M Y O B

June 29, 2009

BEFORE I COMMENCE MY TALE

June seems to be “Pride Month”. I think it is misnamed.

Being homosexual for me has never been anything I’m proud of. I’m not ashamed of it, either. It’s simply part of who I am, or at least who I have been all these years. Although I have no qualms about telling the few people who ask that I’m, “gay”, I often now say I “was gay”: at 73, my homosexuality is physically no longer much of an issue. Mentally, I’m still as queer as I ever was, possibly more-so, judging by the time I spend surfing the net for photos of good-looking guys!

Anyway, back to “pride”. I take pride in many things, not the least that I have tried all my life to get through it without hurting anyone. I haven’t always succeeded, often due to ignorance or conditions beyond my control, but avoiding making other people feel bad has always been one of my goals. I wish it were a goal shared by everyone! There seem to be some who live for the opposite: to hurt as many as they can. I’ve been the victim of a few of these, but have learned to avoid them.

But “proud” of being queer I am not, and never have been: homosexuality and pride are concepts that simply do not fit in the same category as far as I am concerned.

ONE MORE THING:

I’m recovering rapidly from the gall bladder operation. I’ll stay away from my work the rest of this week, there being a holiday Friday anyway. I have the first post-op visit with the surgeon Thursday. All is well!

SHRINKAGE

As my depression deepened over the failure of my hopes for a life with Cornell, I had the sense to realize I needed some help. My doctor put me on Dalmane to assist with sleep, but recommended a psychiatrist. I spent nearly a year in “fifty-minute hours”, initially several a week. At first, whenever I tried to tell him what happened, I just fell apart and cried, but eventually he began to lead the discussion, and led me to some discoveries about myself.

One of these was how I interpreted Cornell’s behavior in bed. He always “came” as result of frottage: I never did. I thought anyone who could induce me to cum that way would have to be someone very special indeed. Ergo, I believed he found ME someone very special indeed. This was not the case at all: it was his MO, the way he always got off, no matter who he was with! I had very little to do with his orgasms: I was something convenient to rub against. Period. It was an ego-deflating notion, but it explained the facts. It was the first step in getting over this guy.

Cornell probably had his first orgasm sitting on an uncle’s knee, or being bounced of someone’s leg, or just rubbing himself on his mattress at night. Whatever, it came to be his preferred method of getting his kicks. I eventually met others who had encountered him, and they told the same tale: frottage was “it” for him.

A psychiatrist never cures anything: he leads one to new discoveries. We talked about the various categories people fall into, and I realized I am a classic “nest-builder”. I suppose it was because of my happy family life as a kid, that I would want to re-create this as best I could with a lover. (Nowadays, we see gay guys raising families: nest builders!) Unfortunately for me, Cornell was not a nest-builder. He was a classic “home-wrecker”. There had been no possibility of a “long term relationship” between the two of us from the get-go.

The psychiatrist agreed that I was ready to end our sessions after a year, and I felt far better than when I’d begun. I see it as the way to go, when depression sets in or the going gets tough.

EPILOGUE

Oddly, Cornell’s star was crossed with mine whether he liked it or not. I kept running into him in unexpected places, usually at professional conferences (we were in somewhat similar lines of work). Years later in Manila (of all places!) I glanced up from my breakfast and saw a back-side in the lobby I recognized instantly: it was Cornell, picking up a colleague who was staying in the same hotel I was. We got together over drinks at the Peninsula Hotel that evening. That’s where I learned he had AIDS. (I had to assume he had learned another way of getting off). He told me no male member of his family had ever lived past 55, and he did not exect to do so either. He didn’t.

ONE MORE THING:

A reader asked me what I look like: it’s gratifying to know someone wants that information. Here’s the first passport I ever got, at the tender age of 20. Unlike most passport photos, this one was a pretty good likeness.

Me at 20

Thank you for asking! [email protected]

Coming up next: I get into it with the IRS

NEXT

ORGANIZING MY DEPARTURE

Once I had resigned from PA&E, I had to firm up my plans in a hurry.  It was necessary to get an Exit Visa from the Vietnamese immigration authorities. I left this to PA&E, since they had functionaries who dealt with immigration all the time. I  filled out a form in long-hand, gave them  my  passport and took a receipt. All other preparations for departure I undertook myself, distrustful of PA&E’s ability to handle my exit which was so different from those of their other employees. I put off my actual departure until the Thursday flight to Phnom Penh, scheduled out at 4:00 pm, to be sure I had time to get everything ready.

Meanwhile, I closed down my apartment, sold off whatever I could not carry, and moved to a hotel. A suitcase full of clothing was packed and sent unaccompanied—one could do that in those days—to Bangkok. There remained only one problem: that .38 revolver given to me by the fellow who freaked out soon after our arrival had been stored in the bottom of my suitcase. I had to dispose of the gun. I could probably have turned it in to some authority, but which of the many “authorities” available could deal with it? What kind of questions would they ask, and what amount of hot-water would I get myself into?

In the end, I wrapped the 6 bullets in newspaper and stuffed them into the holster with a stone: I tossed this into the Saigon Canal, confident that the numerous bugs in that polluted water would chew up the holster in a hurry. The stone and bullets would sink into the muck, never to be found. The gun itself I dropped into the elevated wall-cistern for the toilet in my hotel room. I figured that by the time anyone discovered it, it would be a mass of rust beyond any hope of use. For all I know, that gun may still be there!

PA&E, on the other hand, was slow in preparing my paycheck and getting the exit visa. Good thing I left extra time!

DIARY ENTRY:  Wednesday, 4 September 1968: Well, PA&E nearly fucked up the works, but through perseverance I managed to get nearly everything set to go tomorrow. The paycheck wasn’t ready until after lunch, which left precious little time to get travelers checks and plane tickets. Whereas I had to wait 4 hours just for two signatures to be applied to my final paycheck, I got the travelers checks and airplane tickets done in just under two hours—and that included three separate calls at AIR VN & @ the bank! They talk about orientals being slow??? Have to get some form or other @ Air VN regarding my bag—certifying it can go through Customs locked; have to get passport @ Australian Embassy, & have to get to TSN tomorrow—all should be relatively easy. Of course, I won’t really be sure this scheme is going to work until I & the Honda are safely ensconced on the plane!!

There was a charming young lady at Air Vietnam who explained in detail exactly the steps I had to take to buy a ticket for myself and for the motorcycle and to purchase travelers checks. The machine had to be weighed: she told me exactly where to go to get that done, and it went without a hitch. (Of course, I rode the bike to all these places: it would not actually be prepared and drained until the very day I left). Buying and paying for the tickets and checks was complicated by the restrictions on money, and involved several trips to the bank—a branch of Bank of America!—but in the space of an afternoon all of this was done. As always, I found that by following directions and smiling a lot, I had no problems.

I was told the bike had to be “drained”, that is, no fuel in the tank when it went on the plane. But this meant that at the other end I would have no idea where to purchase fuel and hence how to get the bike back on the road. So I took a small bottle of gasoline tightly sealed in one of the saddle-bags, and these I carried on with my satchel. The form from Air VN certifying that my bag need not be inspected allowed me to get away with this little subterfuge.

On my last night in Vietnam, I had a nice dinner at the only fancy restaurant going at the time: it was french cuisine (not my favorite), but did have white table-cloths and good presentation. Afterwards, I had one last quickie with my friend Nguyen, which helped me sleep.

Come morning, I would be off on a new adventure! With my passport in hand. . .

Passport

. . . I had my visa for going INTO Vietnam “voided”, on the theory that I might run into someone who objected to my having been there. . .

Voided visa

. . . and I had my visa for Cambodia:

Cambodia visa

The chop in upper left is my departure stamp, which took some doing to get! Stay tuned!

NEXT

MONEY

I try to retain a few good examples of the local currency from the places I visit. The Cambodian bills were very lovely, printed in Germany, and featured numerous scenes for which the country is justly famous. I saw a good many of these places in actuality.

12 September 1968

Hello again~

Who would believe this trip? Amid threatening clouds, I left Kep (after a restful day there—swimming at 7:00 AM!!) bound for Bokor. As expected, I got into rain fairly soon, and to put the end at the beginning, I drove through rain all the way to Sihanoukville!

BACKSTORY: I met a young fellow in Kep who reminded me of why I enjoy formerly-french countries! He was completely unabashed about sex, and we had a fine romp. However, when I told him I planned to visit Bokor, he assured me I should not go there. Unfortunately, the language barrier made it difficult for me to know what his objections were. (There’s usually no language barrier where sex is concerned!)

The road to Bokor is unbelievable! It goes up 1000 meters in about 22 kilometers, hacked through dense jungle all the way (except along the top of the mountains, where it is quite bare). Wonderful switch-backs and so forth, about 12 feet wide and paved fairly well.

The Road to Bokor

See below for a much later photo of this “road”, when it had become just a cow-path!

The rain on the way up was not bad, and perhaps the jungle is at its best when wet. I stopped (both ways) many times to shut off the machine & listen to the marvelous sounds—and occasionally to inspect the various animals crossing the road: mostly bright pink land crabs, but some spectacular snakes & things, too. The sounds are like nothing I’ve ever heard (naturally) and while one itches to take up a machete & go in search of the sources, without a guide & so forth that’s hardly recommended! By the time I got to Bokor itself, the storm was a veritable blizzard, visibility less than 30 feet. But amidst all this, the Auberge Royale was open and I got a good hot meal (about 9:30 am). After a quick tour of the casino (doing a thriving business) I set forth once again, this time to Popokville, about 4 km away. The rain let up slightly for this leg of the trip for which I was thankful. Just as the road (paved about 1/2 way) petered out into a couple of muddy ruts, and I was going to turn back, I heard the roar of water & saw a “parking” sign a little further on. So I thrashed on through, there to find the famed falls of Popokville (I wonder if Todd made this same pilgrimage?). Now, with all the rain, there was lots of water. The river is about 1/2 the size of the Merced at high water; the falls are a couple of hundred feet, in several stages. Very spectacular, very wet, and in the jungle setting, truly wonderful. There was not another soul around, although there are nice little pathways, rickety bridges & so forth (a la mist-trail [in Yosemite]) which I poked around in (carefully!) for about 1/2 hr.

Recent shot of the he famed falls of Popokville

I found this picture on the net, taken many years after I was there. These visitors had better weather!

When the rain re-commenced, I remembered the road I had to traverse back to pavement, & decided to push on. Back down that wonderful road. More sounds, more animals, rain. Some views were blocked by clouds, but I got some good looks down to the delta & sea 2-3000 feet below. Alas, no pictures—too little light [and too wet].

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, but very wet. At times the road was nearly flooded. The rainfall varied from moderate to very heavy. My poncho leaked, and when I finally reached S-ville I was soaked through. My luggage leaked slightly (as you can see by the stains made by some carbon-paper I foolishly brought along!) but I had dry clothes when at last I found the center of S-ville and a hotel.

Sihanoukville may turn out to be the only disappointment of this trip. The weather has not helped—it has rained steadily through today and shows no sign of stopping: tres inclement! But the city itself is not much. It has recently been turned into a free port, but until the railway to the interior is finished I doubt this will make much difference. There are a couple of ships at anchor and the town is full of a sorry lot of French merchant seamen. There is a rather lurid “strip”, a couple of strings of shops, the inevitable central market and information center—and that’s about it! The setting, though, is splendid and the beaches extensive and inviting—given proper weather. I should imagine that in 5 or 10 years this could be another Riviera.

You will not believe what this trip is doing to my diet!! Every now and then I order the Plat du jour, not always knowing just what to expect. In Phnom Penh I got as an entré one night some sort of small fowl, roasted (whole, I discovered) with petit pois & sauce. I will never know what it was (too small for pigeon) but it was not bad. Today, here, I had “orderves” (fresh crab, paté fois gras, sliced ham, chick-peas & onions) followed by a dozen clams on the half-shell (I know you won’t believe it but I ate them all), followed by fresh diced pineapple & café au lait; all for 80 riels (about $1.50).

Assuming it is raining still in the morning, I’m heading for the interior again—Kirirom. The weather there should be better. This cuts two days off my planned stay in S-ville, but without being able to swim & sun on the beach, there’s really almost nothing else to do; besides, constant rain depresses me. Hence,

More later!!

Bruce

So much for my planned sun and swim on the beaches in Sihanoukville (formerly, Kampong Som). I’m not really a swimmer: I was more interested in seeing skimpy bathing-suits on the local guys! Of these, there were none, the weather being foul as mentioned. Indeed, it was off-season, and there was only one hotel in Kep that was anything like “open”, and that barely. No restaurant. But there was a restaurant open in the town, where I had the meal mentioned, and where I cruised up the trick also mentioned (above). In Sihanoukville, the seamen were mostly drunk and probably after girls, but the locals had locked up every youngster (with good reason: with the french and ME in town, none of them was safe)!

I’ve since learned that Bokor was built up by the French as a refuge from the heat of the dry season, Although one web-site says it was abandoned after WWII, it was going strong when I was there in 1968, and it was quite a sumptuous place. It was abandoned (and looted) soon after the K-R took over, and now stands derelict:

Bokor Bokor

I understand that Bokor is now a nature preserve and is patrolled to prevent poaching, but it is likely a losing battle: development as some sort of resort seems inevitable. The grand old Auberge will unquestionably be demolished, along with the Catholic church in Bokor and perhaps a Royal Residence as well.

By the time this picture was taken (found on the web) the “road” to Bokor had been over-grown by the jungle:

Cows on the Road to Bokor Now

A later picture shows it as even worse, open only to dirt-bikes!

But, time marches on. And the next day I decided to visit Kirirom. Stay tuned!

NEXT

After a week or so in Singapore, I was ready to move on: I wanted to get past the equator!. So I booked a flight to Denpasar, on the Indonesian island of Bali. Before departing, I converted all the Singapore dollars on hand to Rupiahs: the rates were better than in Indonesia itself. This was the only time on my trip that I fooled with money matters, and as it turned out, it was fortuitous. At exactly the weekend I decided to fly, French President de Gaulle had also been monkeying around with money matters, and for a few days, all trading world-wide came to a halt. I had already purchased my ticket for Bali, so when I reached the Singapore airport, I went to check my bag as usual. The agents wanted to tag the bag for Djarkata, but I insisted I was going to Denpasar. They had no tags marked Denpasar, but I insisted and finally they wrote “Denpasar” on a blank tag, strapped it to my bag and off I went.

Handsome bills

The Singapore estuary on the back of the fiver

Highly polluted in those days

My own photo of the estuary

American currency is so dull!

At all events, what I had left of the beauties above got me a huge wad of those below:

Not worth much in 1968

But the bills were colorful

Doncha love the big numbers!

Still, not quite as worthless as the Italian Lire

I salted my stash of Rups in a travel-bag, kept a few in my pocket, and off I went. It turned out the plane went to Djakarta before going to Bali: everyone entering Indonesia came through Djakarta, and the requirements were that a) all luggage was searched thoroughly before  going onward, and b) an airport transit-tax had to be paid in local currency. This latter requirement meant folks had to cash travelers checks—except no one was accepting TCs because of the money freeze! There was a huge line at the bank window, total confusion, and in the melee, I sidled over to the tax window and quietly paid my transit-tax with my imported rups! No fuss, no muss, no bother. And my bag, having been marked for Denpasar, was carried from one plane to the other, bypassing the search routine completely!

Paid for with illegal rups!

Flew First Class!

Plane about to depart for Denpasar

There were, as it happened, not a lot of folks going to Bali, so the airport tax situation got ironed out somehow, and before long off we went. By this time, of course, I was south of the equator.

The arrow points to Denpasar, on the island of Bali

Denpasar, 23 November 1968

Dear Everyone~

By now you should have received my “published” letter from Singapore, with itinerary, which should have enlightened you on my plans.

Singapore is quite a place; I recommend it to world travelers as a very up-to date place, well worth seeing, and worth shopping in as well. As the world’s fourth-largest port, it has most of the advantages, and surprisingly few of the disadvantages, of a port city. Its botanical gardens are very excellent, spacious and well-kept; the orchid gardens are particularly beautiful. The city is clean, streets are fine & traffic quite unexpectedly moderate and well-behaved. Hotel facilities range from my old stamping-grounds—the chinese hotels—to the plushest sort, with about 800 posh rooms under construction now & the same number (at least) is planned. There’s a real get-up-&-go atmosphere that pervades everything, right up to the tourist association’s slogan “Instant Asia”, which is quite apt.

But having planned & paid for the extravagant itinerary mentioned, I had to get on with it—time, alas is short! Hence on Friday I flew to Djakarta (stopover only) & hence to Denpasar, Bali. Now, this part of the trip is costing extra, for some obscure reason, but I see already that it is well worth it! How to choose among the amazing range of (cheap!) souvenirs is the only problem I’m likely to encounter here, except for the problem of seeing it all in so short (till Thursday next) a time. My hotel room is costing $1US per day, meals about 0.25 each! By contrast in this still quite un-mechanized city (the taxis are horse-drawn carts) rental of a Honda [motorcycle] to tour the island is $6 per day! Two days of that will be enough. Currently I’m caught in the international money squeeze—even travelers checks are frozen at the moment. Conceivably I could get stuck here, but I can think of worse places for that to happen! Hippies here, by the way, but they don’t seem so out-of-place as they might wish in this slow, relaxed and easy-going society. The weather is warmer and more tropical (I’m finally south of the equator), and rain does not start till next month at the earliest. There is an active volcano on the island (last erupted 1963) which I’ll see tomorrow. Except for another stopover of about 3 hrs on Thursday, I shall have to skip Djakarta itself this trip—and unless I happen to get a view from the air (not likely), the huge Borobudur Temple near Jogjakarta. There is really a great deal to see in Indonesia, and at a later date a motor-bike tour of it would be very rewarding, though just a bit more political stability would be comforting.

BACKSTORY: It devolved that there were several items which were in great demand in Bali when I got there. If that suitcase that evaded the search in Djakarta had contained just three things, I’d have made out like a bandit. Everyone wanted to know if I had any 1) Beatles records; 2) Levis; or 3) ball-point pens! Sadly, the bag mainly contained dirty clothes, and there was no demand for them. I did, however, manage to trade the ball-point pen the airline had given me for a fine carving, which I still treasure:

The mythical Garuda

The wad of Rups came in very handy as well: in fact, I found myself buying meals for a few down-and-out travelers who had run out of cash. Before I departed Denpasar, the crunch was over and money markets returned to normal.

Because of the absurd US stance toward Mainland China (Mr. Nixon is a hard-liner in this respect, apparently, which will prove very unfortunate later on) it is not possible to bring back souvenirs made in China. I don’t want any because I have to limit myself somewhere & so draw the line at countries I have actually been in (as Todd does with stamps). But there are many lovely things coming out of China, and of course the embargo only has the effect of encouraging smuggling. Several shop-owners I talked to in S’pore have regular large-volume customers (USA) who buy jade & take it back to the US via Canada—at a huge profit to themselves. Of course a lot of junk comes out of China as well (as, too, from Japan & HK) but the bone carvings, jade, jewelry & cloisonné work are still first-rate and available nowhere else except Taiwan (and Customs prohibits most of that, too, unless you get the certificates of origin in HK—Singapore certificates aren’t acceptable for reasons best known to the politicians who have nothing better to do than make up silly rules like these). Every country I’ve been in (except Thailand) has a healthy trade volume with China, as well as some sort of diplomatic contact, usually at a fairly low level: China herself has recalled all but one Ambassador (to Egypt), but has lower grade relationships well established everywhere. The argument—often advanced—that we can’t have diplomatic relations with China because we don’t “know” who is in power there is ludicrous in the extreme: without diplomacy we’re never going to find out, until it is much too late. Even the UN can’t bring itself around to the so-called “two china” policy, and before they manage to accept that, there will be “three” chinas (Hong Kong is on land leased from China, which reverts about 30 years from now) to deal with! I fail utterly to understand how it can be argued that there is in existence today anything other than China (Peoples’ Republic of, so-called) and Taiwan—period. With our help (and probably only with our help) Chang Kai- shek rules the latter, and no matter how fervently he may wish to once again dominate the mainland, it is a pipe-dream & he may as well forget it!

And as for the UN, its helplessness is only exceed by its budget, and unless the nations that make it up can agree to give it some sort of police power, I’m for abandoning it (its useful work—UNICEF and such—can be carried on under most any guise). So long as it remains an “exclusive club” as it is now, excluding some nations & admitting others on capricious whims, it is a mockery of its name; so long as it has no power to prevent or even solve disputes—as is amply demonstrated in the Mid-East—it is essentially useless, and hence extravagant in a world where the money spent could do more good in alleviating suffering or feeding mouths. Many argue that the dialogue in the UN is a useful thing in itself, but I question that, when, after all the dialogue is over, absolutely no change in anyone’s position has taken place. There are other ways to encourage dialogue, if that is the objective; but peace is supposedly the objective, and despite untold quantities of dialogue, the world is no closer—if as close—to peace now than when the UN was formed—replete with its patently unworkable formula that gives a few nations unwarranted power over the other members.

25 November 1968

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

Well, the Balinese are certainly the original “flower children”, and as such antedate the current american hippies by a few centuries! Doubtless this is the most unspoiled place I’ve been, but still it is badly affected by westernization, and the trend is obviously gathering steam. The basic religious-community structure is more-or-less intact, and to a large extent remains a matriarchy. But as usual, the influx of “Tourodollars” has had a potent effect, particularly since 1966 when the huge and disgusting Bali Beach Hotel was opened up.

While Wm. Lederer’s “ugly american” is hardly an exaggeration, he overlooks the tremendous pressure that is put on travelers to be ugly american types, even if by nature they are not thus inclined. It is stronger here than anywhere I’ve been—the whole tourist organization and peripheral services are geared to de-walleting the travelers. It begins before you even get to Bali: the exchange rate in DJK was $US=420rp (Rupiahs); in Bali it is only 390, though for green on the black market one can get close to the DJK rate. US green is, of course, the preferred medium of exchange. [This morning the bank rate has dropped to 385, but I can’t get any reliable news about the “crisis” & whether the dollar has actually been devalued, as was hinted-at when I left S’pore].

Money problems aside, though, the grossness of americans is both legendary &—unfortunately—real. Yesterday I took in a “Barong Dance”, organized & performed strictly for tourist benefit (“cultural”) and dancers’ benefit (monetary). A couple of bus-loads of tourists (predominately american) came out from the Bali Beach. Most of the poor devils didn’t even realize they were seeing what is in essence a “fake” performance, replete with printed programs! The character sitting next to me didn’t bother to even read his, so when the musicians completed the overture, his remark (loud) was, “Where the hell are the dancers?” Then he got up & wandered around a bit, & wound up standing with his back-side to the stage when the dancers entered! In my coldest sarcastic voice I told him that the dancers he was so eager to see were on stage, but he missed the sarcasm altogether and whirled around, eyes a-bug, doubtless expecting a stage-full of scantily-clad girls. His disappointment (manifest but fortunately unvoiced) came in finding only the barong (mythological beast) and increased through the whole performance during which only 3 girls participated!! I was delighted, both by his disappointment, by the beauty of the dance (really a play), and by the other members of the cast.

Gamelan orchestra for the Barong Dance

Somebody gets it!

As a leg man, I was captivated by the dancers!

Well, after that I motored on, with guide as it turned out, to see various villages & temples and so forth. Because of the guide, it turned out more of a tour of “art shops” than I cared for, and tomorrow I’ve arranged to go alone to the largest temple and the volcano, neither of which we reached yesterday because of too many extraneous stops and because the poor 100cc Yamaha with 2-up was just too slow-going. But I did get a beginning view of the countryside, still one of Bali’s greatest attractions, and certainly breath-taking. Except for the steepest parts of the mountains, the whole island—every square foot—is cultivated, mostly given to rice and some tobacco, where fortuitous weather & plentiful water regularly allow 2 rice crops a year. Traditionally the island exports rice & imports bulgar wheat and that is about all there is to its economy, except of course the ever-increasing dependence on incoming tourodollars, which could quite conceivably destroy the original economic base completely before long. It will get worse: Denpasar aeroport goes international at the beginning of next year, with direct flights by PAA and other international carriers.

It is paradoxical and tragic that the tourist organizations in all the countries I’ve visited—save perhaps Cambodia—in their zeal to promote tourism destroy slowly & surely the very thing that forms their raison d’être. The emphasis on providing travelers with every luxury while touring insulates the tourist from the very thing they have presumably come to see. Few tourists seem to ever realize they’re being had, and fewer still strike out on their own to see anything that is not “on the circuit”. Fewer still are the leastwise interested in the people they see, except as “objects” that are (variously) “quaint”, “comical”, and (God help us!!—) “cute”, but never human! I almost threw up yesterday when one dowager in the crowd at the barong dance, upon catching sight of the dozens of hawkers extending their wares over the fence, exclaimed loudly, “Oh, I must get a picture of that—it’s real local color” {snap!} She thinks that is “local color”, and ignores 3 miles of (relatively) pristine local color as she rides in her air-conditioned bus back to her air-conditioned bar at the air-conditioned hotel, and probably isn’t even aware of the opportunity to wander around in any of the dozens of villages where truly “air-conditioned” local color abounds! I’m beginning to favor Pres Johnson’s tax on foreign travel, not as a revenue measure, but as a possible check on the appalling impact tourism (particularly american) has on the world.

At the opposite end of the scale, as it were, I find here and there various Christian missionaries who seem intent, by design rather than by accident, on destroying all they touch also. Among this group, of course, the adjectival descriptions of the people are of a different sort (un-saved, forgotten, pitiable—bilge like that), but one makes an error if he views the missionaries’ misguided destruction as more concerned with “humanity” than the tourists’ ravishments. My attitudes towards the “export” of christ were formed long ago: my curious friendship with Stan [redacted] was formed from a diatribe on the subject that was my first “literary” effort I submitted to him at MJC—at a time when he had just returned from a stint as a missionary in Haiti. I did find the attitude hardening pretty much on the same grounds as my objection to the export of “democracy”. Neither (christianity or democracy) has proved either eminently workable, practical, or consistently “better” than the existing practices they each intend to replace. The evangelicals are busy here in Indonesia (currently, Oral Roberts) busily overlooking the fact that the natives have a well developed religion—itself an import a long time ago—which serves them well. In fact, it seems to serve them “better” in many respects than christianity does us, for the Balinese (at any rate) “live” their religion much more than we do. Their community and social organization revolves entirely around their rather unique adaptation & combination of Siva-istic Hinduism and Mahayana Buddhism, and while the whole is shot through with plain and simple superstition, certainly christianity cannot claim to be less so. The argument (debatable) that it is their religion that has kept the Balinese “backward” is only valid if one agrees that they are backward, itself a value-judgement of the most biased or non-objective sort. Even if I were to agree that the Balinese are backward, I would find it hard to prove their religion to be the cause of that; one must consider a lot of other factors, such as economy & politics.

I’m willing enough to agree that some environmental facts could be advantageously changed here & elsewhere I’ve been, mostly related to alleviating needless pain & suffering (not necessarily aimed at altering birth & death rates, though, as this creates new problems to solve later): but why must the price for this be fealty to a new religious concept, “foreign” in the extreme, and especially a concept that has been responsible for at least as much suffering in history as it has alleviated, if not a whole lot more???

All religions—political factions also—proselytize to some extent, and some more-so that others at various times in history. But I should imagine that a concerted, well-financed campaign in the States to convert christians to Hinduism—to bring the “lost souls” into union with the “oneness of nature”—would be very coldly received, and rightly so I think. As with anything else, I think if christianity were exemplary in every actual respect, rather than in ephemeral ideologies, it would “sell itself”—no proselytizing would be required, for people would flock to it. So long as it retains its un-proved and un-fulfilled status, though, I see christianity having little appeal & less value as a replacement for other established religions, equally faulty though the latter may be.

BACKSTORY: I’m not sure how I got off on that diatribe, but I did manage to find a charming fellow in Denpasar who showed me around, rode behind me on the rented bike, and rode in front of me in bed several nights.

There’s more about Bali coming up: stay tuned!

NEXT

August 9, 2009

By the time the next letter was written, I had managed to go out and procure a typewriter. This is facilitating transcribing my letters now, using OCR software. Most of the copies Dad kept were carbon-copies, though, so the images aren’t all that sharp; OCR is not perfect anyway, so some fairly heavy editing still is required. But it IS faster than key-entry.

The borrowed typewriter with its Vietnamese keyboard was difficult to use because the letters had been rearranged in accordance with their frequency of use, so frequently-used english letters were in the wrong place. There were also a number of letters which occur in Vietnamese, but not in english. (The Vietnamese language is akin to chinese, and for the most part is incomprehensible to westerners: the typical characters were replaced with a romanized alphabet  by Missionaries a long time ago).

Saturday, 9 Mar 68

Dear Everyone,

As you will have guessed by the time you begin to read this, I have now gotten a typewriter! This one has a standard keyboard! After trying out the hazards of a Vietnamese typewriter,  I couldn’t hack it, and decided to get one of my own. As you can see, I’m not altogether used to it. It’s an Ollivetti “Dora”, a small light portable, with an assortment of features, including halfline spacing, along with an arrangement coupled with the spacebar that allows one to type in an extra letter in case of an error; i. e., god and good here occupy the same space.

Having run nearly out of money, this morning I went out to CMO and arranged an advance on my salary of $250.00. That much, at least is safe from the Infernal Revenooers. Of this, I spent $75.00 on the typewriter, and $50.00 on a very nice all-band portable radio. In both cases, the prices are about half US., and I think very reasonable. I bought both on the “local economy”—our PX purchases are limited to $10.00 items max.

So you can all heave a small sigh of relief: the folks won’t have to Xerox my letters and remail them and Rob & Todd won’t be several days behind on my letters.

There’s really not too much to report. I haven’t had any letters for several days—heaven knows this is not unusual—so don’t have any answers to send along. Life is settling down into something of a routine, involving a very early (for me) arising around 6 AM and a quick cup of coffee, sometimes, and taking a cyclo at 7 over Phan-than-Gian St. to Hai-ba-trung Street, where I wait for the bus which goes to Long Binh. The trip out Hiway 1 usually turns out to be the most interesting thing all day! Then, at 5, we leave LB and reverse the process. When I get here, I must first, of course, take a bath (shower) to remove the layers of LB dust and grime. Then it’s dinner (usually here, because of the curfew), and usually a bull-session with someone, or a relaxing interlude alone on the verandah. Then, to bed fairly early, ready for the next day. It all goes quite quickly.

I just discovered that I goofed and didn’t put a sheet of paper between two carbons on this sheet, so somebody will have to get a Xerox of the first page, at least! Toi rat tiek (I’m very sorry).

You may not believe this—knowing my finickiness about eating—but I’ve actually had a number of Vietnamese meals since I got here, and have enjoyed them immensely. One of the local specialties is a sort of meat roll, made up of a very thin rice-flour tortilla, with heaven-knows-what inside. I’m told it is is best not to ask what the filling is, so I haven’t done so! There’s also a very good chinese soup that is made here, lots of noodles and things, with some meat and a few shrimps added for good measure. And last night, several of us ordered chicken curry, which turned out to be very good (quite mild on the curry) and very filling, what with both potatoes and rice included! Alas, I have not lost so much as a kilo, and won’t, If I keep eating like that!

We understand, unofficially, that the curfew is going to be lowered to 9 PM next Monday, which will enable us to get out a bit more in the evening and get some other meals. I don’t remember whether or not I mentioned that the hotel has lowered its prices materially or not—I’m now paying 500$ [dong] for a single room, per day, rather than the 600$ for a double paid previously. This is a shade over $4.20 per day ($130 per month), which is hard to beat in Saigon, considering the fact that it includes maid service, and considering the fact that the facilities are so good. Hence, I’m staying put for a while, as I mentioned before.

There are indications of some action at Long Binh. 24 hour power is presently being installed (it has been in the works for quite a long time and is just now being accomplished, despite the fact that 24 hr hi-tension lines go right past our compound). I have submitted the listings of the equipment items I must have, and there are indications they might actually be obtained. Meanwhile, not much is doing, and I double up with the operations department from time to time when they are short-staffed (which is always). I have in mind a good training program for the Vietnamese, to be implemented as soon as the lab is functioning. This is a big thing with the Govt and the army now, and so it will win a lot of points if I can bring it off. But it’s a long ways off, unless I miss my guess about how fast the army can move on a project such as mine.

The electricity here tonight is currently (you’ll pardon the pun) going through a series of gyrations, so I think I’ll go play with the radio a while, and finish this up tomorrow.

Sunday AM

How curious! Most of the programs on the radio are in foreign languages. However, Radio Hanoi spews forth a constant stream of messages to “American Service Men fighting the unholy war in Vietnam”, and Radio Peking spews forth a constant barage of quotations from Chairman Mao Tse Tung. In both cases, the female voices used almost exclusively have a familiar ring and resemble closely the voice of Radio Moscow.

Hanoi repeats endlessly all the UPI and other descriptions of the draft-dodgers, burners, etc all over the world. Some of it is undoubtedly true, some of it embellished, and some false. The same thing happens here: at one point last night, I had Hanoi on the radio, while a plane was flying by overhead sending propaganda messages down via sound-powered microphone! And, when Hanoi broadcasts messages (allegedly in the voices of) from the group of US boys who recently defected in Japan, one has to realise that Radio Sgn is simultaneously broadcasting statements by captured or defected VC. One only wishes that the entire war could be waged thus, through words, instead of the way it is: the outcome is likely to be the same, either way.

Today’s Saigon paper carries an excellent (if heavily censored) article criticizing the American way of making war in this country. There’s a lot of truth in what is said. In essence, it points out how unprepared for fighting a defensive war our machine is. The other article enclosed is for information—although you may find it a bit alarming, it is not sent with that in mind. This only Premiere Ky’s view, and may not be correct. In any event, our security (as americans) is not any less than before, and most of us with sense enuf to stay out of trouble have quite successfully avoided it.

I’m going to set out now for the PX: there are a few items I want to pick up, and the concierge wants a few rolls of film. I will continue (finish) this letter later.

Later

That was a waste of time! I wanted some chewing-gum and a fly-swatter, and they had neither. Despite scads of color film, they had no B&W that Sao wanted. The place was swamped, and the air-conditioning was off, so it was sweltering as well. I stayed long enuf to get a spare set of batteries for the radio, then came right back, after stopping at the snack-bar for what (for want of an appropriate name) was called a milkshake. In a few minutes I shall go up and have a sandwich of some sort. Sometime this afternoon an aquaintance here is supposed to take me along on a short visit with a VN family with whom he’s been acquainted for some years. One of the daughters teaches for VAA., so I should get some information about that, and of course it will be a chance to meet some nice people.

So, for the moment I will close. Please supply the missing page 1 for Todd, and send this on to him: full copies went to Folks and Rob directly.

Love to all
Bruce

Street stall in Saigon, 1968

Clowning around at a street stall: I’m offering the photographer a pair of dark glasses.Most of what’s on the table came more-or-less directly from the PX: much of it is Military Issue. Directly behind me is a cyclo, probably the one I rode in to reach this spot, and it is likely the photograph was taken by the driver. I’m sorry the photo is light-struck—thems the breaks! I was most likely actually shopping for temporary replacements for glasses I had dropped and broken: see below.

14 March 1968

Dear Everyone~

I’m going to start this letter tonight, and probably finish it tomorrow. I got a long letter from Todd a couple of days ago, and Dad’s letter of 5-6 March at the same time.

Before I forget (which I have in several previous letters), I recall your mentioning your foster-child’s name in one early letter: apparently, that one got lost in the shuffle between hotels, because I have reread everything I have and can’t locate the reference. Please repeat, with all available information. Have you had any word from him since the Tet offensive? There might be something I could do. . .

The radio has turned out to be a very wise investment. I’m still locating stations and the times they broadcast useful info (that rules out most of Peking’s programs!), and more particularly, music. Oddly, some of the best music is coming from what appears to be either India or Pakistan—and the reception is pretty good in the evening. V 0 A and A F R T S, sharing the Manilla transmitter, get out much more comprehensive world news than does heavily censored AFVN.

The curfews have been extended from the former hours of 0700 to 1900, to 0600 to 2000 hrs. This enables us to put in an actual 8½ hour day. Leaving the hotel at 6:30 and returning about 18:00 makes it a long day, though. The other two hours are consumed, of course, by the bus-ride. These still are the most interesting parts of the day. The bus route I now take, which picks me up and drops me just a block away from the door, goes all over robinhood’s barn in the process (specifically, through the sections of town known as Go Vap, Gia Dinh, and Bay Hien, if you have gotten a map…), so there is always a lot to see.

Traffic on Hiway 1 is pretty much back to normal—it staggers the mind. The average is 21 dead each week in accidents. It is the sort of traffic that would bring an average US freeway to a stand-still, yet somehow it moves at breakneck speeds in spite of all but the worst pileups. There aren’t many bicycles (because of the distance and a few long hills), but POV (power operated vehicles) of every other description are found by the thousands, and it all ranges on up to the largest US Army equipment. Yesterday there were five more-or-less wrecked vehicles noticed on the way in; today, one accident involving two people on a motorbike that was a bit grisly (though they weren’t killed).

No word yet, of course, from the IRS. I’ve followed up my original letter with three other reminders of my desire for action on their part, and threatening a couple of other moves I’ve been told of if they don’t get off the pot: we’ll see if anything comes of it. Actually, if they don’t move right away, I intend to drop the matter, and let the sum they have earn 6% for ME until such time as I feel like coming back in person to claim it. That will in a small way offset the loss all that money I had to pay them represents. Once I get a paycheck here and get my bank-account back in operation, having over 300 bucks “on deposit” with IRS won’t make any real difference.

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped my dark glasses and broke the right lens into two pieces. I immediately ordered a new one from SF, and epoxyed the broken one back together as a stop-gap. The new lens came today. But YESTERDAY, I dropped them again and shattered both lenses. So now, I’m short the left one! I’ve ordered that one, and when it comes, I will begin carrying the case. . .

Unexpectedly, we had an inspection by a US Army Team today. I gave them the whole ugly story of what the lab amounts to, and what my problems are. However, in the exit report, nothing whatever was said about it. Apparently Dandy Dan Smythe talked them into dropping it until the next inspection, on the premise that something will have happened by then. I think it’s unlikely that anything will, but in fairness to him, I have to admit that I had only yesterday turned in my “program” to him, and there has been no time for him to act upon it. The ball is in his hands now. It seems likely he will be leaving around 22 April: in that case, Long Binh will see a celebration that ought to make Tet look puny. But the liklihood is that Smythe will leave the lab as a thorn for his successor to grapple with. Meanwihile, I may volunteer to operate a water point or some such thing, as we are desperately short at the moment in that department, and it should at least give me something more to do than I can accomplish under the present setup. The wheels of the US Army grind exceeding slow!

0530 arrives early tomorrow—so it’s beddy-byes now until tomorrow, when perhaps I shall have heard from someone, and can add answers to anything I receive.

15 March 1968

No letters today, but lots of action at Long Binh: Dandy Dan went on a rampage of personnel “actions” (i. e., position shifts) as a result of the inspection yesterday. Looks like I’ll have a new boss, for the second time in less than a month! It really makes no difference to me—nothing is happening anyhow. He may have a near mutiny on his hands tomorrow, since no one thinks for a moment that his actions have improved anything. God—what a stupendous mess he has made of things!

The weather has grown steadily warmer since my arrival, and now ranges from 35 to 40 C, depending on whether or not one has any shade. It is surprisingly dry, but this will change when the monsoons hit in mid-May.

The news today is all about [Senator Joseph] McCarthy’s performance in New Hamp, and the probability of Bobby throwing his hat in at last. This, I fear, could possibly throw a lot of weight to Nixon which would be pretty bad. It is amazing, how much control Moscow has over the next US election: they could assure Johnson’s win by getting Ho Chi Minh to the bargaining table (which they could assure by a simple withdrawal of support), or they might well assure Johnson’s defeat by a reverse process. One has to give Moscow a lot of credit for playing it cool: they’ve created chaos all over the world without ever having fielded a man.

There is a lot of talk in the news also about the gold problem. Whenever I hear of this, I think of HMT’s [Henry Moore Teller, first Senator from Colorado] predictions, way back in 1896: it looks as if he may yet prove to have been a true prophet. And while Johnson talks out of one side of his mouth about the dollar drain, and its impact on the “chronic unemployment problem”, out of the other he continues a policy of pouring millions down endless ratholes here. There are, for instance, about 5000 “third country nationals” here, nearly all Korean and Phillipinos. Their base pay hovers around 500 US dollars, plus living allowance of $175. With the kind of overtime nearly all of them show (whether actually worked or not), few of them send home (their home) less than $1000 each month. Virtually all that money goes out of the US. Its purchasing power in Korea is such as to make equivalent millionaires out of most of these people.

Now, the rationale for their existance here (besides the nonsense about being part of the Free World Forces), is that they are performing essential services that the Vietnamese can’t do. Vietnamese are not allowed to operate any water points, nor any generators on military bases, because no one can be sure they aren’t VC, and won’t either a) sabatoge their installation at a critical moment or b) disappear if they come under attack by VC.

If one accepts these criteria (and a whole lot of sensible arguments could be lodged against doing so), the question is, why not replace those 5000 people with American “hardcore unemployed”, thereby keeping most of their pay in the US, and employing them, and teaching them a trade as well? A policy like this could reduce the dollar outflow by at least $100 Million each month (taking into account PX privileges and other benefits extended to TCNS). At any rate, I am in complete agreement with—is it [Senator] Mills?—whoever it is that is kaboshing Johnson’s continuous pleas for a tax hike, and insisting on cuts in spending instead. A time has come—long past, in fact,—when our policies of backing the dollar with production and lavish giveaways have got to be drastically cut back: the shakiness of gold on the world market attests, I think, to worldwide doubts that we will take anything more than a cursory look at the policies that have nearly ruined us before we plunge on towards what seems to be our ultimate goal—WWIII—which will be the only way we can create enough demand for our excess output.

Bedtime has rolled around once again, so on that cheery note I will close and get these into the mail tomorrow: with luck you’ll get them (your) Monday next.

Love to all~
Bruce

How about that last line: “. . . our ultimate goal—WWIII—which will be the only way we can create enough demand for our excess output.” Fortunately, I’ve lived long enough to see that prediction go down the drain, but it has meant that our “excess production” has been shipped off to China, our production capacity along with it. When WWIII does come we could well end up having to buy our warships from China, in order to have ships with which to fight—China!  Oh, my!

Anyway, by this time we were able to get around well enough that some documents were issued: most of these were delayed by the Offensive and curfews. Here is my SOOM card:

SOOM Card

This got me into any open Officers’ Mess in the country. The food in most of the BOQs was quite good: food in the messes on LB Post varied greatly from terrific to gawd-awful!

Here’s my Identity card:

My Identity Card

Except for the few items typed in, I have NO idea what most of it says!
More in the days ahead: stay tuned!

NEXT

Bangkok, Thailand: 27 September (I think!) 1968

Dear Everybody~

After 7 wonderful days in Siem Reap (1 out for Battambang), I departed 25 Sept about 8 am. Siem Reap turned out to be one of the cheapest places I’ve been—7 days, most meals at the Hotel all for $35.00—one of the first times I’ve actually achieved living for $5.00/day! Despite the intense tourist flow (at its lowest ebb in September, thank goodness) Siem Reap is very little spoilt: the relaxed rural atmosphere pervades the town in spite of all the hullaballoo of tourism. Most of the hotels are out of town a bit, which doubtless has something to do with it. But I’ve never relaxed so well as I did here, and I truly hated to leave. As is customary, I wrote a letter to Prince Sihanouk praising the country and the people (and indirectly, him): it was not empty praise, for my 20-day 2800 km tour of Cambodia was a most pleasant & memorable experience.

Seeing Cambodia in its relatively pristine beauty (especially after witnessing the mess in VN, and now that I’ve arrived in Bangkok) makes me feel Sihanouk is right in not wanting his country occupied by Americans. As for its (Cambodia) being a “haven for the VC” I see no evidence to support this, and indeed, much to the contrary. In the provinces near the border the National Police & Army keep things under pretty close watch: I went through a number of these check-points (where the police, astonished by my appearance, were nonetheless unfailingly kind and helpful).

Returning to Siem Reap from Battambang I got a chance to assist a family having trouble with their Corvair (Chevy) automobile—that silly fan-belt arrangement. Getting them on their way eased my conscience, since every time I stopped to rest my machine or myself in Cambodia, someone invariably stopped to make sure I was not broken down & in need of help. This sort of friendliness is all too rare in the world, and it was most refreshing!

BACKSTORY: The folks with the Corvair had passed me at a high rate of speed, nearly blasting me off the highway with the electric-air horn everyone seemed to have in those days. Anywhere else, I have given them the finger, but as I was a guest… Anyway, somewhat further on I began to smell something “hot”: I check the bike carefully, and nothing was wrong, but as I continued on, the smell became more and more noticeable. Presently, as I came around a corner, there it was: the Corvair with its rear boot open, and lots of smoke emanating from it. The Corvair rear-engine Chevy had a fan-belt that ran over four pulleys so it could turn 90º, and it was always a source of trouble on those cars. When the belt wore out or flipped off, the air-cooled engine quickly overheated. I pulled up behind the stricken car just in time to prevent the owner from pouring a bucket of water on the engine (which would surely have cracked something critical by cooling it too rapidly). Using only sign-language, I made it clear he should wait until the engine had cooled naturally before putting on a new belt (which he had). I stayed with it until I could put my hand on the engine without getting burned, then went on my way. Before long I was overtaken, again with a blast of the air-horn, but this time with much waving and many smiles.

Well, as I said, I departed Siem Reap regretfully about 8, and got to Sisiphon & a bit beyond before encountering the first storm. I could have out-run it, except that the road was in poor shape in many spots, so suddenly I was right IN it; stopped at a check-point where I was graciously received—given the only chair in the hut and a beer. The storm passed on, and after about ½ hour I was able to proceed the remaining short distance to the “frontier”. Formalities there took about 10 minutes on the Cambodian side, and about 1½ hrs on the Thailand side; meanwhile more rain.

BACKSTORY: When the rain hit, I pulled up under a large tree to seek whatever shelter it offered, quite unaware that nearby there was a bivouac of Cambodian soldiers. They had a semi-permanent set-up of tents over wooden platforms. There were perhaps a dozen of them, and they traipsed out to greet me, all smiles: I suppose very little in the way of anything happened out there, since the road led to a closed border, so my appearance must have “made their day”. They gave me their “place of honor”, and the first Singha beer I ever drank. Conversation was greatly limited, but as was the case everywhere, they were polite and charming. Once the rain stopped, I went on my way, probably leaving them to discuss my incursion for many days. Who knows? I may have been the subject of an “Official Report”!

(This letter will be continued with the Thailand portion of this blog, yet to come)

REFLECTIONS ON CAMBODIA

The three weeks I spent touring Cambodia were some of the best weeks of my life up to that point, and they rate high in my all-time list as well. I was treated with respect, kindness, and warmth without fail wherever I went in that lovely country, and of course, seeing and poking around in the temples at Angkor was an unforgettable experience.

Cambodia was a country at peace. Granted, the Khmers and the Thais and the Laos and the Viets have been at each other through the ages, but the borders in place when I was there were generally respected (the border with Thailand was closed, although I did cross it). One feature of Cambodia then was that there was no poverty and no begging and no thievery: none! I met a couple touring from Holland, who went off on a bus tour of several days’ duration and realized too late they had l left an expensive camera at the restaurant they’d eaten in the night before leaving. Just on a chance that the camera had been found, they returned to the restaurant when they got back to Phnom Penh, and found the camera exactly where they had left it, untouched! They were greatly impressed!

I mentioned earlier the State magazine; in the english edition I found letters published, written to Norodom Sihanouk. These were from travelers who commented on whatever they had seen while in Cambodia. So, one of the last things I did before departing Siem Reap was to write my own note to the Head of State, telling him how favorably impressed I was with Cambodia. Whether the letter was published I will never know, but to my surprise, I received a reply from Mr. Sihanouk, send through diplomatic pouch to the UN and mailed from New York!

Later on, I sent him a copy of the general letter I wrote to “all”, relating my trip, and received another reply from Mr. Sihanouk. His reply makes it clear he had read the letter in some detail.

Sihanouk’s first reply

Sihanouk’s second reply

Following my trip through SE Asia, I wound up working in Australia for a while (as will be recounted in due course); upon my return to the US in mid 1970, I was appalled to see on the TV places I had been in Cambodia being bombed to smithereens when “tricky dick” Nixon widened the already-doomed Vietnam war into Cambodia. Once again, I wrote to Mr. Sihanouk expressing my shock and regret over what had transpired: I addressed the letter simply to “Norodom Sihanouk, Peking, China”, as I had learned he had retreated there. Without a more specific address, I expected no reply, but to my surprise, he answered the letter by telegram!

“Please accept my thanks for your friendly letter stop cordial consideration”

The destabilization of Cambodia brought about by Nixon’s illegal incursion into a sovereign nation should have brought impeachment, but it did not. And the rest, as they say, is “history”—a horrible history, as it turned out, for whom no one has ever really been called to account. The wonderful Cambodia I found in 1968 no longer exists, although the monuments at Angkor do.

Guide to Angkor I used while there

NOTE TO READER(S): I will be away for several weeks on a trip to Pennsylvania and back. I will resume blogging when I am back home in San Francisco. Thailand was my next adventure.

NEXT

DIARY ENTRY, 12 SEPT THURSDAY: Rain all day—dammit—and no indication it will stop. Walked around the town—such as it is—and otherwise sat out the rain. Did get a good raincoat and some boards to support my sagging bag. With the rain, my wet clothes are very slow to dry out. If there is rain tomorrow I shall abandon Sihanoukville for Kirirom, or possibly even P.Penh again if Kirirom is also raining.

The satchel which sat cross-wise on the luggage-rack of the bike had a card-board bottom: when it got wet, it began to sag and ooze over each side of the rack. I scrounged up a board at a construction-site, lashed it across the rack for the bag to sit on. Also in S-ville I figured out the necessity of wrapping dry clothes in plastic so as to keep them dry, since the satchel’s zipper leaked water. Like the natives, I wore a plastic rain-coat backwards when driving in rain. This resulted in a lake in my lap, and of course did nothing to keep the legs of my pants dry, but in general the raincoat helped keep much of me relatively dry, so that when the weather improved and I took the coat off, I did not have to fight evaporation (which quickly cools one off when riding a motorcycle).

Friday, 13th Sept 68

As mentioned previously, I left S-ville early yesterday morning. It was, of course, raining, and for about the first hour of the trip it rained very hard—even harder than when I had traversed the same route 2 days earlier. But when I reached the junction with National Route 3 and turned inland, the rain eased up and finally stopped. The road [took me to] the famous Route #4—Khmer-American Friendship Highway. Built along about 1958 [actually, 1959]. Happily, it  has held up well & is a good high-speed road. There was no traffic to speak of. By the time I reached the junction to Kirirom, I was very nearly dry and had actually had some sunshine.

Your taxes and mine: the Khmer-American Friendship Highway, 1959 (222 km).

But turning off to Kirirom of course put me up into the mountains again, and Kirirom was both rainy and cold—the coldest I’ve been since I left the states. So I looked Kirirom over, viewed the Chalet d’Etat (Entré Interdite) ate an early lunch at the Restaurant du Lac, then moved on. Kirirom is a lovely spot, though, being developed as a big camping and resort area. Given good weather it would be a superb place to spend a couple of weeks camping and hiking.

[More about Kirirom here.]

All that’s left now of the Chalet d’Etat!

Downhill, more rain, but that stopped soon after I resumed Hiway 4, and I got to Kampong Speu about 2. Kg. Speu is just a little off the highway, and apparently most tourists don’t stop there. I got a nice welcome from the usual swarm of kids. My Honda attracts almost as much attention as I do! So, after Soup Chinois & friendly “talks” with the people, I pressed on, staying just behind a storm that passed over P.Penh, and arriving there about 3 PM. Checked into the Mondial again, got some laundry together for them to do up, then napped for an hour. About 6 I went to the Petit Restaurant Champey Siemreap, 1126 Mao Tse Toung Street (!!) for a splendid evening of excellent Cambodian food and warm companionship with the “Director” (of the restaurant), his family, and all the friends he could con into joining us. “Home” to bed about 11:30–and a well deserved long sleep.

DIARY ENTRY, SATURDAY, 14TH: About 2 took off to Tahkmau, then to Chambak, then by the little-used dirt road across to Route 3. I thought I was going to Kg. Speu, but it turned out to take too long, so returned to  PP.

Many roads in Cambodia then looked like this: easily passable in dry weather, treacherous in wet!

BACKSTORY: I had made a date with Thack Ny for that evening: he went with me to the Petit Restaurant and was able to translate for me much of what went on there. For the most part it was innocent banter, but I was startled when the conversation turned to Samdech Sihanouk, nominally the King of Cambodia at the time. There was a State publication (probably called “Cambodia Today”, though I do not recall the exact title), published monthly in several languages and covering various events in the country. The issue current at the time had a “spread” on Sihanouk’s son, who was a ballet-dancer. He had his own ballet teacher, imported from Poland, and was featured in some of Sd. Sihanouk’s locally-made movies. It seemed pretty clear the youngster was gay, and over some good-natured laughter, it was remarked that if anything happened to Sihanouk, they would have “a queen for king”! That son is now Cambodian Head of State, Norodom Sihamoni.

I slept in this AM, and in the afternoon, after more camaraderie at the restaurant mentioned earlier, took a lazy trip in the nearby country-side, including 10 km of a marvelous little dirt road wending its way through the country-side. Along here I really caused a sensation, and it was hard to resist not taking endless photos and spending much time at PR work. But the day wore on, so I returned to P.Penh about 5:30, on the heels once again of the daily afternoon cloud-burst which I missed entirely by taking the trip.

The Honda is performing splendidly. It is a marvelous contraption, taking all the variations in roads & weather in great stride. I’ve already put over 600 miles on it—and it looks as though I will do about double the mileage I’d planned originally before I get to BK. But I shall probably not soon have another opportunity, so I want to see as much as I can.

Tomorrow I’m taking in Prey Veng & Kampong Cham, which will entail crossing the Mekong River (by ferry) twice. Monday, up to Pursat & back, on the south side of the Tonle Sap. Then Tuesday off to Kampong Thom, the next day to Siem Reap. One day, I will go from SR to Pursat, hence completing the circle of the great Tonle Sap.

The sunburn I got in Kep, since it was not followed up by more sun, is peeling off right on schedule. But from here on I should get sun everyday. Alas, I doubt I shall ever reach the beautiful Khmer hue, but I should at least get a better tan than I’ve had before.

Petrol, incidentally, is expensive—over $1.00/gallon in most places. But with the Honda, the cost per mile is still very low. I use about 6 L (ca. 1-1/2 gal) between S-ville and P.Penh, with side trip up to Kirirom. It works out to less than 2c per mile!

Luv to all~

Bruce

Palais Royal and Dancers Pavilion, Phnom Penh

I rode the entire 5000+ km without a helmet. I had a pair of wrap-around dark glasses to protect my eyes, and a more-or-less water-proof cap to add when driving in rain. The end of my nose tended to burn and scab over; from time to time I would peel off the scab, and the process would repeat. I got any number of new noses on the trip! During warm days, dragon-flies tended to hover over the roadway, enjoying the heat rising from the pavement. If I saw one coming towards me, it would get into my slip-stream and go around. But once in a while one would fly in at exactly the right angle to miss the slip-stream and splat! At 45 mph, a dragon-fly is pretty formidable!

More letters and pictures coming: stay tuned!

NEXT

Rex BOQ, Saigon

In 1965, the National Geographic had an article about Saigon, in which this photo appeared. The well-lit building is identified as the “Abraham Lincoln Library, a facility of the United States Information Service”. Now that I think on it, the USIS did indeed have the ground floor as I recall, but the rest of the structure was the Rex BOQ. The corrugated cover over the “rooftop club” had not been erected when this photo was taken. Le Loi Boulevard is at the right, heading southwest.

National Geographic Map of Saigon, 1965

This map, also from the June, 1965 issue of the National Geographic will help my readers identify some of the places I’ve mentioned so far. Much of the city was essentially off-limits to a tall american like myself: I stood head and shoulders above everyone in a Vietnamese crowd, and as such was perfect sniper-bait.

I continue with my letters—here are the next two:

21 April 1968

Dear Everyone~

I’m still using up this small paper that was all I could get when I first got here. Now that Xerox copies aren’t being made of my letters, I guess it’s OK.

Todd remarks in his last letter that the word I had in-tended to use was beaucoup. Now, “beaucoup” is correct as far as French goes, but it has been transliterated into Vietnamese as Boo Coo. Oddly I have been able to discover only two words of french origin that have come into every-day use by the Vietnamese, boo coo being one and “fini” being the other. But of course there are boo coo English words now coming into the language, one of the more amusing being “cao boi”. One reads about the Saigon cowboys in the states from time to time—they’re the Vietnamese equivalent of our “gangs”, and the starting point for their excursions is quite obviously american TV and movies. It is amusing. if rather tragic, to see some of them all dolled up in wild clothing (”Mod” is in vogue here right now)—and not one of them tall enough to reach my arm-pit. For the most part, they occupy themselves with minor thievery, draft evasion, and such, and so far have not gotten into the big-time dope and all that. SInce marijuana is indigenous and used at times by most everyone, there’s certainly no future in that!

The week here has been fairly uneventful. It is clear that any program I have hopes of establishing must wait until Dan Smythe goes—which should be fairly soon according to all the indications I can get. He simply has no vision whatever, and will delegate no responsibility. The operations group has been moved out of the lab, so now I have an office and a desk. By virtue of rescuing a typewrite from the PDO (Property Disposal Officer) and rebuilding it myself, I also have a typewriter. So far, no filing cabinet, and no supplies to work with whatever. When people bring in samples, I just tell them to report to their installation manager or commanding officer (as the case may be) that we are non-functional due to lack of supplies and I’m very sorry we can’t do anything for them. This alone should eventually bring about some pressure to get out from behind the eight-ball, probably about the time I finish my 18 months.

Dan’s latast bug is that I am supposed to visit all the PA&E installations on a sort of PR mission to tell them what the lab will someday be able to do for them, etc., etc. But as I see it, this is putting the cart before the horse: I concieve of myself looking ridiculous with a line like that, and would much rather make the tour armed with instructions and so forth showing capability NOW to do this that and the other, and please comply.

The weather remains about the same. Scattered showers now and then for brief periods, and continued warm. I am enjoying perfect health as the warmth seems to agree with me surprisingly well.

Looked for the April issue of National Geographic yesterday, but the March issue is still on the stands here at the equivalent of $1.50, yet! I assume it is the April Issue that has the article on Saigon, and it isn’t due here for another  day or so.

Todd’s letter expressed surprise about my finding a stamp-store in Saigon. You must understand that with the exception of the curfew, now 9PM to 6AM it is business as usual in Saigon, and  in the down-town section there are stores of every description open and doing a thriving business. Products from all over the world are readily available at fairly reasonable prices, if one shops around for them. There are at least three stamp stores down there, and I’ve passed others in various part of town. Everything is terribly overcrowded, and there are times when one can hardly move—walking—on the streets. The only businesses hurting now are the bars and prostitutes, since military passes are scarce, and the bars must close about 8:30. Now that Abrahms is to take over from Westy, there will be a wholesale removal of military from Saigon—a welcome and wholesome idea as far as I can see, but it will mean quite a bit of re-training of Vietnamese people when they go!  Apparently, Long Binh will become the military center for this area—already a large expansion program is under way to accommodate the influx.

Replying to Dad’s question, I still plan to get an 8mm movie camera, and possibly an inexpensive tape machine so I can send narratives along with the films. So far I haven’t had much time to explore this, though. Our PX privileges are limited to items $25.00 or less (recently upped from $10.00), which will allow for an adequate (though hardly hi-fi!) tape machine. The camera I have to get on the local economy, which will require some shopping ’round—and so far I haven’t even seen the model I want.

Luv again~
Bruce

As the next letter describes, I found and rented an apartment. Essentially, it was a single large room with a balcony looking out over Le Loi Boulevard. The “kitchen” had been stuffed into what was originally a closet, and was essentially non-functional. I opened the cupboard under the sink there and saw numerous beady eyes looking back (huge roaches). So I said, “OK fellas: I won’t bother you if you don’t bother me!”—I never went near the kitchen again! The bathroom was off in a corner, rather rudimentary, with only cold water. Where the toilet emptied I never wanted to find out!

Sat. 27 April 68

Dear everyone~

Well, quite a lot has happened this week—nothing really earth-shaking, but enough to keep me busy!

Monday evening our bus broke down on the outskirts of Saigon (Gia Dinh), and I guess they didn’t get it fixed overnight, because it didn’t show Tuesday AM. So, I took the opportunity to look for an apartment. The owner of the Hotel I’ve been in since reaching Saigon decided rather suddenly to convert it to apartments, and the prices he proposed to charge for them were outrageous, so I decided to move. I found quite a nice studio apt right downtown, a bit closer downtown than I really wanted, but too nice and convenient to pass up. The new address is 49/1é Etage Dai Lo Le-Loi. That’s No 49, upstairs, first floor, Boulevard LeLoi, in English! The cross street, if you have the Nat’l Geographic map handy, is Pasteur. The Long Binh bus comes in LeLoi and turns out Pasteur in the morning, and comes in Cong-Ly to Le-Loi in the evening, so I’m much better located in that respect. Can sleep until 0600, get ready and go to breakfast at the Rex BOQ (corner LeLoi & Nguyen Hue), and catch the bus just before seven AM: in the evening, barring hold-ups on the hiway, I’m back to the apartment by 1800. All this is really a big improvement over former location. The place has a ti ti kitchen, reefer, and all conveniences except hot water—and I intend to rectify that just as soon as I can!

As if to answer my question whether or not electrical storms are known here, we’ve had three this week already! Monday night’s was a ways off but quite a show; Thursday there was another visible from LB, and some rain there. But this afternoon, mua mua (monsoons) hit Saigon for the first time, really. It took me (and a lot of others!) by surprise: about 4 I stepped on to a bus bound for the Cho Lon PX; it was just spitting a little then, and didn’t look like it would amount to much. Within a few minutes, it really began to pour, and walking the fifty-odd yards from the bus-stop into the PX I got SOAKED to the skin. It continued like that for close to two hours; I got re-soaked getting back to the bus—by this time the PX yard was 6 inches deep in water. We drove through foot-deep water on the way back into town, and there were, of course, jillions of stalled cycles, cars, trucks and so forth all along the way. I got drenched again going from the bus stop to the apartment, and after shedding my wet clothes, stood in my front window to watch the pandemonium on Le-Loi BouIevard for awhile—it, too was nearly a foot under water in places. About 1545 I stretched out for a nap—and when I awoke an hour later the rain had stopped and the street was clear of water! it is still wet out, but not raining, and the temperature is now about 70 degrees—quite delightfully cool by Saigon standards. Amidst all the rain, there was much lightning—some of it struck very close to the PX when I was there: quite noisy and spectacular.

We are all expecting another Tet-type offensive by the VC on or about May 1. You may hear of it before I, as before! Hopes for any real peace-talks are dimming rapidly here. Radio Hanoi has, predictably, been making propaganda hay out of Johnson’s hedging on the location, as any idiot would expect them to do: I am as inclined as they to suspect his motives, in view of his shifting positions. It has been said by some that China has nearly fifteen Divisions of troops stationed along the NVN border to assure that Hanoi will not go to any peace talks. Naturally, with our absurd policy towards China, there is no way for us to properly assess their role in this whole thing. The big question that nearly everyone gets ’round to asking after being here any length of time is when—in Heaven’s name—are we going to wake up? And if we ever do, will it be, as usual, too late?

It’s about time I turned in. All is quiet now. There were six mysterious explosions around town (probably incoming rockets) about 0230 this AM but then all was quiet again. What tonight holds no one knows, as usual. My friends in the Bamboo Telegraph tell me the VC won’t do anything this time  but, as with all that one hears here, I don’t rely on that much: it’s a perpetual game of “wait and see”.

Love to all
Bruce

More letters coming up!

NEXT

November 1, 2009

The hiatus in posting was occasioned by a drive to Pennsylvania and back, by way of Denver, where a dear friend lives. He accompanied me to PA and back as far as Denver.

It was a quick trip, driving a lot of miles:

Trip Miles

That entry for Denver to Barstow is correct: I miscalculated the distance, and planned to stay in Las Vegas to shorten the day. However, I got off the freeway there, could not find a hotel, and could not get back on the freeway due to massive reconstruction. I finally said, “To heck with it”, and drove on to Barstow as planned. It was a long day!

Otherwise, the trip went fairly well, despite some bad weather and in spite of my taking a rented car rather than my own old Chrysler. About all I can say for the modern Chrysler “Town & Country” is that it went father on a gallon of gas than my old car.

Trip Gas Costs and Miles Per Gallon

One thing I found noticeable and annoying: since we ate in restaurants, we were subjected to numerous disgusting children, better known as rug-rats. With few exceptions, they were ill-mannered and loud, and their parents did nothing to induce better behavior.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out why americans are so afraid of gay people: at the rate mid-westerners reproduce, it can’t be they fear depopulation! Could it be that deep in their hearts, they’re worried that some of their own precious little brats will grow up to be gay?

I did have some time to complete a new story: Life After Charlie turns the Nature-Boy trilogy into a tetralogy, so read the Nature-Boy triplet first, then Life After Charlie. They are all on Nifty, and formatted pdf files are available if you drop me a line at [email protected] .

Once I get used to the changed time and catch up on a flood of emails, I will continue the narrative of my trip: Thailand turned out to be very different from Cambodia. I expect it still is.

NEXT

Arrow points to Kuala Lipis

Arrow points to Kota Bharu

Friday 1st November 1968

Yes, happily it was steam all the way—the same engine up and back, a British (natch) 3-cylinder rotary-valve affair built in 1935. They burn an extremely poor grade of “Bunker C” here, with a very high sulfur content, so the exhaust is very acrid & dirty; in the tunnels it gets positively suffocating! But I did hit good weather, and some lovely views, and of course 180 miles or so of jungle scenery, all very pretty, with many flowers, orchids and so forth and some pretty birds. Kota Bharu had a slightly different flavor but not so much as I’d expected, and it is by no means the cleanest city I’ve seen in Malaysia. The local refuse system seems heavily augmented by many goats that roam the town!

The train I rode to K. Bharu

Steaming through the steamy jungle

There were many tunnels

Passing the “down” train

I had a slight mishap while looking around the town: I mis-stepped crossing a deep gutter & in the ensuing scramble for balance the left side of my head came into smart contact with a sign. No damage to speak of to head or sign, but evidently I sprained my left thumb slightly and a few muscles in my back, which resulted in a poor night’s sleep later on. The railway ride back today pretty well loosened up both again, though: the Malays run their trains much faster than the Thais, over road-beds that are nowhere in as good condition as those in Thailand. Hence it is pretty rough riding! And the car I rode in was built in 1913 for the (then) Federated Malay States Railway, so the springing was not so good either. We passed near K. Bharu the site of a de-railment, where 4 freight cars are still being righted from beside the temporary new track. All in all, though, it was a worthwhile trip.

I loved the flame trees…

… but the photo was likely taken (from the train) to catch the handsome guys, lower left.

Another lovely view from the train

Forgot to mention that for what little good it will do, I voted in K. Lumpur. Humph had better pull a “Harry Truman 1952″ act,  or he’ll never make it. News tonight of the possible bombing-halt in VN—encouraging, perhaps, but only time will tell if it is the right thing to do. News here is heavily overshadowed by the Sabah “confrontation”. I’ve been asked many times here—and am at loss to answer—why we, with our considerable influence in the Philippines, have not done more to get Marcos to lay off. The P. I. “claim” on Sabah is about as pertinent today as a Khmer “claim” on West malaysia would be—both have the same sort of background and in light of subsequent history both are absurd. Tension between Indonesia & Singapore also has been headlined here, but that seems to be easing somewhat.

Malaysia makes a big thing of the fact it is multiracial (is certainly is!) and has no racial tension; I’ve also been put on the spot by several Malaysians wanting to know about the “race problem” in the states. Of course, they can’t understand it, and I can’t excuse it. At least two people I’ve met have cancelled plans to visit USA because of the situation there—they are afraid of running into a riot or something. Unfortunately, unlikely though it may be, I can’t assure them they won’t run into something. [Likewise], I can’t assure them the situation is likely to improve much in the next few years, regardless of the election outcome.

There is an article in tonight’s Straits Times about the approx 2000 babies born of Thai girls and american GI “husbands” which are coming in for some attention from the Pearl S. Buck Foundation. The Thais are rather unhappy about the problem; I was pleased to observe that this article (in a Malaysian paper, of course) closed by pointing out that the Thai Queen’s-Cobra Regiment, recently returned from VN, left behind several hundred Thai-Vietnamese babies to be cared for. The disparity between the american ideals we talk about and the “ideals” we actually export is phenomenal. Many people are disgusted by both—including me. Our emphasis on technology the past hundred or more years has interfered with our development of humanity; because we really know so little about ourselves (and have such absurd delusions of grandeur), no wonder we can’t understand (or even make the attempt most of the time) other people with different cultural backgrounds. I am less convinced than ever that industrialization of Asia alá Japan is the best course for the future. Particularly in Thailand, I found many people apologizing to me because they are poor. This shows success for the first phases of “developing” a nation, for once people become dis-satisfied with what has satisfied them for centuries, you have created a market for modern produce. The next step should be to show and help the people learn how to produce locally what they want; but the next step all too often is simply to flood the country with imports; Thailand is only now waking up to the facts and trying desperately to stop the flow of money out of the country, but it’s a difficult thing to do after so much damage has been done.

Enuf of this for now—I’ve got to go to bed for an early start tomorrow. Will go to Temerloh & from there, I’m not sure at this moment—weather will decide, probably between Kuantan & K.L

Sunday 3 November 1968

I can’t seem to get used to the idea it is November already! Two more days and I shall have been “on the road” two months—and you all should be voting for the “candidates of your choice”—ha! Anyhow—I got my usual early start from Kuala Lipis, except that for the first time in weeks, I ran into morning rain! It was light, and by the time I’d retraced my tracks to Benta, it had degenerated into a light mist, not at all bothersome. At Benta I turned more or less southward towards Jeruntan; the road was fairly good, & the only obstacles to care-free driving were numerous ox-droppings in the roadway. Obviously (this not being one of the main hiways) oxen & water-Bs utilize the road more than vehicles do. So I spent an hour or so dodging “pies” successfully; but there is enough manure spread around by larger vehicles (who worry less about hitting it) that by the time I reached Jeruntan the Honda was rather well “covered all over with ’sweet violets’”. Nature came to my rescue, though, with light rain between Jeruntan and Temerloh, so by the time I got there most of the bike (& me) was clean again. The road from Jeruntan to T’loh must have been built by a subsidiary of Standard Materials—the macadam is not more than half an inch thick (where it remains at all) and despite extensive patching & re-patching the roadway is pretty bad in spots. Nonetheless I reached Temerloh slightly past noon & stopped at the Gov’t Rest House for lunch—and subsequently over night, as the rain did not stop until just after I booked the room. Temerloh is a very pretty town, very small, but with a huge new National Mosque situated on the banks of the Pahang River. Over this there is a nice large concrete bridge, about 1/3 of which is missing since last year’s monsoon floods—there is  temporary steel-work over the gap!

This may be the Mosque near Temerloh. . .

. . .then again, it may not. Perhaps someone reading this blog can enlighten me!

A bus crosses the temporary bridge carefully

In that direction (east) lay Kuantan and much more rain! I turned around and headed back to the coast.

Though it was Saturday night, the town was extremely quiet, and the rest house seemed quieter. So I had a very restful sleep & arose early again this morning. Fog, but no rain, though obviously in the direction (east) of Kuantan it was stormy. So I decided to pass up Kuantan this trip & come on west again to K. L. The roads are better and the pass from Bentong over the mountains is only 2066 feet, so I arrived before noon. When the fog lifted it was mostly clear & pleasantly warm; my poor nose (which has peeled twice since I last mentioned it) apparently burned again,  judging from the feel of it now.

A Governor’s Mansion or a church—I forget which

I drove around K. L. for about an hour & a half, located a cheap hotel (Tivoli!), had lunch, tuned and washed the Honda, walked about a bit (everything closed, as it is Sunday). K. L. is much more interesting architecturally than Bangkok; the modern buildings being designed by local architects blend much better with the old , and the old parliament, railway and other government buildings downtown are very interesting. There is a national “Muzium” to spend some time in, & lots of shops to browse, but I suspect 3 or 4 days will suffice here. Thence to Seremban (where I will try to contact Lt. Col. W. K. Bramson, the only Bramson in the W. Malaysian phone book—to see if by any chance he’s a relative) and on to Port Dickson and Melacca. From there I may cross the country once more to Mersing, then proceed to Johore (Ye Gods!—from my old stamp collecting days I always though Johore was in India!!) and Singapore.

Receipt from the tivoli Hotel

This phase of my current hajj is, obviously, drawing to a close. The mileage will wind up around 5500 miles. What next awaits stock-taking & investigating in Singapore—I have several ideas, the practicality of any of which is yet to be determined. I’ve spent a little more money in Malaysia than elsewhere because I began picking up a few souvenirs; still, the trip all-told has so far cost less than $1200.

Time to close up this installment and get it on its way tomorrow. Hope it finds you all well, as usual.

Love to everybody~

Bruce

In my next post, I describe a few days in Kuala Lumpur: stay tuned!

NEXT