MY DAYS IN COURT

I went to Small Claims Court today.  Not as a participant, but as an observer to listen to a case where my husband, as the president of our homeowners association, defended a ridiculous suit brought against our complex by an angry resident.  Although the details of the case weren't very interesting,  I wanted to listen and observe the process, especially since it was my husband who would be doing some of the talking.  I've never been sued nor have I taken anyone to Small Claims Court,  but I wish I'd had the chutzpah to do so a few years back when the engine of my Lexus 400 was seriously damaged by an auto detailer who steam cleaned the "interior" of my car.   I guess when I told him I wanted both the exterior and interior to be detailed, he took the word "interior" just a little too literally.  Apparently he opened up the hood and steam cleaned the engine, screwing it up badly.    

A couple of years ago I went to court as an observer because a lawyer friend of ours was representing a sister and brother who were suing another sibling in a very complicated case concerning their parents' estate.   As I listened to my friend give his opening remarks in a convincing voice, laced with passion and drama, I felt as though I was watching a play unfold on stage and my friend was the 21st Century Perry Mason.   

I was on a jury once in Superior Court, but it was a long time ago.  To be honest, I don't think I handled myself very well.  I was barely 21 years of age and still green around the edges.  I certainly was not mature enough to make a decision on an armed robbery case.   Although eleven members of the jury felt the defendant was guilty, I had a hard time making up my mind.  I don't recall the details of the case, except that I was the same age as the defendant, and I probably didn't want to see someone so young go to jail.  I do remember that other jury members were eager to go home and put this case to bed, so they patiently reviewed the evidence with me again until I finally came around and joined their position.  I'll never forget the scared look on the young defendant's face when our foreman told the judge, "Your honor, the jury finds the defendant guilty as charged." 


Last year my husband was a jury foreman on a case in which an obstinate young man challenged a policeman who stopped him for talking on his cell phone while driving, which is illegal in California.  Not only would the driver not give him his license or registration form, he locked the doors of his car and ignored the policeman completely.  Eventually two other officers showed up to help deal with the problem, but the situation escalated and the driver ended up being taken away to the police station.   He was found guilty, of course, but what a waste of judicial resources and people's time. 

I realize that the law says it's my civic duty to serve on a jury, and, of course, I believe in a fair judicial process.  But perhaps mandatory jury duty should be replaced with a voluntary system.   If jury duty were voluntary, I might be willing to step up to the plate when it's convenient, but as it is now, I just keep my fingers crossed that I'm never called.

  

THE OTHER LAND'S END

 When a friend told me she had visited Land's End, I thought the mail order catalog company had morphed into a bricks and mortar store.  "No, not that Land's End" she informed me.  "This Land's End is a nature trail located in the northwest corner of San Francisco, where urban development ends and the Pacific Ocean begins."   

One of many beautiful views from Land's End

Last Saturday Bruce and I drove to San Francisco and spent some time hiking the three mile loop from the Cliff House to the Palace of the Legion of Honor and back.  Eager to check it out, we explored  the rugged coastline of what is called Land's End.   

Beautiful views in every direction

The Visitors Center had an excellent display detailing the early development of this historic area.   In addition to browsing the gift shop and devouring a yummy lemon scone, we bought a book entitled Stair Walks of San Francisco and decided our goal would be to hike all of the 29 city stair walks....... some day! 

"I think I can see China from here."

We started walking on the trail along with half the population of San Francisco, I swear, and every Heinz 57 and AKC breed of dog. We had been warned that Saturdays were a busy day in general, especially if the weather was sunny and there was no coastal fog.   We didn't care.  The views of the jagged coast were spectacular in every direction.   The ruins of the historic, very late 19th Century Sutro Baths fascinated us, knowing that this famous sight represented another booming era in San Francisco's colorful history.    Adolph Sutro, a wealthy city poo-bah, whose interests included natural history and marine ecology, constructed an ocean pool aquarium among the rocks just below the Cliff House, another site he also built.  His goal was to create a landmark that would attract residents and tourists to visit this special place he affectionately called Land's End.    Although we could have accessed the Baths via steep steps and a winding path,  we decided to save our knees this time around.   Besides, there is so much history surrounding the ruins themselves that exploring the Baths could be a dedicated visit all by itself.  

Cliff House and the ruins of historic Sutro Baths below

Good exercise for the buns

I brought my camera, of course and thought I might hold Bruce back from getting the exercise he hoped for, since there were so many beautiful sights and interesting people to photograph.   Wildflowers brought on by the recent rains and kids in brightly colored jackets made a simple forest picture pop to life.  Strangers  falling in love?  Now who could resist taking that photo.  And, of course, there's always another boring picture of the Golden Gate Bridge.  

A family field trip

Falling in Love

This is just one of the many beautiful views that will have us coming back

Land's End provides a corridor of dramatic spots, connecting you to secret beaches, breathtaking cliffs, coastal chaparral, redwoods and gnarly cypress trees.  While on a map,  the setting may seem accessible only for the hearty and adventurous, but that is not the case.  The trail has been developed to accommodate people of all ages and various levels of fitness.  All that's required is an interest in spending time with nature, and a willingness to get out there and do it.

Views of China Beach and Baker Beach

Can't NOT take a photo of a bike, even if it's not the kind I ride

Surfer Dude

MY PREDICTIONS FOR THE 2014 OSCARS

In a couple of hours I'll open a bottle of wine, get out some cheese and crackers and plunk myself down in front of the TV to watch  two hours of scintillating entertainment spread out over four hours called the Academy Awards.  With the Oscar ballot in my hand, I'm wondering whether I should vote for the movie I loved or vote for the movie I think will win.  I know that the Oscars are very political.    I've been disappointed before, but this year most of the films nominated for best picture are worthy, although I'm basing that comment on my having seen only six films out of the nine.    

I would like American Hustle to win Best Picture because it is my favorite, but I think the Academy will pick Twelve Years a Slave because it's the politically correct thing to do.   

Some people took American Hustle way too seriously, thinking it was a documentary on the Abscam case , but, in fact, it was a farce, a spoof, a good laugh in almost every scene.   The first five minutes had me cracking up with Christian Bale gluing on his hair piece and a few minutes later Bradley Cooper messing it up.  What's not funny about this?  And Amy Adams?  Only a con-woman would show up at a meeting with members of Congress wearing a dress cut so low you could see her navel and everything else.  And then do you really think it was the sour-smelling fingernail polish that kept Christian Bale going back to Jennifer Lawrence's bed?   

The best thing about Dallas Buyers Club was the story and the tremendous talent of Matthew McConaughey, who up until recently appeared mainly in B-rated movies, like Surfer Dude, not A-plus movies like Mud.   Along with his cameo role in Wolf on Wall Street,  McConaughey has finally transformed himself from a handsome star into a first-class handsome actor.  I just hope he gains those 42 pounds back before he does another movie.

Gravity was entertaining from a cinematic point of view, especially in 3-D.   I loved the amazing special effects and the gorgeous scenes from space, but I had to listen to the Sandra Bullock and Alfonso Cuaron's interview with Charlie Rose before I understood the true meaning of the story.  


Nebraska is another movie that I hope receives recognition tonight. Bruce Dern was so believable in his role as Woody Grant, and June Squibb as Mrs. Grant has my vote for Best Supporting Actress.  While I think Jennifer Lawrence has a better chance for American Hustle, Jennifer has many good years ahead of her, while I'm not sure about June Squibb.   

For Best Director I have to vote for Martin Scorsese for Wolf of Wall Street although it was not my favorite movie.    It was just too over the top, too long at 3 hours, and although I'm not a prude by any means, too graphic sexually.  But Scorsese gets my vote because this film exemplifies his talent as master of his craft.

Amy Adams has my vote for Best Actress, but Cate Blanchett is a shoe-in as she was stunning in Blue Jasmine and the recent controversy involving Woody Allen has to give an added boost.

Well, I only have an hour before the show begins so I'd better hurry and publish this since it's a time dated piece and tomorrow will be meaningless.

PS:  For those who subscribe to my blog via email, I'm sorry but this post will be meaningless!

MOTHERHOOD AND APPLE PIE

I knew traveling home from Southeast Asia would be a killer.  Five hours in the air from Yangon, Myanmar to Bangkok with a very short overnight at the airport hotel.  Then a 2:30 AM wake-up call so we could make our 6:30 AM flight to Beijing and another five hours of flying.   I psychologically planned for the three-hour layover in Beijing before catching a 12-hour flight to San Francisco, but the three hour layover  became a six hour delay because of a mechanical problems with the aircraft.  As my Jewish friends would say, "Oy Vey!"

The Boeing 747 was fully loaded, but Bruce and I were able to book seats in the back of the plane where there are two rows of two seats (window and aisle) instead of the usual three.   We sat one behind the other in two different rows, so we could each have a window seat for sleeping and plenty of room to spread out.  


It was on this flight that I met Donping Qiu from China.   Although he and I spent 12 uncomfortable hours as seat mates in coach, we didn't strike up a conversation until we were thirty minutes from touching down in California.   My friends will say that keeping my mouth shut for 12 hours doesn't sound like me, but I was really tired, and knew that if I engaged in conversation, I'd never get any sleep.  Besides, my seat mate seemed very pre-occupied, and I didn't want to disturb him.

I'm not exactly sure how we started talking,  but when he told me  he was traveling alone to America for the first time so he could study engineering at San Francisco State, I got caught up in all the details of his adventure.

"My name is Donping," he said, "but my American name will be Erick, spelled E-R-I-C-K, since names with five letters are luckier than four."   Here's another Chinese superstition to add to my growing list, I thought.    My recent trip to his country interested him, so I mentioned my Biker Chick posts, but wondered if some of my comments might upset him.   Because he has never been to Southwest China,  I opened my iPad and showed him a few portraits of some of the ethnic minority people I'd photographed while we were there.  

The Long Hair Yao People

The difference in our ages didn't seem to matter.  Connecting with Donping by finding things we had in common was easy.  We both love new experiences, and share an enthusiasm for adventure, although my idea of adventure may be different than his.   Our conversation lifted my spirits and reminded me of a time when I moved to California from New Hampshire in my early twenties, and although I had no idea what lay ahead, I knew my life, like his, would be changed forever.   


I remembered my first glimpse of the Sierra Nevada Mountains when I traveled to California, so I gave Donping my window seat so he could see the beautiful scenery and the city of San Francisco.  When the wheels of our jumbo jet finally touched the ground, I put my arm around his shoulder.   "May I be the first to officially welcome you to the United States of America,"  I said.  My heart went pitter-patter when he gave me a little hug.  That's when I knew I wanted to be his American Mother.


Donping's English was really pretty good,  but I figured he'd find some of our crazy idiomatic expressions confusing.   "If someone says you are barking up the wrong tree or beating a dead horse", I told him, "don't take that person literally or maybe I should say it another way, don't believe what that person is saying."     



As we gathered our belongings before exiting the plane, I scribbled my contact information on a scrap of paper and gave it to him.   "We don't live very far away, " I said.   "Maybe you can visit us sometime, and we can show you around Silicon Valley."     We waved good-bye to each other, as he stood in the foreign visitors' immigration line looking tired but happy.    I thought how difficult it must have been for his mother to send her only child to a strange, far away land.   I also wondered how Donping was going to find his way to San Francisco State, since our public transportation is so iffy and no one was meeting him at the airport. 

The next day I received this amusing email from him: 

"The travel to my hotel is really a big deal for me, I should call the waitress of the hotel, they
will send the free shuttle to pick me up, but I can't understand all the things she talked, and I
don't know where should I take the shuttle, fortunately, some friendly Americans told the
me the location where all the hotel shuttle park, then I meet the Laquinta hotel shuttle, I was
so exited to see the sign of the hotel and got in it, but I didn't realized that I take the wrong
shuttle for a different subbranch, until I arrival the chashier.  Finally, I spend 25$ to move
from the south subbranch to the west subbranch, but I am fine.  I just regard it as a funny
story!  haha."


Email exchanges between us continued over the next several weeks.   He was enjoying his engineering classes, but they were difficult, so he was giving his Chinese-American dictionary a good workout.   Somehow he found time to read my blog, and here's an excerpt of what he wrote me:

"I really appreciate the clean air in San Francisco, When I arriving the US.  You know people
have to wear masks in China, especially in Beijing.  I think the deep seated reason of the 
pollution is the strong will of China to develop the economy power, they have to sacrifice for
that, the victim will be the environmental quantity.  China has exuberant economic growth, 
Due to the cheap labor and exuberant manufacturing industry.  But the low level
manufacturing industry must give rise to the pollution,  Other mistake the Chinese 
government have made is the assessment system of official.  The economic growth
accounts for a large weight, but the environment condition doesn't occupy that weight, so
the official doesn't take care of the pollution when they feed the investment. "

  
A few Saturdays ago, after exchanging emails back and forth, Bruce and I met Donping at a bus stop on Nineteenth Avenue, not far from his campus apartment.  He was carrying a green plastic bag.  After he got settled in our car,  he opened the bag and presented us with an apple pie that he had made the night before.    Since he started cooking at the age of ten, he didn't need a recipe.  "I just bought a few apples and some powder and measured the ingredients by feel."    The apples were juicy, the crust was tender, and the pie was delicious.

A Delicious Apple Pie

Saturday was not a great day to show off our beautiful city because it was raining.  Regardless, we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge and although the visibility was poor, we drove up to the Marin Headlands, which in the sunshine would have given us a spectacular view.   But even with the rain and fog,  Donping enjoyed the experience.  "Awesome, Awesome," he kept  saying.  Obviously he had quickly picked up one of our most overused expressions.  I loved hearing about his American adventures:  how he couldn't understand the Chinese people in Chinatown, so he spoke to them in English;  how surprised he was that American students like to party so much;  how he got lost when trying to find the Pacific Ocean. 

Bruce & Donping at the Ferry Building

After driving around the San Francisco Presidio and some upscale neighborhoods like Sea Cliff,  we parked our car near the Ferry Building where we found a dry place for lunch and checked out various vendors and stalls.   I wanted Donping to try a hamburger, like I tasted Peking duck in Beijing, so we stood in a long line at a fast-food restaurant called Gotts.   We even bumped into some friends who were doing the same American hamburger thing with their relatives from Israel.  

Donping eating his first hamburger in America

After lunch we checked out Cowgirl Creamery to sample some interesting cheeses, since cheese is rare in China, but I couldn't tell whether or not he liked it.  Maybe it's an acquired taste.  I could certainly say the same about some of the foods we tried in China.   

At the end of our wonderful day spending time together and touring San Francisco, Donping  gave me a hug and said he'd like to call me his American Mother. 

Donping and his American Mother

BIKER CHICK GONE SEVENTY

Last week I finally turned 70.  Not that I've been anxiously awaiting this day, because I haven't.  I've been dreading it for the last twelve months when I knew it was inevitable.  It seems everyone I know who graduated in my high school class of 1961 was doing it.  But now that it's here, there's not much I can do but marvel in the fact that at the age of 70, I can still do the same things I did at 69.

Biker Chick at Seventy

The date was January 15th during our trip to Burma, while staying at a fabulous resort on the Ngapali coast along with twelve friends.  I had no idea, of course, but Bruce threw me a surprise party and even brought balloons and party decorations all the way from California.  He hid them in an extra bag full of bubble wrap that we carry, which enables us to bring home the ethnic artifacts we hope to buy.  Since we often travel in January, I'm used to celebrating somewhere exotic.  Over the years I've blown out candles on a birthday cake in Vietnam, Ethiopia, Argentina, Mali, Cuba, Belize, and India.   But I've never had a party per se.  Just the cake.

Bruce sketched out his idea for the surprise party and how it would play out in emails he wrote to our friends before we left.  He contacted the resort, and together they made plans for the party to be held in a special place with a lot of ambience.  Everything was in place. He just had to get me there so it would be a surprise.  To be honest, I did expect a cake, so when I heard Bruce whisper the word "surprise" to one of the resort's staff, I pretended not to hear  since I assumed he was arranging for the cake. 

That evening we planned to join our friends at the outdoor bar, so we could watch the sunset and have drinks together before going to dinner.  Because I am such a stickler for being prompt, I was impatient with Bruce who was futzing around and taking longer than usual to get ready.  I'd already seen two of our friends walk by our bungalow, so I was anxious to get going.  Finally Bruce said he was ready, so together we walked a short way down to the outdoor bar.  I was surprised not to see our friends sitting in the same spot they had the previous night, but I wasn't suspicious, even though I saw a string of balloons and a birthday sign.  What a dork I am.  I thought it might be decorations for someone else's party. 

Sandoway Resort, Ngapali Beach, Myanmar (Burma)

As I approached the entrance to the inside section of the bar, there were our twelve friends, holding up glasses of bubbly Prosecco, and singing Happy Birthday.  Bruce had even borrowed the resort's piano player for the opening ceremonies.  "Drinks are on me, there are a lot of hors d'ouevres," Bruce shouted to our friends.   I was shocked, stunned, and speechless.  Yes, believe it or not, I was truly speechless.  After about 30 minutes of drinking bubbly, we  sat down at a long table outside that had been arranged by Bruce and beautifully decorated by all of our friends.  That's when the shit hit the fan.  No one held back.  One by one and going around the table, my friends mercilessly roasted me black and teased me even some more. Do I really talk that much?  Is it true that I constantly drop the name of Podunk U?   It was a great party and a fun way to turn 70.

Although many of my very funny friends went to great lengths to make this a special birthday for me, the funniest person roasting me that evening was my husband, Bruce.    He read out loud what he described as a draft of a blog post that I had just written about the Burma trip, but it was a spoof written by him   Although some of it will be lost on people who were not traveling with us and those don't know me personally, it should resonate with those who have followed my blog.   Here goes ---- 


Biker Chick Gone Seventy

It's early January, and after recovering from a New Year's drunken stupa -- I mean stupor, I find myself in
Burma.  Why Burma, you might ask?  The answer goes back to my childhood.  When I was a kid growing up in rural New Hampshire, I used to sit in the back of my parents' donkey cart as they went to the local market in East Hicksville.  Now the main road to East Hicksville was lined with a series of little 6 X 15 inch signs that said "Burma Shave."  And so ever since the age of seven, I knew I was destined to go to Burma some day.  My frequent travel companion, Carla, arranged this journey as an all-expense paid trip in honor of my 70th birthday.  A wonderful gesture to be sure, but I told her that I didn't want to make the trip without Bruce.  She eventually agreed, but I had to promise to keep a lid on his often obnoxious behavior.  I never know when he might get into a shouting match with someone over something trivial.  So far, Bruce has behaved well, but we had a close call when we were at an antique shop in Bagan and Carla and Gary bought a beautiful piece that Bruce had his eye on.  I thought he was going to become unglued, but I managed to push him out the door, where he kicked around in the dirt until he calmed down.  Luckily nobody else noticed this.  One time in Bhutan Bruce had a hissy fit when all I did was lock the door to our room when I left for dinner.  Oh well, enough about Bruce.

There are 12 other people in our group.  We've traveled with most of them before.  Most of them listen to me when I talk --- the rest are B-O-R-I-N-G!

Since some time in the 1970s, this country has been called Myanmar.  Apparently the name change was never recognized by the U.S. Government.  I have a friend in the State Department who told me that the shaving cream lobby is quite powerful.  At a Department of Agriculture hearing in 1981, there was testimony that it would cost several billion dollars to alter signs all across rural American to read Myanmar Shave.

Scattered about the Bagan area are thousands of beautiful Buddhist temples and stupas.  These monuments are best seen at sunrise in a hot air balloon.  It was very expensive, but we took the balloon ride.  Other than in an airplane, I haven't been so high since my pot smoking days with Billy Randall back in high school.  We frequently would shack up in a motel room.  Actually, it was my room, since I lived at my parents' motel -- ah, but I seem to be digressing.

Back to Burma.  One morning we visited a couple of schools, and I was so embarrassed.  At the primary school our entire group sang 3 verses of "Old McDonald" in a classroom full of dumbfounded Burmese kids.  All they wanted to do was translate "I have an apple" into the Burmese language in their workbooks, only to be interrupted by a bunch of camera-wielding adults spouting animal sounds.  Then at the high school came an even more  bizarre event.  One of the couples in our group had schlepped a huge pile of ugly green soccer uniforms all the way from California to give to school kids.  So a couple of confused students were summoned to the principal's office and told to hold out their arms.  Then as the soccer shirts and shorts were piled into their outstretched arms in front of a camera paparazzi, I just know that the stone-faced kids were thinking, "What the fuck?"

Buddhism is heavy duty here in Burma.  It seems to be a different kind of Buddhism than we saw in Bhutan.  But, like we saw in Laos, long lines of monks walk the streets in the early mooring holding food bowls and looking for potential donors.  What a contrast from my fund-raising days at Podunk U.  At Podunk U we would give potential donors bowls already filled with food.  They would eat it and then give us money.

When I was in fundraising, I once arranged for a dinner event at George Clooney's house -- and believe me, the guests did not show up in bare feet and burgundy robes holding empty bowls.  Incidentally, a funny thing happened that evening.   Before the event,  I went over to the Clooney house for some final preparations, and I guess the butler was off duty.  Would you believe that George Clooney himself answered the doorbell in his underwear.

OK, but here I am digressing again.  Yes, back to Burma.

The hawking of trinkets, postcards and other souvenirs is endemic at all important tourist sites.  At many places we were approached by a swarm of sellers, most of them children.  They were a nuisance, but I could identify with the effort to earn money at an early age, selling stuff that nobody wanted.  One year while still a teenager, I got a job as a sales person at Lord and Taylor.  I was in the glove department -- now just imagine trying to sell gloves in July.  But, you know what?  One day I sold a pair to a movie actor -- Tony Perkins.  When I told him that I had the same last name, he smiled and said nothing.  This still bothers me to this day since most people love talking to me.

Oh, shit, I'm digressing again.  This blog post is supposed to be about Burma.  But as I sit here thinking about how best to describe the incredible scenery and the warm and welcoming  Burmese people, it occurs to me that mere words are inadequate.  So I'm going to stop trying.

But don't think for a minute that I'm at a total loss for words.  No sireee.  I've got 70 years worth of tales to tell -- so stay tuned as life's adventure continues...........

Red Faced at Seventy

UPSTREAM TO MANDALAY - BURMA, DAY SEVEN

I felt a little guilty as I walked through the small village that sits on the sandy bank of the Irrawaddy River outside of Bagan. This could be one of the most down and out places I've seen in all of the countries I've visited in Asia. Lining the side of the road were wooden shacks with dirt floors and partially collapsed thatched roofs. Trash and metal debris littered the crowded narrow street. Young men lounged lazily in plastic chairs, some chewing betel nut and smoking cheroot, which is a type of Burmese cigar. Young girls carried buckets of water that hung from a wooden pole and weighed as much as they did. An acrid stench of food and smoke filled the air as women cooked over open wood fires. Underfed dogs stretched themselves out on the sand and warmed their flea-ridden bodies in the morning sun. Burmese porters carried our heavy luggage on the top of their heads, while fourteen, freshly showered and well-dressed Americans walked toward the luxury river boat that was awaiting our arrival.











As we walked up the narrow wooden gang plank, we were greeted by a Burmese crew of stewards dressed in starched white shirts and others wearing the typical long Burmese skirt called a longyi. Some passed out cold hand towels, and others offered us a refreshing fruit drink. A lovely looking man smiled as he called out our name, gave us our key, and pointed in the direction of our room. Another steward handed us a pair of white slippers to wear on the boat, and asked us to remove our dusty shoes, which someone painstakingly cleaned every night. We were spending two luxurious nights on the beautiful Paukan river cruise boat (built in 1947) that was taking us from Ancient Bagan to Royal Mandalay, stopping to visit a couple of small villages along the way.














Only 300 people live in Shwedagon Pyi Thar village, and 200 of them are children. There is no electricity, no running water or private enterprise. The village operates as a community, sharing all the proceeds from their crops, with the main one being peanuts. For an hour and a half we toured the small village, smiling, repeating over and over the only three Burmese words we have learned so far. "Hello, how are you, and thank you!" And in English, "May we take your photo?" One of the three retired teachers in our group had no difficulty surrounding herself with children. With a knack I've seen her use on other trips before, she had them giggling, singing, and trying hard to pronounce her name. (I have uploaded a short video of the kids, but I don't know whether there is enough bandwidth here in Burma to transfer it.)

I've probably said this about every Asian country we have been to, but we are amazed at how happy and welcoming the Burmese people seem to be. This is quite extraordinary when you think about how much they have suffered during the last fifty years under an oppressive regime.











On our second day we visited the village of Yandabo, which is famous for its exquisite pottery that is sold throughout the country. Yandabo is also known as the site of the first Burmese-Anglo peace treaty signed in 1826. There are three thousand residents living in this community, and unlike Shwedagon Pyi Thar, each family operates its own business. When we arrived in the morning, most of the children were in school, but a few were on the river bank to greet us. Considering that the Paukan River boat brings tourists to this village twice a week, I am surprised at how friendly, open, and receptive the villagers seem to be. No one objects to our taking photos or boldly peeking into doorways. They laugh at us as we butcher their language.

The adventure continues............


































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MINGALABA - Burma Day Four

Wake up calls before five o'clock in the morning are beginning to be the norm, but it's early in the trip's itinerary, so I can handle it, although I'm still feeling the effects of jet lag. Yesterday our one hour flight to Bagan left Yangon at the god awful hour of 6:00 am, but it meant having a full first day to begin exploring an area that is often referred to as the most wondrous sight in Burma. One could easily spend a week in this magnificent place, but we are happy with the three days we have, especially since we are staying at the five star Aureum Palace Hotel and Resort.

If you have never heard of the ancient Valley of Bagan, I'm sure that you have seen pictures because it is one of the most photographed archeological sights in the world. Spanning 16 square miles of a great open plain, with the Irrawaddy River in the background, more than 2000 ancient temples, pagodas and stupas (built in the 10th and 11th century) dot the beautiful arid countryside. Some compare it to Cambodia's Angkor Wat, but now having seen both, I would say that there are similarities in the building style, but the setting is totally different.

Most of our first day was spent visiting a few of these magnificent brick structures, with beautifully preserved wall paintings, carved motifs, and massive gold leaf statues of Buddha. The most impressive of the temples was Ananda Pahto, built by a king in the 11th century. Inside stood four huge Buddha statues made of teak and covered in shiny gold leaf, each with a different hand position or mudras. Outside children of all ages greeted us with big smiles, trying desperately to sell us postcards, sand paintings, and crude trinkets made of wood and bronze.

















While I really enjoyed seeing the three or four unique temples and pagodas we visited, I was really looking forward to the hot air balloon ride that would give us a bird's eye view and a totally different perspective of this immense archeological sight.












At 5:45 am this morning Bruce and I and two others from our group were picked up at the hotel and driven to a giant open field where a large crew of Burmese workers were assembling the gear and setting up the 13 hot air balloons that would be flying at sunrise. What a relief to hear English accents coming from some of the people in charge, since the balloons are flown by a very experienced crew from the U.K, and not an inexperienced crew from Burma.













Richard, our balloon captain, spoke firmly when giving us the important safety instructions on when and how to climb into the balloon's basket, and what to do when landing. "Sit, don't stand, put cameras on the floor, grasp rope handles, and place your back and head firmly against the basket." Getting in and out of the huge basket was tricky for some, but for me it was like getting my leg over a bike seat, except the bike seat, i.e. the basket, was nearly five feet tall.




I thought I would be nervous when the massive propane gas burner heated up the inside of the balloon, but I wasn't. Other balloons were beginning to take off at the same time, and it was a thrill to see, knowing that within minutes I would be airborne too.




To be honest I really don't understand the science of hot air ballooning, but I really didn't care. I was there to experience the thrill of flying and to take photographs of the beautiful sights below. For 45 very fast minutes we cruised at an altitude between 500 to 1000 feet, although I saw a couple of balloons that looked much higher. The skies were not ideal for photos, but I did my best considering limited light, slight mist, and smoky haze. And a relatively new camera that I'm still struggling to understand.

The adventure continues..........


























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