Post Cards From the Pound

Barbados; Tobago Cays; Grenadines; Grenada

2010-06-27T21:29:00.001-07:00

Greetings from the southern extremes of the Caribbean Sea; the Eastern Caribbean countries of St. Vincent and the Grenadines as well as Grenada.

(Left: Morning in Tobago Cays)

I am writing from the fantail of the MY (Motor Yacht) Hanco once again. We were actually allowed back on board by our generous hosts, John and Sandi Moore. As I sit here right now, I am looking at 14 yachts, ranging from a single-handed sailboat to a huge catamaran. Cats are very popular here, more so than mono-hulled sailboats and motorized vessels such as Hanco.

The Tobago Cays are approximately 100 miles due west of Barbados (our point of arrival) and 8 miles from Union Island's airport. It is a marine park with strict guidelines for anchorage and enjoyment. This is where turtles reign supreme. Speed limits are enforced and turtles cannot be ridden by adult or child, or chased. Spotted Eagle Rays glide under the boat which is in about 10 feet of water; turtles come up for air and swim around; Manta's come to the surface and feed on the sprats when the fantail lights are on at night while we barbecue. Or they came for the chicken. Last night we had 4-6 rays swimming and feeding on the surface.

(Right: Landing at Union Island)

But getting here isn't all that easy, regardless of how well planned you make it.

We left Fresno for LAX on Thursday morning at 6 am (required a 3:30 am wake up). We got to LA on time, had some breakfast and boarded our 767 for Miami, having used miles to get a First Class upgrade. Worth every mile and penny to do that as the seats go flat. You'll see where I am going with this soon. We get to Miami way ahead of schedule, confident we'll get our Barbados flight 2 hours later and land in Barbados at 10 pm. Taxi to our hotel, the Butterfly Lodge on the southern coast; while away the morning then catch Air Mustique at 12:30 pm to be captured by our Captain and hauled off to crew the Hanco.

Not.

Thank goodness for 767 First Class seats or we'd have died of broken butt disease.

We got to South Florida only to start circling for an hour off the Everglades. Seems storms were over Miami and the airport was not receiving. Finally we were diverted to Tampa for fuel which turned into several hours more. We were assured that a plane right near us was the very plane destined for Barbados so we were all in the same kettle of fish. Right. Our 4:30 pm arrival turned into a 9:45 pm arrival and the Barbados flight left for Barbados 20 minutes before we pulled up to the gate.

We were given a discount voucher for the nearby Wyndham, had a very late dinner and had new boarding passes for the 10 am Barbados flight. No Barbados breakfast; change flights to late afternoon; try to get hold of our Captain, etc.. Fortunately we had some basics just in case, but that just meant a toothbrush, comb and such. Basic, very basic.

Air Mustique, which combines with other airlines for the Grenadines Air Alliance, took us through the connecting passenger's route and collected our luggage from American to bring to us for onward travel to the other country, the Grenadines. Barbados is a separate country.

(Left: The Tabago Cays where Hanco was anchored)

As we waited in the bar with our little backpacks, Barry from the airline found us, imagine finding us in the bar, to advise us we had no luggage. Seems American did not put it on our flight but he felt it would be on the next AA 618 hopefully coming in that evening as planned. We left for the boat in our now 36 hour old clothes.

We arrived as re-planned, on time at 5pm on Friday, had a cold beer (just step up and say "local please") before boarding the Hanco tender, and started the luggage vigil. Let me say, to make this part short, Air Mustique is one of the best airlines I have ever dealt with. Professional, courteous and honest.

(Right: Our first ice cold "local". Below: the kids love to show

their diving skills)

Saturday, I called to see if our luggage came in, and they were looking right at it. Unfortunately, the Barbados Air Traffic Controllers went on strike without notice and shut down the control tower, thus no flights by Air Mustique and others were allowed in or out. That was resolved long enough Sunday for Air Mustique to get our luggage to Union Island on the first flight.

Thank you, thank you. Kudos to you for your professional and kind service. I am told Air Mustique has been voted one of the best air carriers in the Caribbean and I can understand why. Special thanks to the Barbados ground personnel and to Cynthia Mills Ashton (below right) of the Union Island Grenadine Air Alliance. She had me and our bags in and out of Customs within moments of the plane landing. Thank you.

It is now Wednesday, I sit in fresh clothing yet again, and look out over the Tobago Cays. A cat is gliding out for a new location, its' sail set. Soon we will be firing up the engines and departing for another location. By middle of next week we will be in Grenada, doing some day tripping, rum tasting, food tasting, and boat hanging out.

Life is a bitch, but someone has to live it. More in a few days.

Grenada

2010-08-07T15:11:00.001-07:00

Our last stop on this trip is actually three venues on the island of Grenada: St. George's, Hog Island and Clark's Court Bay.

Right: A fresh picked nutmeg, with red mace net, interior nut and husk

Having worked our way down the western shore of Grenada, we did not find a suitable anchorage for us until we were on the outskirts of historic St. George's with its' huge fort above the harbor. We anchored here two nights, motoring into the yacht club and marina for gas and provisions.

We all had a need for a hamburger it seemed. And French fries.

We found Andy and Susan on their boat, Maggie May; a beautiful made to order Norwegian yacht that hailed from Indianapolis, Indiana. We joined up and went over to the marina's beautiful open air restaurant and bar, having cold drinks and cheeseburgers in paradise…though Joel suddenly changed to a fish sandwich.

Having diligently trying to stick to healthy, less sinful and dissipated ways, I decided to go for it and have a bacon cheeseburger with a split of fries. Delicious. But 24 hours later I was just getting my legs back under me having paid the price of major indigestion from too much fat too soon. As everyone enjoyed their lunch the next day, I eked down a bowl of Callaloo Soup and hoped it made things right with my gall bladder.

Above: We arrive in Grendada

We then struck out for Hog Island on the south eastern shore of Grenada.

Hog Island is a major location in Ann Vanderhoof's book An Embarrassment of Mangoes. This book is required reading by Sandi when on board, especially since it is set in Grenada primarily and is the story of two Canadians who decide to take 2 years and sail from Toronto to the Caribbean and back in their 42 foot sailing yacht Receta. An excellent choice of reading, Ann's book brings you into her and her husband's life and journey which forever changed their lives. Along the way you learn some interesting recipes as well.

Be sure to check out Ann's new book, Spice Necklace, which just came out. I have read the book, and I have to say it is wonderful. If you love the Caribbean, and enjoy living vicariously, then read Ann's new book. Check out the website here.

As we put on a genuine tragic comedy of anchoring in mud, we see the sailboat next to our chosen anchorage enjoying the cocktail/pre-dinner show. Sure our anchor is set, I start watching the stern to make sure we are not slipping towards the rocky shore nearby.

The marine band radio comes on advising that Rosetta is calling to advise Hanco we are slipping and I am gauging that our stern is inching closer to the shore as well.

Back into action we raise the anchor and put on an even more Laurel and Hardy or Martin and Lewis…better yet Three Stooges (Joel was in the anchor chain room so he doesn't count) show of anchoring in mud amongst the sailboats yet again. Next to us, a young Grenadian fisherman is visiting the sailboat and yells "drop it, drop it now". John drops the anchor but it doesn't satisfy him, so he puts a red buoy on with a rope which I then screw up throwing out because I wanted to come home with all my fingers.

We try again and while doing that the Gameboy boat control stops working and Sandi has no boat control, under power and the yacht next to us is beyond close, we can see if it has chips in its paint. We then have a fire drill of sorts, aka cluster frolic, in front of everyone while control is restored at the helm due to a switch issue. Whew.

Right: Recetta, our neighbors, Hog Island behind

The anchor is dropped, John dives into murky water here, and assures himself the anchor is set and now he can sleep that night.

While we are doing this Sandi yells "hello" to Steve and Ann on the next boat which is NOT Rosetta, but Receta and the neighbors are Ann Vanderhoof and her husband Steve Manley with Dwight, the fisherman from her books. So, not only are the neighbors watching, the neighbors are writers and friends of Sandi and John and local celebrities. Oh well. And yes, they had a grand time watching our display of comedic yachting, but all the while knowing they have put on similar displays.

Another evening of cocktails and filet mignon on the fantail; another night of blissful sleep; someone has to do this.

Left: The marina at Clark's Court Bay

Today we move to the marina of Clark's Court Marina to tie up in preparation for our return home, some touring as in a rum distillery up the road and the spice market.

Clark's Court Bay and the marina located there are below the parallel that insurance companies deem acceptable for boats to hang out in and still be covered by insurance if a hurricane strikes. The last one, Ivan, was a cat 5 that laid waste to Grenada, damaging about 90% of the island's homes and decimating the nutmeg and banana crops. You don't say "Hurricane Ivan" here, you just say "Ivan". The previous hurricane to come this low was Janet in 1955. Given the aftermath of Ivan, the name was retired out of respect to the dead and the history it left in its wake.

Right: Dry land allows for a much needed haircut for John and Sandi can do the job

Above Clark's Court Bay is the Clark's Court Bay Distillery which, of course, we had to visit and tour. And taste too. The factory doesn't do cane anymore, they obtain juice and make the rum and molasses. They buy cane juice (much like wineries buy grape juice) all over the Caribbean. The sugar cane crop was also destroyed when Ivan came through.

Sandi and I took a tour through the spice and town market. We went through the vendors in the covered part of the market where dozens of spice dealers hawk their goods. Many of the same spices and sauces are sold in the different stands and I kept wondering what the difference would be other than price or approach. There really is none. The only difference would be in the design maybe of a spice necklace. But, one bag of spices was the same regardless of the stand or even if it was in the downtown area or the outlying areas.

Left and right: Shopping in St. George's street market

Staying in a marina is way different than being out on your own in the middle of say, Tobago Cays or the Virgin Islands at anchor. You have neighbors and you can't just jump into the water because it is not all that desirable to be honest. You do have lots of water, lots of power and a bar a stone's throw away. You can get your land legs back quick too.

Wednesday night was Burger night so Sandi decided to have a little pre-burger cocktail soiree on board HANCO to warm up for the burgers. What started as about 10 people grew to about 50 or so potential guests. That's a lot of folks on a boat, even a 62 foot Hatteras with a good sized fantail. We were ice scavengers, makers, hors de oeuvres queens and house cleaners. The party was marvelous and a good time was had by all. By the end of burgers, and dancing, as well as more drinking of adult beverages, a good time was really had by all.

Ann and Steve came over for the party and I asked for her autograph for my copy of Mangos, but, since I don't read paper books, but use a Kindle, I found a Sharpie and she did her first signing of a Kindle on the back side. Pretty cool. So is she and so is Steve. What a pair.

Left: Joel at the fort above St. George

One problem with the rum factory being so close to the marina is not the temptation; it is the smell of the molasses residue being put into the river, which then flows down to the cove. It eventually drove John to move the boat back to the marina at St. George.

We all took another day tour which was supposed to be done by 1 pm or so, but stretched longer. I think we were kidnapped by monkeys. Really.

Our guide took us all over Grenada. We learned more about nutmeg than we ever thoughts possible. We went to the top of the island and though we failed to bring bananas, the monkey's made an appearance when another tour guide brought little sweet bananas. They flew out of the trees, like, well, monkeys. We toured the large fort that stands over the island. I can't imagine building this thing, let alone being assigned here in centuries past. It would have a been a serious hike but what a fantastic view.

Sandi and I toured a nutmeg processing plant while the guys waited in the van's A/C and watched the world go by. A trip through a plant like this truly makes you appreciate your college education. The ladies pictured here make $8 for shelling out a large bag of nutmeg seeds. If you are fast, you might make $40 a day. So don't gripe about the price of nutmeg or mace. Ever.

Below: Ladies shell and clean up nutmeg and sing to occupy themselves

Grenada was truly devastated by Ivan. The nutmeg crop will take years to recover as will the clove and limes. It is green and getting lush, but after the 'cane it was stripped bare. It is a testament to their resiliency how well they recovered.

All too soon it was time to pack up and leave the boat, John and Sandi and Grenada. We had a truly marvelous time and are forever thankful that we have such good, warm and comfortable friends as them. We have more new friends from all over the world and have become dry land boaters without a boat or OPB's (other people's boats). HANCO will spend the 'cane season in Grenada getting some repairs, refurbishment and sprucing up. We can't wait for our next adventure.

Right: A street vendor sells fresh roasted corn on the cob

I highly recommend a visit to Grenada. It is bu s y, high end and yet, laid back and comfortable.

Next, I'll take you with Marley and me (sounds like a book potential, maybe a movie) to Ashland, Oregon for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and hanging out for the Fourth of July, including Ashland's hometown, hard to beat parade. Stay tuned, it will be a matter of days….

Carriacou and the Grenadian Grenadines

2010-08-07T13:38:00.001-07:00

Hanco is anchored about 120 yards off the beach of Sparrow Bay, Carriacou (Karry-a-coo) in the Grenadian Grenadine Islands. This large island isn't really on the beaten path of tourism. Sail boats and motor yachts come through, but people flying in to stay here a week hasn't yet caught on.

Left: The harbor at Hillsborough

We plan to take a tour today with Dunstan Bristol, a tour guide recently retired from Customs.

But, before that, I'll let you know about our passage and our first day here.

The weather started to change at Tobago Cays and we decided it was a better idea to leave sooner, than later. We cleared out of the St. Vincent and the Grenadines with John as skipper catching a ride to the dock at Clifton and clearing out the boat and his crew. We then set our course for Carriacou, with where to anchor up in the air. Sparrow Bay looked calm, especially after the seas we endured coming through the 8 miles or so of open water. Winds were 30 knots and the seas weren't as big as we feared…probably 6 foot swells at the worst part. We only got bugged-eyed once and John did something to fix that.

Sparrow was flat and no occupied boats were here. The Round House restaurant is on the beach. A gentleman swam out, helped us anchor, drank a Coke hanging from the anchor line, then swam back (no fins by the way) as if he were walking through a park. We boarded the tender and headed out for Hillsborough, the main city and dock area where Customs and Immigration are located. After a dicey arrival with a bunch of little dinghies and fishing net out, we climbed off and went in search of cold drinks while John got us legalized.

At the bar next to Customs, we waited for John to get the paperwork done. Sandi I had cold "locals" (which here was Carib) and Joel had a rum and Coke. Well, they provide a glass, ice, you pick the size Coke bottle you want and then you get an old coke bottle (glass 7 oz.) filled halfway with amber rum…Jack Rum…180 proof brew from a keg in back. Joel almost had his ass handed to him in a Coke bottle before a local warned him what he was drinking.

We poured part of the rum into his plastic Coke bottle and took it away from him as we went for a late lunch at the Hardwood in Paradise Beach. There we had a local style stewed fish/chicken choice and drank more beer next to the beach. We waited in rain for a bus, which didn't arrive until I just had dropped my pants to offload the beer in the Ladies Room. I have never run for any bus pulling up my pants and doing zipper and belt on the fly.

As Sandi and I roamed with our cameras, the boys went in search of cell phone stuff and rum.

We found a brand new baby goat. He was so new; he was still wet and just trying to get on his feet. We took images of him later and the next day as he "matured". What a cutie, but I fear his future isn't one of happily grazing on the grass of downtown Hillsborough.

We rode around in the tender in the rain, arrived back at Hanco for cocktail hour and an appetizer dinner of left overs. It was an early night on Hanco. I was in bed, and asleep by 8:30 EDT and slept until 6 am when I got up to do notes for my loyal fan base.

Our first full day on Cariacou took us to Hillsborough to enjoy a day tour with Dunstan. He took us over the hills, to the shores and back again. We went up to Hospital Hill and viewed what felt like the entire Caribbean. The hospital was put up there as both a post and to insure that cholera did not spread. In another century, when there was an outbreak, the worst and fatal cases went out to the island off the shore and the ones who might make up came up into the winds of the island away from town.

Right: Dunston, Joel, Sandi and John

We went to Windward, the boat building area of the island which was at one time predominantly Scottish descendants. Blacks were not allowed in the area until sometime in the 1800's. You still see lighter skinned people in the area and they still build boats.

The boats are mostly handmade wooden racers. Sailboat racing is a really big deal in the Leewards with not only prize and betting money on the line, but serious issues of pride. There is a big regatta in Antigua and one in the SVG and Grenada. In fact the Carriacou Regatta 2010 starts happening July 25 and to say it is a "big deal" is being subtle. The boat builders take their job serious as well. We saw a finished boat, one that was still the ribs and one that was almost done and ready for its wooden mast.

Left: An almost finished racer headed for Antigua

They take a wooden pole fashioned from a tree, split it, tunnel it for electronics, put it back together and finish it. Amazing and beautiful both.

One boat builder has an abundance of shipping palates. With these he makes rough furniture that is, frankly pretty cool. I might have to try this on Salt Cay.

Surprisingly both Grenada and Cariacou have recovered well from the effects of 2004's Hurricane Ivan. The destruction was massive with most homes losing their roofs.

As we neared the end of our tour, it was getting late and stormy. We decided since we had to go to the Roundhouse for dinner by road, the beach being too rough for the tender, we would stay in town, drink and then head out.

Bogle's Round House (http://www.boglesroundhouse.com/index_files/restaurant.html ) is one of those unique and funky places where you find things you didn't think you'd find. Bombay Sapphire for one and an excellent wine list. And food…well the food Roxanne Russell puts on your plane is wonderful…some of the best in the Caribbean apparently. Roxanne is not only a great chef; she is welcoming, friendly, and charming person. She is what a chef needs to be, a hostess with good food and welcoming accommodations. The location is marvelous and I highly suggest staying in one of her guesthouses if you are doing a land excursion of the island. They also own the bakery downtown which serves sandwiches that are mouthwatering. We ate there both days enjoying BLT's, tuna, cheese and chicken sandwiches. And we had cookies, cinnamon rolls, key lime pie, carrot cake and special hand squeezed juice blends. This is called, Da Bake Shop.

We considered moving to Tyrell Bay and mooring there, but after a drive over in the tender after snorkeling, stopping at a bar having to indulge in some cold Carib, we changed our collective minds. It looked and felt like a giant yacht slum, and I got sand flea bites at the bar the moment I sat down. My only bites of the entire two weeks actually. Compared to where we were, there was no point moving.

We did a little snorkeling off Mabouya Island, one of the rocky out islands near Hillsborough. Joel and Sandi found a huge tarpon and some other sea life; I found the pelicans and a ton of little fish that swarmed around in schools of a million or so. Here's a little chart of the island and their website: http://www.doyleguides.com/files/coumap.jpg

Right: Pelicans hang out on Mabouya Island while I lurk in the sea weed

Cariacou is worth taking a trip off the beaten Caribbean path. The people are beyond friendly, the island is extremely clean and the food good. Granted, you won't find a burger in paradise all that easily as it is generally island cooking, but if you search a little, as we did you find little golden spots.

Salt Cay During Whale Season

2010-04-25T10:48:00.001-07:00

No, I'm not sitting on a whaling schooner in the Caribbean; I was recently at our house in Salt Cay recovering from a terrible chest and head cold that came as viral baggage apparently. (For more info go to www.saltcay.us) This was not shaping up as the trip of a life time from day one.

Right: South District of Salt Cay with the White House at center

I didn't feel good when I left, thinking I was having the after effects of flu shots (stupid) and trip prep. Wrong. I was getting sick and taking it with me.

And someone stole or appropriated my Kindle when I left it on the airplane at midnight in Miami. Don't even get me started on my 2 hours of airport errands at midnight in the Valley of Hell. All I can say is I hope my former Kindle explodes in the thief's face and spews them with bad writing. After running around, making phone calls and getting frustrated I went to bed at 2 am with the knowledge that at 6 am I could contact lost and found at American.

Left: A conch after the meat is removed

Carol of the Miami American Lost and Found was a big help, but she can't make a stolen Kindle fly into my arms. With 4 hours till flight time I went back to my hotel and sulked.

By the way, when traveling and you have an overnight layover, stay in an airport hotel. Two airports we stay in regularly are Miami and Dallas-Fort Worth. Miami has a hotel right at the E concourse security gates. It is by far the handiest thing going. And reasonable. No cab, no delay. DFW has the Hyatt and Grand Hyatt. One is in Concourse D and is very nice and if you shop it, you can get a good rate.

But, travel in the Greater US of A aside, I am (was then anyway) home in Salt Cay, burrowed into my comfy bed but without anything for a cold except good old Bayer Aspirin. No Vicks, no Nyquil, just Bombay Sapphire Gin and aspirin. And fortunately, my dozen planned Kindle books are on my iPhone that is being worked more than it ever dreamed.

Left: Dunscomb Point's rocky shore

Right now it is sunset and a green flash has just made for a spectacular close to a crappy day health wise. A big old cruise ship from Grand Turk is trundling by on the horizon and I'm sure a few thousand souls missed the green flash until the Captain announced there was one. You may be able to tell I am not a cruise ship kind of person, especially when they are trespassing on my ocean view.

I have not been out whale watching because I am a Judas. I bring rain, but I don't bring whales. But even this trip I've only brought clouds and rough seas, and no rain to speak of. And whales here are a tourist attraction so my presence is not exactly appreciated. In over 10 years I have seen one fluke and the back of a whale escaping Joel's snorkeling. That's it. Others have seen 21 whales on a single dive boat excursion. Other's more and less. Me, if I go on the boat the whales will leave the centuries old route and go to Singapore on vacation and to mate with new whales. I shouldn't be allowed on island unless there is a drought.

Right: The Compass Rose, with the white roof, just after dawn

Now, as I pen this over the two weeks and a couple more at home, because I was so sick I really did not care, I look back and realize I spent most of my working vacation on the patio sofa and in or on the bed. As I told Captain Mike Hawkins, I've spent the better part of two weeks on my back and all of it alone and sick. When my carpenter brings me water and checks on ME I know I am sick. Here's a shot of the newly enclosed patio with Hearty's finished doors and our cool patio furniture.

I did recover long enough to have one dinner party in the new dining room (patio again) and then I mostly ate with friends willing to have a sickly me in for food. My neighbors Don and Donna threw me a can of chicken noodle soup from a distance to keep my germs on my own property when I was at my worst.

Then we had Thursday night Salt Cay Hold 'em Poker. Wow. I came in third. I couldn't last. The competition was stiff and the game went on till 1:30, which by then I was long in bed. They finally called it a draw as no one could deal anymore and no one was really sober anymore either. A $20 buy in made for a good evening of fun and entertainment.

Sadly we had two funerals while I was on island. Two beloved women, Mrs. Natalie Simons and Mrs. Lillian Lightbourne, passed on and they are pictured here. They are and will be missed greatly.

Left: Mrs. Natalie Simons; Right: Mrs. Lillian Lightbourne

The whale deck is now the wifi deck. I can pick up signals all over the island up there. Weak, but a signal. Time to bring a Yagi antenna and booster router I think.

But Salt Cay in spring at the end of the season was still a good time.

I spent the better part of a morning watching Captain Mike lead a crew of expats in the effort to raise the Lucky Lady which ran out of luck during Hurricane Ike and sank at her mooring at Deanne's Dock. Now glued to the bottom of the harbor, she defied Captain Mike and crew's every plan. When I left the thought of little C4 dots around the hull was sounding good. With any luck the boat and the crashed plane from last year will become dive/snorkel sites. But, between my cold and boredom, since I am an Action Jackson kind or reporter, I went home and took a nap.

We also did self help on island when the Airport Authority decided to close the private parking area. Philip Johnstone arranged a work crew and as I documented, they cleaned, regulated and spruced up the airport area for everyone. All is well once again.

Once we were flying, Philip and I did a flight to Grand Turk and had Elinor and Bram Davies as passengers. Later, when we picked them up, old friend and long time Salt Cay folk hero, Bryan Sheedy came into the airport libation clinic where we enjoyed some old times. Salt Cay hasn't really been quite the same since Bryan sold the Mt. Pleasant and the old diver's crowd has turned gray at best. Philip and I enjoyed our Cokes and conch and headed home with a plane load of provisions.

Right: Bram, Elinor and Bryan

I shot the White House and old Salinas at dawn as well as our house. It is so hard to believe someone, well a corporation of foreigners actually, wants to turn this peaceful, historic spot into a marina for 200 foot yachts. Cut a big hole in the island and put boats with absentee owners in it. Put some diesel tanks in and you have a dump for big boats.

In some of my more lucid moments I managed to get down the street to a couple of construction sites. The neighbors are putting in a new sea wall. What a job. And next door, I captured Henry and Pat's hard working Haitian gentleman doing what is called "knocking rocks". This is how we make gravel for cement work. Breaking big stones into little ones.

The close of the trip saw the Ladies Auxiliary plan and put on an island "Pirate Party". Let me tell you, folks pull out the stops for this. All the ladies brought food for a buffet; beer and wine were sold to raise funds and a costume contest was held between sets of DJ music and the Rake and Scrape Band of Salt Cay. I was in charge of transportation it seems, hauling equipment, drinks, finding and hauling the band members and some of our elder ladies from the South District. Since I still wasn't at my peak, I finished my chauffer duties and went to bed before 10.

There was no shortage of costumes. I personally came as a cruise ship tourist, white shorts, shoes and stupid fanny pack, kidnapped by pirates into white slavery. I didn't win but it was one way to dress when one doesn't have a pirate outfit. I didn't know there was such a party happening when I packed.

I managed a little photography and one serious senior portrait of Prince Smith and his great grand children, one of whom was right out of the oven. I also wrote a profile on Polie Dickenson and did some church images with the visiting Archdeacon Cartwright and Father Kendal from Grand Turk. The ladies turned out in force with their white dresses and hats.

Left: Ma Lucy, Miss Mellie, Miss Vida, Nurse Barbara,Miss Amie, Father Mark Kendall, Miss Rosie, Mr. Polie Dickenson, Miss Pat Simmons, Rebecca Simmons, Eloisa Dickenson, Archdeacon Mark Cartwright

I gave Miss Mellie, Miss Rosie and Miss Amie a ride home in the front seat of the Ranger. It was tight, but as Miss Amie said, no was in a position to look up her skirt as she straddled the four on the floor gear shift. It was quite a sight with their 3 white hats fluttering in the cab. Put those ladies in the truck for 5 minutes and the stories and laughter starts flying. Everyone wants to ride with us. Ma Lucy was heartbroken, but we would have had to strap her to the hood like a deer to take her home. I think Miss Ella was envious, but since she wasn't even at church, she couldn't complain too much on being left out.

While at the church I made sure to catch some portraits, including two of our ministers; Noyle Hamilton of the Methodist church and Gary Lightbourne (left) of the Baptist Church. I caught a picture of Gary and his dad, Edwin (left) as well as Gertie Landy and her beautiful granddaughters. (right)

Then it was time to close up; stuff everything into the house for the summer/hurricane season; have Dayo wash and polish the truck to lock it away in its little garage. Luckner drug all the furniture in and swept the patio down. He will keep chopping at the burr grass in my absence in the hope it will be eradicated some day.

Philip and Cynthia flew me off to Provo to catch my Dallas/Ft. Worth flight and we enjoyed a leisurely lunch at Grace Bay.

Word to the wise when going and coming into Provo. Do not do it on Saturday. It is really, really busy at the airline counters. American has self-serve check in computers and I suggest you use them. They are hard to see in a crowd and you have to push your way to them, then push your way to the luggage check position directly in front of you. It is NOT crowding, it is using that line that fills with spillover from the other line.

But for a Saturday departure, the new PLS-DFW American flight is wonderful. Over nighting in Dallas is easy at the D terminal Grand Hyatt and their price isn't too bad if, as I mentioned, you shop it. I have to usually overnight somewhere and LA is too close to home and no airport terminal hotel; Miami is still a long ride home and Provo…well, that makes for an awfully long day to California.

Left: One of our Haitian residents working at the seawall project

I arrived in Fresno at noon with Joel and Marley to pick me up. I was ready to be home, but as you will see, I was off to Bloomington, Indiana a few days later for Corey's exhibition….another Post Card From the Pound coming soon.

Left: Gertie's granddaughter, Ariana Bassett

Right: Prince Smith with his grandaughter

and great grand children

Park City Life

2010-02-16T15:48:00.001-08:00

I know, I said the last postcard from Park City would be the last, but life goes on here and it can be fun. But this is the last one as we will likely head home this weekend after one last week skiing.

Marley now has his own Park City Mountain season lift pass even if he doesn't have skis, boots and poles. PCM will make a season pass for your dog, with their picture on it, and if scanned, will give your contact information. Pretty cool and very nice of PCM to provide our local dogs with such ID. So, if Marls was too cool with his Sundance ID, he can now proudly wear his ski pass at all times.

As you know, we bring our cat Edwina (Eddie) with us, and she is a pretty good traveler. At home she is an inside/outside cat with her own door. Here she has to have a "door bitch" to let her in and out. Wednesday night, she went outside and Joel forgot she was out there and went to bed. Come morning he realized his potential error but wasn't sure if she came in or not. Tiny tracks in the 2 inches of fresh snow on the deck confirmed she had not been let inside. Joel was a little beside himself for potentially freezing his kitty to death and immediately got dressed to perform a search and rescue. But, when he went to go outside, she was waiting patiently, none the worse for wear, seemingly warm, but very hungry. Finally, she had a reason to sleep all day and was ready to go outside again by evening. I think she wants a door bell though.

Pictured here are myself, Marley and Cinco de Dogo (Lou's fifth dog) digging around in the snow. I stupidly decided to walk out without snow shoes and my two "rescue" retrievers were worthless. Marley will hug you while you freeze and Cinco will attempt to dig his way to China, even if he doesn't know where that is. Actually, I had thrown a rope toy by accident over the fence and was attempting to help Cinco recover it before he had a nervous breakdown from Compulsive Dog Disorder. He had to have his toy back but he couldn't and wouldn't go over the fence.

And of course we've been on the Rail Trail, where Cinco loves to haul out tree trunks from the freezing river.

We have had several dinner parties, one with our patented Chipotle Tri Tip and the other, my Spicy Fish Stew over steamed rice. We entertained the Mayor of Daniel, Utah and his bride, Merry (this is actually Mike and Merry Duggin) and the Beers, Bob and Kris. Bob left for the Olympics in Vancouver on the 5^th for the entire month as an Olympic volunteer official. We'll have to keep an eye out on TV for him. Deer Valley will have to struggle along without him. But, if you need a hot cup of latte, stop by the Deer Valley Snow Lodge coffee shop and Barista Kris will be happy to make it for you.

Pictured here is a lovely dinner party at Nancy's house.

Wednesday, we had a treat. Kris, Bob, Joel and I drove up to the Empire Lodge in Deer Valley for their Fireside Dinner. The Lodge has these huge wood burning fireplaces going full steam. In the lobby is the dessert fireplace where there are chocolate, caramel and white chocolate fondues and a Chocolate pudding.

The first fireplace after you are seated is the Raclette station where you get a hot plate of fresh melted cheese, then a table with all the traditional condiments that go with your cheese. Cornichons, dried meats, breads, steamed baby potatoes…it was all there. My favorite.

Then you head to the next room's fireplace where they are serving three different stews in large cast iron Dutch ovens. The veal and mushroom was very good. There is a table with salads and such, but since I am not good with buffets, I go for the proteins and not the rabbit fare.

Once you have loosened your belt and such, it was time for the Lamb station. Hanging in front of the fire are legs of lamb that are then carved up to your order. There is also Mountain Mac and Cheese, which is a not low calorie/no cholesterol and is wonderful. Everyone raved over the lamb, but not being a lamb aficionado, I tried some and passed on it. I went back to the Raclette station.

Last, we got to go to the dessert station that we had been hovering over while waiting to be seated. That was really good, especially with the Tobin James we brought and the Malbec Kris and Bob brought. They served some decaf you would swear was real.

Skiing has been quite good. The other day we stopped at a yurt on the mountain with a great view. We sipped a beer and enjoyed the sunshine in 29°F air. The runs that day were groomed so nice off the Crescent chair and we had it all to ourselves. We skied until our legs were burning up, which now is about 2+ hours. Where does it go? Pictured here is my run down Willy's, a great black diamond that is steep, but actually groomed once in awhile. Fantastic.

President's Day weekend brought the crowds coming into town. Tonight (Friday) we are going to Adolph's, a long time PC restaurant for an early Valentine's Dinner. We don't even want to try to go out on Sunday here. It's been snowing on and off all day, with about 6 inches of fresh snow on the deck.

Tuesdays, being Fat Tuesday, Kris Beer is doing a Cajun Night and all I have to do is come up with an hors de oeuvre. No problem.

Next year we're going to bring the Porsche, since this image shows it can be done. Of course I'm not sure where the dog, cat, 8 cases of wine and assorted other bags of crap would actually go. But, it's an idea.

Other than that, it is another day in Park City….someone has to do this.

Off to home.

Sundance Ends; Skiing Continues

2010-02-01T10:03:00.001-08:00

Sundance has come to an end. The big winner was "Winter's Bone" and the audience favorite was "Happythankyoumoreplease" by Josh Radnor of "How I Met Your Mother" the TV series. It was quite good actually.

"Winter's Bone" was a good movie once you got into it. Set in the Ozarks in winter, it is the story of a very strong 17 year old girl, the eldest child with two young siblings, whose mother is beyond depressed and dad is missing while on bond for cooking crank. The story is her search for him among her "extended" family as he has skipped on his bond and used the house and timber they own, the last thing they own, for collateral. It is bleakly filmed, well acted and makes you want to book your next vacation in the Virgin Islands, not the Ozarks.

Friday night I watched most of "Howl" which is about the obscenity trial and adult life of poet Allan Ginsburg. That was a really good movie and now I can understand why they had such other movies as "Killer Inside Me" for instance. Obscenity. Do not forget that the actions, prosecutions and arrests of people like Allan Ginsburg and Lenny Bruce for instance, expanded and clarified the First Amendment rights of not just entertainers, comedians and porn film makers, but writers and each of us to see and read what we want. And let's not forget Linda Lovelace either as a pioneer of sorts.

Right: Working the balcony at Eccles

Which reminds me, Harry Reams lives and works as a realtor in Park City, but I digress….

As "Killer" exemplifies, being filmed and released doesn't make it good, just legally okay to see and make something as art.

Friday also brought us "The Kids Are Alright" with Annette Bening, Julianne Moore and Mark Rufalo. Bening and Moore are a lesbian married couple (I know it is hard to fathom and takes a few minutes to grasp) with two children who were the result of artificial insemination with Mark Rufalo's sperm. The oldest daughter finds him, meets him and he insinuates himself into their life as a family. It is a funny, believable movie about marriage, family and the modern family and, the fact it is a lesbian couple becomes almost invisible at times. The movie was bought while showing here and you should see it in theaters soon. Expect Bening and Moore to contend for Oscars they say…probably Rufalo and the daughter, actress Mia Wasikowska as well.

Upper Right: Kris Beer and Joel at the top of Deer Valley

We have had lots of snow. Last night while working a shift that lasted two movies, it snowed at least 6 inches on the truck in the parking lot. Dry, fluffy snow. This morning it is clear and a crisp 14° F out with blue sky and brilliant sunshine. It is a skiing kind of day here.

Marley and Cinco (Lou's 5 year old Yellow Lab) are chomping at the bit to go walk the Rail Trail. There is a creek alongside it and Cinco is determined to jump into the freezing water and retrieve sticks that he considers invaluable. Marley watches, takes the stick from Cinco and thinks he is a nut job for going skinny dipping in freezing water when the temperature is below freezing as well. Cinco, well, is Cinco, and he thinks it is quite normal and wonders why Marley is such a prude.

Left: Creek on the Trail

Now that Sundance is over, it is time for me to buckle down and use my 5 punch gym card Nancy has arranged for me and go skiing more. It helps not coming home from "work" at midnight, or later, and then taking an hour or so to settle down and sleep. I am usually in bed by 9 pm, so this really shakes me up schedule wise.

I highly suggest if you love movies and want to work Sundance, to apply with them online for next year's Festival. I will volunteer again, as I have met many people, seen famous people up close, seen both great and bad movies and everything in between and just had fun.

I have included some "Icicle Art" as the icicles are pretty neat here at Lou's house. There is one that goes up two stories to the roof and goes to ground level. It is about 1 foot thick at the top. Given some of the weather extremes we have had, the porch lost some of its icicles and when they fell, randomly, they made a nice little art exhibit in the fresh snow.

Icicles up close are very unique and fun to look at. The light comes through them in interesting ways given all the cracks that develop. The shapes as they melt and freeze are fun as well.

Upper Left: This is one of Lou's Marmot's during summer; Below: Eddie hunts

No one is messing with the big one for fear of being stabbed, blowing out a nearby window or ripping the eave off the top floor of the house. We'll let it sort itself out for now.

And yes there are marmot's here as the image from summer verifies. They live under the deck apparently. That and Magpies, keep Eddie riveted.

That's it from Park City. Next stop will be Salt Cay in March and some more adventure tales in

Vietnam when road trips get slow.

Sundance Film Festival, Part II, Park City, Utah

2010-01-28T10:03:00.001-08:00

Welcome back to Park City and the Sundance Film Festival as we start the downhill glide to the finish on Sunday.

By the way, I have no idea why half of this Postcard font is in one color and black in the other half...go figure.

I have so far worked two memorable nights that I'll describe for you whether you like it or not. And give you a couple of movie reviews.

That is my unheralded arrival on the Red Carpet last night. And on the right are some guys who came in after me to attend the screening of "Nowhere Boy" about this musician named John Lennon, when he was just a young man in Liverpool with a wooden guitar and a harmonica.

Last night, January 27, I worked what is called Entourage, where we make sure the "talent" and Special Guests, get in and out of the theater with their clothes and bodily parts still in one piece and much like they left their hotel rooms.

The other movie last night was "Douchebag" and I left after a few minutes as it wasn't all that interesting about a soon to be bridegroom who initially makes you think all "green" and organic and pure of mind. But he's not. They lost my train of thought early on and I didn't have to stay in the theater if I didn't want to. So I went out and chatted with a really interesting volunteer that lives half of her time in Park City and half in England, where she is originally from.

The movie "Sympathy For Delicious" was playing upon my arrival and I saw nothing but the credits. Mark Ruffalo directed it and had a major role, with his pal Christopher Thornton who wrote and starred in it. The movie is about a young man who is injured and confined to a wheelchair, finding he has the power to heal but cannot heal himself. It got a standing ovation and will be a player in the final awards I suspect. We had to make sure Ruffalo and Thornton could get to the stage as Thornton really is in a chair. Then we make sure they get out of the theater itself and out to their waiting limos.

For "Nowhere Boy", Sir Elton and his partner flew in from London. Since I was working Entourage we worked with Elton's security staff to get them in and out of the theater. No one in the audience was supposed to know they were coming though there had been sightings.

Image right, from www.Zimbio.com

Elton John---well, he is shorter than me and I stand 5' 6" now…and the mileage on his odometer is climbing as it is for all of us. He wasn't outgoing to the staff around him but he certainly isn't obnoxious. He just is Sir Elton who lives a life where he has an entourage and they know their place and it isn't in his circle of buddies. For me he remains the generous man he is reputed to be.

Now one of his skinny little front/security woman in a black wool jacket was obnoxious though. I am doing my job, in my Volunteer vest, assigned to Entourage, and standing behind his seat area in the aisle to keep the lookie-lous at bay. She jabs me in the ribs with this boney elbow and tells me to "step back" and remain flush against the aisle theater wall….well, that didn't set too well. I smiled my required Sundance smile and said, "sorry, just doing my job here where I am assigned…you could ask first"…she just snarled at me like she hadn't been fed…but then she didn't look like she ate either.

When it is announced Elton John is attending 1400 people sucked in their breath and gasped and you could hear every seat squeak and moan and they are all looking down where he is. Pretty cool.

So, Sir Elton and the director, stars, producer, sit through the intro for the movie, and leave for dinner to return 93 minutes later for the end of the feature. I didn't watch the movie, my feet were tired and I didn't give a big rat's patoot (I'd been skiing all morning as well) at that point…but we had to make sure they snuck out of the theater as only 30 people can do in the dark and leave through the front to go to dinner….then, they returned for the last 10 minutes and we had to sneak them back in a dark theater where they sat through the Q&A for 30 minutes and then, BLAM! Out the side door bolting for the car.

As he was obviously there the lookie-lou's came running down the aisle with everything from Blackberries to Nikons to get his picture and I and another man are the "front line" before the security folks…including Elbow Woman… I am holding my ground when this Asian chick gets in my face, about mid-20's and says"please, please, let me in next to Elton and I promise to come back soon"…this chick wouldn't stop and all you can do is smile and say "no, no, no"…"no again"…put your arm out and bar the aisle….these people go nutso. As if I am going to let her rub up against Sir Elton!

The rest of the evening was really uneventful.

Now being a volunteer at the Eccles theater, which is a premiere theater, is quite a treat. We get fed pretty well and it all happens at the Green Room door where "talent" hangs out before their big to do's. Saturday night Bill Murray was in for his premiere. He came through and looked in the food room which is really the janitor's closet and spotted a tray full of cupcakes (our desert). He put $40 in the donation kitty to buy the cupcakes and then handed them out to the cast in the Green Room. Jan, a 25 year veteran of Sundance and our food mother, was even star struck by his actions. She and Bev have, in the past, fried hamburgers for Brad Pitt when he was here and caught a whiff of food being made.

Now Sunday night was really fun and interesting. I was guarding the "talent" door where the entourages come into the theater and go to their reserved seats. There you get "seat crashers" who want to rub up on the talent and aren't allowed. They come flying up, make no eye contact because that is what talent is supposed to do, act like they are someone and muscle their way through as many layers of the security as they can without a proper ticket. Some try to BS their way in and that doesn't work well either.

I saw three movies; yes three, in one evening. Two were "red flag" premieres that were pretty hot tickets. The house was packed all day.

The first was "My Blue Valentine" with Michelle Williams (Brokeback Mountain) and Ryan Gosling. It is a love story running in parallel, their meeting and "courtship" and then about 5 years later as they lose their way. It is nicely acted, but the movie drags, is about a ½ hour too long and is shot so tight at times that is makes your brain hurt and then, in some love scenes, which are pretty graphic, makes you feel too much like a voyeur. I can say with a great degree of certainty that Michelle and Ryan were quite fit when they made this movie. Very fit. Ahem. This will make it to theaters but unless they edit it down, it won't get a lot of stars.

Next up was the World Premiere of "The Runaways" which is the bio-pic of Joan Jett, who was there in person and produced the film. She might be 5' 2" in her high heel boots. Now, this movie is really good. Dakota Fanning plays Cherie Currie, the teenaged lead singer for the Runaways in 1975 and Joan Jett is played by Kristin Stewart (both do their own singing). Both actresses will someday get Oscars, not sure that this is the one, but Dakota Fanning proves what a great star she already is. Pretty graphic at times but it was tolerable for most people. You might not want to see this with your Granny unless she is pretty hip and thinks drugged out women in lip locks and such is cool.

After the screening I walked the director out. Floria Sigismondi, couldn't find her way out of the back theater to get to her car out front. So, after I took her to the ladies room, we made our way out and she is beyond friendly and gracious. Out front I ask if she is in contact with her driver and she says "no, I drove myself, I'm parked over there and can get there now. Thank you so much". She has to be the only "talent" that I know of that didn't have a limo.

I took John C. Riley out of the theater to the back door for his limo as well. He's far taller than I would have imagined by the way, and very nice. His movie, "Cyrus" got a lot of talk, though it had played the night before and I didn't see it. He just came up to me at the private door and says "can you get me out of here?" "You bet".

Last for the evening was "The Killer Inside Me" with Casey Affleck, Kate Hudson and Jennifer Alba. I know it was "film noir" but this movie made me so angry I would have taken shots at the screen had I been packin' a gun. Gone Jamaican on them. (In Jamaica they will shoot at the screen if they don't like the movie and now they have put in cement backstops and the bullets ricochet back.)

Left, a Winter Montage

"Killer" is supposed to be a "lit film". I think it is one that should have stayed in book form, like "In Cold Blood" or been treated with less stark, demeaning and gratuitous violence towards women and girls. A little of the graphic sex and violence could have gone a long ways with a heavy dose of using your imagination. The first, opening scene is the rape of a young girl by the villain. There is gratuitous killing and the film lingers on women's private parts far too graphically and long for a feature (versus porn) film. One sexual spanking was more than I needed to see to understand what a creep the character was; but by the 4^th or 5^th time I was up to my eyeballs in tired of it. Anyone can tell the story of the creep, page by page from the book…which this director did. But to use true film noir imagination, 50's style, would have said a lot about his ability to gauge the audience and tell a story for normal people. This is neither palatable nor marketable in my opinion. They had to the right to make it, but they shouldn't expect many card carrying normal people to want to see it.

Casey Affleck and Kate Hudson did not come. And Jennifer Alba bolted for the door as soon as the lights came on.

The audience Q&A was mixed and several voiced their dislike of the movie and especially the constant violence towards women. Of course you can walk out…but I couldn't as I was guarding a door that cannot be opened. I would have if I could have.

So unless you are into S&M, child molesting, by a murderous cop who whispers sweet nothings in your ear, then I'd avoid "Killer" if it ever makes it to a theater or video store near you. Check the "x rated" aisle.

I'll leave you with some Park City area images since as a volunteer, I cannot take pictures on shift. Below, Lou and Nancy inspect a giant icicle hanging off the front porch.

Park City and the Sundance Film Festival

2010-01-21T12:31:00.001-08:00

Welcome to Park City, Utah and the Sundance Film Festival. This is the second year I will be volunteering at the Eccles Theater, where all the hottest movies will premier during the evening shifts. Last year was a blast, and I expect this year will be filled with more fun stories and experiences.

As you can see, Marley has his volunteer credentials and cool shades to hang with other celebrities. For those of you who don't realize it Marley does have a movie credit as he appeared in the movie "The Retrievers" in 2001 and has been seen in "Times of the Islands" magazine and the "Fresno Bee". He has been a spokesdog for K-9 Quencher and is a spokesdog for Central Bark groomers in Fresno. Though he does not have a SAG card, he thinks he should have one. Marley will be trolling Main Street during Sundance, giving out paw prints and allowing wannabe's and other potential celebrities to rub his ears.

I'll be working the premiers of "Blue Valentine", "Twelve", "The Runaways", "Douchbag", "Howl", "The Killer Inside of Me", "Sympathy For Delicious", "Nowhere Boy" and the final night where the Grand Prize and Audience Grand Prizes are awarded. I'll keep you posted which stars I see and anything that might be worthy of public consumption.

I have had a little bout with Mountain Altitude Sickness. That slowed me down for a day. But I am adapting.

We drove to Utah from Fresno in one day. Even with a speeding ticket in Nevada for doing 85 mph, we made good time. The cat settled down and turned into the tourist she is by Madera. Eddie has taken over where she left off last year, and is enjoying kitty snow shoeing, Marmot hunting and bird watching.

Joel has been keeping occupied with snow blowing, not quite in the nude, but close. When the sun shines here even in winter, it is wonderfully warm and dry. Marley loves to hang with Joel when the snow blows.

Today, Thursday the 21^st, is the opening of Sundance and we have two feet or so of fresh snow to greet everyone. Of course that will make some things problematic, like waiting in line outside for admission to the theaters.

Joel and Lou are going skiing, but I'm staying home as my knees still function correctly. Two feet of fresh snow sounds great, unless it is being skied in a white out of clouds and fog, which the top of Park City Mountain appears to be from our back windows. I think my manicure sounds more enticing.

For those of you not familiar with Park City, it was a venue site for the 2002 Winter Olympics. We are at about 6700 feet here at the house. The area is an old silver mine location that went into disrepair until after WW II. Then it was discovered as a ski resort. Through the years it has developed into not one, but three major ski areas: Park City, Deer Valley and The Canyons.

It is located about 40 minutes east of the Salt Lake City airport and about 8 miles south of Interstate 80. It is very convenient actually. We have a Whole Foods, Walmart, couple of major grocery stores and lots of charming little shops and restaurants. Great restaurants actually.

It is pretty low key much of the time, unless Sundance or the World Cup events are in town. Then traffic can be backed up for hours if you don't know back roads, short cuts or have friends with open bars near major thoroughfares and are home to let you hang out while traffic subsides.

I'll keep you posted on Sundance after I pull some shifts.

Dora Belanger: A Brief Walk Down Memory Lane

2010-01-03T14:33:00.000-08:00

A less detailed obituary appears this week in the "Fresno Bee". Though not a "postcard" of our travels, I'd say the road our mother traveled in life is worthy of a postcard entry.

Left click on any image to see an enlargement.

Dora Mae Dennie Belanger was born on February 4, 1923 to Agnes Goble Dennie and Donald Dennie, in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Dora passed away on December 26, 2009 in Gilroy, California.

Growing up in Fort Wayne, our mother went to work immediately out of high school for General Electric as an assembly worker. It was the beginning of World War II and many of the members of her small high school class went to war and never returned. She was determined to join the war effort, see the world and leave Fort Wayne.

Dora, right on high school graduation

On her twenty-first birthday, Dora decided it was time to act on her dreams and enlisted in the Navy as a WAVE. Having always hoped to be a nurse, Dora became a medical corpsman (as even women were then called) and almost made RN status before the end of the war. She saw New York City and Washington DC in her pre-assignment travels and training. Her duty station became the medical facility at Mare Island Naval Hospital in Vallejo, attached to the Amputee Ward of the hospital. When the hospital ships came in the staff worked around the clock until every injured soldier and sailor was stable and in a bed. Mare Island Naval Hospital was lauded for its progress and work with amputee’s and prosthetic device development.

Being a veteran was one part of Dora’s life that she was immeasurably proud of. Not many women had the nerve to enlist and leave the safety of their hometowns. Several years ago she participated in an educational research project on women in World War II and the military for which she felt quite honored.

At Mare Island she met Johnnie Belanger, a dashing Marine Corps sergeant who was in charge of the main gate at Mare Island. He spotted our mother while checking the ID’s of nurses coming and going through the gate. He completely embarrassed her one day by ordering all the WAVES out of a jitney except Dora. He ordered her to stay behind for “interrogation” purposes. He sat down, chatted as only our father could, asked her out on a date, then reloaded the jitney. Our mother said “yes” to the date, but was perpetually mortified. See the Veteran's Day Postcard below for more on their service.

Dora was a member of the National Rifle Association in high school and claimed to be a crack shot, reportedly her only sport, as she couldn’t throw a ball or ride a bike to save her life. She did play in the snow once as confirmed in this image from what looks like the 1940's.

Dora and John Belanger married on November 24, 1945. As soon as they were mustered out of the Marines and Navy at Mare Island and married, they hopped in a borrowed car and came to Fresno where Johnnie had family. Dora, always a shy and reserved woman, knew only Johnnie when she came to town that first time on a foggy Thanksgiving evening.

Mom told me they first lived in a boarding house near Palm and Belmont as many couples did after the war. They had a bedroom and brief kitchen privileges. When she became pregnant with Pat in 1946 they had to move out.

The young couple bought their first home on Fedora just west of what is now Manchester Center in post-war housing. Manchester Center was a fig orchard and the far north edge of the city. They then produced two children. Our mother never forgot walking to the trolley on Wishon to ride downtown to the Physician’s Building for doctor appointments, pregnant and dragging a three year old as well. She would point out the corner where the bench was anytime we passed by and relate that memory.

Right, the house on Hayes with the 1951 Plymouth, circa 1957

Our father, a retail route salesman for Borden’s, and always an aspiring farmer and carpenter, talked our mother into buying 15 acres west of Fresno in 1951. Back then Hayes Avenue might as well have been in another country, especially with one car. Mom said when Pop went to work that first day, she sat with us under a cotton wood tree and cried her eyes out. It was hot, dry and dusty and she could not imagine why she ever agreed. We just played in the dirt and adapted. So did Mom as she was always wont to do.

Left, under the cotton wood tree on another day

Our mother worked in packing houses and made draperies until we were off to school. She then worked for Chicago Furniture as their bookkeeper and office manager allowing us to spend summer days downtown. She loved Coney Island hot dogs, Norm’s Drive In and the lunch counter at Grant’s, which always was our special lunch treat before a double matinee. In the mid 1960’s she decided to try her hand at her lifelong dream of being a nurse and was accepted into the RN program at Fresno City College. For the mother of two, it was an impossible task, and she eventually chose family over school.

Together our parents turned a little two bedroom farm house into a large and well furnished home and ranch. We nick named the place Puncture Vine Hill as the weeds were relentless. For 18 years our parents worked full time, farmed and built up our home. Our mother made our drapes, upholstered and refinished furniture and made many of our clothes. Home always seemed in a state of remodeling and the sewing machine always out. They were a team.

Below: About 1958 at Chicago Furniture
When they sold the farm in 1968 to move to San Luis Obispo, our parents began a journey of moving every few years searching for the perfect place to live. In 1984, they returned to Fresno to stay, and bought their last house to renovate and enjoy for once. It was actually a finished
project for our father but Mom always had an eye to the next project.

Below, the new dining room Pop built and Mom furnished

Perpetually busy, Dora went to work for my law firm, and learned word processing and computer accounting programs in her late 60’s. Always a good cook, she taught herself gourmet cooking and baking.

Dora led a remarkable life and stayed active until her final retirement in 2007 at the age of 84. Though shy by nature, she loved the camaraderie of the office, being financially productive and the challenge of working in law.

Left: Always creative, she sewed these dresses out of drapery material; Right is Pat's wedding in 1966-height of fashion

With our father’s passing in 2001, Dora continued to work and maintain her home in the historic Fresno High area. Dora moved to Morgan Hill in 2008 to be closer to Pat for the next phase of life and enjoy retirement community living out of the fog and heat of Fresno.

Left: Mom and Pat and right, in about 1956

Dora is preceded in her passing by her husband, John F. Belanger in 2001; her father Donald, her mother Agnes, and her sister Marilyn. She is survived by her son, Patrick J. Belanger of Morgan Hill, his wife Julie, and their children Brian Belanger, D.C., Jason Belanger, Lacy Green and Nikki Green; her daughter Michele Belanger-McNair of Fresno, her husband Joel McNair, and their children Corey McNair and Heather McNair; and Dora’s brother Donald Dennie of Fort Wayne.

Left: Christmas, 1950 (I'm brand new and Pat is a little miffed)

Dora’s family would like to thank the Veteran’s Administration Medical Center in Fresno, especially Audra Iknoian who took such special care of her and the Veteran’s Medical Center in San Jose. A special thank you goes to the loving staff of Village Green of Gilroy who cared for Dora in her final days.

Right: With first grandchild, Brian, 1972

A celebration of Dora’s great life will be held at on January 9, 2009 at 1 pm. Call 559-222-7282 for information. In lieu of flowers, Dora’s wish would be a contribution to the Veteran of Foreign War’s Charitable Fund, The Disabled Veterans or the American Diabetes Association.

Left: Dora as a majorette, 2nd from left

Right: Irv and Jan Perlitch (Pat's In-laws), Dora and John

Veteran's Day: Let Us NEVER Forget

2009-11-06T07:54:00.000-08:00

Veteran’s Day as a kid always meant a parade down Van Ness Street in Fresno that was a cross between soldiers marching, band’s playing, and Christmas being promoted by the stores that then existed downtown. Downtown existed with Penny’s, Wards, Newberry’s, Grants, all the major shoe stores and grand old theaters playing matinees and double features.

Right: Our parents at Mare Island

I was always aware of Veteran’s Day because both our mother and father were World War II Veterans.

Our father, John Belanger, was a Marine in the V Amphibious Corps. They met at the main gate of Mare Island where our father was Sergeant of the Guards. He picked our mother out of a crowded jitney full of WAVES for “interrogation” and the rest was history.

Left: Our dad in uniform with Corporal's stripes

Right: The V Amphibious Corp patch

Our mother was a Pharmacists Mate (Hospital Corpsman) in the Navy’s WAVES and was stationed at Mare Island Naval Hospital, assigned to the Amputee Ward. Mare Island was the amputee center for the Pacific Theater. Hospital ships arrived and the WAVES and doctors worked non-stop until every man was situated and a course of treatment begun.

Pictured with my mother, above right, is Mary Jane Isley, at Mare Island Naval Hospital.

My mother’s father, Donald Dennie, served in World War I, in France, with Mac Arthur’s 42nd Rainbow Division, 150^th Field Artillery, (Indiana National Guard) D Battery. The 150^th served at Champaign-Marne, Asine-Marne, St. Mihiel, the Argonne, Lorraine, Champaign and Champaign-Lorraine, for which they received battle streamers. [A series of silk ribbons attached to a units flag that signify battles and campaigns they have participated in]

The Division suffered heavy losses of more than 12,000 casualties in 264 days of combat operations out of 457 days of front line service. Grandfather Dennie personally suffered exposure to mustard gas and his lungs were ruined.

In his life back home Grandfather Dennie was part owner of a VFW Hall in Ft. Wayne and enjoyed tending the bar, not to drink (per our mother) but because he enjoyed the work. It only took 58 years to extract that information from our mother.

Left: Pop's boot camp "Dear Mom" portrait

Below Right: Mom's "Dear Pop" portrait

But did I really appreciate Veteran’s Day and what it meant? No, not truly until later in life. It was often a day off from work or school. Like Memorial Day, a day when the stores ran huge sales and if you hurried, you could save 30-50% off that stuff you really didn’t need to buy. Don’t even get me started on Macy’s full page, flag waving, Veteran’s Day ad campaign.

What changed my mind? A number of things actually, for I never served in the military except as a Major’s Dependent and never had to truly worry about a husband or brother in a field of war. I had friends who served and came back “different”, injured or not at all.

My first husband volunteered for Vietnam and wanted to serve as a door gunner in helicopter gunships. But, he had too much training in ejection seats and missiles. He came home as whacky as when he left. But I didn’t have to worry about him when he was there for he wasn’t an issue in my life except as someone I knew in the neighborhood.

My dad rarely said much about his time as a Marine. He was a garrison force Marine on Midway after the big battle. Ironically, Joel’s father was a crewman on Avenger’s that were stationed at Midway at the same time. Garrison forces had to fight the battle of boredom, not invasions.

After Midway, Pop was stationed at Mare Island and then was sent to Okinawa for the invasion as we understand it. Mom can’t really recall the chain of events. She says he left, wrote a little and then came back to Mare Island and the rest was history. He had the honor of serving as Sergeant of the Color Guard at the first meeting in San Francisco, of what would become the United Nations.

We heard little about Okinawa and he apparently didn’t stay out there long. We know he spent time in Hawaii as he refused to ever set foot in Hawaii again saying “I didn’t lose anything there so I don’t see any reason to go back”. Maybe it was Camp Tarawa or maybe it was Pearl Harbor as his V Corps was reportedly assigned to both areas.

Left: Tanned, Sgt. stripes and now a mustache

Below Left: Estelle and Charles McNair, Joel's parents.

Pop was adamant that my brother, Pat, would never go to Vietnam, a war he thought was wrong. Did anyone listen to the men who knew war firsthand? Do they yet?

Mom, though a member of the NRA in high school, hated guns after the war. My dad’s “Trench Art” of brass shell casings fashioned into ashtrays and such, were not allowed to be displayed, and one was relegated to the bottom of a box I found when we cleared her house out. I have had the one piece I found lovingly restored and it is pictured here.

My mother threw her uniform away apparently for I never recall seeing it. She put my father’s dress blouse and slacks in the deepest reaches of a closet where I found it last year. She barely tolerated our father teaching us to fire and use pistols, rifles and shotguns, though he did not hunt to speak of.

Over the last 5 years, I have had the honor and duty of accompanying my mother to the VA Hospital in Fresno. It is a sobering experience, yet one I am glad I could take part in. The WW II veterans have gotten fewer and fewer and my mother was one of a very small handful of their “princesses” from World War II service. The care and honor they give her is incomparable.

But three events in my life have truly riveted into place my respect for the Veteran and honoring them every day, not just on Memorial or Veteran’s Days:

In 1984 I ran for judge and spent Memorial Day going to every cemetery event in the Greater Fresno area. Little did I know the F4 Phantom flyovers from the Fresno Air National Guard, led by my big brother Pat, also included my future husband, Joel in the back seat of Pat’s F4.

During each of those events where we honored our fallen soldiers I realized just how fortunate I was to have survived Vietnam with my family intact and World War II with two parents who met as a result and a grandfather who came home from The Great War, alive and well to marry my grandmother. I was all of 34 years of age.

Left: Me, the candidate, talking to Ch. 24 at a cemetary;

Right: Pat climbing in his F4 to do the Memorial Day flyovers

After my marriage to Joel, we went to Ramstein Air Base in Germany for three months of active duty. During one of our weekend trips we went to Bastogne, where the Battle of the Bulge took place in a terrible late snow storm. We visited the memorial there in a freezing sleet and rain storm and the second event unfolded.

We were wearing Gore-Tex and toasty gloves and hats. We had a warm car to escape to, then a warm hotel. The food hot and filling. We could leave anytime. It was unimaginable how men spent days and weeks in the war, living not only in the cold of a foxhole, but in non-stop fear and under assault. We, today, cannot take 10 minutes of anxiety without looking for a Xanax.

Left: Joel at the Memorial in Bastonge; Right, below: Sleet at the site

MacRae Jarrett and Frank Creede, two of my friends in life, served there as young Army soldiers. They wore wet wool and spent the battle in foxholes being shot at. Frank was taken prisoner. When I returned, I made a point of getting in touch with them and thanking them for their service and sacrifice. Mac, a college professor, just passed away. Frank is a retired Superior Court Judge.

We also drove to Paris for Thanksgiving weekend during the TDY assignment—it was rough duty. Along the highway you cannot miss the constant fields of white crosses between the German border and Paris. We stopped at Fort Vaux an underground historical site in Verdun that was a major fighting ground.

The fields of white crosses sober you up pretty quickly as to what happened in this beautiful countryside. But the fort…

Left: Tunnels of Ft. Vaux;

This fort, alone, makes it clear how terrible war really is. The tunnels are sealed as final tombs as the men fought hand to hand combat daily. Lime was sprinkled on the dead, they backed up, backed up and eventually sealed the tunnel. Cans of lime still sit, rotting on the shelves. There is no mistaking the terror and awful conditions men subjected each other to in the name of war in the tunnels Fort Vaux.

The forest around the fort is filled with trees that grow at odd angles. One does not take a walk in the woods around the fort to this day for fear of being blown to bits by almost 100 year old ordinance.

Below: Bunk room of Ft. Vaux

I thought: My grandfather fought in places like this. Though I barely knew the man, I developed more profound respect for him. His dog tags are pictured here, as are my dad’s.

The last event and trip where my appreciation for the Veteran’s place of honor grew even more was Vietnam this past spring. As I have talked about below, my trip with TOP, Tours of Peace, had a profound effect upon me in many ways.

As we traveled through this still distant and very foreign country, I constantly thought of how, 40 years ago, a kid from Des Moines or the Bronx, could slog through a rice paddy, such as I was now seeing, in 100+ heat and humidity; amongst a culture where he not only understood no language, but feared everyone and anyone could kill him; that each step could be a booby trapped last step; who could not be severely affected for life serving in this war. This was not Europe where most battles took place, or Gettysburg, where there was some semblance of familiarity. This was as far away from home as anyone could imagine. We won’t even get into the politics of the war through the years it was waged.

The most compelling part of the trip was spending our Memorial Day at the Son My Vestige Site, also known popularly as My Lai.

I won’t get into the why’s, wherefore’s or rationalizations for My Lai and the slaughter that took place there. It is a blot on our history, but it joins more blots than we lay claim to. Both sides of that war had their bad days for which no one country should be proud or carry a banner of innocence.

In 1998 the Vietnam-American Peace Park was dedicated. This is a 4.5 acre park built by Veterans who fought each other. The effort was led by American veteran Mike Boehm with the assistance of the Madison Quakers. The effort involves recovery and reconciliation and includes a revolving loan fund, local hospital improvements and funds to build a new school. Check out the My Lai Peace Park Project.

The Vestige Site is the actual hamlet where the massacre took place. There is the infamous ditch. The pathways are now cement art, with boot prints, foot and sandal prints, cart tracks and such in a helter skelter pattern. There are statutes and statuary depicting the home sites that remained when the assault ended.

Left: The ditch at My Lai

The bomb shelters are in place. Natalie and I spoke with a woman who, as a child, was at the market when the event occurred. She came home to find she was the only member of her family to still exist. She tends her family’s home site every day. She is pictured below.

We met a woman who still lives near her family home. She is in her 80’s and was wounded, being left for dead in a pile of bodies. The day we met her, she had buried her only grandson, the only son of her surviving son.

The son told us how he survived. He had been working in the field the day before with the family’s water buffalo when the first shelling of the village started. He was hit with a shell, losing his left arm, left leg, and left eye, putting him in a hospital for the next day’s assault on the village. What still moves him, and he still honors, is the water buffalo that died that day. It probably had almost as much, if not more value to the village, than he did at the time.

The tour guide told us the party line account of the atrocities that took place, but, it is clear she softened as she learned from this group of Americans, several of whom fought in Vietnam, that we were shedding tears for all involved. We were not, and are not, the terrible Americans she was taught to vilify at this tragic site.

As with any site where life has been taken en masse and needlessly, there is an strange quiet and the air is dry and tasteless. The life is sucked out of the site. I have experienced it at Dachau and at the scenes of murders when I was a prosecutor. You can almost smell the copperish scent of death lingering over the area.

So often Veteran’s and Memorial Day are spent doing something innocent, like water skiing, having a BBQ, going to a football game or shopping for a great deal at the Mall. We forget that at one time, for many of us, stores were closed on these days out of respect.

Let us remember we have troops in Iraq and Afghanistan that are being shot, killed, wounded and separated from their families. We have troops in many areas of the world, at risk. Every day someone wonders if their son or daughter is safe, or not. Until they come home, nothing is right with the world.

Those of us who have never been near a battlefield, rushed a pillbox, gone over the wall of a trench with nothing but a khaki shirt for armor, been in a fire fight, slogged through a rice paddy in a country you cannot comprehend waiting to be shot, worked hours on injured soldiers making life and death decisions, served in a submarine, on a surface ship or flown a plane or helicopter over enemy territory, will ever know or appreciate what they who have, have endured.

Let us never forget the victims of Agent Orange, Napalm, atomic bombs or whatever other forms of destruction we have or can set our minds to invent and actually use.

As we sit here, snug in our homes, let us spend some time on Veteran’s Day remembering why we are not at work or not subjected to the will of someone such as Adolf Hitler’s successors in interest. Put down that 50% off item you probably don’t really need and consider what it is about this day that grants you such opportunities.

Let me leave you with these words written by Major Beatrice Hood Stroud, WAC, who served in World War II:

It wasn’t just my brother’s country,

or my husband’s country,

it was my country as well.

And so this wasn’t just their war,

it was my war,

and I needed to serve in it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pictured here is my father’s boot camp platoon formed in San Diego as part of the V Corps. As was so typical family members were put together as well as best buddies. My Uncle Harold Waddle is just below my father, circled below. Harold served on Guadalcanal. These men served as well on Iwo Jima, Saipan and most every island invasion in the war. How many besides our father and Uncle made it out alive? If you, or someone you know is in this image, please feel free to contact me.

From Jim Tew:

From my god-father's war journal (no photos) Port Moresby, New Guinea

Lt. Entrekin went to the latrine that afternoon and sat sweating and smoking a cigarette. High above a P38 coughed...it's port engine caught fire and since the starboard engine was already kaput, the airplane turned over into a steep dive. It came down into our company area, tore off the top of the latrine which promptly caught fire. The shack burned to the ground, killing a Lt. Smythe, but leaving Entrekin still alive and his cigarette in place.

One week later the same thing happened, only this time it was Major Goodwin, Entrekin surviving.

He and I spent the balance of the war in Port Moresby with no ill after-effects, but never again did Lt Entrekin have to share the latrine with anyone.

So, there was some [dark] humor amidst the wreckage. Contrast that to the so-called 'greatest war story':

38 men went up the hill; 23 came down.

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Nicargua: Discover An Emerging Destination

2009-10-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

As I have said repeatedly through this blog, we like places where there are few footprints. I want to go to a country or location that is less traveled and tourists with fanny packs, stark white legs and sneakers, have not found it as yet. Since I can’t go to the moon, I want to go places that make me excited with the unknown, offering risk and reward.

That is Nicaragua today.

Let me say too that I wish after high school or college I had the luxury or chance to put on a backpack and travel the world for a year or so to find my way. Or a summer--no actually even a week in Yosemite-- would have been better than being an enumerator for the Polk City Directory in July or cutting peaches in a fruit packing house, taking 21 units and being a housewife with 2 jobs.

But I digress into my own life.

Nicaragua was filled with mostly young (and some older) adults from all over the world with backpacks and loose agendas. They generally had svelte bodies and good tans. British, Swedish, Italian, French, Spanish, Danish, Scottish and American accents. They had either trust funds or a few Cordoba type budgets. Some were working their way through the world as hotel employees and dive masters.

There were old beach bums, and new ones; freshly minted divers on Little Corn Island and old geezer’s like ourselves that couldn’t keep up with the kid’s boundless energy.

There were old travelers who were coming back for another visit or to stay and give something back for a few months, weeks or years.

And the people of Nicaragua’s Corn Islands? The Nicas? They are Miskitos (NOT mosquitos) and black decendents; Brit’s with checkered pirate pasts and other forms of Spanish and mixed Indians. The Caribbean side speaks predominantly English with Spanish as the second language and then there is the Spanish dominated mainland.

There are “white lobsters” (cocaine) and then there are the real lobsters that are so cheap and delicious on Little Corn.

Where is Little Corn Island? It is a 1 hour 20 minute flight from Managua, Nicaragua on Los Costeńo Airlines in a 12 passenger single engine plane or a twin that carries more but might make a stop enroute. We were well over our 30 pound per person allowed luggage and I semi-happily paid the $66 in overage fees. I knew it was coming.

I should back up and say that the Managua International Airport is really a nice place. It is a very efficient, beautiful modern building and secure. You don’t go through Customs without a security person making sure your luggage tags match each of your pieces of checked luggage.

Immigration was pleasant and only cost $5 each for the entry fee.

Someone is ready (for a tip of course) to help you from any place to any place else. Dollar bills fly out your hands like confetti but you don’t touch a thing.

Los Costeño is way down the end of the complex in the old terminal I suspect. It is busy and crowded so you don’t mess around in the new airport getting lunch and such. First come first served on check in even with a reservation.

Our “skycap” who hauled our luggage stayed with us through check in and made sure we got through the security checkpoint and paid our little fee to go through security. Then we found the bar as is our place in life and ordered some cold beers.

Finally it was time to board our plane and off we flew. I was confused as to our heading when we were flying southwest and towards the ocean. Not having a map with me I didn’t realize that the “ocean” was Lake Nicaragua and the volcano that is in the middle is a hot spot to visit.

We turned to the east and finally arrived on Big Corn Island. A young man was ready to be our taxi driver and we sped off in a car that was old and junky when Samosa was in his heyday.
We paid another fee to get inside the ferry yard where our panga was awaiting us for the 3:30 trip to Little Corn Island. Our bags went into their Tough Stuff Flexible Strength garbage bags which were much admired and sought after. A panga is a good sized boat that held about 40 people and luggage. It had twin, 4 stroke, full fuel Yamahas that just hauled butt.

Then we waited, and we waited and we waited. We watched kids do aerial flips off the fishing boats while they waited or just hung out.

We went to a bar, the Fisherman’s Cove, with a dock hustler named “Terry” who was quite informative about everything except when the boat would leave. Fortunately he did not drink beer and only drank the occasional water. He wanted a tip, not liquids.

Finally; finally, for some reason such as the panga driver’s girlfriend arrived, and after we all paid our fares, donned our life jackets to the approval of the Naval man standing watch, we took off with twin outboards blazing.

Most times at least part of the panga was in the water. At the front of this long, v-hulled boat fitted with formed seats with 2x12 wooden back rests, were three young men that help balance and guide the boat across the ocean, missing reefs poking out.

A rooster tail was a constant to my right elbow. Flexibility in your back is an absolute must as well. We would hit swells and bounce and keep flying along.

When we almost got to Little Corn, as the sun was setting, the water chop dissipated and flattened out and Señor Capitan put the pedal to the metal and our hair stuck straight backwards. Wow, it was like a Cigarette Boat ride with 30 people at that point. Then he wove in and out with a florish and the dock was filled with people who have wondered where the hell the panga ferry has been for 2 hours.

With our arrival, we were met by Betsy from Casa Iguana and Emma, our dive master from Little Corn Divers. Several men with a big wooden wheelbarrow did not seem at all phased by our numerous black plastic bags of checked and carry on luggage.

In fact, they passed us on the trail through mud and jungle like we had cement boots on. If they had been butlers as well they probably would have had us unpacked when we got to our room they were that fast and agile.

Our Casita Grande at Casa Iguana met all my expectations. It was about 12x24 feet with a 6 foot deep deck that went the 24 feet. We had a futon couch and big bed on stilts to make us window screen height. The skeeter net was never needed. We almost needed straps to keep us in the bed when the wind came through the windows. It was divine.

But, more on Casa Iguana and Little Corn Island in my next postcard from Nicaragua.
Coming soon: More on Vietnam and Nicaragua and our upcoming trip to Salt Cay. Someone’s got to do this miserable life and it might as well be me.

The US Virgin Islands: Life on m/v HANCO

2009-10-12T13:31:00.000-07:00

Someone has to live our lives and it darned well is going to be us.

Our Mission: Visit friends Sandi and John Moore on their yacht HANCO. HANCO is a derivative for Hancock County Ohio where John had HANCO EMS, Medic and Rescue for many years.

Sandi, Joel and I go back to about 1990 when we met in the hanger of Ft. Lauderdale Executive airport readying to board a QueenAire destined for San Salvador, Bahamas and the Riding Rock Inn. We shared a connecting room that trip (a grand way to get to know people) and we bonded immediately. We next met up in Park City that winter and skied our legs off at Deer Valley.

A few years ago John and Sandi met and married and their combined households included a 38 foot boat that then grew into the 63 foot Hatteras and a Great Adventure that involves being on the sea for 10 months out of the year. And, being the considerate friends they are, they have invited Joel and I down and we finally got off our dead butts and took them up on it.

And the rest is the US Virgin Islands. Wow, what a place.

Right now we are moored in a US Park Service area called Great Lameshur Bay. We cruised through Magen’s Bay yesterday, but it was too busy. Before that we have been in Christmas Cove, Trunk Bay and Watermelon Bay.

We have seen turtles, spotted eagle rays, sting rays, tarpon’s galore, squid, box fish, butterfly fish, jellyfish, trumpet fish, remora’s, tiny crabs, bristle worm, octopus, parrot fish, all kinds of angel fish, and some of the largest conch I have ever had the opportunity to observe. And, the most intriguing, two conchs mating. You have to wonder how they meet, let alone decide to mate.

Then we entertained ourselves with star fish. Lots of starfish. Now you think they don’t do much but turn one upside down and you have a starfish break dancing. It takes them about 5 minutes to crank it up, but then they ever so decidedly fold themselves over and get back on their “feet”. It is a two cocktail minimum show.

The little brown fish pictured left is a squid. The turtle is a Hawksbill. They turtles poke their heads up and come around the boat, check us out and then dive down. We had three off the boat the other day that just hung around and let us follow them.

Did you know that if you snorkel for 4 hours you will burn 1400 or so calories?

Sandi, John, Joel and I have truly earned our kibble each night and our grog.

Evenings we spend on the aft deck of the boat enjoying the sunset, hors de oeuvres, cocktails of course, then dinner, wine and chatting. Before we hit the sack we lounge up on the bow and enjoy the star gazing.

Last night we turned off all the lights and sat out with a beautiful sky and flat cove on the bow. No one has been moored in the same area for two full days. No houses lighting the area and nothing on the beaches.

Morning comes and the first one up turns on the coffee and we slowly make our way back to the scene of last night’s crime, the aft deck lounge.

The underwater pictures are by Sandi Knight Moore, our hostess, who is an accomplished nature and underwater photographer. The only credit I get is for having my digital underwater camera and case with me on the trip and the ability to download them. I think she could use a Brownie Instamatic in a used Ziplock Bag and turn out incredible images.

We have dined exquisitely on board and have not had one meal out. That will come tomorrow night when we return to the marina at St. Thomas so we can catch an early flight out Wednesday. We were invited to extend our trip but alas, the cost of staying 2-3 days more was going to cost more than the tickets to get here did.

American got us here as scheduled and with little time spent in airports waiting. I highly recommend the USVI as they are beautiful, mountainous islands that have much to offer travelers looking for a splendid vacation.

That is NOT Greg Louganis jumping off the deck, that is our own Joel proving he can't keep his legs together.

It’s 5:00 here, and time for our cocktails. We’re all pooped out from a few hours snorkeling in some pretty good current and the pork rib eye’s that traveled from Soto’s in Cambria, CA are rubbed up with Memphis Rub and awaiting the BBQ. Some Tobin James Cabernet and we’ll be stylin’ for the evening.

Sorry for the hodgepodge of images but I'm using my AirCard and wondering just how many megs of air time and the bill for this will be. Oh well...it's only money right?

Life is good, someone has to do it and it is going to be us.

Vietnam: Arrival and Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City

2009-08-31T10:35:00.000-07:00

There is no question in your mind, when you land in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon that you are not in America. And though renamed, it is still, in many respects, especially the heart of the city, Saigon.

Being night time on our landing I could not see the old fortifications of Tan Son Nhat, one of the busiest air bases in South Vietnam during the war. When we landed later in the trip, during daylight hours, the old revetments and Quonset hut hangers still exist.

Left: A Mekong Delta fisherman

Right: A scooter or bike can carry a lot, and I mean a lot!

The terminal is brand spanking new and very nice. There are no guns or other weapons touted around by armed guards either. You do not feel that sense of Big Brother with small firearms at hand that you feel in Europe for instance.

You start to get the feeling of being in Asia on board the aircraft from Hong Kong for sure.

But when you land, and come out the doors to the heat and the rousing crowd watching each plane load embark on their journey, you know you are not in Des Moines. Since the crowd is not allowed into the terminal they wait outside like it is a Red Carpet arrival.

For sure, it is a long, long plane ride. Jet lag is of utmost importance and consideration. United’s flight attendants made sure we had water in front of us all the time. At least upstairs in Business they did…sorry I can’t speak for steerage.

Left: A brightly attired woman doing recycling in Ho Chi Minh City

I took Jet Lag medication from Trader Joe’s; I drank EmergenC high octane vitamin C three or four time’s enroute and in preparation for leaving; I laid off the gin and wine; I ate healthily; I slept with the schedule of Vietnam time zones in mind. I was still pooped. But not as much as I could have been.

We got to the May Hotel in central Ho Chi Min City about 11:30 pm and with an Ambien and some water, I dove into bed with the air conditioning set to “meat locker”. The first day in Vietnam was not going to be a lazy one.

We were greeted at the airport by Anh, our TOP tour guide. A young man in his thirties, his energy and enthusiasm for his country and his family was clear. And obviously, his friendship with TOP top gun Jess DeVaney was of long standing as his son’s name is Jessie. I suspect they’ve known each other quite some time for that to have happened.

Left: Graham Green's Continental Hotel..changed a bit

The group consisted of three TOP staff, Jess DeVaney, Bruce Logan (a retired Army Lt. Col.) and Natalie Greenleaf, a Washington D.C. therapist. The travelers were myself, Stevie and Sallie. Then there was Anh, our bus driver and little Jessie.

Left: Stevie and Anh in the lobby of the May Hotel (Sallie image)

Bruce is a Vietnam historian. He served two tours during the war and now comes back with TOP and with his wife to stay in the Hoi An area during the winter. He is very involved with Helping Hands in Hoi An that is run by and for challenged adults. This was his first tour as a Mother Duck, which means he has to keep everyone moving and accounted for.

Natalie’s late husband was a Chaplain who served in the Da Nang area of Vietnam. She returned for her second TOP tour this year to be our emotional support person, conducting the nightly group meetings to deal with the day’s events.

Jess, the founder of TOP, served in Vietnam as a Marine and came back to live and learn the language. The rest is history, as you will learn.

Natalie was my assigned “trip buddy”, and Jess couldn’t have made a better pairing as you will discover through these postcards.

Left: Anh and Jessie delivering toys first hand

First, let me say, I am not a “kid person”. I am a grandmother, but Zach is 18 and long on his own. Jessie is 4 years old and rarely has the chance to be with his dad, given Anh’s tour schedule, for any length of time. Without doubt Jessie has to be one of the most amazing children I have ever spent time with. We all agreed when Anh asked if Jessie could go on the tour with us. In retrospect, he helped make the tour the success it became and was a major glue component. He entertained himself for two weeks on a bus with a single Matchbox car and a tennis ball. You’ll see and read that throughout the postcards. He surely will grow up to be Vietnam’s first ambassador of major distinction or he’ll control all the Matchbox Cars of the world.

The May Hotel is located near the center of the city which includes the Continental Hotel, Rex Hotel, the Majestic Hotel, stores like Yves St. Laurent, Louis Vuitton, Gucci and the giant Ben Than indoor market place. It is the heart of Graham Greene’s "Quiet American" tour.

Right: The quiet street in front of the May Hotel

The May had excellent staff, comfortable and quiet rooms, a great breakfast buffet and location, location, location. Located on a one way side street it is a relatively quiet site where street and city noise is minimized. I highly recommend it.

Natalie, Sallie and I went to the Continental and Rex Hotels to check them out. But, being a little on the heated and travel worn side, we didn’t quite fit in with the motif of mahogany and brass. Ok, frankly, I looked like a sweat drenched refugee in L.L. Been. But the A/C sure felt good. The Rex’s famous roof top bar was quiet and really hot, as it was afternoon, and we did not, to my regret, make it back for cocktails.

I quickly learned the art of using the card key power system. To keep the room’s A/C running you put your amenities comb or a business card in the key holder slot. You never lose power then.

There is no question that Saigon is rapidly returning to the status of Paris of Southeast Asia. It is really hip, smart and big. Food is fantastic and shopping is heaven for those so inclined. You will not realize you are in a Communist run country or that they have reinvented themselves in less than 40 years after a major war.

Natalie and I spent quite a bit of our shopping time searching for dog tags to purchase for TOP's Dog Tag Recovery Program. More on that later as well. Suffice it to say either we were being too stingy in our negotiations or the proprietor thought we were trying to steal a large chain of tags. We offered a fair price but, alas, we left without those.

While in HCM City, aka Saigon, Jess surprised us the first night with dinner on a Saigon River boat. We cruised the river enjoying the lights of the city from the top deck and then went down to the main saloon for a multi-course Vietnamese dinner. We were entertained with traditional Vietnamese music. It was a great way to spend the evening before we set out the next day for Da Lat and our first project.

Left: Rooftop of the Rex Hotel

What was almost hard to compute and fully appreciate, is the magnitude of the scooter in Saigon, and the rest of the country. But Saigon! Think of a million gnats with motors in a liter bottle. They buzz around and never touch their brakes. They have a cell phone to their helmet ear hole, a cigarette going and 500 pounds of 30 foot long plastic pipe on their shoulder, driving through cheek to jowl traffic.

We saw many near accidents and happened upon what appeared to be a fatal accident with a helmetless scooter pilot lying in the roadway with his head at an odd angle. We learned quickly that life in Vietnam is fleeting even today. There is no such thing as OSHA. Men arc weld with no dark safety glasses under dual wheeled trucks jacked up without chocks under the wheels and gas leaking (I imagined) wearing flip flops for safety shoes. At many of our projects someone was gone because a relative had suddenly died or been killed tragically. It was a recurring theme.

Left: Just a small dose of scooters in Saigon

Adult riders have to wear helmets, but children have no helmets and wear, well, a hat. Most women are totally hidden to protect their creamy skin, with gloves, helmets, hats, face masks and long sleeves. Between the sun, the air quality of the city and the dust and grime, the body is greatly exposed. But, when you see the ladies with their armor off, and in their silken clothes, you see that taking care of one’s outer layer is all that it is cracked up to be. And alas, it is far too late for my rosacea cheeks.

Right: Flowers float in a "teeming" small body of water in the Mekong

While in Saigon we did an excursion to the Mekong to find the crash site of Sallie’s father’s helicopter in which he perished on the 4th of July, 1968. But that my friends and fellow travelers is a story totally unto itself and one for which you will have to wait patiently.

Our last night was spent in Saigon and we were graciously hosted by Anh’s mother at the family home near the airport. Anh’s wife, also named Anh, along with his mother and sisters, cooked us a homemade Vietnamese dinner that was divine. Then, we went around the corner to the family’s karaoke bar and sang ourselves into the night. It was a very short last night at the May Hotel. We had a 3 am departure for the airport in order to catch a 6:00 am flight for Hong Kong.

At dinner we had Mangosteen, a purple, delicious fruit that you crack open and then remove individual fruit sections. I fell in love with it. Anh’s wife surprised us by going to a market and getting us a bag to take home. We ate almost the entire bag in the waiting area for our flight. But, since we could not take it into California, what we couldn’t finish in Hong Kong we gave to some drooling seat companions who did not have the same destination.

Right: Natalie and Bruce serenade the fans (Sallie Image)

When I got home I went on a quest of the Asian markets for Mangosteens and found that they are not grown even in the agriculturally abundant Central Valley given our winters. And given fruit fly issues, they cannot be imported from Southeast Asia. Oh well, I guess I have to go back again if I want some Mangosteen. Another reason to return, as if I needed one.

My next postcards will go into the heart of the Southern Highlands and the beauty of Da Lat, our Leprosy Village project and a rare trip into the Montagnard Hill Tribes.

Below: Mangosteens

The Vietnam Tour: Choosing To Go and How

2009-08-14T14:52:00.000-07:00

If I thought Fargo and Nicaragua as choices to visit brought out the quizzical looks, inability to comprehend why I would go there or just plain boredom with the idea, then Vietnam really was the winner.

And to go without Joel! You would have thought I was going to travel alone, rent a car and take off into the Highlands with nothing more than a camera and no language skills. Anyone who knows me knows I eschew tour groups like the plague. But, sometimes you go somewhere and need to consider some guidance. And Vietnam is one of those places.

Frankly, before going, I already believed you couldn’t go there without a well researched guide and driver. And now that I’ve been there, I can say, without any equivocation at all, that if you try to drive and guide yourself, then you have a fool leading your trip.

A woman in Mekong rice paddy (above)

But why Vietnam? As I have said before, I like to go to places where there are few footprints from tourists. A good place to do that is in countries that have just emerged from behind an Iron Curtain, are still communist controlled or out from under a dictator and emerging as a tourism destination.

Joel and I traveled to Berlin when the Wall was still up. We needed “Flag Orders” to travel across the “frontier” at Checkpoint Alpha in Northern West Germany, across the East German countryside non-stop and enter Berlin through Checkpoint Bravo. Checkpoint Charlie was the crossover between East and West Berlin.

That trip cemented my policy of going to out of the way places. It was a trip that was life changing.

Vietnam was no exception.

I read Nelson DeMille’s book “Up Country” several years ago and was hooked from that point on. I had considered it as a destination, but that was the final straw.

So I researched.

A Hill Tribe boy (above)

I had heard of some tour groups, and I researched them. But I was not inclined to go with a group that required I wear brand new white sneakers, a logo fanny pack (makes my butt look bigger than it is) and neck wear that proclaims I am an aging tourist and proud of it, complete with my name and tour group number.

Being a military spouse (MajDep or Major’s Dependent) and proud of it, and the ex-wife of a Vietnam veteran, I started focusing on retired military groups on Google. I found, right off the bat, Tours of Peace Vietnam Veterans Organization, known as TOP.

Old and new on Highway 1 (above)

I read the site and I was hooked. A travel group that needed an application and approval process to be allowed to pay your money and go to Vietnam. That was incentive right there to inquire.

But there was more that really drove it home for me: I needed a life changing experience if possible as Berlin was becoming a faint memory. TOP is not a vacation for sightseeing your way through Vietnam. Hire a travel agent if you want to do that.

TOP is for those who want to understand someone else, themselves, a country, or an era for starters. The Vietnam War (or the American War as it is called in Vietnam) had a profound effect on many people from the early 1960’s to the present. Vietnam reportedly lost over 3 million people from the French and American wars and their aftermath. Whether you are a Vietnam veteran of either country, the family of a veteran or you were involved in trying to end the war, it had an effect.

For veterans and family, TOP offers a way in which they can go back to Vietnam or go for the initial trip of understanding in a safe and caring environment. Coupled with hands on listening and caring, TOP provides participants the rare opportunity to participate in selected, trusted and proven humanitarian efforts while in country. Through such humanitarian efforts, many veterans and family members have gained insight into not only their own feelings and experiences, but those of the Vietnamese people.

Through understanding and education we can let go of the past, or at least come to some degree of reconciliation and acceptance. When done with this article, since you would hate to miss the rest of it, I recommend you to TOPS Winter Newsletter for another participant’s experience.

For me, I wanted to learn and return to educate not just veterans, but family members and people who weren’t connected. For those who weren't born yet and undereducated about this very important time in our history, there is an educational need. Many people are not as fortunate as I to be able to financially, mentally and physically, do this type of tour so it is incumbent on others to share.

I’ll let Jess DeVaney describe TOP:

TOP (Tours of Peace) Vietnam Veterans is an independent nonprofit 501(c) 3 organization founded in 1998, to help Vietnam veterans and families heal and find closure through Tours of Peace. The Foundation is comprised of five programs: Veterans, Family, Humanitarian, Personal Effects, and Education. Tours of Peace revisit sites of personal meaning, and conduct humanitarian projects nearby--meeting needs of orphans, villagers, and elderly. TOP and participants retrieve personal effects, left behind during the war. We research and attempt to return effects to families and veterans. TOP educates the public about Vietnam veteran & family issues, the War, and Vietnam as it is today. Our approach integrates group support and humanitarian components, based on the principal, “by helping others we help ourselves.”

I’ll give you a nutshell tour of the pre-trip process and a little taste of the posts to come regarding Vietnam.

My travel buddy absorbs China Beach (above)

First, you express interest and begin the initial application process. Yes, a multi-page, in depth application process. Why? Think about it. Wouldn’t you love to have an application process when doing any kind of travel group activity with complete strangers?

There is no question such as: Are you a jerk as a rule? But there are probing questions, I can guarantee it.

Then there are usually only about 10 available slots for participants. This is not a project to see how many people can go at one time as it is supposed to be a personalized effort to put together a cohesive and varied group. Filing buses is not the desired result.

The application process, in itself, is a great start at the self-introspection that will, or should, happen during the trip.

Then Jess DeVaney calls and does a phone interview. And those piercing eyes of his, that you don’t even yet know exist, start to come through over the line (for those who use a landline phone that is).

Getting my acceptance was, for me, a day of joy. And the ride to Vietnam started in earnest. Then Joel asks “is it too late for me to go?” “Yes Dear, it is too late” I reply. But, I already know in my heart he’d be a hard sell as he wouldn’t even want to write down his answers, let alone be absolutely honest in the phrasing. Two weeks before departure he sees Anthony Bourdain’s Travel Channel segment on Vietnam and he is sure he wants to go. It was really too late at that point.

A woman sorts her rice harvest on the edge of Highway 1 (above)

The long, long flight to Vietnam was daunting as I am now a very spoiled traveler and do not want to sit in steerage for 20 or so hours, upright, knees, back and neck screaming for relief. There is not enough Ambien, gin or Vicoden to make that trip feel good or unmemorable.

So, though I don’t often fly on United I started scouring around for miles, any miles, on United’s mileage program. American, I could fly free anywhere First Class but that didn’t help me to Vietnam as TOP flies as a group. Jess doesn’t want the group spread all over the South China Sea, Hong Kong and San Francisco, trying to get to Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City at the same time and date. Plus there is bonding all the way from the boarding gate to the hotel.

Anyway, I joined the UAL Club; I got a credit card; I got Joel a credit card and transferred his miles to me; I used my card for everything I bought and made sure I waited to buy those big ticket items until I got the card; I bought some miles to make that final 1897 mile push to the finish line. And voila! I got a Business Class upgrade.

A woman who resides in a Leprosy village (above)

I do have to say I was a little embarrassed as I parted company at the stairs to the upper lounge on the 747 in San Francisco. But, I did come down and talk to whoever was awake and tried not to lord it over them.

Business on United to Vietnam, upstairs, in the new configuration was divine. The seat folds out flat; the entertainment is great and the food pretty good. Great service too. Upstairs is hard to beat. So if you go, beg, borrow, steal and connive to get upgraded.

The project at the Leprosy village (left)

With that, I’ll just say that arriving in Vietnam at 10 pm was amazing. It was hot. And, in Vietnam, the “masses” are not allowed into the terminal to greet arriving passengers. That is done on the sidewalk behind a barricade. One feels like they are walking the Red Carpet at a Vietnamese A List event when the doors open and you stroll out all bug eyed and brain dead from the anticipation and travel. Everyone comes to the airport if there is a rumor of family or friends coming in. There were hundreds of people there to meet the plane and waiting for someone they know to appear.

A group of young men perform on their water buffalo on Highway 1 (left)

My next postcard will introduce you to Vietnam, Saigon—returning to form as the Paris of Southeast Asia, the group and our first days. In days and weeks to come you will read of a rare visit to the Montagnard Hill Tribes (see the boy above); a Leprosy Village; Da Lat; Hoi An; Nha Trang; Hue and Memorial Day at My Lai, just to give you a taste. You'll read of moving tributes, meeting elders at a senior citizens home; an orphanage visit; special schools and other remarkable works of charity.

Until then it is time to grab some pho and the first test will be how to pronounce this fantastic soup’s name.

Fargo North Dakota and Detroit Lakes Area

2009-08-08T07:23:00.001-07:00

In late June we flew off to Fargo, North Dakota for a week's stay.

As with many of our trips our friends immediately got a quizzical look on their face and said "FarrrGo?" (imagine long drawn out FAR and a heavy accent on GO) and a little of the semi-stink eye look you get when people think you've lost your last marble.

We had a purpose. First, we had some Delta vouchers that were about to expire and never, ever let paid for airline dollars or hard earned vouchers expire. I'd rather eat a dirt pie than let the airlines keep that money.

Second, Joel spent many happy years in Fargo before he fled for another fun town, Fresno (pronounced FrezzzNo with a nasal twang). Joel was a "Happy Hooligan" which is a Fargo Air National Guard fighter pilot/wizzo, well known for their partying ability, drinking abilities and sticking their little log on anything and everything they see. I had met some of his Hooligan buddies through the years and I really wanted to see what this "heartland of America" was and how these guys got to be such party people. The included pictures basically say it all in no words, what fun Joel had in his F4 Hooligan and Fresno Guard days.

Thanks to Tommy Larsen and the Fargo Hooligan photographers for sharing these great shots.

The flights into and out of Fargo were great and on time. The airport is small for an International airport. Small enough that TSA has time to really examine your luggage and confiscate bottles of Ever Clear (190 proof). Nothing like hearing “Joel McNair, please report to TSA” on the loudspeaker waiting for your flight.

Our first stop on Joel’s introduction to Fargo was the Hi Ho Tavern in Dilworth, (pronounced Dilwirt) Minnesota. The Hi Ho is where the Hooligans would pounce for burgers (really good ones) and of course adult beverages. We found this as we always do by good teamwork.

Joel was remembering a good burger joint as we were headed to the Detroit Lakes area. He knew it was in Dilworth but had no idea where it was or its name. I immediately spotted a Tavern sign that said “burgers” and well, the rest was lunch. Be sure to order the cheeseburger basket, which, has no basket. It is served on a sheet of wax paper.

We poured ourselves back into our rental car. No we weren’t intoxicated, but we were refreshed, and headed for the home of our friends and fellow Hooligans, Linda and Tom Larsen (TLAR is his call sign) on Pelican Lake in the Detroit Lakes area. Pictured below is Tommy at the Fargo car night.

The Detroit Lakes area is so different from the Fargo area that it is hard to believe they are about 45 miles apart. You cross more than a state line when you enter Minnesota. It is a change of mind as well.

Everywhere you look it is a forest and a lake. One lake can seemingly have several lakes in it, around it, by it.

Everyone has a lake cabin, or their cousin, brother, mother has one. In fact, on July 3, a Friday, we were in Fargo and it was like everyone left except us. The streets were empty. The hotel was empty. I am shocked we even got a meal. Everyone left for the Lakes.

Life on the lakes means pontoon boating with friends. This means taking some beverages and cruising the lake looking at homes that used to be $45,000 and are now $750,000. The Lakes are quite popular. Going to one of several Zorbaz's for some food and beverages and then stopping at the homes of other Hooligan’s for more beverages.

Then you bring your pontoon boat back to your personal dock and somehow maneuver it into a little tunnel of tubes and awning and then park it, or as they say dock it, on this lift that will take it out of the water a little ways.

I could get used to this.

I played golf at Wildflower Golf Course on a brilliant Sunday morning in a 30 mph wind. I thought I was going to have to tether myself to the cart to hit shots and then hope the ball didn’t come back and hit me in the face. It was alternately the longest drive ever and the shortest. But, a beautiful course and golf in the Lakes is not to be missed.

On Saturday we went out to do a little bar hopping and dining. We spent a leisurely afternoon at the Bridges Marina Bar and Grill listening to aging Jimmy Buffettesque rockers playing and folks dancing. White haired folks, partying, conga lining and dancing away actually. Then we made our way to the Hotel Shoreham for dinner.

The Shoreham is a long time hotel in the Detroit Lakes area. The bar and restaurant are quite good, and the prices are reasonable. Dinner there is like walking into your neighborhood pub. Joel had been gone 25 years and voila, there they are again, all these Hooligans of years past, out for dinner. Lots of wood and warm feelings in the restaurant and bar areas.

Again, I could get used to this, but I think my waistline would suffer and I'd have to vacation at Betty Ford in Palm Springs far too often.

We returned to Fargo to sober up and spend a few days visiting friends and Joel’s past. We stayed at the Radisson in downtown and a fine hotel it is. Get a corner room with a view of the river or the city.

The dollar goes a long way in this area. We had some great dinners that were reasonably priced. Toscana, a very hip Italian restaurant was excellent though they stop taking guests at 8 pm. And in summer, 8 pm looks like 5 pm anywhere else given the long days. So, it is easy to get lulled into thinking you have plenty of time to get to dinner when in fact it is bed time.

Another old Fargo place to eat and drink is the Old Broadway. We ate there several times and enjoyed each visit.

Our big plan to have Joel skydiving while I played golf failed. The wind kept blowing such that skydiving was not an option unless he planned to land in another county. And when the wind stopped the skydivers, well, they left for the Lakes too.

I did get a round of golf in at the Fargo Country Club. Though they had some holes closed due to flood damage, the course is a challenging, river bed course with lots of trees. They are quite friendly there and I would go back again anytime to play there.

On summer nights, the first Thursday of the month is Hot Rod night on Main Street. There are some serious hot rodders in this area and it is not to be missed. The Larsen’s came to town and we hit the Empire, another Hooligan hangout for pre-dinner cocktails, and then strolled up Main for dinner at Monte’s.

Monte’s is an excellent, high end restaurant. The dollar went far there as well, and we spent lots of them doing it. The food and wine list were superb and of course the owner is somehow a Hooligan as well.

We then walked down Main, looking at restored and project cars. Next on our list of stops was the Hotel Donaldson. The HoDo as it is called.

This is a restored hotel done by the ex-wife of a local software mogul. It is quite pricey, or we would have stayed there. But each room is unique in the artist that is featured. It is a boutique hotel. The bar rocks, I can tell you that. And the staff is as friendly as they come.

We closed the HoDo, which had a band, The Front Fenders, playing all evening. Folks dance, I mean dance like in Swing and good slow dancing. Very impressive, even Joel had to dance. We haven’t stayed out till 2 am in years.

During the day we drove down Memory Lane for Joel. We found the place he lived at in Reiles Acres in West Fargo. As you can see by the sign, it is an interesting area. I mean who would build a house without a permit? Only in Fargo.

I have to say I would return to Fargo. In fact I’d love to see what it must be like when that 50 mph wind comes roaring through from the North and it is -20 degrees and snow on the ground. Seriously, I can’t help but think the party never stops then.

So folks, Fargo is more than a movie. It really is a neat place to go, especially if you head out to the Lakes, spend some time bar hopping on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, and just let life flow over you.

Welcome To Postcards From the Pound

2009-08-07T16:37:00.000-07:00

Being a travel writer and photographer you don’t always get everything you write published in a glossy magazine or even a black and white newspaper (those things they throw on your porch every morning and your Golden Retriever lives to bring to you) freebie article.

So, it is time to do a travel writing blog where anyone can check out where we are going; get real pictures of something other than another blazing sunset to make a decision on where to go and stay. And, most important, if you take your amazing dog companion with you, or your spouse for that matter, will you or will you not be forced to kennel them.

I plan to let you see the bathroom, the living quarters, the good, the bad, the ugly. Let’s face it, you want to know if that wood and thatch hut on the beach is a flea infested rat’s nest that you wouldn’t think to take your clothes off in or, the greatest thing since Robinson Crusoe hit the beach. Does the “city view” mean a view of the alley in a city? Do you really want to eat that wild goat burger? And if so, which is the best dive to try it at?

Now do not expect this to be a pet travel blog. Marley goes when he can and would go more often but he has weight problems. He and his crate weigh well over 100 pounds so the airlines discriminate against him. Thus his present options are limited on airlines.

First up will be Vietnam, sans husband and dog. I went with a group called Tours of Peace which is a Vietnam Veteran’s Reconciliation/Humanitarian organization that I will go into in more depth in my blog articles. As you will read, this is one of the most amazing countries. It was life transforming not just because of the people but because of how I chose to take the trip, what we did and the amazing people I shared it with.

To the right is a taste of Vietnam. This is the fish market and harbor of Nha Trang at 7 am. The boats are so colorful, not to mention the people.

Then there is the old standby, the Turks and Caicos Islands, focusing on Salt Cay where we maintain a home called the Compass Rose Cottage. It can be viewed at www.saltcay.us

You’ll hear regular reports from there as well as Park City, Utah.

Coming soon will be a 2 week tour of Nicaragua, including Little Corn Island, Selva Negra Coffee Plantation and Los Cardones Surf Lodge on the Pacific side. We’ll only spend one night in Managua and maybe I can get Mr. Enthusiastic (Joel) to go salsa dancing. I’m sure he will at least go watch if it means semi-naked women shaking themselves to music.

We will seek to answer that question posed by many people so far: Why Nicaragua?

Why not? As you will learn, my travel philosophy is the less footprints the better. No cruise ships either. If it is under communist rule, like Cuba or Vietnam, get there sooner than later. And no brand new white sneakers and fanny packs either. If that’s you, stop it. The travel fashion police will be watching.

Any airline tips, tricks or cautions I can give you, I will.

I really was surprised that the name and domain www.postcardsfromthepound.com was available and the blog name as well. I don’t think I made it up. Often, when asked to baby sit the pets of traveling friends I will send them an email postcard from their pet voicing their vacation exploits in the personality I sort of “channel” for them. If your dog is a dope then his post cards are dopey. If your pet is a snob (of which few of my friend’s pets are) they write in an uppity tone….more often I think the voice reflects the owner as well. But we won’t tell them that now will we?

In the meantime, if you want to see some of my images, you can go to www.saltcayphotography.com and wander around while I conjure up the first blog articles.

Don’t bother leaving advertising posts, porn posts, garbage, spam or anything else. It will disappear faster than you can imagine.

And yes there are ads. I want to see what this “click” stuff is all about and see if there is anything to it frankly. And I’ll let you know what I find out.

Here are the major players in this blog:

Joel and I at the top of Sentinel Dome for sunset and champagne; Marley and me snorkeling off of Salt Cay and lastly, Marley on the Compass Rose Cottage deck on a beautiful sunrise