well, as Raffles wanted $44 for one ($35 US) and the ship charged me $15.

I don’t believe I was a Raffles preferred customer.

The Interesting History of the Singapore Sling

At the time, “well mannered” ladies did not drink alcohol in public. At least that was society’s expectation. Which isn’t to say that the ladies didn’t want to drink in public. So an enterprising bartender at Raffles at their Long Bar invented a seemingly innocent fruity drink hidden with some gin (what else?).  

 Hop on Hop Off Busses

Something I took advantage of both at Auckland and Singapore was the “Hop On Hop Off” busses. They are a great way to see a city inexpensively. I paid $30-$40, and got on a double decker bus that takes you around points of interest. Hop off at anything that interests you and hop back on waiting up to 20-30 minutes for the next bus at the stop to pick you up. It’s a great way of getting an overview of the city. This is what I did on my “extra day” here that I could not use visiting the military sights.

I really enjoyed my Singapore visit. I was impressed by her people and its order and cleanliness.

Memorable Interactions with Singapore Locals

As soon as I passed customs, a woman came up to me and asked “Do you like Trump?” Which these days, always seems like a loaded question with either congratulations or fighting to ensue. Even on the ship, with Canadians, New Zealanders, Australians and Americans politics never came up.

Nevertheless, I gave her my answers to which she said “I hope he bombs the @#$ out of the Iranians – they are an evil government and have to go”.

Then there was a young woman who worked at a coffee bar near my hotel. She had on a “Malibu California” sweatshirt, and I had to tell her that half of it burned down last year, and people are still waiting to get permission to rebuild. She was also interested in my old Nikon F3. I told her that I had had it for years (bought it for my Africa trip in 1983) and despite it being film and worth maybe a few hundred dollars these days, couldn’t bear to part with it. It was loaded with a roll of B & W film that I had intended on finishing at the British monuments.

She kept me supplied with Diet Cokes…

When it was time to leave, since my plane left at 0600 at Changi Airport, I had a taxi meet me at the unenviable hour of 0200 at the hotel. It was an electric van and black, cleaned and waxed like a limo. We were flying down the road passing other cars by a good 20 mph and I thought at first he was just trying to get me there on a timely basis, but my fare was the last fare for the night and he was ready to go home.

Nevertheless, I had to compliment him on how smooth and inconspicuous he drove. There’s a certain skill to drive like that – fast but unobtrusive.

I get to the airport and the airline people weren’t even there yet, with an occasional person in a sleeping bag on the ground.

Some final airline notes…

If you have a choice, take a 787 Dreamliner. They are noticeably quieter and at altitude the windows even turn to a dark blue hue. I flew on an ANA (All Nippon Airlines) 787 from Singapore to Narita Airport in Tokyo, then an ANA 777-300 to San Francisco.

Two remarks about the Japanese restrooms at Narita – I had never seen such a fancy toilet with enough controls to make you forget why you came there (was looking for the Garmin stack!), and the symbols for men and women…

It took a female to tell me “I think you are in the wrong restroom! – which after a quick glance of all stalls and no urinals, assured her I was making a retreat.

Along the way up from Singapore, which took about 4-5 hours, we passed the coast of Vietnam with some names on the moving navigation screen that were meaningful only to those of a certain age.

Names like Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), Cam Ranh and Pleiku. Just names on a moving map now for many but so full of memories for some of us.

Nobody does meal presentation like the Japanese. The meals were fit to be photographed before eating; they were that nice.

ANA is in my judgement a first-class airline.

A Strange Airline PSA Video

ANA had one of the strangest (to my eyes and ears) beginning safety videos on the screen in front of me. In addition to the standard seat belt – emergency exit segments, there was an animated video of a flight attendant walking down the aisle with a young male in an aisle seat with a smart phone suddenly reaching down and taking a picture from under her skirt.

With a warning that there was a hefty fine.

When I told the flight attendant that one shouldn’t have to tell people not to do that, she said that young Japanese males like to sneak pictures.

I was surprised that after a flight north of thousands of miles to Japan and then a flight east to San Francisco of more thousands, I didn’t feel more beat up by the time I got to SFO. Because we crossed the date line we did the whole thing in “one day”!

Can you imagine telling people about this in the 1950s?

SFO is, in my opinion, one of the poorest designed airports. I can remember years ago when I parked my car it took me 2 hours to find it on the way out. You go in on one level and leave on another level.

I spent some frantic time and phone call trying to find the pick-up place of my shuttle (the same place they dropped me off 3 weeks earlier).

When I come back from overseas, it is always nice to see that large American flag as you go through customs.

A Digital World Today

I was reminded before I even left that we have become a digital world. Forty years ago before leaving, I spent a day in San Francisco at the French, New Zealand and Australian consulates getting my visas. Now God help you if you don’t have a smart phone or iPad, as you have to get a country’s “App” and apply for the Visa online. Australia was the easiest with about 20-30 minutes of time until done. $25 and good for a year, if I recall. New Zealand wanted me to report again 3 days before departure.  Some want you to send a facial “selfie” with the app. You go through their customs and get your picture taken again to match with the Visa. All of them took your picture and matched it to the passport (or Visa application) which you now feed into a reader and let it read the bar code. It’s all about a digital trail these days.

That’s some pretty sophisticated software.

Nobody stamps your passport anymore, which I miss and considered it a souvenir. Well, the Indonesians did.

Currency changes? Not really needed unless you will be there an extended time. Even outside Darwin, Australia I am buying a Diet Coke at the crocodile place with the Visa and as an old programmer, amazed at the wonder of it.

The data from your card goes from their POS (that’s Point Of Sale terminal; what were you thinking?) to their bank, which goes via satellite halfway around the world to my bank, which goes back to Australia to tell their POS terminal that “Yes, Bill is good for the $2 Coke. All the while giving me giving a current currency conversion as it charges my account.

Amazing.

Even the cab drivers in Singapore would take a VISA card.

I am still not use to buying an airline ticket through the Internet. I am sure it is simple, but I also miss the days when a good travel agent knew all of the deals (such as QANTAS’ $1200 “Eurailpass” ticket 40 years ago).

And I managed to screw up my arrival times in Singapore, not accounting for the date line. I arrived there only to be told that they had no reservation for me today, but they did tomorrow and the following day. Fortunately, they found a room. Like ANA, the Orchard Hotel is great. Both are recommended.

A good travel agent is worth the few extra $100 you would spend to do all these things for you, but those times aren’t returning and I have to get with the times.

Even though for most of the trip I wasn’t feeling all that well, it was a memorable trip. It is good to take Mark Twain’s advice on travel.  

A few days ago, I returned from a trip that I had been looking forward to for the last year or so. A good friend of mine suggested it. He is a cruise ship veteran, having accrued some 40 voyages and is feted appropriately by the cruise ship line. Anyway, he has a select group of friends – some 8 or so, that usually accompany him on these voyages.  (a flip side of this is that he works like a dog much of the year, to the point I have worried about his overall health).

Anyway this voyage was going to stop at a place that has held my curiosity for years – Komodo Island in Indonesia.  It’s the home – the only home – of the famous Komodo Dragon. I learned that only 20,000 people a year are allowed to visit and if you do visit, it must be under the supervision of a park ranger.

After being “up close and personal” with a few of these things (the one shown I would just call a 10’ lizard, but I digress), and knowing how the occasional urbanite tourist can be around wildlife, I understand and respect the rules. This dragon shown was perfectly still by his watering hole, waiting for some prey.

Ever see someone touch a similar reptile like a crocodile that is seemingly lifeless?

They are fast.

Not that I wanted to touch this guy…

For what it’s worth we were told that they weren’t poisonous, but in their mouth was about 64 kinds of virulent bacteria that if you survived the bite, may make you wish you had died anyway.

The cruise also made a stop that I regretted missing 40 years ago – the Bay of Islands on the North Island of New Zealand. They are about a 3-hour drive north from Auckland. I suppose I will get to this and other stops in my trip summary coming in the near future, as I haven’t even touched the subject of this post.

The cruise left Auckland (where my hotel had, on the 36th floor, the “loo with a view”, a full plate glass window by the urinals where you could see the city!  – with stops at the Bay of Islands, Sydney, Townsville Australia, Cairns Australia, Darwin, Komodo Island, Bali Indonesia, and Singapore. At Singapore I decided to stay an extra day in the hotel as I wanted to see the old British Garrison where the British had their own Pearl Harbor at what was called “The Gibraltar of the Pacific”.

More on that in the future. I first became aware of this Dark Traveler at Sydney. One afflicted couple claimed he joined us during the Blue Mountain tour outside Sydney when we were among crowds of people; others claimed The Traveler joined us on the ship at Auckland. Wherever it embarked, I was getting a sore throat as we departed Sydney.

One afflicted passenger said that after all, “we are all on a floating petri dish”. Something the cruise companies don’t really advertise.

I’ve dealt with colds and such while on the road. Among my slides is a picture of me in 1983 with a silly grin holding a Tusker beer at The Ark in Kenya. This is a large A-Framed hotel surrounded by a moat. In the evening the drawbridge comes up and the patrons are (usually) treated to all kinds of African wildlife coming to the nearby waterhole.

It sits right near the equator and earlier that day we started the trek up the mountain – from the hot steamy climate at the base to rain, cold, a temperature drop of at least 30 degrees F and for me a raging sore throat.

That evening at The Ark in the rain I believe there was one animal who showed up.

The cold, while nasty, was gone in a few days.  

So, as we left Sydney, that was the mindset I had. “Press on Regardless” as the British say.

We got into Townsville and it was still there. As an aside, for those who haven’t been to the Land of Oz, to appreciate its vastness the voyage from Sydney to Townsville up the Queensland coast was within 100-200 Nm of the voyage from The Bay of Islands in NZ to Sydney. The province of Queensland, on Australia’s east coast, is 2.5 times the size of Texas, with climate ranging from San Diego-like at Brisbane to steamy hot north at Cairns.

Another day or 2 on the sea and it was still there at Cairns.

My friend suggested that I see the ship’s doctor and while I was initially hesitant (wanted the body to heal on its own), I went in.

I was given 2 options, an exam or exam complete with X-rays and whatever. The former was $600 while the latter $5000.

I took the $600 option which included some antibiotics. I took them over 5 days and while they seemed to make a difference, it wasn’t much of a difference. Although the test results from the swab revealed that I didn’t have COVID-19 or RSV. I felt that after this time I wouldn’t be contagious. It was just something a bit bad to be endured.  

I felt that whatever it was it was containable.

By this time I was aware that a good percentage – an estimated 40%-50% of the ship’s 1200 passengers had this affliction. It affected everyone from just a cough to the husband of a NZ couple with pneumonia confined to his stateroom. Shortly before the end of the cruise on the PA system I heard a “Code M” with a stateroom number just about 15-20 doors down. The crew was giving this passenger CPR in the hallway and a stretcher was ordered.

Later that evening I went to the deck with the doctor’s office to collect my statement, and it was “closed because of an emergency”. Whether this passenger had the same affliction or a different condition I cannot say. Nor can I say what his condition was as the nurse next day cited patient confidentiality (of course). But I thought that this young Filipina Dr (in her 30s I suspect) really had her plate full. Given the demographics of the passenger average age I suspect she had to be an ER Dr, Cardiac and Pulmonary specialist.

Among my friend’s entourage were 2 cancer survivors with, after chemo, weakened immune systems.

So other than the first night or 2, I stayed away at dinner. Besides, who wanted to have a dinner at a fine dining room with someone hacking and wheezing?  For the duration of the 3 week trip for me it was hot dogs and such at the buffet.

But I pressed on regardless as far as the tours. Remembering my 40 year lament about the Bay of Islands, I figured it was “now or never” for these sights, given my age.

When I finally got back home, the symptoms continued unabated. I wanted to crawl into bed but decided to call the advice nurse at my VA. After hearing the symptoms, she suggested that I get my shoes on and check into their ER.

Where they examined me and suggested I go into the hospital. At first I was resistant but with an MD recommending the hospital stay I checked in.  

After 2 IVs and 2 days I was sent home.

The verdict? While it wasn’t COVID-19 it was a new derivative. Of which I had no idea these even existed.

Looking back on my traveling days, it seems the only time I escaped without the Traveler was my 3 month sojourn in the South Pacific in 1986. Later on during the Kenya venture I went to Egypt. It was at Luxor (the modern-day city that was Thebes, the capital of the middle kingdom and the site of the magnificent ruins of Karnak). Across the Nile is the Valley of the Kings, the sight of so many tombs of Egyptian Pharaohs. It was here that I developed a good cough. It got to the point that I would carry a box of Kleenex with me. It was only later that I realized the cause was most likely the fine dust (actually more of an airborne silt) that coated my lungs. In the evening you would see a magnificent sunset with a “belt” of this dust in the air.

It took a month or 2 back home before my body worked it all out.

But my worst memory? Had to have been during my Army days, when on a 2 week leave, on the last day I had a slice of cold pizza from an Italian deli in Florence. I got food poisoning or at least a nasty stomach virus.

And I had to be back in a hurry or be AWOL. Which could mean the stockade. I sat mainly in the train restroom from Italy to Germany all the way. I can still hear the “clickity-clack” all the way up.

You talk about misery. A stomach virus will put your travels – at least your sightseeing – on hold.

While my condition on this cruise was certainly uncomfortable, I still saw the things I wanted to see.

Except one, in Singapore. That will have to be revealed in the upcoming trip report.

As far as advice on not meeting the Dark Companion? The best advice I have heard came from a world adventurer, Noraly Schoenmaker, aka “Itchy Boots” on YouTube. She takes her motorcycle to some of the most inhospitable places on earth (middle of Mongolia anyone?) and together with excellent videography and drone shots, takes her 3.3 million subscribers with her.

She says to expect it – you can do little to avoid the Companion. I saw one episode where she is in Africa (Tanzania?), has an accident and is laying in the dirt road with a broken collarbone, waiting for some good Samaritans.

What I had experienced was purely amateur stuff.

Cross Posted at ChicagoBoyz

April 1, 2026

Ever since 9-11 I’ve really hated traveling by airline.

The whole thing of taking off your shoes, emptying everything for the x-ray machine, and the long lines.

By my camera roll the last time I flew was in October 2019 when I flew up to Calgary Alberta to attend my nephew’s wedding at Lake Louise.

On that front I had a happy discovery recently.

The TSA has become a lot more efficient I guess through technology. And despite Congress’s efforts to screw up my vacation as they did last October when the one day out of the year the Trinity atomic test site was open (then at the last minute closed because of this budget impasse) I thought the same thing was going to happen but it was no problem.

The airport is the absolute worst place to exchange money

I didn’t do an actual calculation but I could tell by the return I was getting a lot less than a bank would have given me in the city.

Or, being a new digital world, just using a local ATM machine with an automatic exchange rate that varies by the day

It is truly a digital world

Get your visa at home via the country’s app.

And these days with expectations of travel companies if you don’t have a smart phone or an iPad you are up the creek

The immigration officers of New Zealand and Australia expected you to have one. 

Years ago when I went to the South Pacific I remember driving to San Francisco and going to the Australian, New Zealand and French consulates to get various visas

And they don’t stamp your passport anymore which I miss and considered it part of a souvenir. 

Buy your airline ticket at home through the Internet.

I still miss a good travel agent who knew what the bargains were with the airlines but I guess that world is gone.

In Britain and the Commonwealth I’m constantly reminded of the funny observation that GB Shaw made about the difference between Britain and America.

That they are two countries separated by a common language.

On the street of course besides being right hand drive which extends to being a pedestrian on the sidewalk, signs like “give way” = “yield”

Pram = baby carriage

Trolley = street car

Gaol = jail

Kerb = curb

Crisps = chips

Biscuit = cookie

Viva la difference.

I was interested in learning a few months ago that a lot of this difference in spelling was because of Noah Webster who made the US’s first dictionary and felt he should make some differences between the Queen’s English and the new country.

But when I have traveled I really love to soak up whatever area I am in. I like to meet the local people.

And, fellow travelers.

I met a couple from Norway, Australians, New Zealanders, Canadians and of course Americans.

All had great conversations and politics was not mentioned.

You really expand your horizons when you venture out in the world

Despite my love of traveling this has really been the first time I have been “overseas” since 1992 when I revisited Germany. OK within a few years of that I went to Russia which I’ve been meaning to try and find all the prints and scan them and put them on the Internet.

It’s good to be back on the road.

Feeling the gentle rolling of the 66,000 ton ship and watching a lot of us oldsters sway with the deck.

I’m reminded that all of these navy veterans and merchant marine would say this is “calm seas”.

And!

Last night I was listening to the shower door slam open and closed with the gentle rolling of the ship 

They fixed that today with a new seal.

But I do love to travel and I’m trying to find that observation Mark Twain made so long ago on the subject:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.”

More later.

Now to check on my laundry

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April 2, 2026

Call me easily amused I guess.

Last night I am playing with my thermostat app and my app to control my air purifyers in the house

Just turning them on and off and adjusting the temperature

And absolutely amazed that this is 8000 miles away.

The Apple iPhone is pretty amazing if you just have Wi-Fi and have turned the cellular to “airplane mode”.

You can still send text messages around the world to other iPhones

Or for that matter using this little WordPress app 8000 miles away to post this.

Haven’t figured out how to get italics and a few other things but…

And don’t ask me where the server is for WordPress that has these bits and bytes for this post.

I guess with the Internet it no longer matters where “here” is.

It is an amazing digital world

March 22, 2026

I had for many years a friend – a British expatriate – that I would describe as a master mechanic in the classic sense. He used to talk of times when he would be in a pit crew at places such as Riverside meeting people like Dan Gurney and Jim Clark.

Found out through a third party that it was true. Although I also suspect that fixing today’s cars would probably stump him if the problem wasn’t purely mechanical.

I once attended a talk by a shop foreman of our local Mercedes-Benz dealer – he and a fellow technician together with 5 others from US dealers forming “Team USA” won a biannual international competition in Stuttgart with Daimler for problem solving.

Among the sample questions given to us were all “bugs” involving network problems – not one problem involving mechanics.

Anyway, Bob and I used to get into a back and forth on the following issue: “Is it wise to change some wear parts proactively to prevent a failure (usually at a most inconvenient location).

Coming from a computer background I was used to terms such as “MTBF” (Mean Time Between Failures).

Things like water pumps, batteries and alternator brushes. I could never see the logic some have of keeping a car battery until it one day stops working. Because that’s what they usually do.

I’ll replace them at 5-6 years.

Bob was always of the opinion that while some things will fail in an expected time/number of hours, others won’t. And some of the newer parts you install will fail earlier.

There’s no 100% guarantee that the new car you bought will make it 3,000 miles across country without an issue. Although the odds are in your favor.

I am hoping to do another cross country drive later this year – and was thinking of changing the fuel pump. My “newest car”, a 2011, has 110,000 miles.

I wrote a “how to” on this subject some years ago.

Although lately my belief as been severely challenged.

Among my habits is to stick with factory or OEM parts. The logic being that if the first original part lasted 20 years why mess around?

Some things like heater blower motors – I saved dramatically by buying OEM instead of through the dealer. In 2 of my cars (the other a 2000) the dealer wanted over $400 and through a 3rd party I got the same Behr motor – with the Mercedes “Star” filed off – for 1/3 the cost.

So – to the event that has modified my thinking.

I have a 2000 Mercedes with 194,000 miles. Less than 2 years ago the original fuel pump gave out.

It was over 20 years old. But lasting over 20 years and 180,000 miles wasn’t bad. It was expected.

That is one of those things that will stop you dead in your tracks – and if you are travelling in a small town away from home figure on staying 2 days or more + towing + motel – when a replacement is sourced and shipped.

I got a similar revelation in Gallup NM this year when I had a tire puncture and realized that in small towns with so many tire sizes these days plan on a couple of days if it needs to be replaced. Fortunately it was repairable.

So anyway, I order another Pierburg pump.

And this one gave up less than 2 years after installation. Supposedly the same pump as the original.

It had started making a noise a few months ago.

The weirdest thing – after a 200 mile drive Saturday – it gave up in the exact place the first one gave up – in front of a friend’s house on his private road.

Go figure.

I told him the thing could have stopped along the road 100 miles from home.

Anyway, what was the difference in the 2 “identical” parts?

Outsourcing.

The original one was made in Germany and the 2nd one China.

And lest you think this might have been an aberration buyer reviews on this pump complain about the noise that comes soon after installation.

Not saying that China makes all inferior parts – I like my iPhone.

But I also believe too many Chinese (or, fill in blank in this new world order) companies tell the vendor “I can do this” without taking the time to really understand the production tolerances and metallurgy.

And blame the MBAs for showing companies how to make their products cheaper but keep good profit margins.

This is a pervasive problem among shops today. One popular YouTube host with a shop in Kansas was complaining that he can’t even get good camshafts anymore for older cars – they wear out way prematurely. A camshaft, with proper oil change intervals, should last 100s of thousands of miles.

The owner of a shop I know says these days he has to “buy 2 to get one good one”.

Anyway tomorrow I am going to stop at the dealer to see what they are offering. If it is a Pierburg but made in Europe (or the US) I will be happy even if it is twice as expensive.

I installed a Pierburg (again original equipment) in my 31 year old Mercedes SL 70,000 miles ago and it is still fine. But I had to search eBay to find some NOS (New Old stock).

It’s not the make or design but the factories.

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03-24-26 I ordered the pump from the dealer and it has to come from Germany so I am optimistic that it is not from the same factory

And yes it’s twice the price but I’m glad to pay for quality

February 8, 2026

To the reader: I wrote this post on the Lexicans website (under a different title) 11 years ago – in 2015. I noticed someone was reading it last night, and pulled up the post to get refreshed. Something that always bothered me – the pictures were too dark. They were shot with Kodak Ektachrome (for those who remember film) – a film that tended towards the bluish side. They were scanned from slides some years ago and they were always too dark by the time they were on the web. The decades also affected the colors.

Since this tale isn’t related to the story I’ll just get to the point. In trying to edit and upload the new pictures, I hit “save” and it saved the new picture all right – and deleted the post!

So I am rewriting this story – which happened 50 years ago this upcoming September. There was more to add, which wasn’t in the original story. So I’ll make it more complete this time.

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I’ve had a friend since I was 12 years old – also named Bill. He is the kind of friend that can resume conversations years later after an absence.

I have told this little story to people lately just to show how much my town has changed.

Individually we were good boys, but together we were like a catalyst. We never really got into serious trouble, but his line to me was always “Shut up and let me do the talking!”. Which I would usually do but it rarely made a difference. “Mischief” is what I would call so many of our activities.

Anyway, or anywho as the other Bill would say, we used to like to “plink” with our .22 rifles. We’d just be out in fields shooting tin cans and such. We had the most fun tying a balloon to a railroad trestle out in the fields, go back and try to pop it at 100 yards. Think that is easy especially with a wind? To this day I like to rib him as to who is the better shot although these days, looking forward to cataract surgery soon, I might concede that to him.

You could have a lot of fun in the early 60s with a .59 cent box (of 50 rounds) of .22 long rifle shells.

Anywho, when we were about 13, we would sling our rifles over our shoulders, ride our bikes down a busy Blvd., cross a bridge at the Sacramento River and go a few miles down the river road onto agricultural land, and spend a few hours “plinking”.  

Can you imagine 2 boys doing that today without a concerned passersby calling a SWAT team? And honestly with all that has happened in the last decades, who could blame them?

I guess all that change is because of the “10% rule”, as told to us by a Marine First Lt a few years earlier from our trip at the Oakland draft induction center. During Vietnam occasionally at the Center an Army or Marine officer would have everyone count off by 2s – with half for the Marines and half for the Army. (Which wasn’t to be that day, we all got shipped to Ft Ord just down the Bay Area Peninsula later that day).

“In any population, in any activity, 10% manage to eff it up for the other 90%”.

Which in my subsequent observations, seems to have held true.

The 10% rule applied to the ranchland of our former shooting venue. People didn’t respect the property and now for decades there has been no shooting activity out there.

Anyway where we are different the other Bill has been an avid hunter and fisherman most of his life. I have just enjoyed target shooting. I’ve been hunting with Bill several times and couldn’t understand freezing in the dark in a duck blind waiting for some ducks.

Although I can see why so many love to hunt – the camaraderie of good friends out in nature with wildlife. As Bill would say “I get my meat in the field, and you get yours at Safeway”.

Despite our earlier mischief, he has always been an ethical hunter. Never hunting out of season or taking more than his limit. And aways eating what he took.

So he kept telling me about how great antelope hunting was in Wyoming.

He always went in September, and assured me that it was “shirtsleeve weather”. So, along with him, I applied for some tags, and we were all approved.

He always liked to hunt in this area that was close to the Colorado border. But to get to the camp involved going on a dirt road for a good 20 miles.

With this preamble, and the fact that with 50 years passing anything done with possible legal implications is covered by the statute of limitations, the tale begins.

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The trip began ominously. We were supposed to leave at 1800, when his father got off work. Another friend of Bill’s was to drive in from out of town.

We waited and waited for the friend…who finally showed up at midnight. As for me, thinking somewhat rationally, I “assumed” we would leave first thing in the morning.

I have always disliked driving all night. What’s the point, if you feel dead when you get there? Give me a decent motel at the end of the day with a decent restaurant nearby. But that wasn’t the plan.

Bill had a 2 year old Toyota Landcruiser, an FJ40. They have become “classics” today, but they had a world wide following. The Australians had a saying, that if you wanted to go deep into the Outback, take a Land Rover. If you want to return, take a Landcruiser.

The engine, which was initially reportedly a copy of the Chevrolet Inline 6, had such low end torque you could almost count each cylinder firing while going up a steep hill.

He used to love to razz his father, who had an old (1969) Chevy C10 pickup. It had the classic 327 “small block” V8, and “three on the tree” manual transmission. In other words, a very simple truck.

It also had about 300,000 miles, with one engine rebuild.

Bill kept telling his father about how on this trip the Landcruiser was going to save the day.

So we set for Wyoming, a 1200 mile drive, at midnight.

Things were pretty uneventful, with yours truly trying to sleep in the camper shell of the pickup. I can remember pulling into Winnemucca, Nevada, around 0500.

The sun came up and we were going over the Bonneville Salt Flats. That was the first sign (well, second) of trouble, when Bill reported over the CB (Breaker Breaker, you remember those?) that he had some engine trouble.

So the old Chevy had to tow the Landcruiser. It was decided to leave the Landcruiser at Salt Lake City and rent a U-Haul trailer to get to our camp site. At this point I was more than ready to check into a motel but we pressed on regardless in the old Chevy hauling the U-Haul trailer.

Sometime around midnight we were on a secondary highway when a deer suddenly ran across the road – right into the truck. One certainly couldn’t swerve (which would have been pointless anyway) and it would have caused the truck with trailer to go out of control.

We stopped the truck and the deer was dead.

Now, a rule I learned from Bill (while we were looking at the deer’s remains in the headlights) is that if you kill wildlife on the road, Fish and Game (at least Wyoming Fish and Game and presumably every other one) says that you must leave it by the road. The reason is that if later you are seen by an officer with a butchered deer how do they know if it was taken legally or illegally?

Bill, however, was of the “waste not want not” mind, and he put the carcass into the trailer.

We got onto a road for 20 miles and finally reached the campsite. After we set up the tent, Bill proceeded to field-dress the deer.

We finally get into the sleeping bags (after being awake over 24 hours) and just a few hours later with the sun up I awake and discover Bill and the others are off hunting. As I am about to drift off considering the near insanity of this trip so far….

A Wyoming Fish and Game warden stops at the campsite just to see how things are going.

I notice the door to the U-Haul is open revealing the parts of the deer hanging, but the Warden doesn’t seem to notice it.

Try to explain to him that “Honest, we hit the deer with the truck last night!”

To this day, I can’t explain that.

I finally got out of the tent around noon and joined them in the hunt. I did learn something about antelope – I was told that they really have no relatives in North America, with possibly the gazelle in Africa their closest relative.

One other thing I know – they are fast.

The next day was, as far as the weather was concerned, a harbinger for things to come. It was pouring rain. So much for “shirtsleeve weather”. I did bring a nylon ski jacket for the nights.

That night, in the tent, we are all relieved when the rain stopped. Tomorrow was going to be a good day.

With daylight, we understood why the rain stopped – there was a good covering of snow on the ground.

We built a campfire outside for warmth, and I had neglected to bring gloves (this was “shirtsleeve weather”!) , so I used a pair of socks. While trying to warm my back, the nylon ski jacket started to catch fire.

Just like the movies.

A day of this, and remembering that we came in on a dirt road, we were considering the conditions and thought we’d better leave early. Our concern about the road was warranted, as it seemed to have turned into a slick clay. Once the old Chevy hit a small hill with the trailer, it slid back and jackknifed. Where despite our best efforts, it remained. I’m trying to remember how long we were there; it was at least 18 hours and probably longer.

It was during this time we learned of the kindness of the Wyoming ranchers.

There were 2 or 3 of them going by in pickup 4x4s stopping and offering to help, but we were really stuck. It was during this time that I got some lifetime memories of the good kind. Before leaving, I looked down a canyon, snow softly falling with just the sound of the wind, and saw a herd of antelope running far below – at least a mile away. It was what I have called in life, one of those “Kodak moments” where you have a picture in your mind for the rest of your life.

While stuck, it was decided after dark that Bill and I should walk the 5-6 miles at night to the town of Savory. There were log houses, and we were looking for a pay phone to call a towing company. This was a town that Tom Horn knew well, and other than the pay phone, I doubt that it had changed at all since his time. Before reaching Savory, we walked by a lone home and Bill thought they might have a tractor. An elderly widow answered the door, Mrs. Nichols, and she invited us in to warm up. I knew I was a witness to history, when she told us she and her husband had homesteaded out here and she showed us the well in her living room. It wasn’t simply a hand pump, but a well with a brick wall right in her living room.

We finally got ahold of a towing company (his name was Rocky – I remember 50 years later!) and we began the hike back and then waited a few hours for him to show up. I am trying to think of the town we had to call – it wasn’t Cheyenne as it is on the other side of the state. I’ll have to look at a map* .

I think by the time the tow truck extricated us it had to have been 20-25 hours. By this point, what I wouldn’t have given just to find a motel, a hot shower, and some sleep.

But we pressed on regardless.

We pulled into Salt Lake City, went to a Denny’s for breakfast and by the time we were done, that restaurant was virtually empty. I’d like to think people went to work, but we were filthy. And, I’m almost afraid to say, probably stunk.

But we dropped off the trailer, hitched up the Landcruiser, and headed back west on I-80.

The rest of the trip was, believe it or not, uneventful.

** Looking at a Wyoming map, we had to have been in Carbon County, which is in the middle of the state and on the Colorado border. Rocky, the tow truck operator, had to have come from Rawlings, which would explain the hours-long wait.

November 9, 2025

We do live in amazing times. A German friend of mine invited me over to meet his cousin and her family visiting from Berlin. They brought their 2 young sons, age 9 and 12, and they were so fluent in English they ordered their meals on their own at a restaurant.

I told their mother that I was amazed at their “international outlook” and that she should be proud of them.

She was.

They live on the outskirts of Berlin and have the best of both worlds – a country atmosphere and a world-class city 30 minutes away.

On the outskirts of Berlin, Potsdam,  was the scene of a meeting 80 years ago that set the politics of Europe for many decades. It is where President Truman on July 24, 1945 casually informed Stalin that the US had developed a secret weapon that would probably end the war in the Pacific. Stalin replied “That’s very interesting. I hope you make good use of it against the Japanese”.

Of course, what Truman didn’t know is that the Soviets had at least 2 spies in the inner scientific circle at Los Alamos. He wasn’t telling Stalin anything he didn’t already know.

I grew up during the Cold War. People talk of the 1950s today as being idyllic, but I can remember civil defense sirens going off at my school in Sherman Oaks and being told to hide under my desk, a command that even at 7 years old made me wonder of the effectiveness.

The Russian’s launch of Sputnik in 1957 and Khrushchev’s blustering scared the daylights out of this country.

So much for the idyllic 50s. Although anyone could afford a home in Los Angeles, if you didn’t mind the occasional smog that would burn your eyes and sometimes was so thick in areas as to appear as fog.

But I also remember days at Santa Monica and Zuma beaches, although when with my spinster great aunt (who would drive on the Hollywood freeway at a steady 45 mph with a cascade of horns behind her), made me change on the beach naked behind a towel. The traumatic experience is still etched in my consciousness.

When I was 11, on August 13, 1961, the East Germans started to erect the Berlin Wall. I can remember the world being shocked, and in the Communist world the rationale was “to keep the West from flooding into the worker’s paradise”.

The next decades would periodically have international news of some poor East Berlin soul being shot while trying to climb the wall, or swim across the Spey River.

I finally got to revisit Germany and Berlin in 1992, and until I read this wonderful book recommended by David Foster of chicagoboyz, I didn’t know what this giant abandoned building was on the Autobahn leaving Hamburg.

It was an East German Border station. The author, Anna Funder, revealed that there would be STASI (The East German version of the WW2 GESTAPO) disguised as service station attendants trying to find people hidden in cars destined for the West. They had the power of life and death over their citizens, and some disappeared.

Until I was nearly 40, I grew up with the Cold War. In fact, I can even attribute my 3-week premature birth to my mother’s being so upset that my father (a WW2 veteran) got his orders to report to Ft Lewis in a few days. The Korean War was just starting. My Dad was a bit upset, given that during WW2 after an injury during a parachute jump could have gotten him a medical discharge, but he chose to continue to serve as officer in charge of Special Services on the Queen Elizabeth, which was converted to a huge (15,000 troops) transport.

According to a story he told my mother, he met one recalled GI at Lewis who had his trigger finger shot off in WW2, but they still recalled him.

When the North Koreans invaded the south, things here were that chaotic.

I was drafted during the last years of Vietnam, and through a bureaucratic quirk of fate it was decided at Ft Bliss, TX, to send 3 of us to Germany. The rest of my class in Army Air Defense went to the DMZ in South Korea.

Once in Germany my first station was an old radar site overlooking Ramstein Air Force Base. However, I learned that the “real action” was at a NATO radar bunker about 100 km north west. So I volunteered to transfer there.

Speaking of idyllic, when I first got there, the duty was idyllic. You were 24 hours inside the bunker, with 2 or 3 2-hour shifts on the dais talking to missile batteries around Germany during that period. In the morning an Air Force bus would take us on a 30-45 minute drive to the site from our barracks at Neubruecke. For some reason, most Army Air Defense units worked under an Air Force squadron. They seemed to be sensitive to the possibility of our shooting down their planes.

We would walk down a long tunnel, to be greeted by German guards who always felt that the name on my Ausweis (ID) was funny, given that at the time Willy Brandt was the Chancellor. I would usually get a mock salute. When it was discovered that an East German spy (Gunther Guillaume), a lieutenant in the East German STASI, was in his cabinet my stock seemed to go down along with the other Brandt.

By the time I left with less personnel, duty time was 24 on, 24 off. You would exit the tunnel seeing sunlight after 24 hours of darkness feeling like a vampire, dead tired, hit the rack until 1400 or so, get ready for chow in 3 hours and do it over again.

I had wanted to go to Berlin while stationed there, and while it was possible, the CO discouraged it. We all had at least Secret clearances, and you would board a troop train in Frankfurt, change to an East German locomotive and East German conductors at the border, and continue to Berlin.

So Berlin remained on my “to see” list until 1992. I was going to my 20-year reunion at Virginia and my mother suggested that since I was “so close” to Germany, why not continue the trip? Made sense to me, so I left for Berlin at Dulles.

The Berlin Wall had come down just 2 years earlier. I had a boss whose family escaped East Berlin in the 1950s, and he told me that if I wanted to see Berlin and East Germany as it was, I’d better go now.

It was an amazing feeling, stepping between 2 worlds.  One world was of the past, with buildings in brown and gray hues, pockmarked brickwork from Soviet and German guns, and a changing view of the world of the future, shown in the western part of the city. 

The best description someone gave of going from East to West was told to me during the Cold War.

“Imagine you are watching a movie in black and white. As you cross the border, it suddenly turns to color. “

I rented a small car in Berlin and went on to Dresden.

The Autobahns to and from Dresden seemed like perfectly maintained highways, as they were in 1938. Officially in the “eastern states” the speed limit was still 100 kph (62 mph), about the top speed of an East German Trabant. But intermixed with the Trabants were Mercedes and BMWs that would fly by you well over 100 mph, 100 kph limit ignored.

Once in Dresden, you could still see some blackened roofs and occasional building damage from the firebombing of February 13-15, 1945. The strangest thing – almost surrealistic – was seeing some Soviet soldiers – now Russian –  still there – stranded because the former USSR could not afford to bring them back.

I was surprised to discover that there wasn’t a hotel room to be had in town – they were full of “Wessis” (West) -West German businessmen. The easterners were called “Ossis” (for East)

I drove around in the hills over Dresden and a local recommended a farmer who rented out rooms. He had more than a farmhouse, but an old building converted to a few rooms, complete with East German black and white TVs.

That night, he and I sat outside drinking beer discussing how life was in our respective countries. I knew that while the DDR (For their name,Deutsche Demokratische Republik) was the communist world’s showplace country, it was also even more repressive than the USSR. Anna Funder’s book revealed that while the USSR had through the KGB about 1 informer in 2,000 citizens, in the DDR it was 1 in 60.

When the Wall came down the paper shredders at the STASI headquarters were so hot some broke, but still it was a scandal when former citizens learned their trusted friend, neighbor, or family member was on the list as an informer.

The Wall came down on November 9, 1989, 36 years ago. It was amazingly bloodless, as if the Almighty simply decreed “enough”.

It was a day that I thought would never come.


Cross Posted At Chicagoboyz

October 28, 2025

Even if you don’t follow the theater much, when you hear the name “Rodgers and …..” what’s the other name that comes to your mind?

Chances are you think of Oscar Hammerstein II. Rodgers wrote the music, and Hammerstein wrote the lyrics.

But before he partnered with Hammerstein, making such enduring plays as Oklahoma!, South Pacific, The Sound of Music, and The King and I, he was partnered with Lorenz Hart for lyrics for over 20 years.

And among their 28 memorable plays since the 1920’s was My Pal Joey and Blue Moon.

This movie starts and ends in one evening in March, 1943 with Hart watching the opening night of Oklahoma! at the St James theater. This was the first result of the collaboration with Rodger’s new partner. He then leaves the play early to retire to the legendary theater district restaurant Sardis, waiting for Rodgers and Hammerstein to arrive for their opening night celebration. The press comes in, and everyone knows that this is the most successful play yet.

Most of the 1 hour and 40 minutes centers on his conversations with the bartender and Rodgers, trying to make a reconnection. Rodgers tells him that “Your work is brilliant; that isn’t the problem.” Hart knows that his professional life is on the decline, while his old partner is continuing his ascension.

You would think that nearly 2 hours in a barroom for a movie would be boring, but it holds your attention.

All the way through this movie I was thinking of how hurtful it must have been for Hart to go to this celebration with this new partner. And I have read this really happened, although the screenwriter took a few liberties, such as his conversation with the writer E.B. White at an adjacent table.

I knew nothing about Rodgers’ prior 20 year successful association with Hart.

You probably won’t see this movie in most cinemaplexes, but it is one of the best I have seen this year.

Here is the trailer.

I recommend it.

August 25, 2025

I try to see a movie on the big screen at least once a week. And among new offerings, usually it is the smaller independents that interest me. And I’m told for the 30th anniversary Ron Howard’s Apollo 13 will be both on the IMAX and regular screens in the near future. That is a must see.

To tell you the truth, if there is a new offering who is behind it is a big influence for me. That means either Ron Howard or Clint Eastwood. Neither of them have delivered a movie that I would consider bad.

I was curious about Ron Howard’s latest movie Eden. When I first started reading about it, it seemed like a remake of William Golding’s classic 1954 novel Lord of the Flies.  There, a group of young British Boys find themselves stranded on an uninhabited island, and they gradually descend into savagery.

Well, the movie does delve into this theme, but there is more. It is inspired by a true story.

I’ve written before on my opinion of screenwriters who take an already interesting and exciting bit of history only to twist it to their own fictions. In this case, Howard and screenwriter Noah Pink take historical facts and “fill in some blanks” about a 90 year mystery. And their assumptions are in all probability correct.

Three groups of people came to this uninhabited island in the Galapagos.  

In the 1930s, notable residents of the Galapagos Islands included Friedrich Ritter, a German doctor, and his lover Dore Strauch, who sought to create a utopia on Floreana Island. They were later joined by the Wittmer family and the eccentric Baroness Eloise von Wagner-Bousquet, leading to a tumultuous community marked by conflict and mysterious disappearances.

Howard was inspired to make this movie 15 years ago when he and his family were at the Galapagos on vacation and visited their museum.

I’ll give it a “thumbs up”.

BTW while this movie was made in 2024, it shows that actress Sydney Sweeney has some acting chops. With the other cast members I think it was perfectly cast.

…and my own memories of Africa

July 20, 2025

Despite the strange title for a movie, it was a thoroughly enjoyable film. It is based on the memoirs of Alexandra “Bobo” Fuller of her family’s time in 1980 in what was Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, during the civil war with Robert Mugabe’s guerrilla forces.

At the time Robert Mugabe’s guerrillas were killing the white farmers, driving most away either to other countries in the Commonwealth or neighboring African countries. It was the contention of Mugabe that these were all millionaire farmers who had “stolen the land”. Bobo’s family was opposite the stereotype, just barely surviving with a few cattle.

As an aside, not shown in the movie, once most of the farmers were gone the country faced starvation with nobody left who knew how to farm.

The times were seen through the eyes of 8 year old Bobo.

Years ago, I went to Kenya and saw many stereotypes of mine shattered. There were whites there who were Kenyans, whose families settled there generations ago. In Nairobi, I saw old majestic buildings that were from a time when the sun never set on the British empire. Out in the country, Lake Naivasha was a majestic place with a huge lake, pink flamingos, hippos, with a huge manicured lawn and tables set up for afternoon tea. And mosquito nets over the beds.

It’s a place where, outside of game preserves, one could see lions and giraffes wandering near the highway.

Where I heard the most melodic music sung by the Maasai. I learned that there were 6 major tribes in Kenya, although I can only remember only 2 after 42 years – the Maasai and the Kikuyu.

And while this was never formally confirmed by those in the know, it seemed to me that one of the tragedies of Africa was that the borders were drawn by the European powers based on geography and not tribal affiliations. Kenya had 17,000’ Mt Kenya, so Tanzania got 19,000’ Kilimanjaro. Just as an example, the Maasai occupy both countries. At least it seems to me a reason for the tribal strife in Africa. Certainly not the only factor but a contributing factor.

I came to see lions as 400 lb housecats. Housecats that should certainly be respected, but behaviorally housecats. I asked a Kenyan what they did if the saw a lion sleeping in the middle of a road, and she replied nonchalantly “We honk our horns!”.

Africa is also a place of quick death without mercy, if you don’t respect those animals. At a large preserve called the Masai Mara, after dinner at the wall-less dining area, we were escorted by guards carrying automatic weapons to our tents. And we were told to stay in those tents until daybreak, because the cape buffalo would wander in to graze.  We were told a few weeks prior, 2 women left their tent at night and their bodies were found the next day gored.

Fast forward a couple of years and I went to the South Pacific for about 3 months.  

In my travels, to me meeting the local people is as memorable as the sights. In Cairns, up the Queensland coast to the base of the Cape York Peninsula, I was invited by a couple in their 60s to their small home. Over the evening, I learned that they were originally from what was Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe, and they emigrated to Australia. They were millionaire farmers whose families had been there for generations. Their neighbors were getting killed, and they thought they’d better leave.

The only thing they were allowed to take was a car, so they took their Rolls Royce. They were going to use it as seed money to start their new life in Cairns, but they learned that Australian law had it impounded in a warehouse for 2 years.

So here they were in their 60s in a humble cinderblock house, no doubt glad to be alive, but starting over in life.

I’ve forgotten their names, but didn’t forget the evening.

Anyway, back to the movie. I believe you will see an Africa that you didn’t know existed. A Zimbabwe when housewives would venture out into the countryside with an Uzi submachine gun slung over their shoulders.

All from the recollections of Alexandra, when she was 8 years old.

It all started with a post on Facebook from the US Naval Institute:

“During the Solomon Islands campaign, a Marine on night sentry duty heard someone approaching in the jungle and fired a few bursts from his machine gun. A voice called out: “Hold up your fire! We are Americans. I am bringing in my platoon.” The Marine responded by blasting away with his weapon, wiping out a Japanese patrol. When asked how he knew they were the enemy, he explained that they were “Just too damned grammatical to be Marines.” 

Which I thought at the time – what a position to be in. Guess wrong, kill a platoon of Marines and if you didn’t spend the rest of your days at Portsmouth (at the time), it would be one of those things that would haunt you the rest of your life. While the use of English in that context would be rare, it wouldn’t be 100% improbable.

As one commenter said. “if they were Americans you would have heard a lot of cursing!”

And I’m thinking of the Battle of the Bulge, where American sentries were demanding to know who played 3rd base for the Yankees in 1939 (To which I would be in trouble!) because of English speaking Germans who lived in the US and were wearing Army uniforms.

I made the point at the time in a comment that it was a lucky guess. That the thing that would most likely get you killed (if you were the one trying to come in) was not knowing the password. Which left unsaid, the Japanese English speaker probably didn’t know which led to the above exchange.

Which led me to think of a saying I remember as a boy in the 50s – with America still in the shadow of WW2. Sayings such as “Rots of Ruck”. The Marines knew that the Japanese had a hard time pronouncing our “L” so “Lots of Luck” was a favorite phrase.

A saying which you don’t hear any more.

Then I’m thinking how rich military slang is – with some sayings going back to the Revolutionary War, Sayings forged in battles, and remaining for future soldiers and sailors to use.

When I was in the Army (now starting to sound like the OF I seem to have become), Vietnam was still going and soldiers around the world would use words such as “beaucoup” (a lot, or many), Dinky Dau (crazy or insane). “Lock and Load” came from the M-16 and Vietnam.

SNAFU and FUBAR (Situation Normal, All F**** Up and F**** Up Beyond All Recognition) came from WW2, as did Chow Hound. “GI” came from WW2.

“Seeing the Elephant” came from the Civil War.

BOHICA (Bend Over Here It Comes Again!) came from Vietnam.

Afghanistan and Iraq gave us Charlie Foxtrot, from the phonetic alphabet and a polite way of saying “Cluster F###” and Dustoff (Medical Evacuation by helicopter”.

Embrace the Suck is one of my favorites, and came from the Marines in Iraq.

I had a neighbor who was a character, and was a WW2 Marine. He kept talking about “pogey bait” (candy) and I think that is Marine-only slang. According to Google it originated in WW1 or WW2.

June 6, 2025

The dinner was over 20 years ago, and the hosts, Doris and Dusty, are long gone. The story I heard is that Doris was an Army nurse, and met Dusty in England while he was recovering.

They were friends of my parents for many years.

I was invited along with my parents to their home on Thanksgiving, but I had a prior commitment. One that I felt I shouldn’t break.

I learned later that Dusty was in the 2nd wave at D-Day, and through the years while my parents knew that fact, little else was known.

One doesn’t ask such things of veterans unless they volunteer.

But I learned that after the main meal, with desert and an after-dinner liqueur, Dusty opened up and told those at the table what it was like, so many years later.

All my mother told me of the conversation was that he said with youth, “you don’t think it will happen to you“.

It was a dinner I have regretted missing for over 20 years.

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06-08-25 Well, apparently my memory isn’t what it was. I mentioned this dinner back in 2018 and my late mother apparently told me a bit more about that Thanksgiving evening:

On that landing craft as the ramp swung down, he would witness his best friend drown because his gear was too heavy, and he couldn’t get his feet on the ocean floor.

There was nothing Dusty could do, as all you could do was try to get ashore and not be shot.

He was later shot – on Utah or Omaha beach – and met the woman who would become his wife, Doris, in the hospital. She was his nurse.