Before the Bang, or which came first….

Over the last several years I have taken the opportunity to read much physics and I find myself always tending towards books with themes centered on the first few moments of the life of our universe. I remain at odds with theories that offer no options prior to the the Big Bang creation event. One day I found myself trying to summarize my gut feelings on how it all must have come to past. These thoughts are presented here.

     

It has been without significant scientific challenge since the mid 1960s; the universe is expanding and it had to start somewhere, somehow. The evidence for the occurrence of a “Big Bang” phenomenon is displayed, primarily, in the fact that all unlinked celestial bodies are rapidly receding from each other, and that there is a uniform ambient free-space temperature of a few degrees above absolute zero. By unlinked it is meant here to mean non-galactic stars and the galaxies, themselves. Planets, of course, are linked to their parental star. The uniform temperature of the universe implies that all space was once uniformly heated to the same starting temperature.  

These two facts of science imply the prior existence of a big bang. It has also been quite certainly determined that the universe is approximately 13.5 billion years old. Scientists today are aggressively working towards the acquisition of a mathematical understanding of just how the physics of the first few moments of the explosive event functioned.

There are four fundamental forces in today’s universe. These forces are: the electromagnetic force, the strong and weak nuclear forces, and gravity. It is theorized that prior to the moment of the big bang, and for fractions of a second(s) afterwards, that all four forces were unified as one. One might refer to this unified force field as “primordial energy”. Its role in life was nothing; it just was. At least, it just was until one day it may be shown to have some other function.

The potential disclosure that primordial energy played specific roles in pre-bang existence will be left for mathematics to unfold. Mathematics is the tools of scientific proof. If one is able to show mathematically that an event will, or has happened, then it can be accepted as a valid hypothesis. However, with today’s cosmological quests, a mathematical “fact” still must be considered a theory of physics until it has been demonstrated by experimentation or observation to be true.

Physics and mathematics became a non-divorceable marriage at the time of Isaac Newton. It was Newton who formulated the laws of thermodynamics, of energy, and importantly, that of gravity. However, with concepts like gravity, Newton didn’t understand why nature acted the way it did; he showed that it just was. Post-Newton there became a quest by physicists, aka, scientific mathematicians, to fold away the coverings which kept hidden a full understanding of the why’s of the four known energy fields.

By the middle of the twentieth century physicists had mathematically proven that the forces observed from magnets, and such things as electricity, radio waves, and light were different viewpoints of the same universal form of energy. They had thus unified these separately appearing forms of energy into one. And they called it electromagnetism.

During the first two decades of the twentieth century Albert Einstein did some remarkable things. The first discovery of note by Einstein was his development of the Special Theory of Relativity. The essence of this theory is that Time and Space are a netted and interlinked continuum; one doesn’t exist without the other. Distance and time depend on the observer; and that time and space are perceived differently, depending on the observer’s position in space.

This theory tied mass and energy together. From the Special Theory of Relativity came Einstein’s gravestone epitaph: e = mc². This very simply says that energy and the mass of mater are linked, and that the faster one travels the heavier he’ll get. The logical extension of the formula is that as a body’s velocity approaches that of the speed of light, then its mass will approach infinite. It is because of this relationship that it is said that nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. To try to do so would require an infinite amount of energy. There have been many demonstrations which validate this theory.

This early work of Einstein’s didn’t put the jinks on the work done by Newton. But rather, they expanded man’s scope of things: from the earthly tied effects demonstrated by Newton, to what would be shown to happen when man broke the binds of earth and began to venture into outer space at never before traveled high speeds.

  

 You can’t hold a good patent clerk down. Approximately ten years later Einstein unleashed upon the scientific stage his General Theory of Relativity. This theory tied together the theories of Newton with the theory of Special Relativity and that of mass acceleration in a gravitational field.

Simple aspects of this theory can be brought to mind by imagining what a bowling ball would look like if placed in the center of a trampoline. What you would see is a big dent in the fabric of the trampoline created by the mass of the bowling ball. Now, if you placed a marble at the edge of the trampoline, you would witness the marble start to roll towards the center of the trampoline. As it approached closer and closer to the bowling ball the speed of the marble would be increasing.

An amazing thing happens next. The marble doesn’t just run smack into the bowling ball; but rather, it tries to go around it. Actually, it almost gets away. The marble slows down as it gently follows the dented curve of the fabric and it returns towards the ball. This cycle continues around the bowling ball, approaching closer and closer, until, eventually, the marble comes to rest beside the more massive ball.  

Picture in your mind a second ball placed in the pathway of the marble. This new ball is much lighter than the bowling ball, and as you would expect, it creates a shallower dent in the trampoline’s fabric. This lesser dent is directly related to the fact that the new ball has less mass that the original bowling ball.

As the marble rolls towards the new ball it does not pick up as much speed as it did before. This is clearly expected because the dip in the fabric isn’t as great. Speed it does pick up, however, and we see that the marble simply makes a small orbital detour around the new ball and continues on toward the bowling ball’s position. The speed of the marble, together with its small mass, gave the marble enough momentum to be able to escape the otherwise captivating influence of the new ball’s dent field. The marble’s speed slows a bit as it pulls away from the once primary influence of the new ball and the marble’s fabric path is now woven to have it deal solely with the bowling ball’s dent.

If one imagines that the space-time continuum is akin to the fabric of the trampoline and that each stellar body in the heavens sits upon it as did the bowling ball, one would have an image of an effect of the General Theory of Relativity. This illustration has been done using 3-dimential objects; albeit very thin ones when compared to the dimensions of the universe. Now, try to picture that bowling ball suspended in mid-air and that no matter from which direction you released the marble, as it approached the ball it is sliding along a fabric which is planer to the ball.

There is no up or down for the marble as it increases velocity towards its destiny. Its eye is wedded to this thread of fabric and the marble will go wherever the weave takes it. If the marble had come from a location a few degrees off of its current course, it would have found itself on a different thread but one which would have the same accelerating destiny. The mass and speed of the marble will alter its journey towards the bowling ball.

Imagine now how our sun and the other stars are but balls of different masses floating on the unseen fabric of space and time. No matter which direction one approaches each of these masses, one will encounter a dent, and a downward slope in the fabric which must be dealt with. It depends solely on your mass and approach velocity whether you will enjoy a slingshot orbital bypass or whether you will be doomed to be sucked into the overpowering influence of the floating body.

These past thoughts have been an elementary attempt to portray the essence of gravity as presented by Einstein’s General Theory. Gravity is created by mass which dents the fabric of space-time. As with our illustration, the greater the mass, the bigger the dent and the more energy a passing body will require to avoid sure captivation.

To say the least, Einstein’s newest theory created quite a stir among the world’s physicists. It wasn’t until a few years later that Edwin Hubble discovered that the Milky Way was not the sole occupier of our universe. It was soon to be measured that all of the other bodies (galaxies and stars) were moving away from each other; not just from our earthly viewpoint. Although it had been confirmed earlier in science that we and our earth were not the center of the universe, these new observations of galactic recession brought it home with a smack.

It took the dedicated pronouncements of a Catholic priest, Father Georges-Henri Lemaitre, to finally focus science’s eyes on the fact that the universe is expanding. Stellar objects were not just receding from one another. What this had implied to the Father was that there must have been a beginning. There was no thought that a once, and forever, static universe just deciced to want to get away from itself. Why would it? Father Lemaitre postulated that if one were able to run the universe in a reverse motion, then there must have been a beginning point and time of the expansion. This point and time the Father coined as the Big Bang.

The field of Cosmology, the study of the universe, had a proboscis of a theory of origin to deal with. Logic dealt the cards. If the universe was expanding, then it had to expand from something. This was not just a game of circular logic. The ramifications of the extension of this thinking would be earth shattering to both the scientific and religious communities; Let alone to those of us who try to go to sleep at night with good thoughts about what may happen tomorrow.

Albert Einstein went to his grave; it has been said, refusing to believe in some of the ramifications of his general theory. His theoretical inventions seemed to have opened up a Pandora’s Box for the scientific community. Einstein consumed his later years trying to invent a single mathematical theory that would unite all four forces of energy into their genesis; being one grand form of energy.

Developing a Unified Theory of forces drove Einstein to his grave and its creation has eclipsed scientists’ and mathematicians’ attempts to date. Just as electricity and magnetism where earlier recognized as being of the same form, i.e., electromagnetic energy, so too have electromagnetism and the strong and weak nuclear forces been brought together, or unified.

The hold out is gravity. And the holdup is mathematics. No one has conquered the immense task of boiling down the formulae into solve able format.

It has been shown, in theory, that when subject to immense temperatures, exceeding many factors greater than that of the interior of our sun, three of the four forces of nature can be unified, i.e., become one. It is assumed that the force of gravity, too, must at some energy level succumb and join the team with the other three. Today, nuclear particle collider research seems to be the light on the horizon which will someday demonstrate unification.

Let’s go back those thirteen some billion years and have a look at what’s happening with what is out there. Now, this is going to be difficult to imagine. Sitting out there is a thing. This thing is a speck of stuff, sub-microscopically small, with a near infinite mass. Around this thing is nothing; and this is the hard part. Nothing doesn’t mean emptiness. Nothing means nothing! In fact, to say, “Sitting out there” is the wrong way to view positioning this thing. This thing, we’ll call a singularity, is just – it is; and that is all that is present.

Where did this singularity come from? Has it been there forever? Did time even exist before this singularity was discovered? Did the singularity exist before its own demise in the Big Bang? What caused the Big Bang? Was the singularity really a very tiny, yet massively huge, object? Or was the singularity an infinitely strong, but infinitely small, bundle of energy?

Black holes exist. Black holes represent to the cosmos what a near infinitely massive, but dimensionally small, bowling ball would mean on a substantially stretchable trampoline fabric. Picture the marble racing towards the edge of the black hole’s pit.

There is a point of closeness for the marble to the bowling ball’s pit which represents what is called its event horizon. The event horizon is the marble’s point of no return. Where the event horizon is for a given marble depends on the marble’s mass and its velocity. So, the slower any given marble is moving, the farther away from the center of the pit its event horizon will be.

The black hole is a voracious cosmological eater of things. As it consumes nearby formerly passing objects, like stars and inner-galactic content, it becomes more massive. With its increased mass comes an increased gravitational force field surrounding it and a resultant increase in mass density, i.e., it gets smaller, yet stronger, gravitationally.

As the mass of the contents of a black hole increases, the further away from its center the event horizon moves for all nearby matter. What this means to the idly grazing star nearby is that it is now sitting atop a section of fabric of space-time which is no longer so flat. The fabric is sloping enough now that the attraction to move toward the black hole is greater than the equilibrium it had had with its nearest neighbor stars.

With the stars ultimate consumption the black hole can now present to the universe an even greater warp in the continuum that is the fabric of space-time. One might envision where this is leading. If I were still a farmer, I’d bet on getting all of the cows rounded up and locked down in the corral.

Science has calculated the age of the universe to be 13.5 billion years old. If one assumes that the origination of the universe was from a spherical explosion, then the universe today has a diameter of 27 billion years. To convert this to something more down-to-earth; this is (27x10⁹ yr) x (9,460,730,472,580.8km/yr), where 9,460,730,472,580.8km is one light-year, or the distance light travels in a vacuum in one Julian year. This becomes approximately 2.4x10²³km, or, 2.4 with twenty three zeros. This is how big the universal balloon has been blown up. 

If the diameter of the universe is 2.4x10²³km, then the radius would be half that, or 1.2x10²³km. Meanwhile, over a period of billions of years, the black hole has consumed billions of stars. As a result of this consumption the event horizon for the black hole has approached the radius of the age of the universe, as felt by the average galaxy or star. The black hole has grown in mass density and shrunk into a near infinitely small body, with near infinitely large gravitational mass. What is its destiny?

Recall that it has been proven that the universe is expanding. This expansion is powered by an energy source which has yet to be specifically identified. Scientists today refer to this unseen source of energy as dark energy. The dark in dark energy is a spinoff of the term dark matter, which accounts for a large portion of the calculated mass of the universe. It is called dark because it is unseen, yet known to be present.

With an enlarging event horizon our black hole is slowly laying out an anchor on the expansion of the universe. As must eventually come to pass, universal expansion will become universal retraction. This is because the ever increasing gravitational force associated with the black hole will negate dark energy’s antigravity effect. Retraction, however, will greet the sunny disposition of the remaining cosmos with the nastiest set of jaws imaginable – death to all that is.

Gravity is a force which can only exist if there are two bodies to play in the game. At some unfathomably distant time our universe will have been consumed by a single black hole. This single black hole will be the only item remaining in the past universe, or so it is thought.

Far, far away there is a star. This body may actually be a distant associate of a nearby universe. The star has no emotion regarding its kinship with its distant and non-influential neighbors. So, slowly, and with what seems to take an infinitely long time, it begins a migration towards the black hole.

The black hole, in the mean time, is doing nothing but existing and trying delicately to fully digest the last red dwarf it consumed. The black hole is at the bottom of the infinitely deep pit it has formed in the fabric of space-time. Nothing, not even the odd gamma ray, has escaped its event horizon for the last several billion years. How could one exist in a happier state?

The pace of the star has become heated in the last billion years, or so. It is approaching the event horizon of the black hole at the speed of light. As it passes across its point of no return it has accelerated to beyond the speed of light. Never since the occurrence of the Big Bang has mass exceeded the velocity of the speed of light.

The infusion of this remaining celestial body collapses the gravitational field of the universe. There is nothing remaining which can be influenced by the energy from the field, once called gravity. There remain no two bodies in the heavens. In fact, there remains no more void we once called space.

This is not the end, however. This is just the beginning. Gravity no longer exists as a force.

The fabric of space-time disappears. No longer is there an imaginary weave upon which our marble can roll. The black hole can no longer be pictured as an infinite mass residing at the bottom of a fathomless dent on the trampoline that once was our depiction of space-time.

 

There was never an ability, nor the need, to unify gravity with the other three forces. The sudden ingestion of a colossal amount of both energy and mass, created by the engulfment of the final star traveling faster than the speed of light, collapsed the universe and for an unmeasureably small fraction of what we will call time a new singularity existed. The result: a Big Bang. Now you know the answer to the Chicken and the Egg.

     R.F.Duncan

September 5, 2007

     

Vietnam & Australia - 2008

Vietnam & AUSTRALIA
With: JIM, ROB, and RICHARD

September 22:
Anne and Paula drove Jim and me to the Medford/Jackson County International Airport to catch our 7:15AM flight to Los Angeles. Horizon Air was going to take Jim and Rob on their next great adventure.

The Horizon Air trip to L.A. went smoothly and on time. The schedule was going to be to meet up with Jim’s Army mate, and life-long friend, Richard Short, at the Asiana Air check-in at LAX International Terminal. The newly formed “Three Amigos” would then settle in for the cross pacific trip to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam.

Getting from the LAX Domestic terminal to the International terminal meant a 5-minute sidewalk stroll and we easily found the Asiana check-in counter. A phone call later, Jim and Richard are on the same page as to where we are waiting. They had a wonderful initial reunion over lunch, as we awaited our call to our first stop, Korea.

Asiana Air gets six thumbs up for their comfort and service. As a matter of fact, I felt I had over eaten on this long flight to Seoul’s Incheon airport. We were all faced with a rest conflict, however. The flight from LAX left in the afternoon and we were scheduled to land in Ho Chi Minh City at around midnight, local time. This meant that if we slept during the flight from LAX to Seoul, or from Seoul to Vietnam, then we would be wide awake after arriving.

We landed in Seoul at 7PM. This was 2AM Medford time. The wait for our next flight was only one hour. On a half loaded airplane, we arrived in Ho Chi Minh City in just four hours. Landing time was 11:40PM on the 23rd.

Vietnam customs processing and baggage claim both went very quickly. A celebratory mob had formed outside of the terminal doors. I expect they were there to collect loved ones who had just arrived. I couldn’t help myself. I waved at them. No one waved back.

We had just begun to negotiate a taxi fare to our hotel when Jim spotted a man holding a card with my name on it. The Bich Duyen Hotel, whose manager is Chang, ordered and prepaid for our pickup and delivery. Having a driver who knew just where to go was a blessing.

Somewhere in my communications to Chang I must not have gotten across that we were three large men with luggage. What we discovered, after we hiked a couple of blocks to the parked taxi car, was that the car was a compact 4-door sedan with trunk space for only one bag. This meant we all had to sit with at least one bag on our lap for the trip to town.

I don’t think any of us have experienced a major highway more beat up and in need of major repair than the one from the airport. We were lucky. The time of day meant there was minimal traffic to compete with. Passage went slowly.

After experiencing what seemed like every back street between the airport and our hotel area, we arrived. The driver pulled to the right hand side, parked, and we allpeeled our ways out of the small car. Access to the Bich Duyen Hotel is on the other side of this major street, and we are not parked at a crosswalk. I don’t remember if the driver led the way, or whether we braved the crossing ourselves, but we made it safely across the four lanes.

A sign hanging above the entrance to what looked like a foreboding dark alley told us the hotel was just beyond. A brightly lighted marquee was at the end of the half block long, covered, and darkened pathway. Turning right at the marquee we experienced a wonderfully industrious lane bordered on both sides with hotels, restaurants, and shops. All were closed at this hour, of course, but their neon signs brightly lighted the way to the front steps of our hotel.

The taxi driver has to have experienced this before, because he seemed to know just what to do when we encountered a fully drawn metal curtain across the top of the polished stone steps which led into the Bich Duyen. With full reach of his arm, the driver pushed a button several times. This seemed to solicit no response from within. We waited. He pushed again and I also gave the door a small noisy shake. It then very, very slowly started to rise. When it was at full height, we met Chang. He had been sound asleep.

At the reception desk we surrendered our passports and got checked in. As we started to follow Chang up stairs, he stopped us and had us remove our shoes. The policy is that nowhere beyond the reception desk were you to wear shoes. This seemed ok, and it explained why the stone floors were so shiny clean.
Whoops! This room has only two beds; a single and a double. This won’t do. Chang realized that Hostels.com, through which I had made hotel reservations, lead one to believe there could be three beds in a room. Not to worry, Jim and Richard would stay in this room, and I would occupy a room at the neighboring hotel. Chang saw to this small inconvenience. Breakfast service ended at 10AM, so we agreed to 9AM wakeup calls. This would give us a decent period of sleep.

My IPhone had long since died, and I had no idea what time it was, but it was probably past 1AM. I decided that now would be a good time to take an AmbienCR to ensure a solid sleep. This room was laid out just like the one next door. It had an air conditioner and a quiet oscillating fan mounted high on the wall, but the room had yet to cool comfortably, so I lay on top of the cover. I quickly fell sound asleep.

September 24:
I awoke at 6AM and felt fully rested; one of my many traveling delusions. After dressing, I went to the Bich and had coffee and checked for email on the lobby computer. By the time I had drafted a quick note to Anne, Richard and Jim had come downstairs. We settled in the nearby kitchen/dining room and enjoyed a big, fluffy, tubular roll and a sunny side up egg.

The Bich Duyen Hotel is located in the heart of District 1 of Ho Chi Minh City. District 1 is the cultural center of the city. The Bich is one of many “hikers’ hotels” and has received a #1 rating by travel web sites. Of the many hotel choices of this variety, the Bich stood out as being street quiet, due to its half-block sheltered location, and as being but a few minutes’ walk to many good tourist attractions. We all agreed it was time to have a look around.

Within walking distance, our sightseeing choices included: the Reunification Palace, the War Museum, HCM Open University, Notre Dame Cathedral, and the Ben Thanh Market. The market had received many good reviews on web sites featuring HCM District 1, and it was the most walking friendly location, so that is where we headed.

The midmorning weekday traffic was very heavy. We guided ourselves by carefully orienting the 8x10 inch map we had picked up at the hotel desk. We walked east on Pham Ngo Lao until we came to the massive intersection at Nguyen Thai Hoc Street. Crossing this one was going to be scary. We waited until several locals made a maniacal commitment, and then we followed the crowd. This was an intersection controlled by traffic lights. Regardless, there were scores of scooters, bikes, and autos whose drivers showed no regard for the State’s sense of orderly regulation.

Now that we were on Le Lai Street, the going was easy. We could see the District’s main street-hub intersection a few blocks ahead and the market was mapped just to the north. On the entire journey from the hotel we were approached by street vendors every 30 – 40 feet. This morning’s main flog was Ray Ban sunglasses with non-bartered prices as low as $2US. Also, very prominent, were shoe shine merchants, who, for a dollar or two, would sparkle up your footwear. They must have known we were foreigners by the shirts we were wearing, because the fact we were donning protective lenses and wearing either sandals or sneakers didn’t stop their insistence that we use their services.

So this is the infamous Ben Thanh Market. As we approached a main side entrance to the single story, multi-blocked shopper’s sprawl, we could glimpse the beckoning wardrobe stalls. I think we spent at most, 4 minutes and 27 seconds in the market; and much of that time was consumed frantically looking for a near exit. One would have to travel far and wide to again experience the looks on our faces as the swarm of stall merchants immediately appeared from within their booths, laden with brilliantly colored garments. These women were mad as hatters with their offers. Our arms repeatedly lifted away as they were being re-grabbed by the vendors’ in their attempts to drag us toward yet another woman’s clothing opportunity.

We hadn’t been trained for this kind of work, and the re-found sunshine bore down fiercely, but was welcomed, as we stepped back onto the side walk. “Boy. Did you guys get the same treatment I got?” Well, maybe that’s enough shopping for one day. Let’s find our way back.

Allez Boo Bar and Café is a couple of blocks from the hotel, on the main street out front. Allez Boo is a corner pub with an open walled, bamboo village motif. Choose from tables on the sidewalk or, a few steps higher up, from ones arched around the front of the large rear bar. You could order a draft beer and amuse yourself by watching the pedestrians, bikes, autos, and buses interweave and exchange sounds in a beautifully choreographed fashion at the T-street intersection.

We had decided to take path B on our return to the hotel from the market. Approaching Allez Boo from the opposite direction, we decided this was a good enough place for a rest before lunch. The waiting staff was young and full of exciting energy. A couple of them spent much time at our table, practicing their broken English by asking lots of questions about where we were from and what we were visiting.

One of the waiters invited me to the bar, where a large, brass, circular gong hung suspended near the bar’s end. She wanted me to use the hammer to ring the gong. This I did. Everyone laughed when she displayed the rear of the gong, which had a sign proclaiming: ‘He, who rings, buys for the staff.’ This was their way of filling up their tip jar. I donated 100,000Dong, about $6US.

The ice was broken. Richard drew out a $5 bill and challenged each waiter to try to catch it between his fingers when Richard let it drop. They could keep it, if they caught it. Richard wily added a small bit of distraction just as he released the bill. Each tried, but none succeeded: it was not a result of nimble skill, however, but the bill ended up in the tip jar, anyway.

The three glasses of draft Hanoi Beer cost us 90,000Dong, or a total of ~$5. It was a wonderful break and a delightful place to come back to.

Toan, pronounced Twon, is the adopted “god-son” of long-time good Medford friends, Roy and Arlene. Roy and Arlene had met Toan on a trip to Vietnam, where they had employed him as a travel guide. They were very impressed with Toan’s plans for his education and business future. On a recent return to Saigon, Roy and Arlene, with their son, Jesse, found Toan had been true to his ambition and had made personal commitments to further his career. When Arlene heard that I, and two friends, was going to visit Ho Chi Minh City, she emailed Toan, and set in motion a personal connection which became very important to our South Vietnam travel. A short phone call later; Toan was set to meet us at the Bich Duyen Hotel at 11:00AM the next day.

September 25:
From 11:00AM on, this day was very busy. On our behalf, Toan had arranged an air-conditioned van, with driver, to take us to Vung Tau, which is 70km south of Ho Chi Minh City. Vung Tau is on a peninsula jutting from the curved lower tip of Vietnam. Vung Tau was the site of the Army base where Jim and Richard both served during `69 and `70. The junket south was to be a re-collection of memories of the time they spent in Vung Tau while serving as maintenance Crew Chiefs and deck gunners during the American Way, as the Vietnamese have named it.

The trip was to consume about four hours. Traffic was relentless the entire journey. It was more than an hour before we emerged from the very dense Saigon metropolitan environment. Once beyond that invisible boundary, we found ourselves slowly passing a two-sided border of street-side sprawl and blight. Shops, open grass-roofed vendor sheds; the occasional paddock, with its token water buffalo or partitioned rice field; and the very rare two or three storey housing, under construction, constituted the view for the remainder of the drive, until we once reached the N.E. limits of Vung Tau’s own urban sprawl.

The highway to Vung Tau has guardrail on both sides. Every few hundred meters there is a break in the rail that is wide enough to drive through, to either enter a small parking area for a shop, or to access the protected, paved side path. The pathway was built with the intention of sheltering pedestrians, pedal-bikes, and motor bikes. Without exception, however, these portals were used by both forms of two-wheel cycle to gain access to the crowded highway. Hunkered down over the handlebars, brave and brazen soles would shoot from nowhere and begin their zig-zaging journey from one lane to the other. Microseconds of time were to be captured by speeding along the side of, and, only at the last breath, pulling directly in front of the van. As we had witnessed during the snail paced rush hour traffic in the cities, the riders gained their traffic edge by leaving only a few millimeters between themselves and our front bumper.

Our driver used one of the rail portals to pull to a stop in front of an open-fronted rest shelter. This structure was a partially roofed building, built on a cement pad which covered about 20’x20’ of ground. Positioned toward the front of the pad were several canvas lawn chairs. At the rear, the last six feet was roofed and had an open block back wall and sides. A couple of small, glass fronted refrigerators containing soft drinks, juice, and beer and were placed amongst the chairs. A counter blocked part of the entrance to the rear wall. We discovered that the counter served as a visual barrier to an open pit urinal/toilet. Neither Jim nor I had any compunction about relieving ourselves while we gazed out, and down, from the rear openings. What we saw below us was a disgusting slurry of mud, grass, and chickens.

It was fun listening to Jim and Richard compare their thoughts about what may have been, or happened, here or there, as we drove into the heart of the new Vung Tau. There appeared to be little doubt that only fragments of 40 years past remained of their old homestead. Both recalled “war” stories, of the humorous kind, as the driver wove the van around the peninsula.

We called a stop for lunch, and asked Toan to select a nice place to eat. Toan asked the driver to pull to the curb at an open front café. Our initial thoughts lay with concerns of how management kept the place cool without a front wall, on this September’s hot and muggy day. Naturally, that was just a flash of a dream I had.

We were shown to the center tables and given water and menus. Toan was invited to recommend something Vietnamese for our meal. To our great delight, we ended up with large bowls of chicken noodle soup. I had yet to dig into my steaming bowl before Toan leaned over with shakers and drip-bottles of this and that spicing. There was a plate of cut veggies to mix with the soup. I garnished my bowl with a little bit of everything. We gave Toan 6-thumbs up for the very satisfying lunch.

Jim and Richard recalled trips they made around town in the jeep they had stolen from the Air Force. Hey, it all belonged to the same side in the war. One particular route was to the top of Radar Hill. Vung Tau is situated on a flat, open semi-circle of land fronting the South China Sea. Buttressing the edges of this expanse is a small range of low level hills to the right, and Radar Hill to the left. The guys told us of their treks in the jeep, up the windy dirt path to the top.

Today, the top of the hill has remnants of a crusty post WWII vintage, three storey building once used by the French occupation. A large railed pad allows one to get a broken, jungle bushed, birds-eye look at sections of the busy valley below. Remains of gun bunkers were still cemented to the crest of the hill.

On the way down Radar Hill, Jim and Richard recalled how there was to be an inventory of Army equipment in their platoon. The CO ordered them to dispose of the ill-gotten Air Force jeep. Somewhere in the near suburbs of Vung Tau there is a good used US military jeep. The jeep is a bit corroded, perhaps, from being covered for 40 years by the dirt that it was buried in. This single desperate act of hiding excess, it turns out, may have been the signal the generals needed when the US later retreated from these battle grounds. Burying is what the military did with all of the hardware it left behind in Vietnam. Neither man was able to conjure up where their jeeps large grave may have been dug. So much has changed since then.

We all agreed that it was time for a drop of ale. Toan knew of a coffee/bar with tarp protected outside seating, where we could sit, sip, and observe. The driver parked near the entrance to a liquor store. This was fortunate, because Richard wanted to get some rum and coke for tonight’s TV watching. As we stepped up to the store’s entrance, we heard some shuffling and grunting. Images flashed through my head. A hand grasped the end of the glass counter, and from behind rose a large, bald topped, black pony-tailed man. We had awakened him from his afternoon nap.

This keeper was from Australia. He had recently married a local woman and inherited the job of minding the store. Richard asked him for a bottle of rum. The man began closely examining bottles of various toxins as he searched for the rum. It turned out to be in front of him all the time. We enjoyed sampling his Down-Under dialect. A show of hands later came up with, he was either: very, very slow to wake up; or, he was near brain dead from past years of drug consumption. We all hoped it was the former.

We each enjoyed a couple of drafts as we sat under the sheltering tarps that formed an extension to the main building of the bar. It is distinct to the nature of weather in South Vietnam that there is always a strengthening of the breeze before a storm. And then it came down. The south is just leaving winter behind. Winter is the dry season. Jim and Richard recall how, during the monsoon season, it would rain “buckets” once a day, and then sprout sunshine and steam. This is what we were watching. No way were we going to walk out in this, I didn’t bring any soap.

Maybe the couple of glasses of beer had gotten to Toan. When the rain subsided, he suggested we retrieve the rum and coke and pour us our own drinks. He said that BYO in this kind of establishment was completely legal. What the heck. So, we did it. Things went along fine during the first glass and half of our mixes. A waitress bent into Toan’s ear and had a long, quiet visit. When she left, he told us the manager wanted us to leave. It turns out that Toan is correct; BYO is legal here, but we had overlooked the waitress’ pouring fee.

It’s getting late in the afternoon and we need to check in to a hotel. With Toan’s guidance, the driver drove up and down the beachfront esplanade a couple of times before our hotel was spotted. Say, this is a pretty nice place.

Toan explained that the government owned many of Vung Tau’s hotels. This resort and beach city is a favored recreation spot for many higher-ups in Ho Chi Minh City. The guys were eager for a repose having a little more refinement than they had shared at the Bich Duyen. We asked to view the rooms. All agreed that this was a good selection. Each of us settled into our rooms for an hour’s freshening before we would gather in the reception area to chart our dinner.

We asked Toan to select a nice dinner spot. Naturally, our opinion of Toan’s culinary tastes had been peaked following today’s wonderful lunch. Toan asked me if I would like fish for dinner. I said I wouldn’t.

The café where the driver parked us looked remarkably similar to the lunch spot; same open air environment. That aside, the business was busy with customers. We were shown to a table and given water and menus. Toan confirmed; we wouldn’t mind if he selected a variety of dishes from the Vietnamese-only fare.

First out, as is always the case, was a large bowl of sticky rice. We each loaded a few spoon-dips into our bowls. It is interesting that one can shake the rice laden spoon, and still end up with none in the bowl. Scraping the spoon with chopsticks did the trick. Next was a platter of cooked veggies. I artfully employed my sticks and stacked a heap onto the rice. The waitress placed a metal cooking appliance on the middle of the table. She then set alight the hidden store of napalm and placed a large pot of fish soup on top. The flaming cooker certainly added an air of warmth and fireside coziness to the already stifling atmosphere. A few frantic arm waves later we had her attention and she turned down the torch.

This, in particular, was not the sort of fish I would ever want. Floating in the golden brown broth were chunks of meat and some additional unidentifiable green things. The meat wasn’t fillet, or anything artfully prepared. This was a ten-incher that had just been hacked into large spoon sized pieces and set to boil in the mix. “Jim, would you care for some head and eyeballs?”
Needless to say, Toan lost many marks with his selection tonight. However, he and the driver had twinkles in their eyes as they found themselves without Yankee competition for this stew’s yummy contents.

September 26:
The hotel breakfast wasn’t available until 7AM. For an hour, I checked my email on one of the computers in the reception area. I had just spent several minutes composing a note to Anne, and the mouse stopped responding. Oh! Oh! The computer had decided to lock-up. I was trying to decode what error I had made when Jim & Richard arrived for breakfast. The heck with it, I’ll re-write it tomorrow.

Breakfast this morning was chicken noodle soup, with coffee. After last night, this meal sat well with all of us. The drive this morning was around the perimeter of the old Army base and air field. The former base is now the city’s airport. The guys remembered the ship harbor off to the left, and some of the roadside buildings were certainly old enough to have been standing 40-years ago, but nothing special came to their memories.

The road around Vung Tau extends several miles as it loops around the end of the peninsula. Driving on, we came to a section of town which was definitely into fishing. On every square yard of supporting surface were large rectangular screens, orderly covered with a single layer of fish, laid out to dry in the sun. The screens were on porches, rooftops, and sidewalks. Now I know what was in that stew.

We returned to the hotel by 10AM. We settled our shares with the driver for his time and van expenses. The total came to 1,650,000Dong, or $100US. We also gave him a tip. Toan, however, did not want to be paid. This short excursion had been his pleasure. We were good friends of Roy and Arlene, his god parents. We insisted, though, and tipped him $200US.

I said my goodbyes to Jim and Richard. They were going to stay in Vung Tau two more days, and I was going back to Ho Chi Minh City for a flight which left in the morning to Hanoi. I had committed to Duong, the Vietnamese English teacher Tim was good friends with, that I would come to Hanoi to share a short visit with her and her parents. Toan and I would now ride back to Ho Chi Minh City with the driver, while Jim and Richard had bookings to return via boat on the Saigon River on Sunday the 28th. Toan had made sure everything was organized.

I enjoyed the entire back seat of the van to myself. I was able to take in more of the scenery on both sides of the road, and the time seemed to fly by. The driver pulled into a shopping area where we could stretch our legs and buy snacks. I bought a small box of chocolate milk and a bag of dried fruit pieces. We all shared the fruit.

Further down the highway the traffic slowed to a crawl. In the distance, I could see some flashing lights. Next to the guardrail stood a couple of police officers looking over the crumpled remains of a pedal bike. I had felt there were good odds that we may drive onto just this scene. Thank goodness, I didn’t see anyone lying on the pavement.

A few miles south of the city, the driver pulled to the side. This is where Toan lived. Toan said his goodbyes and asked that when I see Roy and Arlene, I pass on his love for their friendship. I looked out at the few buildings along this section of road. I couldn’t help believing that Toan will do much better than this. He had become a very dear, short term friend.

The driver was no longer under Toan’s supervision and he immediately changed into “one of them”. He became a honking madman as he threaded the van around trucks and bikes. I had become accustomed to the thought that some amount of vehicle damage was going to be inevitable. However, I still found myself focusing on distant scenery, in an attempt to avoid having to think about how close we just came to a disaster.

The driver let me out in the vicinity of the alleyway to the Bich Duyen Hotel. I hadn’t spotted the Allez Boo Café/Bar, which had become a convenient landmark. I loaded my pack onto my back and started walking, first one direction, and then the other. Street vendors spotted me coming and approached me with their display boards or baskets. I have learned to avoid eye contact with them, or respond to their solicitation requests. This trick seemed to turn them off of their pursuit and allowed me to say focused on my search. Yes, there was the sign. I still had the pack, but the relief was definitely off my shoulders.

Chang greeted me at the hotel steps. He had assigned me to room 301. This meant a long hike up the narrow stone stairwell. I was grateful to arrive at my room and get behind closed doors. I turned on the air-conditioner and washed my face. I realized that once I was in the room, I had begun a small nesting ritual. What comfort it is to have a home base.

I hiked downstairs and ask Chang to arrange a taxi to take me to the airport in the morning. No worries. Then, I got a Bia Hanoi out of the fridge and spent the next hour sitting on the front steps quietly watching the late afternoon activity of the nearby shops.

At 5PM I walked to Allez Boo for dinner. It was fun to be greeted by a waiter who remembered me from our visit the other night. The waiter showed me to the second floor air-conditioned lounge, where I chose a corner table which overlooked the busy rush hour intersection below. For dinner, I chose a Vietnamese beef curry with rice. To supplement the meal, I had a Hanoi beer. I was set for a wonderful, slow paced, yummy meal. Now, if I could just figure out how they kept missing each other?

September 27:
Early to bed, with my novel, I fell asleep quickly, and didn’t awaken until 6AM. I readied myself and my bags and left the room. Chang had a cup of coffee ready and I sat for the short wait for the 7AM kitchen call.

On the mark, at 7:30AM, the airport taxi driver and I walked out of the hotel alley and began the half hour sortie to the airport. It seemed the driver found every back street and bike crowd he could. It was non-stop horn and swerving; racing between bikes, then breaking and honking. What a blessing to finally arrive at the Vietnam Air Domestic wing. The driver took no money, Chang had paid him directly. I hadn’t been sure he had been covered, so I made the gesture of 130,000Dong, ~$8US. The driver refused the money.

Check-in was quick and easy. The VN214 gate was not crowded, and I got a front row waiting seat. This was an opportunity to catch up on my notes.

The shuttle ride from Hanoi Airport to the WIN Hotel covered familiar landscape, and I arrived at the hotel at 1PM. Quan remembered my face, and he greeted me warmly. Quan pulled duty today until 7PM, altering with Nghia, who worked all last night. Quan is a gentle man of his mid to late thirties. He has been with the WIN Hotel since he was eleven years old. That’s devotion! I looked forward to renewing acquaintances with Nghia. He, Tim, and I had great visits when we stayed at the WIN in `06.

Room 201 has no windows. I remember it from last time. It is, however, a very quiet room. As I was settling in, the front desk called and gave me a message from Duong. She would be by to pick me up for dinner at 5PM. During the time I had to wait, I revisited some of the nearby streets and took a nap.

Duong arrived at 6:30PM. She had been held up a bit. As the organizer of this evening’s dinner, she had to first get her parents into town, and then she had to coordinate their stay with her brother and sister-in-law. We taxied to a nearby restaurant, where I was immediately made welcome by her parents; mom, Lan, and dad, Tu. Both Lan and Tu seemed overjoyed that I came to visit them. Both parents have very generous and open hearts, and Tu felt the emotional need to hold my hand as we climbed the stairs to the main dining hall on the second floor. Every few steps he would clasp my arm with his free hand, look up at me, and say a few words while he vigorously nodded and beamed ear to ear. Not understanding what he had said, I gripped his hand and nodded and smiled, too.

The waitress placed us at what seemed to be too large a table. This was resolved when Duong’s younger brother, older brother, sister-in-law, and nephew arrived and joined us. I had not met Duong’s siblings before, and learning a bit about each one of them was a treat. Duong’s parents are not well-to-do. They have, however, seen to full educations for their children. All the kids have university degrees, as does Tu, who was a chemical engineer prior to his retirement.

I do not remember the names, and I apologize. The youngest brother is in his early twenties. Duong said he was considered the rogue of the family, because his interests lay in the arts. He has a very affable personality. The other brother is in his mid-twenties, and has a lovely wife and 7-year old son. The two of them met at university where they were both majoring in Chinese. Today, the two of them are active with employment related to trade with China. Their son is a treasure. His command of English is remarkable. He asked me many questions, including how Tim was doing.

Duong had arranged a feast, consisting of ten different dishes. As we first sat down, she asked me what I would like to eat. Something simple, I said. I sat between Tu and the nephew at the table. It was occasionally awkward when Tu would turn to me and present me with a discussion topic I couldn’t comprehend. I would listen carefully, and then look across the table to Duong to bail me out with an interpretation. Several times, Duong, herself, was engaged in a visit with one of her brothers. She would ask her father to repeat for her, and then pass on to me his thoughts. I know they felt the same way I did, when I asked one of them a question. I guess that’s how it goes when a translator is required.

It was a bit of a surprise to me when the waitress stood about eight bottles of beer on the end of the table. I thought back to the dinner I had in their home, when I last visited. We all sat on the floor around the edge of a woven grass mat. On the center of the mat, Duong had presented the main dished entrées. During that meal, Tu was unwilling to let your beer glass appear the slightest bit drained. Tonight’s meal wasn’t going to be any different.

As we ate, and visited, the waitress kept arriving with new dishes. I was certain to at least sample everything offered. In fact, I went back for several different dishes. I discovered, during one visit with the eldest brother that Lan was reaching across in front of Tu and putting more food into my bowl. I told her that I had had enough to eat, and thanked her. A minute later she was at it again. I’m afraid I committed a culinary no-no that evening. It is impolite to leave leftover food in your bowl. They laughed, and said I was forgiven this one time, because I had asked Lan to not give me any more.

At home, I had prepared a small photo album with pictures I had taken of the dinner evening at their home. I included in the album several photos of my family. I had taken one photo of Tu when he was sitting in a very well presented pose. I cropped that photo and, with Matt’s help, made it into an 8”x10”, and put it in a frame. They all were very excited to pass the album around. I identified each member of my family as their faces were pointed out. As a greeting gift, I guess I hit a home-run with the photographs. At the Vietnamese value core is the belief that the family is the most important part of one’s life. I struck a special spot with Tu when I showed him the large portrait I had prepared specially for him. Tu wept while he hugged my arm.

Duong told me that her mother wanted to sing a song to me. Lan and Tu traded places at the table. Lan began to sing. It didn’t have mattered what the words were, her voice was beautiful. Occasionally, she would glance at her husband, who was mouthing the verse, and he would nod his agreement to her excellence. Duong told me her mother had once been featured on a TV program. Lan sang three more songs to me. Her children, and the wait staff, enjoyed her as much as I did. She told me, through Duong, that she would record some songs for me.

It was time to end this fantastic cultural exchange event. The clock had zipped by over two hours while we visited this evening. I said my goodnights, and Duong and I arranged to meet on the phone in the morning to get together for lunch. The taxi let me off on a street I was told was near Hang Hanh St., where the WIN is located. When I got out of the car, I stepped onto a very crowded sidewalk. It was dark, and as I turned to gain my bearings, I was repeatedly jostled by the night’s party traffic.

I spotted a parked taxi with its hood up. The driver was leaning against a lamp. I gave the driver a WIN card and gave him a universal gesture asking, “How do I get there?” This was a no-brainer for him. He indicated I should walk to the next intersection, and then turn right. The hotel was on that street. I thanked him and walked away. When I got to the intersection, the street sign indeed said, Hang Hanh.

I was greeted by Nghia when I walked into the hotel lobby. We visited a few minutes before I excused myself to go upstairs to my room. For reasons I don’t remember, I set my clock to wake me at 7:45AM tomorrow. Duong was to call me at 9AM to arrange a 10 o’clock brunch with her and the family. I read for a few minutes, and then gave it up and turned out the light.

September 28:
This is a great way to start the day, chicken noodle soup and coffee. It all tasted so wholesome. Nghia will arrange for a 3PM taxi to the airport, and I have settled my bill for the night. Idle time left me vulnerable to the street vendors, and I broke down and bought three T-shirts. One can be sitting in the sheltered comfort of the hotel lobby and a vendor will stand outside and gesture to you to come buy their stuff. If they catch you looking at them, they’ve got you.

Honda Wave, with a 125cc motor, seems to be one of the most popular motorbikes. All bikes were set up with front leg shields and full foot rests, just like you would find on a scooter. The bikes are used for heavy commercial work, as well as for the entire family. It is not uncommon to see as many as four family members on the small Honda or Suzuki.

Duong and her youngest brother arrived on her motorbike. We walked to a restaurant at the end of Hang Hanh Street. One of their uncles had just passed away, and the father was obliged to attend services today. He went to them with Duong’s eldest brother.

Noodle soup and egg rolls, washed down with a mango fruit drink, tasted good as we shared more up-dating information about each other’s past couple of years. Several months ago, Duong had emailed me chapters of her Master’s Thesis as she churned it out. She asked me to read and correct it for English grammar errors. As I read it, I was surprised at how often the Asian mind would leave out certain works, like the word, the. Without such words, the sentences became very truncated. Today, Duong presented me with a published copy of her thesis. To celebrate her completion, she, and a couple of friends, had just spent two weeks in Singapore. They had a great time. With her advanced degree, she will now be leading the English department at her large high school.

Vietnam Air flight 783, from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City, took off on time. As we lined up on the runway, the TV monitors came alive. The plane had a nose camera which presented out takeoff and climb into the clouds. After about five minutes the camera was shut off until we began our approach to the Saigon Airport. The landing video was particularly exciting. I found myself silently prompting the pilot to get lined up, and to start his flare, now. He landed well.

At the terminal exit, I bartered with a taxi driver for a ride to the Bich Duyen Hotel. The driver won. This driver was very skilled at avoiding, what would have meant, multiple deaths and injury in America. His horn was relentless, and his invasive insertion tactics would have won him an Olympic gold in Maneuvering. It was scary to be an unwilling participant in this sport.

I safely crossed the four lanes of rush hour traffic to get to the hotel alleyway. I carried a white plastic bag containing some coffee Duong had given me. I waved the bag as a truce flag while boldly placing one foot in front of the other. I suffered several irate honks; fortunately, I had both of my hands full, so there were no one-finger salutes in return.

Chang welcomed me back and put me on the 1st floor. I had been dreading the hike to the room on the 3rd floor. Jim and Richard had arrived earlier from Vung Tau and had found space at the hotel next door. I quickly washed my face and trekked next door. Jim had gone out shopping for the grandkids. Richard hosted me to a much welcomed rum and coke.

Jim returned and we visited about their extended stay in Vung Tau, and their Saigon River boat trip back. They both felt that three days may have been too long for that city. They shared stories about linking up with to taxi bikes which took them to sites around town. Their favorite spot was a pub which catered to the off-shore oil derrick crews. It turned out that they were all Australian. The guys loved visiting with these blokes. They all got into the R&R spirit.

Richard learned a bit about his biker’s personal history and was asked if he wanted to visit the home and family. Richard was bowled over by the man’s 12-year old daughter. His assessment was that this child was going places. Her grasp of the English language floored Richard. In this family, education and achieving greater than the parents was the family mission. Richard had taken a snapshot of the girl. She was indeed gorgeous.

This was to be our last night in Saigon. We agreed to join up at the Bich for breakfast at 7AM

September 29:
I wasn’t able to sleep past 5:30AM, so I got up, showered, and went to the lobby to read. The lobby was dark and to my surprise, I had just disturbed Chang from his sleep on the wooden settee. After apologizing, I returned to my room and read on the bed. Wow! Chang sleeps on that wood bench each night. I don’t understand why he is so cheery during the day?

This may have been a sign of the day it was to be. By the time we were collected, patrons had filled the small dining room. Chang set places for us at the lobby table. Not realizing, two Kiwis sat at the place settings and thankfully received two of our services from Chang. We made no comment and had a nice visit with the New Zealanders.

The trip to the Tanson Nhut International Airport, servicing Ho Chi Minh City, took about half an hour. As anticipated, the taxi driver took every side street available in an attempt to gain an edge on the main road’s rush hour surge. Yes, he honked his @%$# horn all the way.

The check-in at Vietnam Airways took several minutes. It appeared the clerk had never processed Americans traveling to Australia before. She had difficulty verifying, via her computer, that we indeed had received temporary visas for our entry into that country. All worked out well and at gate 19 we read while we waited for VN762 to load.

This was to be the “Trip from Hell”. We were routed to Cairns, Queensland via Hong Kong, and then Sydney. The routing wasn’t a problem, it became the layover times. We landed at Hong Kong in the early afternoon and faced eight hours before our connection to Sydney. Hong Kong International consumes the extent of an offshore island. The only way for us to do any sightseeing was to a train to the main land, and that travel time would have taken two to three hours. We passed the time investigating terminal activity.

September 30:

Flight hours and time changes ate up the clock. The flight to Sydney was an overnighter, which brought us into Australia mid-morning. Passports in hand, and customs cleared, we headed for Terminal 1 train station. For the 10-hour layover here, we weren’t going to loaf around.

At Terminal 1 we bought City Rail Travel Passes to take us to Circular Quay. This was the train’s stop for visitors who wanted to see a bit of Sydney Harbor. The train was a cheap and an easy way to navigate much of Sydney. Five stops later, we were standing at the harbor railing looking out at the Sydney Harbor Bridge and, off to the right is the Sydney Opera House. These were images you saw in magazines.

At the Quay we set off for a walking tour of The Rocks. The Rocks became established shortly after the New South Wales colony's formation in 1788. The original buildings were made mostly of local sandstone, from which the area derives its name. From the earliest history of the settlement, the area had a reputation as a slum, often frequented by visiting sailors and prostitutes. During the late 1800s, the area was dominated by a gang known as the Rocks Push. It maintained this rough reputation until approximately the 1970s. Some years ago, Anne and I stayed at a hotel in The Rocks. Visiting the sites brought back good memories.

Jim, Richard, and I wanted to find a “classic” pub to have ale in. Growing tired of this initial search, we found ourselves entering the Oriental Hotel where we settled in for fish & chips, and a beer. At the airport Jim discovered he had left the copy of Noel Rosenberg’s Near Death in the plane’s seat pocket. This exciting read is the 5th in a series by Rosenberg, and had been given to me by my daughter-in-law, Anne’. Jim had two reasons to secure a new copy: first, he had lost my copy; but, most importantly, he had gotten half way through and was excited to see how it turned out. I wasn’t going to tell him.

Border’s Book Store was the lead we got as being the best place to look for a copy of the novel. Border’s was located up George Street, and then left, and left again, to Pike Street Market. Off we went. This was lunch time in The Rocks. The walks were packed with suited men and women on the rushed break. We soon discovered the best way to avoid collision on the sidewalk was to walk on the left-hand side. It’s probably the same way on the highways.

Over twenty blocks, and four book stores later, we gave up on the Rosenberg search. Border’s had the author, but not this newest novel. We headed for the Quay via Pike street. We were not totally disappointed in today’s quests, we did find another fine pub.

The Quantas flight to Cairns wasn’t up to the standards we had enjoyed on Asiana and Vietnam Air. After getting settled, we were rousted by the steward to change places with the occupants of the emergency door seats. It turns out these coach riders were not proficient in English and they were asked to relocate. If looks could send real arrows, that Chinese woman would have done in the steward. She didn’t want to move. Had this been an American setting, I’m afraid it would have ended up being handled by the ACLU.

This was our shortest flight yet. Tim met us at the airport and was eager to get us to his home. He has a wonderful `02 Mercedes van, with lots of room. The late night drive to Trinity Beach was still a bit unsettling. Left hand side of the road, combined with Tim’s over-the-shoulder visiting, made paying attention to the conversation very difficult.

Tim’s home is beautiful. We entered via a lower level two-car garage and made our way up an open, polished wood, circular staircase to the foot-cool tiled main floor. He has invested in significant remodeling over the last several years, and his tastes in quality design and in peaceful, artful decoration struck you instantly. This was definitely going to be a 5-star stay. We settled in the living room for a bit of a yab before turning in after a long and busy day of travel.

October 1:
A bit of a sleep-in was a perfect way to begin this first full day of visit to tropical Australia. At midmorning, Tim drove us into Cairns (pronounced: Cans) for a view of its beachfront and some basic familiarity. A striking, domed casino brings one’s eye to the center of the city’s hub. Tim had never been to the casino, so we decided it would be a good place to have lunch. This was to be a refreshing Western meal treat; we each had a glass of beer with our Aussie steak pie & chips.

Cairns is a regional city and local government area located on the 17th southern parallel. Originally settled in 1876, to serve miners heading for the Hodgkinson River goldfield, the settlement declined when an easier route was discovered from Port Douglas. However, Cairns' future was secured as it developed into a railhead and major port for the exportation of sugar cane, gold, precious metals and agricultural industries from the surrounding coastal and Tableland regions. The city is rapidly expanding, with a population of 125,000. Tourism is the largest income producer for the region, followed closely by the sugar industry.

Cairns lies about 1,057 miles north Brisbane and about 1,504 miles from Sydney. It is a popular travel destination for tourists because of its tropical climate and proximity to many attractions. The Great Barrier Reef can be reached in less than an hour by boat. The Daintree National Park and Cape Tribulation, about 80 miles north of Cairns, are popular areas for experiencing a tropical rainforest. It is also a starting point for people wanting to explore Cooktown, Cape York Peninsula, and the Atherton Tableland.

On the way back to Trinity Beach, we stopped at Woolworths for a grocery stock-up. Now a defunct five & dime store in America, Woolworths is one of Australia’s largest market chains. A by-the-way visit to the nearby bottle shop finished our acquisitions for the day. The afternoon was idly spent catching up on the World’s events, aka, the Yankee market crisis, and sipping fine Australian wine. Later on we fired up the George Foreman grill and prepared pork chops to go along with a designer salad. After this fine Western meal, we watched a bit of TV and solved America’s economic troubles. All of us were in bed by 10PM.

October 2:
Richard, Jim, and I were all up at 6:30AM. Richard headed straight out the door for a walk and I made a pot of coffee. AHH.. George Foreman and I prepared a breakfast of Italian sausages, eggs, and toast. We were all hungry, and we wolfed it down. A bit of CNN news, some more world problem solving, and we were ready for the day’s trek.

Port Douglas was our goal for today. Tim wanted us to scout Saturday’s reef fishing trip for Jim and Richard. We were treated to a fantastic tour of the harbor city. What a fantastic retirement city, just 43 miles north of Cairns.

The Port Douglas Township was established in 1877 after the discovery of gold at Hodgkinson River. It grew quickly, and at its peak Port Douglas had a population of 12,000 and 27 hotels. With the construction of the Mulligan Highway it serviced towns as far away as Herberton. When the Kuranda Railway from Cairns to Kuranda was completed in 1891, the importance of Port Douglas dwindled along with its population. A cyclone in 1911 which demolished all but two buildings in the town, also had a significant impact. At its ebb in 1960 the town, by then little more than a fishing village, had a population of 100. In the mid-1980s, tourism boomed in the region with the aid of an investor who financed the construction of the world-class Sheraton Mirage. Today the number of permanent residents rests around 1,000.

On the southern skirt of Port Douglas is a multi-acre wildlife refuge. Tim had been through it and highly recommended it as a way for us to be introduced to the specialized species which inhabit this tropical area. We planned to have him pick us up in an hour and half.

The refuge is entirely fenced, of course, and much of the interlocking pathways between exhibits is built on 6’ wide planking with guardrails. This technique provided visitors with the best viewing vantage point for the animals they were going to see. Birds galore, wallabies, kangaroos, and crocodiles were the primary features of this show. Each animal species habituated a specially controlled environment. Birds flew about gums and other plants while enjoying ample food, a cooling, tented shade cloth cover, and occasional ponds or streams. The landed animals were kept in a large open topped area which featured plenty of lush plants, streams, ponds, and hills to dominate. The crocodiles got to lounge in murky, algae greened ponds, surrounded by water grasses, trees, and the occasional muddy bank on which they could sun and contemplate the flavors of the various nationalities as we paraded past. A few of the crocs were over 20-feet long.
For an avid camera buff, this couple of hours with the wild-ones was a dream come true. We indeed got a glimpse of what’s in our tropical neighborhood. And it is beautiful.

The sky threatened rain the entire day, but it never showed. Prior to heading south, Tim treated us to a visit to the city’s oldest pub. This 2nd storey adventure was established in 1878. This wasn’t a “classic” pub in the old English or Irish sense. The building has seen much remodeling over its long life. The declaration plaque at the door transformed it into a place we wanted to visit. The barkeep was an emigrant from Chili who spoke wonderfully accented English, and he was full of good humor. A couple of drafts set our minds straight for the short trip home.

The countryside between Port Douglas and Cairns is mostly agricultural. There were lots of fields of sugar cane. Much of the highway twisted, climbed, and descended as it wound along the coastline on a thread man had cut from the crowding hills. At one road side crest there was a sheer drop 80 – 100 feet to the beach. This was where hand gliders launched with their craft. We were fortunate to be able to see one hovering some 30 feet up, and away, from the cliff. A lot of the coastline was heavily rocked. A few openings between the roadside mangos offered a glance of sheltered and pristine, white sand beaches. Winter, or the tropical dry season, was now coming to a close. This meant that with the oncoming wetter part of the year, would come heat. And with the warmer weather would appear water-lovers. Today, the beaches were unoccupied, but that wasn’t going to last long.

Back in Trinity Beach by 2PM, where we regrouped and readied the home for a dinner visit with two of Tim’s closest friends. Tonight we are going to be serving barbequed lamb rump steaks, a tossed salad to die for, potatoes, and a nice Blanc wine.

October 3:

We arose early in anticipation of an exciting day. Tim’s good friend, and teacher, Tim, (herein Tim2) has arranged the hire of a couple of dingy boats to float a section of the Barron River in hopes of snagging some of the river’s frolicking fish. In this part of the country, most of the fishing is done using a hand reel. A weight is hooked to the line a few feet back from the hook and bait. Then the line is permitted to sink to the bottom, and wait. Holding the line between thumb and finger is sensitive enough to be able to feel a nibble or a bite. Then it’s a matter of timing judgment as to when to give the line a long, hauling pull over your shoulder. With luck, you’ll have a fighter on-hook. Part of the fun of the day is going to be placing crab traps at guide chosen spots. Those we will collect when the fishing’s done.

A call came in for Tim at 7 o’clock; bad news. The morning’s rain had made the river trip a non-viable one for fishing. Alas! Not to be left with nothing interesting to do, we went shopping. Richard needed to find a new SIM card for his bat phone and I needed a USB cable so I could connect Tim’s new digital Canon to his computer.

I turns out that neither Richard’s phone, nor mine, will work in Australia. This is Telstra territory. The reason being is that Australia uses different sub-frequencies than does America, Vietnam, and probably much of the habited, civilized world. This meant that calls home will continue to be made through Tim’s home phone. He saw this a very inexpensive and no problem. Next door to the Telstra store was a Tandy store, aka, Radio Shack. Here I found the correct USB cable for $19AU. This seemed a bit dear, but…

Tim’s Teflon frying pans are toast. The bottoms shined as much rough metal as they did Teflon. K-Mart was nearby. Jim and I had decided that we would treat Tim to a brand new, don’t put the thing in the dishwasher, frying pan. What a beaut this one will be. Richard had noted that the kitchen was short of paper towels and that Tim’s expansive spice collection contained no Tarragon. This didn’t settle well and had to be rectified. What meat dish is complete without a good dash of an “all-spice” seasoning?

Tim had arranged to meet his mate, Tim2, at his suburb’s hotel for lunch. We returned home from the nearby shops and quickly got FOX’s update on news of the World’s current strife. After musing these dilemmas around a bit, and solving some more global problems, we packed the van for the short trip to the neighboring burbs.

We sat at an overhanging veranda table and dared the occasional rain drop to spoil our lunches. With Tim2 on his chosen stool, we selected from the menu our luncheon gruel. I ordered fish & chips. This two piece meal was more than I could eat in one sitting. Boy, was there a lot of food.

The river runs past the hotel. It is only a few blocks away. We watched several people fishing from the pier as we ate our lunch. After the meal, Tim2 took us to the pier so we could get some feel for what kind of activity was happening. This wasn’t a particularly good afternoon for fishing. No one claimed to have snagged anything yet. We watched one man swinging a circular, edge weighted net around his head. He would then let it flare out over the water. A nylon cord allowed him to retrieve the net. The purpose of this exercise is to let the net close in on itself as it is gently pulled up, thus entrapping whatever bait fish might have been under the net. We saw an instant reason this man was unsuccessful. His rope was too short. At the bridge’s height, the net was weighted shut before it hit the water. None of us had the nerve to point this small mechanics flaw out to him.

We still hadn’t seen a real “classic” pub. Tim2 suggested we head into Cairns and have a go at P.J. O’Brien’s. P.J.’s is in the heart of downtown, and it was easy to get to. We found a parking metered spot and wound in a couple of hours worth. Tim2 two cautioned Tim not to park too close to the trees. At the top of the trees, smack in the center of this busy city, were a couple dozen sleeping Fruit Bats. Each bat hung upside down and was wrapped like a cocoon by its large leathery wings. The vehicular danger with Fruit Bats is that they put out as much, or more, than they take in. Nasty!

This was the sort of pub we had been looking for. The large central bar, stools, and surrounding tall backed, vinyl covered wood booths hadn’t yet suffered from man’s desire to modernize. P.J.’s, as the name implies, is an Irish pub. A tall pint of Guinness draft is what this chap ordered. We sat in the booth at the far corner and enjoyed the ambience the old world artifacts created. This may be the most comfortable pub in the state.

Australia has its share of quality tasting brews. But, unlike the west coast of America, it is lacking in availability of micro-brews, well, Cairns has one. It is called Blue Sky Brewery, and it is only a couple of blocks from P.J.’s.

Blue Sky Brewery is a modern, chrome and glass surfaced drinking establishment. They specialize in a half-dozen varieties of ale. They also conduct regular tours; one was going past us as we sampled their brew. Regretfully, I was suffering from too full a stomach from the lunch. Finishing the Guinny at P.J.’s was also pushing it a bit. All the guys enjoyed the ales and we spent much of the time getting to know a bit of Tim2’s background.

Tim2 is in his mid thirties, unmarried, but happily cohabitating. He is in excellent shape and holds his beer well. Tim2 moved from the north island of New Zealand to the Northern Territories eleven years ago. He had grown weary of the colder climates. His move was straight to Darwin and he says he never wants to move back. Tim met Tim2 when Tim was a school principle in the Territories. He hired Tim2 for a teaching position on Groote Eylandt. This island is just to the east of Darwin, in the Gulf of Carpentaria. They became close co-workers and fishing, golfing, and drinking buddies. Tim2 now lives in the Cairns suburbs, too. He holds a part time Phys-Ed teaching position, and he also does some coaching. What a great friendship these two men have.

We returned home about 5:30PM. Tonight, Time and I prepared a tossed salad and once again called on George Foreman to prepare us all some boneless chicken thighs. We all felt good about these digs. It turned into an early night for all of us.

October 4:

The Port Douglas outer reef fishing trip has been called off by the charter. Apparently, there were not enough people signed up for today’s outing. It will be rescheduled. Tim decided to introduce us to the city of Kuranda. This town we would get to via the Kuranda Train. But first, we had to make Tim an egg breakfast using his new Teflon frying pan. Wow! The eggs came out easy; all sunny-side up.

We boarded the train at the Freshwater Creek Train Station. Anne and I had taken the train from here to Kuranda when we last visited Tim. The train makes a slow climbing passage to Kuranda, taking about an hour and half. It meanders on a thin rail track past the lower elevation suburbs and endless cane fields. As it gained altitude, the train passed through fifteen tunnels and visited a couple of spectacular waterfalls. Spectacular views of the Barren River Valley opened through gaps in the tree and bamboo clustered rail siding. Metal trellises carried us over deep gorges which emptied onto shear, rocky cliff escarpments. We gently eased out of the tropical rain forest as we slowed for our stop at the Kuranda Station.

Kuranda is a town on the Atherton Tableland in Far North Queensland. It is located about 1,000 feet above nearby sea level, and is 16 miles from Cairns, via the Kuranda Range. It is a town of 650 people and is surrounded by rainforest. The rainforest around Kuranda has been home to the Djabugay people for over 10,000 years. Europeans began to explore the area throughout the nineteenth century. Kuranda was first settled in 1885. Construction of the now famous railway from Cairns reached Kuranda in 1891. The current railway station was built in 1915. Although coffee was grown around Kuranda in the early twentieth century, timber was the town's primary industry for a number of years.

Tim was waving from the veranda of the Kuranda Hotel when we found ourselves at the end of the short trail hike from the station. We took time for a little refreshment while we sat at a table on the hotel’s elevated, and sun sheltered veranda. From the railing, you could overlook the lush, lower rainforest treetops.

As Tim drove us around this historic town, he told us of when he substitute taught for a term at the local, consolidated school. This posting was not inconvenient for a few months of commuting from Trinity Beach. In his early retirement, he received a much welcomed infusion which helped offset his new home remodeling expenses.

From Kuranda it was a drive to the west and south on the Atherton Tablelands. Traveling inland, the roadside growth soon began to thin to the more familiar Gum Tree scrub forests. The Atherton Tableland is a fertile plateau which is part of the Great Dividing Range in Queensland. It is located well into the tropics, but its elevated position provides a climate suitable for dairy farming. The principal river flowing across the plateau is the Barron River, which was dammed to form an irrigation reservoir named Lake Tinaroo. The area was originally explored for its mining potential where deposits of tin and a little gold were found.

The ride took us through many small towns, with names like: Mareebe, Millaa Millaa, and Tinaroo. As the story goes, Tinaroo actually got its name from the man, John Atherton, who discovered ore in the local river. He exclaimed, “Tin! Hurroo!” The undulating rural farm land was lush, green, and spotted with cattle. We drove past coffee plantations and many Mango orchards, spreading to the horizon. We stopped at a self-serve roadside banana booth and put the correct amount of money on the plate for the sale. As we drove away, munching on this delicious treat, I was reminded of the trust my father had shown in placing gallon jugs of milk in a refrigerator next to the dairy barn at my home when I was a youth. Drive-in customers lived up to the honor system of payment, until one day, when dad discovered that the milk was there, but the money was gone. This violation of human trust and its dishonesty had shocked him to the core for a long time afterwards.

Tim drove us to see Lake Tinaroo, with its many finger like side shoots that nested on lush green banks. We discovered an old steam engine in a field near Yungaburra, where we stopped for a sandwich lunch with bottles of tropical fruit punch. This steam engine had once powered a war ship which had been harbored to the north. Once removed from the ship, it was put to use powering the Yungaburra Sawmill. This endeavor continued for many years, until the mill was struck by a fire.

Out of Yungaburra we started our wind down to the east off of the flatlands. Forests became denser as we approached sea level once again. We had circled to a point where we were several miles south of Cairns. Tim has traveled this main highway times and he was ready with shortcuts which allowed us to bypass the main city traffic. A few minutes later we were climbing the stairs into his home.

Tim took a much deserved nap while Richard, Jim, and I played a rigorous game of pinochle. The game came down to the last meld, and Richard held 500 points. What a blazing, read here, rotten, finish. During this heated match, we were tuned into FOX News and listened to the recap of the Palin/Biden debate; nothing new there.

Tim showed up among the walking tired and suggested pizza for dinner tonight. What kind, and how much? Tomorrow, early AM, was to be another go at the Port Douglas fishing charter.

October 5:

It seemed too dark outside. I looked for a house clock to verify my alarm clock, which read 6:15AM. Tim’s computer showed 5:22A<. I knew there had been an error. My IPhone had gotten reset from Brisbane time zone back to that for Sydney. I lost a precious hour of dreamtime. A few minutes later Jim was walking about; say, I love those boxers. Soon Richard and Tim were up and we were in Port Douglas by 7:30AM.

The Norseman was the first boat as we walked onto the dock. The large, white double-decker was not yet prepared for the guys to board. A barefooted, unshaven, stout man, decked out with blue soiled shorts and a matching grubby singlet, was under the cover of the upper deck. He was preparing hand lines for today’s charter.

We easily engaged Joe in fishing yarns, while we leaned from dockside against the bow of the Norseman. Joe is the volunteer ship’s “butcher”. He does tiling by trade, but in the current high interest rate, no work market place, he is without other activity. Joe told us he has spent over two decades collecting large and varied sea life from the nearby reefs by using just a 70-pound line, off a hand reel. Today, when not assisting with member’s lines, Joe is going to cut and clean the catch.

Joe and Tim spent the next half hour out-flavoring each other with tales of the best catch in the sea; both with encyclopedic recall of size, color, and fight of each specie – the names, of which, seemed to me to be drawn from deep in their imaginations, but agreed upon by both.

Jim and Richard were both very excited about this new way of collecting the ocean’s bounty. It seems odd to think of fishing by hand line as being rich as a concept. Richard was committed, however, to the premise that, if nothing was being caught by hand, he was going to go back to the pole and reel. Good luck, guys, and see you at 4:30PM.

Tim’s neighbor, and good friend, Mia, has promised to cook up the catch for tonight’s tucker. I joked to Tim that we need to do the meal prep in her kitchen. I didn’t want to be in the home with the residual fishy smell. There was success for some. Jim caught the largest fish for the day. Richard, and half the other charter member, got skunked by Neptune. The fish Jim caught is a Coral Trout. This fish is a bright orange color, about 20 inches long, and would weigh out at a couple of pounds. The report was they fished the reef at about 70-feet depth, and the weather and ocean conditions were fine. Both men reckoned that the experience had been decent, but $400US for one stinking fish? Come on.

On the way to the house we stopped at a Cole’s grocery store. Richard snagged us a kilo of large prawns. This was around 30 - 4” long, precooked lovelies. We had the makings of a fine dinner.

6:30PM this evening, we hauled the days catch, shrimp, and wine next door to Mia’s. She was waiting for us. Mia had the pre-meal tasks all lined out for us. She spread a plastic cover over the dining table and held it down with a couple of shrimp refuse bowls. She gave us a quick demonstration of how to shuck the shrimp, and then Mia turned us loose to get into the body peals. Armed with a nearby glass of nice wine, the work went by quickly.

The shrimp bowl was then turned over to Mia. We watched her artfully prepare the large martini glassed servings; each spotted with a bit of greenery and a dash of her special cocktail sauce. Mia’s cooking philosophy is: It’s 15% cooking, and 85% presentation. This philosophy flowed over to her preparation of the main fish dish. She had advanced prepared some oven cooked potatoes, corn, and mushrooms. Now, all that was left was the fish. Earlier, Jim and Richard had shared their skills at filleting fish. The Coral Trout was no match. Two good sized hunks of meat had been turned over to Mia, who rendered the flat slabs into small chunks, shook them in a plastic bag with flour and spices, and put them into the pan for a quick fry.

After the pan fry, and some magical plate preparation, we all sat down to a fantastic seafood treat. The fish was beautifully light to the taste, and the fresh bottle of Chardonnay Blanch topped the meal off. This feast was completed with a serving of ice cream topped with sliced strawberries and a capped with bits of chopped chocolate.

We all enjoyed an after-the-meal visit around the dinner table. We then expressed our thanks and said our goodbyes to Mia and resumed our solving America’s political problems from the comfort of Tim’s sofa.

October 6:
A few miles north of Port Douglas we turned onto Cooya Beach Road. These road dead ended at a beach frontage lane. We were to wait beside the basketball court. We found the court, after some searching, camouflaged by beach trees at the intersection. We were here to meet with an Aboriginal man who is going to host us on a mud crabbing adventure.

At some spots along the coast are mud flats. The flats are areas of sand which trap residual tidal water and form pools. It is in these tidal pools where the mud crab resides. The crab is left behind in the pool when the tide goes out and, instead of working with the receding waters, the crab buries itself in the sand and takes a rest.

After a few minutes wait in the car, Lincoln, our guide, sauntered across the street from the house next door. That is where he and his family live. Linc introduced himself and got us all immediately involved with some of the flora and fauna of our near-beach environment. He introduced us to lemon sized, soft sided, green pods which had fallen from the nearby tree. The pod, when ground up, is used by the Aborigines as a source of poison that is toxic to fish. This is a means of collecting food. On the next tree, Linc pointed out the greenish ants which were attending to their chores on the bark. He picked one off the bark and asked us to taste its abdomen. In turn, we each sampled the ants. The flavor is strong and lemony. Linc told us how the juice from many ants is added to a glass of water and used to suppress the symptoms of an on-setting cold. We were then asked to take our shoes off for our trip out on the beach. Linc gave us each a 6-foot, metal tipped, bamboo stick and he explained how we would use it to explore the sands in the ponds, and how, if we were lucky, we could use it to spear a crab.

Linc found the first crab. He called us together to show us the pattern the crab leaves in the sand when it is buried. Linc then poked the sand with his spear. The sand came alive with two large pincers snapping at the end of the pole. This crab was too small to keep, but we all got the idea of what we were looking for.

This morning’s hunt only tuned up four crabs. Of those, only one was a keeper. I found a sand irregularity in one pool and poked it. This crab was a Blue Swimmer. It immediately headed for the closest cloud cover, which was in the stirred sand around my feet. I could feel it bumping against me and I started hopping. When you crab in tidal pools you quickly learn how to jump far away from where you once were. The guys got a good laugh at my choreographed escape from danger. When the water cleared a bit, Jim spotted the prey and brought the crab to rest with a well placed jab of his spear. Linc held the crab for us to look at it. This animal had a gorgeous coloring of bright and faded blue patch work covering its shell.

We came to the edge of a Mangrove forest. The Mangrove tree grows in dense clusters along the briny edges of the beach. The tree extends multiple, tangled small roots above ground some four to five feet from its main trunk. These roots arch out and become entwined with those of neighboring trees. The result is that walking through a Mangrove forest becomes a task of maintaining balance while you looked for a place to put your foot. Linc had us all plant our spears in the sand and he led us into the forest. The forest floor isn’t sand, or dirt. It is the result of decades of tidal wash over plant and animal detritus which netted a several inch deep, dark, sticky mud. After the light from the beach was dimmed by the dense envelope of the Mangrove cover, navigating over the exposed roots took on a new meaning.

Linc told us we were looking for mussels and periwinkles. The mussels liked to sit on top of the mud near the main trunk of the trees. This protected it from being washed about with the tides. Periwinkles, on the other hand, preferred clinging to the roots just above the mud. The mussels were a blackened version of Oregon’s coastal clam. The periwinkles were the size of a good lawn snail, and had that appearance. Both were favored Aboriginal tucker.

As we drugged further into the swamp the humidity rose. Nearly invisible mosquitoes began buzzing our ears and nipping us on the arms and neck. Linc told us to work around small areas very carefully. We needed to train our eyes and brain to spot the shells, as we had done with the hidden mud crabs. We stuck this out for about fifteen minutes. I think Linc sensed that these Nuevo-Aboriginals had had their fill of the search. Several clams, and a few periwinkles and bites later, we re-emerged into the beach’s sunlight. Boy, like the exit from the market in Saigon, the intense sunlight was rewarding.

We mud crabbed our way back to where we had parked the van. Tim had rolled up his pant legs and was coming toward us in the rising waters of the new tide. It was a treat to go into the Mangrove swamp with feet that had become shinny clean from their wash in the sandy water. It was more fun, however, to see how fast I could get my feet once again looking at least normal.

We gathered our shoes and followed Linc across the blistering pavement to his large, two storey home. We gathered at a table on the upstairs veranda and enjoyed a glass of fresh water. Linc and his younger brother would now cook up what we had caught. There wasn’t going to be any carry away food. While the food was being steamed, Linc showed us hunting and warring implements which his tribe used. He explained the different shapes of the boomerang and how the shape focused its special use. One flew in a return pattern and was used for knocking a bird from its flock. One flew straight and low and was used to hunt land animals. And, one was designed to strike an opponent’s shield, deflect around it, and whack him a good one. We were shown large turtle shells, and shells from many smaller bivalves. Linc had numerous instruments for battle, including spears and shields. He explained how the tools had been made.

The home has been with his family for many decades. His mom and dad live with the boys. Linc, by training, is a Special Education teacher, following in the path of his parents. He is a self taught biologist and botanist, as well, as today’s adventure revealed.

Out came the first course of our lunch. We were treated to slices of fresh damper, coated with butter and treacle syrup. The brother brought out tea and coffee. The next plate held our collection of mud crab pieces. Armed with nut crackers, we all dug in. The mud crab has a pincer that looks like it is made of porcelain. It is also a very large pincer, compared to American versions. This crab’s bite will definitely break finger bones, if not take the finger away with it as it dashes into a nearby sand cloud. Properly prepared, however, the crab’s pincer became our best friend. The periwinkles were attacked a little differently. Linc presented mom’s pincushion loaded with safety pins. He showed us how one used the pin to snare the meaty bit of the `winkle which hid behind a protective shell trapdoor.

I have never gotten use to the texture of bivalve organs. This is despite Jim’s many times of sharing his oyster shooters with me at the Medford pubs. Link had brought a jar of pepper salsa that we could use to add spicy flavor to our food. I discovered that if I poured a spoonful of salsa juice into the clam, and rushed it into my mouth, that it didn’t go down too poorly. The periwinkles, however, were too tiny to be dressed this way, so, I just endured the crunch.

We arrived back home a little after two. Getting the residual mangrove swamp off of us, and attending to the mosquito bites, was our collective priority. I get the shower next. The day had been a wonderful experience, and we learned so much. The cost to each of us was $70AU. This had been adventure money well spent.

Jim and I took a dip in Tim’s saltwater swimming pool and then we wiled the afternoon away watching some footy and playing cards. We watched a movie this evening and all went to bed early.

October 7:
We all enjoyed sleeping a bit longer this morning. After breakfast we headed into Cairns to visit its biggest shopping mall. Today’s mission was to buy some souvenirs for the family. We made a quick stop at a coffee shop and then we were ready to go. Tim had some errands to run and he would meet us at the coffee shop at 1PM. Shortly before the meeting time I went to Cole’s to stock up for the last two days of lunches and dinners. Finishing this task, I waited at the coffee area for the guys to show up.

Soon back home, we got stuck into the cards. First, it was the best of three games. Then, no, it will be the best of five. We stopped playing when it was discovered that there was no beer for Jim and Richard’s next morning near-reef outing. The guys had decided that no tropical fishing trip should be done without dropping a token crab trap. So, we decided to kill two birds with one track of the tires. We would stop at the bottle shop, pick up the necessary supplies, and then visit Tim2 and borrow his new trap.

The price for a 6-pack of beer is very high in Australia. What in Oregon would have cost $4, cost us close to $8AU. Exchange rates didn’t quite make up for the difference. Tim told Jim that Tim2 favored a brew called Crown. So, Jim set a 6-pack of Crown on the counter. The rest of us stacked on our collections. When Jim found out that the 6-pack of Crown was going to cost $18AU, he decided that Tim2 would have to settle for some regular Aussie beer. None of us, however, questioned Tim2’s quality taste.

Two beers later we had had a nice visit with Tim2 and Natalie. With crab trap and tomorrow’s beer in hand, we headed to Trinity Beach for a movie on Tim’s big screen, some George Foreman’s grilled chicken snags, and an early to bed.

October 8:

Jim and Richard needed to meet the boat owner at 7 o’clock. We were all up early. After dropping the guys off, I had a swim and lounged back and read several tantalizing chapters of The Constant Gardner. At 11 o’clock, Tim and I tuned in the 2nd Presidential Debate. No doubt, Obama seemed the more polished of the two, but McCain held his own. This gave us a shallow bit more insight into their heads.

The boys came home with no catch. They had a few bites and Jim actually had a 25” Barramundi up to the edge of the boat. The skipper had asked Richard if he wanted to net the fish. Richard told the skipper that he should do it. The net result was the Barramundi loosened the hook and was last seen swimming quickly away with a big grin. The both said they had a good time. Most of their fishing was done in the river estuary. The crab trap received a briny cleaning, which it didn’t really need.

October 9:
Today was going to be pretty light. We started out dropped off on the Esplanade, from where we could work our ways in a few blocks to meet Tim at P.J. O’Brien’s at 1:30PM. We were looking for a store that stocked a T-shirt we had seen which had a crocodile wrapped across the front and back. These streets were primed for tourist shoppers. We didn’t find the shirt we were looking for, but we garnered some nice gifts instead.

After this unnatural male display of commercialism we waited for Tim at P.J.’s. He had somehow gotten past our sight as we waited at an outdoors table. Perhaps it had happened while we had gotten into a conversation with a team of vacationing Aussie Rules footy players from Melbourne. They all wore “spoof” singlets which bore the name Connect Four. At 1:30PM I looked inside the pub and I discovered Tim sitting at the rear table where we had sat the other day. He had been there fifteen minutes and wasn’t too happy about the wait. He particularly wasn’t pleased about having paid $4AU for a Coke. From P.J.’s we drove home for lunch and a few games of cards

At 4:30PM, Tim and Jim had a T-off with Tim2 at the local links. When they returned, we were to meet a Tim2’s home for a glass of Sangria and then we were going to the neighborhood Thai bistro for dinner. Natalie treated us to a great glass of iced sangria with 7-Up and a touch of rum. We couldn’t all fit on the seats of Tim’s van, so I crawled into the back.

At the restaurant we quickly settled on the “Try-it-all” platter. There were six of us and this seemed the best way to get a taste of someone else might have ordered. The platter selection included about ten different dishes. We all received good sampling. Of course, I had no idea what I was eating. One can’t go to this kind of eatery without using a decoder ring. It was a sad goodbye, because we were on our way home for the last sleep of the trip.

October 10:
4:30AM came very quickly. We had stayed up later that we should have, trying to get in the last bit of visiting and world problem solving. Everyone was clear of the showers and dressed by 5:15AM. During that bit of time, we also captured the CNN News and learned that the Stock market had just gone through its worst week since the crash of 1929. The DOW was down below 10,000. Little did we know.

Tim dropped us off at the domestic terminal at 6 o’clock for the 7 o’clock flight to Sydney. We’re off to a great start. Who would have thought that the flight from Cairns, AU to Sydney, AU would be leaving from the International terminal? Fortunately, it was a short walk.

From Sydney to Hong Kong, From Hong Kong to Ho Chi Minh City, from Ho Chi Minh City to Inchon, from Inchon to Los Angeles. The return legs didn’t have long wait legs, compared to the arriving trip. None the less, this was going to be tiring.

At Inchon (Seoul) we had the longest layover. It was eight hours. We had already flown through a full day and one night without any refreshing. As we wandered around, we noticed the Asiana Air lounges upstairs. We thought, we’re special people, too. We should be able to get into whatever there is up there. In the lounge area there were a couple of open for the public snack/beverage areas, an area especially for the real hoity passengers, and a lounge for the second-in-line hoity passengers. We tried to get into the lounge for the latter, but we completely failed the hoity test. We did, however, discover that right across the corridor was an airline hosted shower facility. For $6US, or 6,000Won, you bought a shower kit, which contained a towel, toothbrush and paste, shampoo, conditioner, and something called a body lotion. What a treat this was. This single event, for less than the price of an airport beer, was an absolute pick-me-up.

After the showers, Jim and Richard both had full body massages at the solon nest door. Neither one was going to pass up this additional personal indulgence. Each massage took about forty minutes, after which, we gathered at the open, non-hoity, snack area and compared notes on how the muscles now felt. These simple gestures had readied the guys for the final, very long, flight to Los Angeles.

This last leg of the journey was a graveyard flight. This meant that with the right inducements, we could sleep. I had been cleaver and checked in my backpack. The pack had my clothes and my ditty bag. In the ditty bag was the supply of AmbienCR which I had obtained for just this kind of flight. Darn it! I don’t think any of us got much sleep on this leg.

I had placed the US Customs declaration form in my back pocket. When I pulled it out at the Customs desk, it was torn almost completely in half. Perhaps the Agent thought I was trying to rubbish his processes, perhaps he just wanted to send me to strange new places. Anyway, he had me go down Hallway B and contact one of the officers. At the end of Hallway B, I was instructed to wait at the end of that line. Three baggage carts later, I was told to go over and talk to that officer. The officer took the form. He didn’t care anything about looking in either my camera bag or the brightly colored bag of souvenirs I had toted from Cairns. Nope, what he did was tell me to stay put for a minute.

This official reprise gave me an opportunity to observe a customs officer who was directing passengers to off load their carts onto an x-ray conveyor belt. I noticed that one woman’s bag kept slipping down the shinny belt the officer’s knees. The man stared at the woman for a moment, and then in a very gruff voice told her to hurry up and get the bag moving. I thought: What a godlike metamorphosis this man has morphed through by being empowered with the authority to command immediate action from these confused visitors to America. He must have been related to the first agent I encountered.

The officer finally returned and handed me a taped together declaration form. He then told me to go back down Hallway B and past the initial desk. When I got to the officer at the desk, I gestured to hand him the form. He took it, and without a word, looked up to the next passenger.



That was it. The man didn’t have any scotch tape at his counter and his supervisors would have grilled him as to how his carelessness could have led to such document destruction. He did, after all, have the authority to order me to go the end of Hallway B.

In the mean time, Jim had an opportunity to say his goodbyes to Richard. Richard’s wife, Rhonda, was waiting for him to come out of the airport’s cattle stalls. I’m sad my form got torn. I did not have a chance to thank Richard for the fantastic trip and for his welcomed companionship. I may never see Richard again, but I will remember him fondly. Cheers, new friend.

Jim and I had a bit of a wait at LAX for our flight to Medford. Unlike travel to San Francisco from Medford, the links north from LAX only happen at eight in the morning, and again at eight in the evening. There were no alternatives short of a standby flight to Portland, followed by a standby flight to Medford. This created too many negative opportunities. We waited.

The Horizon flight was far from full. The stewardess was very cheery and was an easy touch for a second glass of wine or beer; which, surprisingly, was on-the-house. Jim, we’re not finished having fun. Anne and Paula greeted us with warm hugs when we passed through Medford’s large glass entry-carousel. The bags came quickly and we were soon loaded and headed for our real homes for the first time in three weeks. This had been Great Adventure fun for Jim and Rob. Cheers Buddy.