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Carolyn Hancock |
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Faces and Places in Pastel |
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Travel with me, visit other cultures through my Long Letters |
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Inspired by former days of hotpenning, fast writing of whatever feelings one had without regard to grammar or content, long letters became our way of sharing wonderful adventures and experiences with family and of handling the fun and difficulties of living in and visiting countries of many cultures. Visit frequently for additions and continuations, e-mail your comments.
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Sogo, Yokohama, Japan.
New in Japan, my goal was to get to Sogo Department Store at Yokohama subway station. Bill had shown me how to read the station signs, buy a ticket in the right amount of yen and figure the time schedule. Three levels below the street, navigating the subway system, with few signs in English, is not an easy task. But, upon my return, I realized only four words were essential: station of origin (Sakuragicho), destination station (Yokohama), subway, and Sogo. With only those four words, one can go several miles underground across the city, find the way through a maze that would stump a mouse, surface into a magnificent store and return home.
Sogo opens at 10:00 and I was a little early, but so were 200 other people who were waiting for the doors to open. Studying a map, with my back to the door, I heard clock chiming. After a few minutes, I was curious and turned around to an amazing sight. On the left wall was a huge clock, laid out in squares, 5 up by 5 down. The squares were turning outward, three or four at a time, and each one had a doll dressed in different foreign costumes. When all the squares had turned except for the four squares showing the hands to 10:00, the dolls started singing "It's a Small World After All." Just like at Disney, it was magical. When the dolls finished the song, they turned back into the wall, three or four together. The clock chimed ten as one of the world's largest department stores opened its doors.
One of the prettiest floors had a huge kimono department, three art galleries and Japanese handcrafts. Platforms were set up with artisans working their craft: beautiful wood carved chopsticks, knives, loom weaving for kimono fabric, handpainted fans. Just too much beauty to imagine.
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Petra, Jordan.
Awakened before daybreak by tremendous thunder and rain and this was to be Petra day. By 8:00 the rain was gone but the fog was in. You go so far to see a once in a lifetime sight, time is limited, will the weather be better or worse tomorrow. We decided to go and hope for clear skies, but not to take the dirt road of last night because it would certainly be slippery. How could we know the long way was just as bad--fog so thick nothing was visible, on a mountain road. After a long time, we came up behind a truck; Bill gratefully followed the truck’s lights.
Petra was a city of buildings carved into sandstone mountains 2,000-4,000 years ago; excavations indicate a civilization 10,000 years ago. Rocky cliffs surround 38 square miles of hundreds of buildings and caves, some caves still inhabited by the Bedouins. Up to about the 6th century Petra was fully inhabited and an important stop for the caravan traders. No one knows exactly what happened, why the people disappeared, earthquakes, change in trade route, or Roman dominance. But for 1200 years, Petra was known only to the local Bedouin. It was rediscovered in the 1800’s and only in the last 20 or so years became a tourist spot.
The buildings are spectacular; it’s hard to imagine people with crude tools doing such work of such huge size. A person standing in front looks like a speck. The first big structure you see is al-Khazneh. It’s nicknamed the Treasury because it’s topped with an urn rumored to contain, of course, the Pharaoh’s treasure. The urn is riddled with bullets from those trying to knock it off, impossible because it’s solid.
Even though the weather was drizzly, we decided to make the steep, long climb to one of the farthest points, Ad-Deir.  The facade of Ad-Deir is 130 ft x 164 ft., and then the interior (as in all the buildings) is carved out as a room. The look of the buildings is much like ancient Greek or Roman designs, with pillars. The color of the sandstone is supposed to be very striking in sunlight, which we unfortunately did not have.
Petra is easily as magnificent as the pyramids. Looking at the sky told us to return home. We descended from Ad-Deir, shared the back of a Bedouin’s pickup with fellow tourists to the Treasury. Other than sloshing in the wet camel dung in the pickup, not too bad so far. Now, the walk into Petra was 3/4 mile downhill through the siq, a narrow opening in the mountain. Water runs downhill, it’s raining, there’s only one way out--uphill, current and accumulated rain pouring down the siq. We started out carefully stepping over or around the water, eventually realizing keeping feet dry was impossible, just walk into and through the now rapidly flowing stream (grateful for the leather jackets Bill insisted on packing and thinking tongue-in-cheek how lucky we are for the privilege of seeing such great monuments!). Out of the siq, onto horseback, to the car, dry nowhere.
As we started the drive back to Taybet, the fog settled in like a nightmare, and we realized the smart thing was to get a room in town. We had no other clothes with us and nothing dry to put on. Petra will be long remembered.
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Kenya, Africa: Sights and Sounds on the Road
Bill spotted the first one leg stander! That’s the stance of the male natives as they tend cattle and sheep. Look like a crane. Tall, skinny, thin legged, dressed only in the kikoi, a length of cloth draped over the shoulders.
Lots of roadside markets, selling watermelons and “shako,” in big plastic bags with leaves sticking out. Say that again, Joshua. You know, they burn the wood and sell it for fire. Bill interprets: charcoal. Oh yeah, just like I draw with. I later realized there’s no ch sound in the African dialect, even cheetah was sheeta. Just like the “flim” trees. What? Oh, the flame trees, same as we have in Arabia with the brilliant red blossoms.
The weirdest tree we saw at the Blixen Home and thought was a graft is apparently abundant and wild growing: Euphorbia Candelabra. It’s a giant cactus tree. On old ones the trunk is bark, but the branches, shaped like a candelabra, are a cactus.
Papyrus for sale, thin poles stripped of bark and stacked in bundles, used for mats. Huge stalks of green bananas stacked by the road, the owner waiting for a bus to market. Two men by the river carrying wire net strung over two poles: they’re seining for fish. Women wearing sarongs and turbans, carrying giant loads of wood and whatever on their backs--via a sling supported by a strap across the forehead. Children doing the same.
Donkey carts piled high, men whipping the donkeys up the trails. Decrepit van buses--people compressed inside and hanging on the bumper outside; cabbage, tomatoes, chickens and bags piled top high. Our lead truck pulls over with a flat tire; we pull over to offer assistance and are surrounded by children asking for “biscuit.” A rock quarry, all manual. A black scarecrow.
The narrow strip of public property between road and fence is where the people plant their own crops, from sweet potatoes to pyrethrum, which is their biggest cash crop, manufactured into insecticide. We pass many young, young children tending these crops; a child carrying a child waves hello to us.
Joshua says, “You can see white passes beside the peak,” (the snow on Mt. Kenya.) Beautiful, awesome.
We stopped for gas and it seemed a thousand hands were thrust through the windows to sell bracelets, necklaces, knives, spears, junk. If you volunteer to look at anything, it’s a mob. I didn’t have any shillings, so bought nothing. Linda, however, bought two bracelets, copper, bronze and silver twisted into a bangle, kind of pretty. I was jealously grumbling about missed chance and no money, so Bill gave me a 500 note ($10). But aha, Joshua pulls off road to wait for another van, and a hundred more hands in the windows. The kids start off high price, but within a minute, knowing we are pulling off, I said 500 for all; some haggling and I have seven bracelets and a necklace for the 500 shillings, what turned out to be anybody’s best buy of the whole trip.
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Mt. Fuji Typhoon. By Bill Hancock.
We took a big Scooter trip to Fuji-san this past weekend. It’s only 60 kilometers from Yokohama as the crow flies. But if the crow has to ride a motor scooter, it’s closer to 100 km. Starting out of town to the north, rain began to fall before we reached the city limits. We stopped at a motorcycle shop and bought a cargo net and got a big plastic bag to cover our backpack, tied on the luggage rack. We got our gear all squared away, suited up and off we go again. It keeps up a pretty good rain all the way to our destination. Traffic was heavy and the roads were slick, but we made decent time. Stopped once to get a cold drink and rest a minute.
We reached the mountains about 11:30 AM. The 125cc Yamaha just doesn’t have the power to do much, carrying double, and climbing steep hills. We saw some beautiful scenery along the way. The mountain road paralleled a winding river; the river was deep in a gorge and the roadway was along the top edge of the gorge, varying from 200 to 500 feet above the river.
We stopped for lunch at a little country store beside a cable footbridge built across the gorge. The bridge was part of a hiking trail that meandered through the mountains. It was an excellent stop with beautiful scenery in quiet, peaceful surroundings. The little store didn’t have much in the way of recognizable food. All kinds of fresh vegetables, most of which I didn’t know, and seaweed, nuts, and various dried things. They had some Japanese sweet potatoes roasting over a grill. We got one of the potatoes and a box, yes a box, of potato chips... sorta like Pringles but different. Combined this with a Coca-Cola and that was lunch. Anyway we enjoyed the moment. We walked on the footbridge. It was tied down pretty good so it didn’t swing a lot, but it was bouncy. Carolyn didn’t like it much, but I thought it was great. We were about 300 feet above the river.
We arrived at Yamanakako (Lake Yamanaka) about 2:30 PM. We stopped at 7-11 and got a couple of candy bars, while we opened up our luggage to find the map to our “pension,” a Japanese-style bed and breakfast. We found the place fairly easily and checked in. Turns out the pension was going to be fully booked for the weekend, but with the bad weather, everyone canceled... except us, so we had the whole place to ourselves. It is owned by a young Japanese family: Mom, Dad, and two boys ages 7 and 9. The man, Nagao-san, is the only one we ever really saw.
Dinner was superb. We were served by Nagao-san in the dining room. He had fish tanks all over the lobby, sitting area, and dining area. Each was different, but contained beautiful tropical fish and ocean creatures. It was all very lovely and interesting. We had a five-course meal. It really was elegant, especially with the completely personalized service. We felt like some kind of royalty. Breakfast, the next morning felt the same way. Very nice!! Anyway we eat, get our gear together, and check out. We’re off to see Mount Fuji, the sacred mountain of Japan.
It rained hard all night and it’s still raining. There is lots of standing water and it’s quite breezy. We should go home, but we’re determined to see Fuji-san. Unfortunately, the language barrier prevents our being forewarned. We make our way down the hill to the main road, and turned west toward the mountain. About 3 km. down the road we stop for gasoline and ask the attendant “Fuji-san?” and point in the direction we think is the mountain. “Hai.” We’re off again.
The road parallels the lake shore and there are some large maps at various spots, showing the activities in the area. It’s raining real hard and the wind is blowing about 25-30 miles per hour. We stop at one of these maps, get our bearings and try to get back on the road. However, a big wind has other ideas. It was like a small tornado. The wind gusted to probably 70-80 mph. It turned my helmet sideways on my head (I was looking through the ear-hole). I think the bike was off the ground for a second or two. Anyway we struggled back onto the highway and kept going.
We arrived at the main turnoff to Mt. Fuji, about 6-8 km now to the parking area, a very nice paved roadway, but steep. The bike has enough power to only go 20 km/hr... pretty slow. The wind is also gusting now to about 40 mph. When a gust hits, we come to almost a complete stop for a moment or two. Anyway, we’re getting close now. Actually, we are on the lower part of the mountain, but it just looks like a hill from here. Also visibility is only about 100 feet due to the rain and mist in the air. So we struggle along up this big hill ... down to about 10 km/hr. LOOK!!! we’re here. There’s the tollgate to get into the national park. Bad News!!!!!!!!!!!!! The gate attendant holds up his arms, crossed at the wrists. This means NO. The park is closed due to high winds and rain.
We’ve traveled 130 km from home on a scooter, in the rain, survived a tornado, and fought our way up this big hill in a humongous summer blizzard, and “it’s closed.” You gotta be kidding. (But he wasn’t.)
Back down the mountain. Easier going down, hard to keep from going too fast. With the wet roads, traction is poor and the wind is still gusting. It’s really difficult to even stay on the road. However, there’s not much traffic. I guess everyone else was smart enough to stay at home.
We’re going to take the most direct route back home. It’s raining very, very hard and the wind is blowing about 40 mph with gusts to 70-80 mph. We have to climb up and over three mountain ranges to get back to civilization. Most of the time we wrestle the bike just to keep it on the road. We’re blown to the left, then the right, then we’re almost dead still in a headwind, and suddenly, it’s blowing from behind and we’re going downhill at 60-70 km/hr (and I’m squeezing the brakes as hard as I can.) A few times we have to stop completely to avoid being blown into the mountain or off into the deep ravine to the other side. This is one difficult, spooky, scary ride. Carolyn and I nestle together as much as possible and move and lean together to present the minimum wind resistance (or target). We finally clear 2 of the 3 mountains and enter a small town. We’re creeping along about 5 km/hr (that’s the best we can do). POW, WHAM... a big wind grabs us and is just carrying us along sideways. We manage to get our feet down and lean over, and crouch down while hanging onto the scooter, and get the thing stopped. I don’t think we’re going to get out of this thing alive.
But wait!!!! There’s an oasis about 50 yards ahead. Those Golden Arches never looked soooo good. It’s McDonald’s. Break time, if we can get there. We didn’t get there. The wind picked us up and carried us away. In fact we’ve never been seen again. No one knows... Wait, that’s not right. We did make it to McDonald’s, went in and had a sandwich and fries, and light and warmth for about 40 minutes. Let’s load’em up and go home.
It’s not any better outside, but we move along very slowly. We get over the 3rd mountain and start moving back toward civilization. Traffic picks up a bit. There’s a lot of litter on the streets, tree limbs, leaves, signs, siding, etc. We’re in a long line of cars waiting for a traffic light. We’re getting tired of this, so we do the normal scooter trick... get against the curb and pass all the cars. It works very well. Anyway we’re traveling downhill pretty steeply, thumping through the litter. We’ve got to stop for the traffic light, but we can’t. In the mud and slime, we can’t stop. So we slide sideways, very slowly, and crash. We fall down! We take inventory, everyone is ok, bumped knees and elbows, but nothing serious. We get our machine upright, check it for damage, bow to the cars who are all watching these dumb gaijens, dust off and start off again. I trying to go straight ahead, but the bike rolls at a 30 degree angle to the right. This isn’t gonna work. The handlebars were knocked crooked. I pulled them back straight and we’re off again. We gradually pick up speed and make reasonable time for a while.
We’ve been on this scooter for about four hours. After a while a break is needed. We stop on a sidewalk, park, and walk around a bit. It’s still pouring rain and quite breezy. Ten minutes and back in the saddle. I check the traffic light and road traffic. Looks ok. We pull back onto the roadway, accelerating fairly quickly. WHOA!!!!!! There’s this big Jeep bearing down on us from the right. There’s nothing I can do. We are going to be killed. I don’t know how, but the Jeep driver manages to stop (wet road and all) less than a foot from us. Cool Carolyn raises her right hand and gives him a nice wave and nods her head (a biker’s hello, or thank you). I bump across the edge of the curb on the far side of the intersection and onto the road. No Problem, we’re movin’ on.
We’re almost back home and up ahead looks like a toll booth. That can’t be right. This is not a toll road, and besides that, nothing less than 250cc is allowed on the expressway. Well this is the expressway entrance and there is no way to get off. We stop on the roadside and try to figure some alternative. We can’t think of anything except to press on. Carolyn gets a handful of coins and we drive up to the booth. She holds out her hand and the guy takes 2-3 coins, hands her a receipt, and WOW, we’re on the expressway. We don’t know exactly where we are and now we are going over 80 km/hr, with cars buzzing past us at over a 100 km/hr. We stay way to the left, almost off the road because these guys will run you over.
Still raining very hard, we can’t see much of anything. It’s soon obvious that we have passed through Yokohama and we’re on the way to Tokyo. These expressways do not have many exits and we travel for a long distance before we can get off. Of course, when we get off the expressway, we only have some general idea of where we are and have no idea which way to go. There are no highway signs and all street signs are in Japanese. After some discussion between ourselves, we guess a direction and move-on.
We must have driven about 30 minutes before seeing anything to give a clue to our whereabouts. We’re ok, this is the correct direction. Anyway, we get home at 5:30 p.m. We’ve been on the road for 61/2 hours, soaked through and through from head to foot. My jacket must have weighed 20 pounds. We’ve been wet since early in the trip. The great adventure is ended ... and we never did see that big mountain.
The next day my arms and shoulders were extremely sore. Any movement at all was quite painful. But, we’re ready to go again. Let me know if you want to go along.
P.S. On Monday, our Japanese friends spoke of the great winds and rain and “typhoon” of the weekend: so THAT was what it was.
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Check out Dive, Dhahran, Saudi Arabia.
How much water totally saturated with salt and unknown sea life are you willing to snort and swallow before you would give any amount of money if the instructor will just let you go to the surface? I don’t know, but I wanted to get there. Mike, however, had me firmly planted to the bottom, motioning slow, take it easy, stay down. I nodded, motioned okay, swallowed, looked longingly upward. My mask was clear—where did that water go. My eyes didn’t burn—just shows that a higher priority eliminates one discomfort. Finally, I motioned to Mike that, no, throat problem, I emphatically want to go up. Earlier we had practiced controlled emergency ascent, but this one was for real. Slowly moving to the surface, what relief to break through the water into air, spit out the regulator and choke and gag, blow my nose, spit stuff out.
Maybe all that sounds more dramatic than it was. We were only in 15 feet of water. There was never any danger. Mike is an excellent instructor, very thorough, in control, and Bill was beside me all the way. Even though I feel badly that it happened, Bill somehow managed to feel proud of me, saying I stayed in control, didn’t panic, kept breathing, just think of all my friends who wouldn’t even try such a thing. I guess there are pluses and minuses. This was our first open water dive, at Bird Point, Half Moon Bay, Dhahran, an hour’s drive from our house. The salt content of this water? Second in the world only to the Dead Sea.
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FRANCE
Reading guide books, looking at pictures and hearing about Paris all your life in no way prepares you for actually seeing the size and beauty of the city monuments. The Seine River divides Paris into the Right Bank and Left Bank. In the middle of the river are two small islands. On the tip of one is Cathedrale Notre Dame, built in 1163; it’s magnificent. The really special building, however, is a block or so away, Sainte-Chapelle, built around 1250. It’s a small two-story chapel, the first floor intended for servants and poorer class, the second floor built for the king. The upper walls are stained glass 360 degrees and are spectacular. In tiers going up, up, up, each window pictures a story in the Bible. With time and binoculars, one could read the Bible with no words. Maybe the original silent movie? Small by other standards, Ste. Chapelle was a highlight.
The Louvre has the dedication of the rest of the day. The Louvre is such a huge complex with so many treasures to look at, your mind finally gets overwhelmed and says stop. Our main goal was the Mona Lisa, but on the way to her we saw the Statuette Victory Nike and the famous one-armed Venus of Milo. So many paintings I had studied as reproductions in my art books. The 140.64 carat Regent Diamond. Then Miss Mona, cased in glass. I watched her slowly from all angles, right to left. I have admired paintings, been stunned by the beauty of some, but never before an emotion to tears. Looking at her from the left side, the impact was suddenly that the artist had played with her lips and eyes to create a different emotion from each angle. She was remarkable.
Drive down the Champs-Elysees, around the Arc de Triomphe to the Eiffel Tower. My best advice is view the Eiffel Tower from the Trocadero. It’s a monumental, wonderful thing to see in its whole from a distance, but other than saying I did it, it’s not worth the time and elbowing going up the Tower.
Heading east to the town of Nancy. Lunch in the town of Reims, on its pedestrian boulevard of sidewalk cafes and sunshine, we had a sandwich called a Doner. The meat is cooked exactly like the Arab schwarma, on a vertical, turning spit, the meat layered in circles on the spike. Just the bread was different. Delicious.
I think I’ve used all the adjectives.
Nancy was great. An old town revived by tourist trade. It was, however, in the midst of a college kids celebration. Best we could determine it was the kids’ version of the 24 hour Le Mans car race. Best way to describe the “cars” would maybe be the bed race the fraternities had in college. There was a car frame, wheels, steering and maybe brakes, no engine, outlandishly decorated. The town square, flanked on three sides by a 1700’s government building and all its statutes and cherubs, had been turned into the racing oval. Five or six people would push the car and driver until momentum took over and they could coast, at which point someone from another group would hurl an ugly looking mess of garbage at the car. All well behaved and fun loving, but nasty.
Bill lead us through a labyrinth of streets and alleys, following vague signs, to the Hotel Guise. A house/hotel filled with antique furniture so beautiful you wonder why it would be trusted to visitors, $45 a night.
Before leaving Nancy: a Sunday market of fresh vegetables, fruits, cheese and, look, turning spits of whole ham. Coming from a no-pork country, our saliva overflowed. With a shake of his head, the owner said, no, not ready, dinner time. With disappointment, we selected some French Emmental cheese (what we call Swiss cheese) and fresh raisin bread shaped like a crown. Driving toward Dijon, town of the famous mustard, through green, rolling hills, we discovered the taste treat of fresh cheese compared to the grocery store prepackaged variety. Great breakfast.
Countryside was planted in wheat, most of it short and green, but occasionally round bales shrink wrapped in white plastic! Land eventually gave way to the famous French vineyards. TO BE CONTINUED.
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