M Y O B

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

________________

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!

NEXT

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!

NEXT

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 …

NEXT

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).

NEXT

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!

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

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

Everything up to this point had gone too smoothly! I felt it wise to arrive at the airport well before departure time. Just after lunchtime, I rode to Tan Son Nhut and stopped outside the compound. There, I drained what little fuel remained in the tank, then walked the bike into the passenger terminal. I was able to take one picture as the Air VN chaps assisted me:

Tan Son Nhut Compound

beyond this point all photos were forbidden.

Getting out of Vietnam in those days was complicated by the currency restrictions. After relinquishing the bike, and presenting my ticket

Air Vietnam Ticket

everything was in order. The bike disappeared, my luggage as well. The next step was to convert money. Whatever MPCs and Dongs I had I turned in for US Green: not a lot, less than a hundred dollars as I recall. Henceforth I expected to rely on travelers checks.

The last step was emigration, where I presented my passport and ticket, which the Officer examined closely. He then said, “You can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“Your ticket is to Phnom Penh, but the Exit Visa reads to USA.”

I knew there was no arguing, so simply retrieved my documents, stepped back, and joined the throng in the waiting room. When I got near the main entrance, I stepped out and hailed a taxi. I waved a $20 US under the driver’s nose and said, “get me to Immigration!”

Mind you, had I been stopped for any reason, having a wad of Green on me would have been difficult to explain and would likely have landed me in jail!

There followed a wild ride across Saigon: the taxi driver wanted that 20 bucks, but when we got to Immigration I held the money and told him to wait. I knew he would!

Inside, I found a fellow at a long counter who asked what assistance I needed. Fortunately, he spoke english, so I was able to show the documents and explain the problem. He rummaged around under the counter, pulled up a carton full of papers, and pawed through them: before long, he came up with the form I had prepared long-hand for PA&E; attached to it was the typed form some harried secretary at PA&E had copied. My long-hand version showed Cambodia, but the typed version showed USA. Since I was probably the only american who had ever left VN to go to Cambodia (virtually all US employees went back to the US) it was an easy mistake for her to make.

Examining the papers, the fellow said, “I can see how that happened, and I can fix it.” He picked up a pen, annotated the passport with a “(1)” next to USA, and wrote above “(1) via Cambodge”. With a chop, the deed was done. I thanked him profusely. He did not ask for payment, and he got only my everlasting gratitude!

Exit Visa Saigon

(Arrows point to the critical additions.)

Needless to say, the taxi was waiting, and I got a second wild ride across Saigon, where I was able to “infiltrate” the crowd and eventually present my documents once again to the Officer. He studied them intently, but finally said, “I’ll never know how you did that, but I cannot stop you now.” He added the exit chop and waved me through into the waiting area. I had at least an hour to kill before the plane was to leave!

The bike was loaded after I got on the plane, so I did not know with certainty that it was with me until I saw it off-loaded at Pochentong. I snapped one photo from the plane, which I did not expect to come out at all. Oddly enough after all these years, I can scan that photo and just use an enhancement in the scanner to bring it out better than it actually is!

Vietnam from the Air

The white spots are clouds, but the strips in the center near the bottom are recent strafing-runs.

It isn’t far from Saigon to Phnom Penh—about 180 miles—so the flight was short. There were very few passengers aboard. I snapped a photo of the tower at Pochentong as we taxied in,

Tower at Pochentong

then dashed off the plane in time to get a shot of the guys unloading the motorcycle.

Unloading the Motorcycle

I was finally out of Vietnam! Let the adventures begin!

But first, I had to get the cycle out of Customs. I left it behind and took a bus into town: it was growing late, I was tired, and I figured I could go back the next day and retrieve the machine.

Yeah, right!

Stay tuned!

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