M Y O B

Map of Sri Lanka

The red arrow points to Colombo

I mentioned on my previous page that I had a brief look at Sri Lanka as part of a team investigating the situation regarding water supplies in that country. In the main, I found it a rather bleak country, though the fine old Galle Face hotel in Colombo

Faded elegance in the old portion

was something of a hoot, parts of it dating back to 1864. We did not stay there, but often gathered of an afternoon to compare notes, sip a lime & soda and watch the lovely sunsets.

A lovely sight

We stayed at a sort of pension a bit off the beaten track.  After a few days in Colombo (Sri Lanka’s Capitol), we were taken by train north to Jaffna.

The red arrow points to Jaffna

It was quite a ride, interrupted at times by inspections required because of the unrest in the country in general and the far north in particular. As it was, we stayed in a fine hotel, quite new, but we were the only guests!

We departed for Jaffna

Our engine and crew

Slow going: no crossing guard

Our train hurtles through the countryside

Old rolling-stock seen along the way

Doesn’t look useful any more

Muddy waters!

The President’s special carriage?

A division point on the Railway

Inspecting a bridge for possible sabotage

We made it!

Temple and well near Jaffna

We returned to Colombo by train, then were driven south to the town of Galle,

The red arrow points to Galle

where we stayed at the Galle Fort Hotel. This structure dates back many years and was the home of a Dutch gem merchant, later barracks for soldiers, and then turned into a hotel—of sorts. I had a huge room with several beds, all sorts of old furniture, and a bathroom with a tub large enough to drown in. In those days the place was gritty, but great fun. I had come to the conclusion that the Tsunami in 2004 might have washed it away, but apparently not: it is now owned by Australians and is the place to stay when in Galle.

I sample Coconut Milk

Well fitted with submersible pump

This ancient device mechanically measured water as it flowed from a reservoir. No longer used, but preserved.

We made the obligatory visit to Candy, then after several weeks, our team turned in our reports and went home. What, if anything, came of our brief presence I’ll never know!

Getting reacquainted with my cats

I also mentioned previously that Sri Lanka had colorful paper money: I will put these on a new page, as this one is already rather long.

NEXT

The arrow points to Djakarta (Jakarta)

26 November 1968

Today I took the little Yamaha motor-bike out by myself, taking in first Besakih, site of the largest Balinese temple, as usual a complex of three temples dedicated to Brahma, Siva & Visnu, respectively. I found the temple(s) disappointing, there being far less stone-work and embellishment than I’d expected. The site, though, is impressive, nestled at the base of Mt. Agung, a beautifully symmetrical bare peak, and the views inland and seaward are breathtaking. I then proceeded to Mt. Batur, the active volcano which last erupted here in a major way about 6 months ago, but which has been active for some years. The road across the island (very bad in places) proceeds resolutely but not steeply upwards, and one is aware of the climb mostly because of the necessity to go in third gear, and by the changes in scenery, which becomes quite sparse compared with the jungle which luxuriates the coastal plains. And all of an unexpected sudden, one comes right to the edge of the original crater of the volcano, & there in the middle of it is the now very large present-day Mt. Batur. The original eruption (eons ago) left a crater which is still quite intact and nearly 20 km across; about 1/3 is filled with water now. The new mountain rises neatly in the depression (the floor of the old crater is now several hundred feet down), and fresh lava-flows are readily discerned. Lava is still oozing from a fault in the side of the [new] crater, along with some smoke and fumes. Very interesting and lovely. Shot the last 4 photos on my roll of film (can’t seem to get any more here) to see if I can get a panorama. All and all, a scenic and lovely day. Had to buy and wear a Batik sarong mid-day to prevent further serious burn on the top of my legs, which at this moment are a bit uncomfortable. Tomorrow I languish around Denpasar & the beach, and Thursday depart for Sydney.

Mt. Agung behind the Besikih Temple complex

Looking back on Besikih from the flank of Agung

The composite below is the original panorama I put together after I returned home. The tape holding it together has yellowed badly.

The original paste-up panorama

An hour or so at the computer makes a considerable improvement!

Improved photo; standing on the rim of the ancient volcano

Perhaps I’ve discovered the source of the myth that the tropical people are “lazy” and that “it’s the weather”. The Balinese arise and commence work at first light—about 4 AM here now; the observers (tourists) are of course still sleeping off “the night before”. By early afternoon the Balinese are resting, largely having been working 8 or more hours by then. The air-conditioned tour-busses make their rounds and the occupants see everyone lounging or eating, the shops all closed. The tourists go back to their mint julips about the time the Balinese come to life again for a long evening of work and commingled fun. Somehow they seem to do all this on about 4-6 hrs sleep. I defy any tourist to survive one full 24 hr cycle, including 8 hrs toil in a rice paddy, and still feel the people here are “lazy”!

Bali, incidentally, is the first place I’ve been on this trip where the chinese are decidedly not in evidence. As usual, they preponderate in the businesses here in Denpasar (except the sounvenir shops), but stay very close to home & do not mingle with the Indonesians. The Suharto government’s most serious mistake so far has been to quite deliberately exclude the chinese from participation in their programs to rebuild (Sukarno’s regine was a disaster for Indonesia). The drawback is that the Indonesians themselves don’t seem strongly inclined towards business enterprise, so there is a vacuum now being filled by expatriates of other countries rather than by local entrepreneurs.

I’ve got to mail this today, as it has gotten frightfully long—& heavy!

Love to all~

Bruce

The Batik sarong mentioned above made it back to the states after saving my legs from a bad sunburn. The little Yamaha I drove that day was really built for a female, so with my feet planted on the running-board and my shorts riding up into my crotch, the tops of my legs were vulnerable. Years later I hung the batik in my house, and someone wandering through exclaimed loudly, “Why, that’s a seven-color batik!” So it was, and so was somewhat rare. I had simply picked it at random from a pile of sarongs in a little shop somewhere along the way.

Here follows a number of photos taken in and around Denpasar. I did go to the beach one day, but it seemed rather dirty and I did not swim: it would have been nice to skinny-dip like I had done  in Thailand, but no one was there to make it worthwhile.

That’s a local taxi in Denpasar

The “main drag” of Denpasar in 1968

Families gather for a funeral

The pyre has been lit

Funerals were not a solemn afffair: they were a celebration of the deceased’s good luck in moving on to bigger and better things!

Weddings were also very colorful affairs. I watched a wedding procession one day, along with the whole town it seemed, out to celebrate. I found myself standing next to another “ugly american” woman who watch with a disgusted look on her face; finally, she exclaimed, “Oh, how pagan!” I turned to her and said, “No more pagan than driving around in a car with tin-cans tied to the bumper!” She stomped off, annoyed by my comment.

The stark whiteness contrast with the usually dark stonework

Doors are important in Bali

Doors were important to ancient Egyptians, too

The elaborate entrance at top is to a residence; that below I am not sure of.

The countryside around Denpasar was spectacular

Roads made for motorcycling!

Somewhere on Bali, a typical village scene

Looks like work to me!

I had a very pleasant stay on Bali. Now, I wonder if any of the carefree life I saw there remains. But, I had to move on, so it was off to Sydney and Melbourne by way of Djakarta. That’s next.

NEXT

09.September.68

Mon Chers~

I recall dashing off a short note at the bottom of my last letter that may have left you suspended a bit. To recount: last Saturday AM I returned to the Australian Embassy, where they prepared for me a letter to the Pochentong (airport) Customs authorities. I’m not sure what the letter said, but in any event it was the magic touch necessary, and after a whole lot of filling in of forms, books, etc., the Chef explained that I was free to depart “avec moto”, and to proceed to tour Cambodia entirely as I pleased. He gave me a warm “Welcome to Cambodia” (even If 2 days late) and hoped I would enjoy my stay.

So, having gotten beforehand a bottle of petrol (the bike had to be flown “dry”), and having on-the-spot re-attached the silencers, I got under way. Now, since having had the engine re-built in the Honda [before leaving Saigon], I’d never really gotten it broken in, & never had the chance to take a “shake-down” run. I’d intended to go to Vung Tao, but by the time I had time for that, the VC were making trouble out that way again. Just driving around Saigon, I had experienced an assortment of minor ills & had (I hoped) corrected them all. Re-attaching the silencers (besides making the machine quiet) seemed to improve its performance.

I visited the Palais Royale the same morning. It is lovely. Curiously, amid the splendor of the various buildings (most of them built around 1915) is a small 2-story building “a la style francaise”, a building built by Napoleon much earlier. But there it sits, all ginger-bread and bric-a-brac; it looks so out of place! After lunch I went through the National Museé (much of it currently being reconstructed). As Todd said, they have a large collection of statues of various Khmer Kings—but not a great deal else.

Saturday night I was poking around the city & stopped for a Pepsi at a small restaurant. The owner—to my surprise—spoke flawless english and welcomed me so warmly it was almost overwhelming. It turned out this man is an expatriate Vietnamese, and he was eager for news: I wish I could have been more encouraging. Of course, this episode lasted through several Pepsis, a large dish of Cambodian-style beef-steak (rather like Korean bool-goggie, but not cooked at the table [and served over water-cress] and so forth: it was after 1 am before I got back to the hotel for sleep! And by prearrangement Mr. Thang-Ny showed up promptly at 8:30 to take me sight-seeing. After petit-dejeunez, where we were joined by another friend, we took the bike in for a battery-charge (too much stop & go driving) and while that was in progress we walked to the phnom for relaxation and photos. It was a gorgeous day. Following completion of the battery charge, all 3 of us drove out [Highway 2] into the country-side (to and somewhat beyond Takhmau), had refreshments, then returned to to PPenh. I lolligagged most of the rest of the day, having not gotten enough sleep the nite before. Did some souvenir shopping—and am happy to say found local items. A good dinner, an evening walking tour, and then to bed to rest up for the trip to Kep.

BACKSTORY: Mr. Ny had introduced himself to me in the hotel lobby: he spoke passable english, and was eager to try it out. I was eager to try him out, so we had a nice afternoon romp right there in the Mondial, and arranged to meet the next morning for sight-seeing. His friend wasn’t bad, either!

Temples Like this One Near Takhmau) are Everywhere!

I got on the road about 8:30 am. Another beautiful day, perfect for touring. First stop was Takeo [via Highways 3 and 25] where I had breakfast of sorts about 10:15. Traffic is, indeed, light, but autos and busses (especially) go like mad and one has to give them a wide berth! Had a pleasant chat with the elder Takeo police Chief, who introduced himself warmly. I understood about half of what he said (in French), and hope he understood as much of my rejoinders (in fractured French).

New Police Meeting Hall

The Chief of Police in Takeo proudly showed off their new meeting-hall, recently completed. Not an automobile in sight!

Once the initial shock of seeing an American wears off, the people respond with warm & spontaneous affection that is both heart-warming and encouraging. But I am a rarity here, so that I get lots of unabashed stares, especially in the countryside. But a smile & a wave (a choumreap sour is pretty hard to execute with one hand on the throttle) brings instant response in kind.

It began to rain very lightly as I approached Kampot, so I stopped there for a bowl of “Soup Chinois” and sat out a typical tropical rain for about an hour. (Chinese soup—besides being very good, is one of the safest foods here; there’s likely to be anything & everything in it, but it is kept at a boil all day long.) After the rain stopped I shopped in the central market for Kampot Pepper, and bought a hand of “ananas” to eat later on. The little boy who sold them to me was so taken aback by it all—I’m sure it’s been a while since he sold his fruit to an american—but his charming smile would win any heart. 4 riels (about 8¢) for the bananas.

BACKSTORY: There was a group of stalls all selling bananas, but I chose the one being tended-to by the youngster, chicken-queen that I am. (His mother had gone on an errand). I guessed his age at ten, but you never know. He was all smiles and all business as he interpreted my proffered hand to mean I wanted a hand of bananas, and he held up four fingers to tell me it would cost 4 riels. I was tempted to swoop him up, put him behind me on the bike, and ride off into the sunset. But I didn’t: and now he’s over 50 years old, if he survived the K-R massacre. I wonder if he remembers that tall american with the big motorcycle.

As I proceeded to Kep [Highways 3 and 16], I was on the heels of a storm, so from time to time stopped under a tree for refuge—and bananas! And about 2:30 I came around a corner and there was the seashore, a lovely beach, lovely sunshine, and no more than half-a-dozen people to be seen!

Banana Break Near Kep

I stopped under this tree for a ciggie and banana: that yellow spot on the right side of the bike is the hand of bananas I bought earlier.Just over that rise is a spectacular view of the Gulf of Tonkin and Kep.

Happily, the machine is preforming flawlessly. The valve-gear in a Honda sounds like a thrashing machine, but they do run well, & as mine is still “running in”, I’ve taken it fairly easy. Tomorrow! A day on the beach. Have lotion, so I hope to avoid further burn (my face & arms burned slightly this morning before I realized it). As usual, will close this but add more anon~

Luv~
Bruce

A Rural Road, Somewhere Near Phnom Penh

The next day: Bokor and Sihanoukville. Stay tuned!

NEXT

July 3, 2009

INFO

I presume my readers know that to keep up with this blog they have to click on the last listed entry over there at the right. This blog opens to the same page every time, so navigate to the latest if you are keeping up. Also, email addy is [email protected] and I am always pleased to hear from my readers.

MEDICAL UPDATE

I had my first and last post-op exam by the surgeon yesterday. He says I’m fine, and he’s right. I still have a little bit of soreness around a couple of the incisions, but I know this will go away. Altogether, the removal of my gall bladder was close to being a non-event!

MICHAEL JOE

I suppose way back somewhere I saw MJJ and thought it might be interesting to know more about him, particularly what he looked like sans clothing. But as for following his career or becoming any kind of MJJ groupie, it was not on. I don’t get along well with “Type A” individuals, and at least when on stage, MJJ struck me as a Type AAAA. And since I know nothing about dancing, his moves always looked frantic, often as if he was having a fit of some kind.

Somewhere along the line I did find a recording of his ballad, “She’s Outa My Life”, and I really liked it: I still play in now and then. But as time went on, there’s no denying MJJ got more than a little “strange”. The tragedy of his untimely demise lies in his inability to control his intake of drugs, and there was no one with enough power over him to stop the carnage until it was too late. I hope his tortured soul really is at rest now.

TATS

I’ve mentioned before that tattoos, generally, put me off. All this hype on TV, with entire series devoted to tats and tatters leaves me cold: many of the designs are over the top, and woe be unto any who decide they should be removed!

ON WITH MY NARRATIVE: THE 1960s

I TANGLE WITH THE INFERNAL REVENUE SERVICE

Johnny and I bought a house together in 1962. We were both gainfully employed (he teaching, I an analytical chemist); it cost us $17,000. We worked it over, then traded up to something larger. But as it became apparent our relationship was going down in flames, one night in 1964, in a drunken rage he made me quit claim to the property and chased me out at knife-point. To make matters worse, he burned most of the deeds and other paperwork involved. Nevertheless, he was able to sell the place shortly thereafter (it was planned!) and pocketed about $40,000 . He drank that up in just a few years; but, I digress.

That year I filed my income tax and claimed a sizable loss on the property. Three years later, in 1967, the IRS objected, pointing out I had no proof: all that burnt paperwork came back to haunt me. The IRS concluded that I owed them the princely sum of $1800, and I was forced to agree that I did. I was willing to pay it, except that the IRS demanded I borrow the money from a bank at 8% interest. My position was the IRS was charging 6%, and there was no reason a bank should make money on my misfortune. [Imagine 8% interest at a bank in those days!}

The upshot was a series of meetings with low-level functionaries who tried to cajole me into taking out a loan. Throughout, I maintained that I would pay the amount owed, but over time, plus the 6%: there was enough “slop” in my budget that I could spare something each month: I was pretty much living from paycheck to paycheck, as my salary was not all that great. But, the IRS would have none of it, and the more they pushed, the more stubborn I got. I quickly realized they have no ability to deal with someone who simply says “no” and refuses to budge. I used to load up on aspirin: I was like a zombie, and no matter what they offered, my answer was consistently “NO”.

Someone told me I could take a person with me to those meetings, and did not even have to introduce them. The theory was that if there was a witness to their coercive tactics, they would not be applied. So I set it up with a friend of mine: he was a large fellow, a clerk in a dime store, but he had one good suit and an imposing cough. The IRS would harangue, I would say something like I was going to yield, and Jim would cough loudly: then I would say NO! It drove the poor interviewer nuts, but got us nowhere.

Another time, after several guys had taken turns at me, I decided to “lose it”: without warning I jumped up and shouted loudly, “Why don’t you guys just take me out in the hall and shoot me? Put an end to all this shit.” (And so forth) Jeezus! We were in a room full of cubicles, so everyone  heard me, and for a moment, I thought they might take my recommendation! Such a hub-bub. But it got us nowhere.

Then there was the day we finally came to some sort of agreement, and the interviewer wrote it up long-hand on a special pad with carbon-paper (remember carbon-paper?) and told me to sign it. I was about to, when I noticed printed boldly along the bottom, this line:

THIS AGREEMENT IS NOT LEGALLY BINDING ON ANY OF THE SIGNATORIES HERETO

Say what? They explained that was to protect their interest so if I were to have a wind-fall, they could take their share out of it. I explained that it was no contract at all, and tore it up and threw the fragments at them. Whooooie! They were pissed!

The resolution came when I decided to devote an entire day to getting this thing off my back. When I reached an impasse with the first interviewer, I demanded to see his Supervisor. When I got nowhere there, I demanded to see his Supervisor, and so on up the ladder. About five rungs up, I was allowed to explain the whole problem to a fellow sitting behind a desk: I repeated my offer to pay over time with their 6% interest.

“That sounds reasonable to me,” he said. He wrote it up, and it was a done deal.  I’d won!

DISILLUSIONED

The whole mess with the IRS put me right off. Work was getting boring. Money was tight, especially with monthly payments to the IRS. I needed a change. One weekend I visited my older brother in Southern California, and was perusing ads in the LA Times. On a lark more than anything else, I responded to an opening for a chemist in VietNam, and promptly forgot about it.

Several months later, I got a call in my office: “Are you ready to go to VietNam?”

Well, no I wasn’t, but I quickly decided I sure as heck could be!

What happened next will be my next page.

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

BANGKOK to HUA HIN

The arrow indicates Hua HIn

7 October 1968

Dear all~

After tracking down the pawn-shop where my camera was lodged & getting it out of hock—sans the film that had been in it, which I had not begun to use—I departed Bangkok gratefully about 9:30 AM. Times will be approximate from here on out—no watch! Despite a hopelessly inaccurate map provided by Shell Oil Co, I managed to find my way. I’ll have to assume the highway was renumbered (from 5 to 4) after the map was made up. Breaking in the Honda held me down to 30 mph for the first 50 miles. and I was able to then pick up a little better speed as the day progressed. First stop was Nakorn Prathom (the english names for these towns are spelled differently on every map I’ve seen—yours probably are different, so use your imagination!), where I posted mail and viewed the positively immense Wat there. It’s a big stupa that gives the impression from a distance of being turned from a single block of marble. But of course it is not marble at all—it is brick like most of them, hollow, and has a covering of tiny tiles in the peculiar pink-orange shade of red marble. The effect is enhanced (at a distance) by large patches of grey which proved to be places where the tiles are falling off. But the thing is gigantic—easily 100 ft or more diameter at the base. The day was lovely, sunny & warm, and I pushed on through Petchaburi (or Rajaburi—same place) to Phetburi, which has a nice cluster of temples, Wats and stupas situated atop a small hill. The day continuing fine, I moved on—the road degenerating into a more enjoyable 2-lane sort reminiscent of Cambodia—& arrived at Hua  Hin about 4 o’clock; 253 km from BK.

Somewhere South of Bangkok

Now, Hua Hin is a delightful spot, situated on the east Thai coast (or western shore of the Gulf of Thailand). It has miles of white sand beaches, and is backed up by mountains—the end of the chain going up into Burma. The town is also right on the railroad, and the delightful chug of steam engines pervades my hotel room at times. There are a number of resort-type hotels, but of course I’m at a chinese hotel nearer the center of town. Poked about on the beach a while—will swim tomorrow—and watched trains and (alternately) lovely sunset behind the mountains. For a while it was possible to see a spectacular sun-set in one direction and an equally spectacular moon-rise over the water in the other direction. I got no rain today at all—the first such day for some while—although it was stormy close-by over the hills. And of course I am a bit reddish here and there from the sun, though not seriously burned. I remembered to “grease up” fairly early. Although the roads are good, they are dirty, and my shirt was black (from diesel smoke) in places when I got here. I washed it out first thing. Then me—I was black in spots too! Had a pleasant and cheap Thai-food dinner. Happily, I am seeing some smiling faces again, and the atmosphere is getting more rural.

Beach at Hua Hin

Recall I mentioned deterioration of the film which I carried for many weeks before having it developed. This photo is a good example. With about an hour of work, I can enhance it to look like this:

The Beach at Hua Hin, South Thailand, 1968

It looks as though I shall break down and take some pictures of Thailand after all, though I took none—and want none—of Bangkok. There is a nice steam-engine on display here, a 3-cylinder “Superheat” (brand) made in the USA ca. 1920. All the engines I’ve seen seem to be this type. What a delight to see them, and smell hot, wet oil—and burning wood—again.

3-Cylinder “Superheat” (brand) Made in the USA ca. 1920

The Thais maintained these engines wonderfully, even when they were retired and on display.

Between Phetburi and here one passes through an area where a lot of charcoal is made, in curious brick bee-hive-like charcoal ovens. The smell is unlike anything I’ve ever smelled, but is certainly agreeable. Along the beach there are countless small sand-crabs that apparently spend their whole lives digging holes in the sand; that which they displace they make into small balls, which gives whole stretches of the beach a curious “pebbly” appearance. And there are immense jelly-fish, which apparently are harmless, since many people fool with them.

Will probably slow down a bit now that I’m away from BK. The route seems to criss-cross the isthmus several times. My best guess is that I’ll stay, at least overnight if not longer, in Chumpon next, then Ranong or Kapoe, then Phuket (on an island and said to be very pretty). At Kra buri I will apparently be right across the river from Burma. Ranong of course is on the other shore of the Isthmus, but between Krabi and Songhla I will cross back over again through Sadao to Penang (also an island). By then of course I will be in Malaysia. But I rather imagine I shall take at least a week to get there, assuming the “natives are friendly”—or at least more hospitable than in BK. Honda is performing better, but has a whole new group of sounds to get used to. In BK I dismantled the seat, discarding all the springs in it (too stiff) and stuffed a whole foam-rubber pillow into it. Considerably more comfortable than formerly.

Have no address to advise in Singapore. Will probably cable as before. 30 for tonight—early to bed; if I stay here tomorrow it will have to be all day, since the next hop is a long one & will require an early start. But I think I’d better swim here where the weather is good—my experience in Sihanoukville being what it was!

Love to all~

Bruce

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Tuesday 8 October 1968

Arose as nearly as I can figure about 7:30 AM. After a leisurely breakfast, I drove around town (which didn’t take long as there is not much of it) a bit, then found a nice beach & went swimming & sunning for the better part of an hour. Couldn’t over-do is as most of me is still pretty unaccustomed to the tropical sun, which will burn very quickly. Poked around the RR station for a while & saw some nice engines. The RR has quite a lot of activity on it.

RSR Locomotive No. 882

A very big staple in the diet of all the countries I’ve visited is dried squid; catching & drying them is a big business here. Fresh from the water they are spread out on loosely-woven mats and these are put anywhere the direct sun will strike them. Drying doesn’t take long, but it is a very odoriferous process, as you can imagine.

Drying Squid in Hua Hin, 1968. Pee-yew!

In the afternoon I found a nice road going back into the mountains. Actually, it goes over the first saddle into quite a large valley, perhaps 2-300 feet above sea-level, & meanders around in this before suddenly ending in a cluster of foot-paths, right in the middle of a farm. It was stormy over the mountains further inland, and later the storm moved near town, though only light sprinkles of rain actually hit the town. I took the opportunity to do a bit of cleaning, tuning and checking of the Honda. I’d forgotten to check the spark-plug gaps before leaving BK, and was sure from the performance that they’d been set at the factory recommended 0.024″. For some reason on my machine this results in poor pick-up at wide throttle; re-setting the plugs to 0.020″ cures this nicely, so now I can be a little more sure of response when I twist the handle-grip. On the roads that lie ahead, this probably won’t be needed anyhow. Except for an annoying rattle inside (hence totally inaccessible) the right muffler, all is well. The rattle developed some while ago, & the only cure is a new muffler, which is hardly necessary. I can put up with the rattle, knowing it is not a serious problem. Depart early tomorrow for Chumpon—unless something interesting deters me; — about 267 km distant. Only a little farther than the BK-Hua Hin stretch, but poorer roads (thank goodness—they’re much more fun) so a bit slower going I expect.

Love to all~

Bruce

Next leg of trip: Chumpon. Lots of steam!

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I spent more than a week in and around Siem Reap. Now, I am surprised to find on-line references to many of the places and temples I visited. I’ve selected one link for some in the material which follows, but anyone wishing to learn more can cut and paste the names into google and find much more information. Bear in mind that in the forty years since I was there, many changes have  occurred.

One thing I had not realized until I got to Siem Reap:  Angkor Wat, is the most extraordinary of a large group of Wats, most of them located in the same general area. In fact, there are numerous temples all over Cambodia, Wat Nokor being the first I encountered. In the rainy season in 1968, many of the more remote temples were beyond reach except by water buffalo and cart! I tried to reach one or two, but the motorcycle met its match on flooded roads and mud churned up by herds of water B’s.

Here is a letter I wrote when about to depart Siem Reap for Thailand: following the letter is a group of diary entries which are more detailed and interesting.

23 Sept 68

Dear Everyone~

Unfortunately, I seem to have lost track of just when I wrote last. Probably Phnom Penh. I spent four more delightful days in that charming capital, taking several tours around thereabouts. Got on some really wonderful back roads, where I’m sure my appearance on a “moto” was as startling to the natives as a green martian would be to me. But the reception was, always, courteous and friendly. Got to Prey Veng & Kampong Cham, the latter a very charming city on the banks of the Mekong, & with Wat Nokor  (contemporary with Angkor) nearby.

Then off to Kampong Thom. Stayed overnight there, but not much to see other than a local zoo) of all things!) that had some interesting beasts & birds. Pressed on (through some rain) & arrived in Siem Reap Wed the 18th. Except for a brief excursion to Battambang on the 20-21st, I’ve been here ever since, and day after tomorrow, alas, I have to go on.

Angkor is simply not to be believed—except that is very much here to be seen. The various temples and ruins are incredible, both in their dimensions, and in their decor. The feat of simply cutting and piling the necessary stones to make Angkor Wat, for instance, is fantastic enough; but then every square inch of the whole thing inside AND out was carved and decorated—a  process that must have taken years. I wish only there were some artists’ renderings or scale models available to show what the temple looked like in their hey-day. Since all the wood involved has disappeared, and since virtually all the colors used on the relief-work have similarly disappeared, one really has to use his imagination to see the temples in their more complete state. One of the most fascinating of the group is Ta Prohm, which has been left largely as it was re-discovered, still greatly over-grown by the jungle. Seeing it as it is now, one can more readily see how temples even as large as Angkor Wat were “lost” in the jungle—it is amazing how it swallows things up. Poking around in this rubble one can almost get the same sensation the discoverers of the 1860s must have had.

Siem Reap is remarkably unspoiled despite the tourist flow. Right now, probably the worst time to see the ruins because of weather, there are marvelously few tourists here. So the town in quiet—except for the calls of jillions of frogs in some nearby [marshy] areas near the Hotel here. Altogether, very restful place. Although it rains nearly every afternoon for a couple of hours, this is no trouble, since  having started the day around 6 am (to get the best light in the ruins) one is generally quite ready for a siesta come 3 or 4 o’clock!

And everywhere, the wonderful Khmer people, who have just got to be one of the world’s most unspoiled and delightful ethnic sub-groups. Their friendliness and good nature are matchless; the only “danger” in this country is that of falling in love with it and its people. It will be truly with regret that I push on to Thailand, though I may find the Thai’s friendly as well.

The Honda runs beautifully—even through water 2½ feet deep! The only mishap so far has been one unexpected bump that I took rather too fast on a remote track somewhere between Angkor and Beng Mealea; the violent rebound brought the luggage rack and the tail-light into smart contact, smashing the latter. Not even a flat tire yet, and I’ve driven over 2000 km since arriving in P.Penh! The enclosed map shows my routes to date. As you can see, I couldn’t make the whole circle of the Tonle Sap—just not enuf time!

Much love~
Bruce

Here is the Map I Actually Carried, Marked with My Routes

DIARY ENTRIES: Sunday,15TH [SEPTEMBER, 68] Off to a somewhat later start than desirable, about 9. The road to Svey Reng is not too bad—about 40 mph except in the villages. Made Svey Reng, after about 1/2 hour wait for the ferry, about 12. Not much to see here, but the flooded country-side is beautiful!! Ride across the Mekong pretty, but takes only about 5 minutes. [Retraced my route back across the M again, then turned north on Highway 25 and] Pushed on to Kampong Cham, which is quite a large city on the banks of the Mekong, and very pretty. The ruins of Wat Nokor are just outside of town. Between S R and K C I went through a large rubber plantation—the trees are being tapped now, and they are dropping their nuts, which hit the pavement with a loud noise. Between K C and Skoun saw 4 elephants—photographed one group of 3. A third ferry (not on map) across the Mekong put me about 30 km out of P.Penh at sundown, and when the sun goes down here, the bugs go up!! Very buggy from there on to P.Penh. Got sun/wind burn on face and legs rather badly. Will see how I feel after a night’s rest, but doubt I want to go all the way to Pursat tomorrow. Maybe to Kg. Chhnang. Will see.

First Mekong Crossing – Road to Svey

Elephants and the Gent Approaching Asked for Payment for the Photo.

Awaiting Ferry to Kg.Cham – On Ferry, Bikes Take First Place

Bicyclettes Awaiting Our Arrival, Kg. Cham

Passenger Ferry, Kg. Cham – Approaching the Far Shore of the Mekong

Monday 16th: I awakened early after a good night’s sleep assisted by a vitamin pill & a darvon tablet. Face too sore to shave, but legs (except ankles) not bad except in looks. Face not uncomfortable—just thought it better not to risk messing it up really badly by shaving. But I really don’t feel like the trip to Pursat—too far for round-trip in one day, and Kg. Chhnang will have to wait until my next trip here.

Instead, I took off with a “guide” for Odong. It was a very leisurely trip, passing Kg. Lovor. Parked at the bottom of the Phnom & climbed the time-worn steps to top of the hill. Said hello to Buddha. Spent three hours up there, with the guide; very pleasant. Back to Kg. Lovor for Pepsis, then leisurely back to P.Penh. Released the guide. Expensive, but helpful and spoke rather good English. Tonight I will have my last Cambodian Beefsteak at the Champey Siemreap, & visit with the French Peace-Corps worker I met on the ferry to Svey Reng.

BACKSTORY: The chap I spent most of my time with in Phnom Penh introduced me to a guide, who made it clear from the start that his fees included sex. He was one of the most handsome guys I ever met anywhere! Taller than most Khmers, I might have thought he was part-Thai, but of course the ethnic groups in this part of the wold rarely inter-marry. He assured me, using better-than-average english, that he was all Khmer with a blatant grope of his crotch. So, every population has its out-liers, and his height was not a problem, despite my preference (ordinarily) for smaller boy-toy types. I’d have gone with him even if he was ten feet tall: he was that handsome! We rode two-up to Oudong: he put his arms around me to hold on (the only safe way to ride two-up on a motorcycle) but was not above letting his hands wander, so it might be said we rode just “up” all the way. There is a long stairway up to the top of the Phnom, and there were many folks around. After the customary homage to Buddha, we chose a round-about path down the forested hill, and eventually found a warm clearing where we could lie on the leafy litter and enjoy each other as swarms of monkeys chattered in the canopy above. Having been kept in a state of anticipation all morning, the “event” when it arrived was extremely messy but satisfying. The guide really was “taller than most Khmers”—everywhere!

Somewhere in Cambodia Banks of the Mekong, MC Mirror in Foreground. Oudong, Cambodia

BACKSTORY: At the restaurant that night, the cook, evidently the “Director’s” wife, brought out a live turtle and showed it to me. He explained that she wished to prepare the beast for me, but I demurred. If she had just brought it to table prepared, I’d have eaten it, I expect, possibly without even knowing what it was. But I was unable to look the beast in the face and admit I could eat it. I settled for the usual beefsteak, which was delicious with the pile of watercress she always put under it.

Tuesday, 17 Sept: Trip to Kg. Thom uneventful. Rain in the afternoon. Kg. Thom, situated on the River Sen is about 2000 people. Pretty place, but I can’t see what keeps it going. Its chief claim to fame seems to be its zoo. Stayed at the Bungalow, where the rooms are too expensive and the mosquitoes fierce! Gekkos are fat here, though. No really good restaurant.

BACKSTORY: The zoo at K. T. was quite extensive, and I saw birds and beasts there I’d never seen before. I also saw a lot of town-folk and children visiting: as it was Tuesday, I surmised there was some local holiday, for otherwise the children would have been in school. Well off the beaten track here, I was the object of many stares—none unfriendly—there were literally dozens of handsome youngsters, any of which I would have entertained given the opportunity. Alas, the opportunity never arose. It pains me beyond measure to realize there were horrors that awaited them of which we all were oblivious at the time.

Wednesday, 18 Sept: Awoke early after a good sleep. Departed Kg. Thom about 6:30 am, without breakfast. Soon got into rain, which I more or less followed for about 2/3 of the way to Siem Reap. Stopped frequently to let the rain get ahead of me, but got into some heavy rain in spite of that. Arrived S R just before noon. Had soupe Cambodienne at a small restaurant, then checked into the Hotel de la Paix. Changed to dry clothes. Rain stopped, temperature up a little, and overcast. Went immediately to Angkor Wat, spent about 2-1/2 hrs there doing a quick tour. Then the circle trip, stopping only briefly at most of the temples. Back to the Hotel for dinner & then to the Grand Hotel for free movies.

I am peeling everywhere; my face is a mess & my nose has peeled so frequently I am amazed there is anything left of it!

(This entry continued on next blog page)

BACKSTORY: As I departed Kg. Thom early, I was suddenly aware of horrible screams of terror so powerful I had to pull over and wait as the pitiful sounds got closer. Around the corner came a fellow pedaling a beychek in the seat of which was a huge pig trussed in stout strips of split-bamboo. The pig was very unhappy, and probably on his way to slaughter.

Coming up: In and around Angkor. Stay tuned!

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DEVELOPMENTS

I lived the first four years of my life in Sacramento. Of many memories, there are two that I believe contributed to the later “me”.

My God-parents lived nearby: they had a daughter somewhat older than I. Bobbie was probably about seven when I was three-going-on four. We all lived near William Land Park, at one corner of which was a cluster of large bushes. We kids could get in under those and assume no one could see us: it was the typical “hideout” kids like to make. But what we did in there, instigated by Bobbie, was examine each other’s private parts, and “do number one and do number two”! Bobbie would raid her bathroom for huge wads of toilet-paper (I wonder what her parents thought). I was the only boy in the group, so of course had that “handy little gadget” that made peeing much easier for me. But Bobbie and her girl-friends were not much interested in my little pee-pee. I, likewise, was not much interested in what they had between their legs: it seemed so UNfunctional!

I attribute these amusements to my lifelong interest in urination, and assume the beginnings of my lack of interest in females began here as well. The lack of any significant difference in how boys and girls defecate left me with far less interest in that function of the body.

The other memory from that time involves my maternal Grandmother who liked to take me out on Sunday afternoons to ride the C-street trolly line. Even then, the tracks were not in good shape, and the little single-truck Birney cars were notoriously rough-riding. Birney “Safety Cars” looked like this:

Single Truck Birney “Safety Car”

This little model shows how the car extended past the four-wheel truck, which meant that any little dip in the tracks was communicated to the car itself. But I loved to ride those bouncy little trollies! They were called “Safety Cars” because the door and brake controls had been cleverly incorporated into a single lever: the door could not be opened until the lever had moved past the “full stop” position of the brake. There was no way the doors could be opened if the car was moving. A Birney car can be seen in operation here during the filming of “The Changeling”.

I attribute my lifelong interest in trains and trams to these early experiences, even though our move out of Sacramento (and the death of both Grandmothers) put a stop to those Sunday excursions. I’ll have much more to say about trams and trains later in this blog.

CARMICHAEL

Dad moved us to Carmichael early in 1940: I had my fourth birthday there. Why we moved, I’m not sure. Both my parents were essentially “city-slickers” with no farming experience. Perhaps Dad saw WWII coming.

We had five acres, mostly planted in almonds, an old farm-house, a large, dilapidated garage and some barns. The first couple of years were devoted to rebuilding first the house, then the garage, and minor improvements to the milking-shed of the barn. Not yet in school, I was under-foot for much of this renovation work, and suppose my interest in old houses and handiwork in general stems from that experience.

My mother had taught for a few years, but when we moved to Carmichael, she devoted herself to her family while Dad was the bread-winner. Both took very good care of us (three boys — I was the “baby”). Dad taught in Sacramento, so was gone all day, but we had week-ends and summers together: yet even on a single salary we were considered fairly well off. Mom suffered from terrible migraine headaches, but between these took good care of us, and cooked all our meals. Any sort of restaurant of note was miles away in Sacramento, so dining “out” was rare!

Dad’s salary did get Mom some labor-saving devices: she had a fine Singer sewing-machine, of course, and she made a lot of our clothes. She also had an Iron-rite “mangle” — a machine for ironing clothes not unlike this one:

Iron-Rite “Mangle”

Making, washing, fixing, ironing and sewing buttons on all the clothes for three growing boys was nearly a full-time job, and I often found Mom seated at her ironer when I came in from play or home from school. I wore many hand-me-downs in those days: by the time I got through with them they were just rags.

Mom also had a Bendix washer, first of the front-loaders. It looked similar to this one. I could not find a photo of our model, which was less sophisticated and earlier than this 1947 model. Ours had a triangular base painted black, and a clunky arrangement of the lint-trap: if the clip holding it in place got snagged and pulled open accidently, it dumped the contents of the drum all over the floor of our back porch.

1947 Bendix Front Loader Washing Machine

While the Bendix was an improvement over the old tub-and-wringer setup, it did have several idiosyncrasies. One was that soap had to be added by hand at the proper time (so much for the “automatic” feature), and if too much was put in, the thing erupted in suds which poured out of the filler-spout down over everything. The porch floor got frequent cleaning because of this.

The other problem involved balance: the tub was rigidly attached to the frame, so if clothes got wadded up, when the spin-cycle began the machine would walk right across the floor, eventually pulling the power-cord out of its socket, or pulling one of the hoses loose (which resulted in water spraying everywhere).

The “cure” for the balance problem was to bolt the machine to a large block of concrete cast for this purpose. Even this was only partially successful: a severely  out of balance load would result in the whole block being lifted up and down, pounding the be-jesus out of the porch floor. It sounded like the house falling down, and always resulted in a mad rush to get the thing unplugged before it fell into the basement!

We had that washer for years. We even took it to Modesto when we moved there. By that time I was beginning to grow up, and I found riding that wobbling machine, the filler-spout jammed in my crotch, strangely exhilarating! But, I’m getting ahead of myself!

To be continued …

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It has been too long since I last put up another page. It has been a busy time of year for me. I hope those readers who celebrate Christmas had a pleasant one.

We are still back in 1993, when I returned to Ecuador hoping for many rides behind steam. As described previously, I got far fewer rides than I had hoped-for. Upon my return to Guayaquil after the trip that got me only to Huigra, I spent another day poking around in the yards at Durán. The older yard, near the station, was in bad repair and there seemed to be little going on. On the day I was there, no one was around, and I took the photos which follow.

Forlorn

Engine Number 43 looking pretty worn out. I could not tell if she was being cannibalized for parts, or being rebuilt.

Boiler Number 8 reconstructed 1955

These old engines were rebuilt over and over!

The cab of No. 43

She looks pretty bad. Note a First Class car behind it. These were rebuilt over and over as well.

The smoke-box of No. 43

This, at least, looked like work was being done to get her under way again.

Looking a bit better than No. 43

No. 44 was clearly being rebuilt, possibly using parts of No. 43.

There’s hope for this one

Number 44 was clearly in better condition than No. 43. I have no idea is she ever ran again, though.

Although “on the ground”, she stands a chance

I’d have to guess that Number 44 did run again. She was clearly receiving the necessary attention.

Number 46 was also under the sheds

I had seen Number 46 operating in 1979. Here, she looks a bit worse for wear!

Looked to me like she was being stripped for parts

However, the missing pieces of the cab may just be under repair. There was no way of telling.

The fireman’s side of No. 46

She’s still on her wheels, but all the motion has been dropped.

No. 55’s other marker.

“Boiler No. 58 reconstructed in Durán, June 1981″

Pump lying on the ground

My guess is this pump was used to hydrostatically test new boilers. I could be wrong.

Ecuadoreños are proud of their railroad!

I can no longer recall whether this homage was at Durán, or at Bucay, but it had been erected  since I was there in 1979.

Later this same day, I bribed the guard watching the gate to the new shops and had a look around in there. That will be my final page about Ecuador and the FFCC (ENFE).

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Sri Lanka had some of the prettiest paper money I encountered on my travels. Somehow, I was able to get decent copies of most of the bills then in circulation. Images enlarge if clicked.

RpSriLanka1000

RpSriLanka500

RpSriLanka100

RpSriLanka50

RpSriLanka20

RpSriLanka10

RpSriLanka5

There were some newer bills beginning to circulate: I did not get as many of them.

RpnewSriLanka50

RpnewSriLanka5

RpnewSriLanka2

Fascinating stuff!

My next page will cover a rather dull stretch of my life, but one which included a lot of work on my house. Stay tuned!

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